Work Text:
Grandeur.
There's only one thing Seungmin had expected while stepping into the palace.
He gets much more than that.
A young apprentice. Hired by the Royal advisor himself. Seungmin has been subjected to high hopes.
A project.
A painting.
Splash of colors against the cotton canvas. Life size.
A real-life lesson, they had stated.
And of course that thrilled him.
A chance of a lifetime. Working alongside the Royal court's beloved painter and sculptor.
Rumors.
Some say he is batshit crazy. Others gossip about his mad talent. He talks to colors, they say. A walking legend. Everyone has something to say about the Royal painter.
Seungmin is nervous. Excitement giving way to bubbles in the stomach.
What if the Royal painter rejects him?
He is nothing but a newbie.
Only five years into colors. Grass shades, budding roses.
There's so much he doesn't know.
He is prone to making mistakes. Mess up the walls. The canvas.
Delicate. Disastrous.
They walk him through the hallways. Small steps. Etiquette.
The Palace is a walking canvas indeed. There are rumors about this too. The painter had these covered in a day.
Glass paintings, hues, sparks.
Minhwa.
Portraits.
Blues. Purples. Cold.
It's majestic. Infused. Hues blending into one another. Complex shapes, patches.
Abstract.
As if telling a story.
A story of rage. Unyielding power. Impatience. Troubles. Request.
A mirrored section.
Tall walls.
Staircases. To the basement.
"The studio is on the ground floor. Minho-ssi is waiting for you all."
The Royal guard has them climb down. One by one. There are eight of them, including the guard. Not enough space for a crowd.
Dingy. Enclosed.
"Minho-ssi likes the quiet."
It looks like a madman's cave. The rumors might actually be true.
He wonders what the Royal painter looks like. The guards had mentioned he liked them calling by his name - not the position. Who likes enclosed spaces? No sun. No clean air. Ventilation. But they say dark helps him think. Concentrate.
Seungmin can relate to it.
In a way.
He is not a dark room person. But he has his days of concentrating. A void. Focus. Nothing else matters. Just the piece and him.
Seungmin likes the bright. He prefers the bright.
Reds. Pinks. Warmth.
The basement hall is big - bigger than he had expected. Remnants of madness everywhere. Muslin draped as tapestry. Canvas on canvas. Big and small. Passion.
Home for someone who lives by the colors.
Impressive.
One huge canvas hanging by the center of the room. Monstrous. Blue splashes. Violets. Silver.
Seungmin knows why they were recruited on a very short notice. All seven of them.
Novice. From seven different states. Young and vibrant.
The Royal painter wants diversity. He is looking for a fresh perspective. Youth's mind, they say.
Different color choices. They were chosen for their affinity to certain palettes.
Complex patterns. Greens. From the North-West.
Geometry. Yellow. From the East.
Flexible lines. Earthen. From the South-East.
Points. Midnight. West.
Abstract. Warmth. South. Him.
The Royal painter is standing in front of the canvas. Back to the newcomers. He is neither tall nor short. Neither bulky nor thin. Mismatched robes flowing through the cracks.
Pattern, patches, plain all at once.
Complex. Similar to his personality - as the rumors suggest.
"You may sit now. Your numbers are mentioned on the stools."
He is seven. The South.
They settle. Nervous eyes, fear of judgement. Excitement.
There's a canvas placed in front of their stools. Blank. Fine material. Seungmin has never worked on such material before. It's surreal.
The palette is only of the highest quality. Even the untrained eyes of Seungmin can tell that. His color tubes are marked with the shades he loves the most - Sienna, Vermillion, Scarlet, Fuchsia, Gold.
"Welcome."
The Royal painter has a high voice. Totally unexpected.
So is his face.
Seungmin is not sure why he imagined someone middle-aged, grand and unkept.
The Royal painter is just the opposite. Sharp features, smaller face, soft voice. Put together. Very controlled. He looks as if he can not harm a fly. Angelic.
Except his eyes.
He is looking everywhere but his audience. Unfocused.
"Thank you for coming. We shall begin now."
Begin with what?
A long pause. No one moves.
"Oh, oh. Yes. You have to create a sample piece in under 30 minutes. Experiment. Do what you do the best. Surprise me."
