𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐦𝐧 • 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧

9; the fulfillment of an artist

the delivery process was something minghao enjoyed.

whenever he hands these paintings to people, he witnesses an unfiltered emotion—which varies from person to person. it was as if minghao felt the very emotion the clients were feeling by delivering the pieces to them.

minghao also observed how chan had an undying smile every time he delivered, which made him a little different from minghao.

how is he able to smile when life has always been bad to him? was what minghao had thought, and it was unnerving to not have an answer—no matter how hard minghao thought about it.

so, when they finished deliveries, minghao decided to ask while they were on the way home. the car's engine was quite noisy, but they could manage a conversation.

"chan, how is it that you can smile?" minghao proceeded to ask, looking to his left. "life has been hard to you, and yet..."

chan readjusts his grip on the steering wheel, and smiles slightly. "i try to focus on the good side of life. like... hmm... food, my wage, my good friends, my boss, and looking at nice paintings!"

minghao hummed, understanding what chan had meant. minghao likes being able to pick what food he wanted to eat, too. "you are lucky."

"so are you!" chan exclaimed, glancing at minghao as he giggled. "i heard about you from mingyu. you two are practically best friends now!"

minghao felt a tingle, hearing about mingyu. does that artist like bringing up minghao every time? what's so interesting about him? "really? there's such thing as a... 'best friend'?"

"of course there is! not to disparage your other friends, though." chan giggled.

"do you have a best friend?"

chan's speed decreased, and for a moment, minghao feared that he had said something wrong. jeonghan and the other artists mentioned that sometimes you can't ask people about things that might be too personal, but chan knows who minghao's best friend is—so why can't minghao know who chan's best friend?

to minghao's relief, chan answered.

"my best friend is the prettiest person i've ever seen in the world. hah! though his face was shaped like a literal square... he has pretty hazel eyes, in an almond shape. his hair was the same color as my hair, but much tousled compared to mine. his nose is narrow and pointy. his lips were thin and pretty, too..." chan trails off, before laughing. "it sounds weird that i can describe him vividly, right?"

"a little," minghao truthfully answered, to which chan chuckled at. was i not supposed to say that?

"i memorized his face features before he left. he was drafted in the war." chan paused. "we couldn't get a picture together, because it was too expensive to get one. so, in case he doesn't return, i.. memorized his facial features, so that i never forget the face of my best friend."

minghao's eyebrows furrowed, feeling deeply for chan.

minghao never had a best friend to lose, or anyone important in particular. to come across the feelings of grief and longing was a first for him, and it wasn't something minghao was a fan of.

"i'm glad you still remember your best friend's appearance," minghao replied. "i'm sorry."

chan offered minghao a kind smile. "not quite, hyung. i'm already forgetting what his voice sounds like."

"hey, minghao—!"

minghao came dashing in the artists' workplace, grabbing a canvas and a set of tube paint. he ignores the curious comments of his other acquaintances, as he grabbed a jar and a couple of paintbrush materials.

"what's wrong, minghao?" jeonghan yelled as minghao made his way out—only to get his question left hanging in the air.

minghao passed by seungcheol when he ran upstairs to his room, who also gave him a confused look—which, again, minghao ignored. all he needed to do right now was to paint, not to interact with others.

minghao slams his bedroom door closed, runs to the bathroom and fills the jar with water. he sets up his easel and places his canvas, then whips out his pencil to start sketching.

tousled hair. square shaped face. almond shaped eyes. narrow nose, thin lips.

there was no way in hell that minghao was going to get this right, but he wanted to try anyway. the burning feeling of sadness lingering in his heart wasn't good to bottle up, and it sure wasn't good for chan too.

not knowing whether chan's best friend was alive or not was killing chan—and even though he swears that he memorized his best friend's face, he was forgetting his best friend's voice. it was a sad feeling for minghao; how much more for chan?

after minghao was satisfied with his sketch (albeit scared that he might get chan's best friend's facial features wrong), he places smears of paint on his palette. he grabs a paintbrush—and started painting his hair, then face, then eyes, then lips.

two hours passed.

it was quite on a whim, so minghao had to ignore how the lighting was wrong. his shading techniques weren't exactly what wonwoo would call perfect, but it passes, so minghao decides that he was finished with the piece—and gets out of his room.

minghao dashed down the busy staircases and hallways, to find chan fixing his car outside.

"oh—minghao hyung! what brings you—woah!"

minghao curtly grabs chan's dirty wrist, and runs a little slower for chan to match his speed. chan was quite tired from today's shift—but he had to speed up, or else he'll get dragged by minghao up the stairs.

when they reach minghao's room, the aspiring artist opens the door for chan—and places him down on minghao's bed.

"phew! are we running a marathon, hyung? also, i'm dirty! why did you touch me and make me sit on your—" chan trailed off. "....your bed...?"

chan almost wanted to cry.

minghao's depiction of chan's best friend was nearly perfect. his lively eyes, the shade of his hair color, his cool skin tone, his smile, his nonchalant expression—it was almost like a picture!

"i know i may have gotten some details wrong," minghao shyly mumbled, pursing his lips. "but i hope it was ne—"

"thank you!"

chan jumps at minghao, to lock him in a tight embrace. the latter was obviously surprised, and he did not know how to respond to this form of affection—but he did not reject it.

"you got it perfectly! it's like i'm looking at a picture of him, hyung! it's like i can still see him, and it's like he's still here!" chan exclaims, which caused minghao's heart to drop.

"how are you so good of an artist, hyung?! thank you! thank you! thank you! thank you so much! how can i ever repay you for this?" chan pulls away from the embrace, and looks at minghao with teary eyes.

minghao's eyebrows furrowed in concern, and surprise. "why are you... crying?"

"because i'm so happy!" chan exclaimed, placing his hands on minghao's shoulders. "thank you so much for this, hyung. you are so talented! i didn't even tell you how he exactly looked like—yet you made a painting that looks almost exactly like hansol! do i.. h-how much do i pay?"

minghao sighed, offering chan a small, sincere smile that the young artist didn't even notice himself. "you don't need to repay me for anything. i am good with this."

"you're the best artist i've ever met, hyung!"