𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐦𝐧 • 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧

7; the sound of shattered dreams

minghao memorizes the way back to seungcheol's company, after going out to buy himself a snack. well, the stall was across the road from seungcheol's company, so it wasn't such a bother—but minghao liked to make sure, since he might get lost if he reroutes because of the countless cars that passed by the road.

minghao buys these small fried circle things, which tasted like high quality meat. he made sure to thank jeonghan for letting minghao buy something with the artist's own money.

(jeonghan said buy yourself dinner, but minghao thinks it's too early for dinner—and wouldn't that suffice? he used to eat a cracker a day, so to eat meat is already a luxury.)

minghao pockets his change as he turns around to walk across the road and get back in seungcheol's company. that was what joshua had instructed him to do—to get back home as soon as he finished eating. what he said was true; that seungcheol might panic if he doesn't see minghao anywhere in his sight, so minghao decided to comply to what joshua had said.

there were a few others standing beside him, preparing to cross the road after the cars passing by minimized to a few.

minghao had been already hit by a car, so this was nothing to him—but he realized that it was not normal to get hit by a car when you are not in the military. so, he waits with the other people.

as he waited, he looks up at the sky.

why was the sky blue? what did blue mean, in this context? sadness? royalty? or something else minghao doesn't understand? maybe it was something more experienced artists know. minghao should probably as jeonghan or joshua, or wonwoo or mi—

"HEY!" minghao heard a shout. it takes minghao's attention, and he realizes that the shout came from a civillian, who was pointing towards a young man crossing the road. there was a car approaching him, and it was honking very loudly. "that man! he's—he's going to get run over—!"

minghao ran towards where the civillian was pointing, wherein a young man stood—whose outfit was familiar. minghao embraced the young man tightly, and then ran to the other side quickly. the two end up on the sidewalk, with several eyes trained on them.

minghao lets go of the young man, and takes a look at his face—which made him confused. "sir wonwoo, what were you doing? you were going to get run over by a car. the driver was even honking loudly at you."

wonwoo, on the other hand, was flabbergasted.

"sir...?"

"you're the kid i was with at work today, right?" wonwoo sighed, looking very confused. "what were you doing?!"

minghao blinked, deciding to stay on the sidewalk since wonwoo was not getting up too. "i saved you from a car which was going to run you over. there is no need to worry about me. may i ask what your objective was?"

wonwoo shook his head, eyebrows furrowing.

"what are you saying? kid, i.... i can't hear you."

minghao and wonwoo were now inside the room where they were holding their painting lessons earlier, staring at the windows.

genuinely, minghao doesn't understand the reason why wonwoo was crossing the road—and was not paying mind to the cars coming and honking at him. did he want to... die?

"don't get me wrong. i wasn't doing anything stupid." wonwoo says, which made minghao turn his head towards the artist. "i can't hear things properly. i'm.. partly deaf."

minghao's eyes slightly widened in size.

so, all this time, the reason why wonwoo still hadn't called minghao his name was because he couldn't hear minghao speak properly?

and what about his coworkers, who always talk behind his back?! who always spit bad things about him, and he can't even hear them?! but he knows! earlier, he assumed that mingyu and minghao were talking about him and he was correct! he knows that his coworkers talk about him, and minghao felt sad for wonwoo at that.

minghao cleared his throat, and spoke louder. "my name is xu minghao, sir. were you already deaf when you were born?"

wonwoo looked at minghao, and chuckled humorlessly. the orange light from the sunset shone at wonwoo through the window.

"i'm not. when the war started five years ago," wonwoo gulped, turning away. "i used to play the violin, and i was a part of an excellent orchestra. we were going to a location near the war zones for a performance, and then, boom. there were explosions. lots of them.

"some of us survived. i survived, but at what cost? i was already partly deaf because of the explosions i experienced, and i can't be a part of an orchestra anymore. so, i took up painting instead, and now i've been an artist for three years."

minghao felt guilty.

the explosions were of course, an attack from miyuni. he was somehow responsible for what wonwoo's music career had come to, and the life he's experiencing now.

the nineteen year old stood up from his seat, walked in front of wonwoo and blocked his sunset view. minghao then bows fully and respectfully at wonwoo, which took the older aback.

"what are you doing that for?"

minghao looks up at wonwoo, and gets back to his standing position. he speaks with loud volume. "i sincerely apologize for what happened. i am sorry for what your career has turned into."

"it's not your fault," wonwoo scoffed, swatting minghao back to his seat. "and i enjoy painting anyway, so it's okay. it's just that i hate how my dream was snatched from me so quickly. i haven't even become the top violinist in the world yet."

"you know i am from miyuni, but it seems like seungcheol hyung left out the part that i was their special soldier," minghao says, which elicited a surprised reaction from wonwoo. "i am truly sorry. on the behalf of—"

"wait, special soldier?! you're the one seungcheol saw that day?"

it was minghao's turn to be confused. "i do not understand."

"never mind." wonwoo waved minghao off, sighing. "i accept your apology, anyway. at least you're changing for the good. you still need to improve your painting, though. so enough of this. i gotta go home. and, thank you, for earlier."

"but how did you know that we were talking about you earlier?!" minghao asked, getting a little worked up. wonwoo sighed, and crossed his arms.

"because they always do talk about me anyway. can't blame them. i'm always grumpy, since, you know, i should be somewhere else. somewhere where i'm supposed to be playing the violin," wonwoo stated, smiling sadly. "it's okay. one day, they'll find out, and understand."

oh. mingyu was correct.

wonwoo was a kind person. minghao almost could not believe that wonwoo forgave him just like that—even if it wasn't directly his fault. he expected wonwoo to take out his anger on someone directly connected to the reason why he can't get his dream back anymore. that's what commanders would do in the military—but minghao guessed that wonwoo was different, even though he was bossy.

wonwoo was not so bad after all. he was the first person who almost made minghao cry.

"sir wonwoo," minghao says. "why do you paint?"

"huh. i guess," wonwoo stood up, looking at minghao directly in the eyes. "to show people their dreams."