𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐦𝐧 • 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧

3; the price of punishment

"mingyu! minghao?"

a new person joins the conversation, and it was luckily, choi seungcheol. the president gives mingyu a stern look, which the artist laughed nervously at—while he eyed minghao carefully, up and down.

"i see that you two have met. what were you talking about?"

"let's talk about that later, mr. choi. we ran out of yellow paint. i need to finish a commission by the end of today, and i need the yellow paint now." mingyu says, turning to seungcheol hurriedly.

"why are you asking me that?! didn't we just order a bunch of new ones earlier?" seungcheol clicked his tongue, crossing his arms at mingyu. "go look for it with chaerin, she's in charge of the supplies! aren't you supposed to know that already?!"

"oh, okay, mr. choi! i'll get going now!" mingyu prepares to run—but stops momentarily, to give minghao a glance. "i'll see you soon!"

and then, the artist flees. seungcheol sighed, rubbed his temples. minghao watched seungcheol enter his room, as he still thinks of the colorful artist who he talked to moments ago.

"did you need anything?" seungcheol asked, leaning on the wall.

"i am waiting for further instructions. i've got nothing to do, and i don't have a job." minghao states, unconsciously bringing his feet together. seungcheol noticed. "i did not know jobs are supposed to be enjoyable. i thought it was a mere duty."

"loosen up. we aren't in the military anymore, and you can talk more.. i don't know, freely, i guess." sighed seungcheol, watching minghao's curled up fists. "of course jobs are supposed to be enjoyable. did mingyu tell you that?"

"yes. the colorful artist, i recall." said minghao, nodding. "when i realized life, i was already serving the military as a 'special soldier'. i apologize for not knowing it sooner."

seungcheol chuckled, waving off a hand. "no, it's okay. i prefer you ask questions about normal life than be confused all alone. or maybe ask mingyu about it, if i'm not available."

"...a job." minghao repeats. "how do i know what job i want?"

seungcheol puffed out air, shrugging cluelessly at minghao. "you just.. realize it. or maybe try different things and find out which one you like the most. do you wanna go try painting?"

"i have no prior experience in that area."

"it's okay, you're just going to try anyway. if you don't like how it turned out, you can decide if you like it and keep trying, or back out because you don't like it." seungcheol says, exhaling out a breathy sigh. "i'll ask the artists for some old brushes and some paint. a canvas, too. can you wait here?"

"if you say so." minghao nods curtly, walking back to where he was sat on the bed earlier.

it was not too long when seungcheol returned with painting materials, setting it up kindly for minghao. minghao sat straight as he watched his new owner fix things for him—until seungcheol spoke, before he turned to leave.

"i'll leave you to paint here. i'm next door, so just.... knock if you need me or if you want to show me what you've finished." seungcheol briefly exits the room, and it leaves minghao with nothing to do but to try painting.

minghao grabs the chair from the study beside his new bed, places it in front of the easel and canvas. he opens the tubes of paint and puts a smear of each color onto the worn palette, grabs his paintbrush (the wrong way, unknowingly) and stares at the blank canvas.

what would a person like mingyu paint?

more importantly; what would artists paint in their free time? would they pratice painting the sky, would they try painting sceneries? houses? what did mingyu paint for him to end up a colorful mess? what is something that has lots of colors?

minghao then dabs his paintbrush on the red paint, and randomly strokes it across his canvas.

red.

"xu! no matter what happens, if we're outnumbered, you should never fight alone even if you think you can win! you should die with us!"

minghao drops the paintbrush.

he remembers how earlier, he was soaked in the blood of people he never had the chance to know; whether they were actually good or bad, on his side, or on zuivet's side. he can't even differentiate whether he was the one who was bleeding, or it was a stain from his previous slaughter.

he remembers how it was so red, how he brushed it off so easily. he killed! murdered! and all this time, he never tried to realize how wrong his doings are—how grotesquely blinded he was!

the 19 year old hastily places the paintbrush down, standing up harshly enough to knock the easel down. he then runs back to his bed, ignoring the paint materials and seungcheol's instructions altogether—because minghao can't do it.

how dare he paint beautiful things with the same hands he used to end the lives of countless people? how dare xu minghao get a job he enjoys, how dare he even live at this point? he doesn't deserve happiness, luxury, or even to live decently. minghao would sure be happy if seungcheol wanted to kill him all along.

xu minghao was meant to live and receive punishment.

from the very beginning, he was thrown into the military, and it was considered a punishment because he was never treated like a normal kid there. now, he faces the consequences of the things he did before, even though it wasn't out of his own will. what did minghao ever do to receive all this? why did he even get to be born?

xu minghao was a dull person, with a gushing red on his hands. he doesn't deserve to be anything, or get anything. xu minghao is meant to be abandoned.