And then he moves away. Behind the canvas. Out of sight.
30 minutes.
-------------
"Tell me a story."
The Royal painter, Minho, is random at times. Seungmin is getting used to it. Two months working together and he knows some, if not everything about the painter.
Minho can switch from being clear as a sunny day to as dark as the void in the span of seconds.
He will either speak a lot, or nothing at all.
Approachable on good days, closed on others.
He likes to humm when working. A sweet tune covering the basement.
Rapid strokes and soft lights.
A contrast.
Seungmin likes him like that. A human being, not a legend. Someone who is prone to making mistakes. Overdoing. Madness.
"You know the oceans are cold underneath the warm bed of water?"
"Unapproachable."
"Indeed."
They have an art festival. Summer lights. Set by the Royalty themselves. A place to showcase the grand. Open to the public.
They needed art. Fresh pieces. Unexpected pieces. Less glass, more colors.
In two days.
Seungmin can say the Royal palace basement is his second home now. They have spent the last two weeks glued to their seats. For the most part.
They are given extra sleeping beds in the rooms on the first floor, for a few hours a day.
Seungmin is tired. Fatigue is catching up to him now. His piece is incomplete. Just some sections. Vibrant, but incomplete. He has only two days left to finish it.
Minho has been working on the center art non-stop since days. Rarely blinking. Transfixed on the patterns. On the glass. Strokes. Crushed texture.
Grandeur.
"Get me water, please."
It takes Seungmin a while to notice that the request was directed to him. His fuzzy brain can hardly take anything.
"Sure."
The pot is by the entrance. A place they all get their fixes. Snacks, tea, water. Bronze pot, bronze glasses.
He rapidly fills one glass up to the brim. He is not sure how Minho likes his glass filled.
The way back is a struggle. A race between his senses and muscles - who will trip first.
His muscles win.
The water splashes out of the glass. And straight to the center piece. Washing away the mixes and the texture.
Bottom part diluted.
Seungmin can hardly breathe.
Or speak.
His fuzzy brain can hear the gasps. A void.
But he stands there. Soaked robe. Shoes. Frozen.
"Hmm."
"Please accept my apologies. I didn't mean to do this."
"Hmm. It's okay. We can work on it. Together. Please stay back."
He knows that is his punishment. Two days, two paintings. 48 hours are just not enough.
"Sure. Thank you."
He bows and walks straight to his tool. Eyes down. Suddenly alert.
Two days.
-------------
"Mix the S and L. Together. Here."
"Huh?"
"Here."
Minho points to the specific tubes. Oh, Gray and Navy. But alphabets?
"Sure."
They work on the piece. Silently. Minho is humming again. A calm tune while Seungmin's interiors are on fire.
They are halfway through the painting. A shift in style to match Seungmin's and Minho's combined. A contrast. Minho's idea. He is not cruel, as they say about him.
Minho might be eccentric, but he has a softer core. Just like his painting. Delicate. Glass.
It's just them in the basement. Rest everyone is done and ready for the showcase.
"Do you know I can hear colors?"
Yes, there were rumors. However, he had never thought it was actually true.
"How? I mean what do the colors say?"
"They are fragile. Well, most of them are. F says he is clear. L, on the other hand, likes to be with his brothers more."
All of this makes no sense to Seungmin. How is that even possible? But Minho is explaining the feelings in an animated manner. He has never seen the guy being this rampant about anything in the last two months.
"And they want to explore. Do well. Do you understand?"
"Yes, yes."
"Great! I had asked A if she wanted to be worked with. She refused. Totally. Now, I can't force her, right?"
"Of course."
It's crazy. But Seungmin is deeply attracted to Minho's voice. And he is okay pretending to understand him. Dance with him.
Kiss him.
"H says you want to kiss me?"
Oh my God.
Seungmin feels warm all over. Minho is...teasing him? There's no way a box of tube can convey this? Or it can?
He wants to hide his face.
Minho is looking at him with interest. Head tilted, curious eyes on him.
"Do you?"
"I--- I'm..Ah."
'It's okay. You are beautiful."
Minho is laughing now. A tinkling sound in the empty basement.
Reds. Blues. Purple. Cold and warm.