Chapter Text
Normalcy.
Such a funny word for a concept he wanted little to do with. Who dared to define it in the first place? How did it come to pass that there was a general consensus on the matter? Jhin lacked an answer to these questions. He only knew he didn’t have any claim to the word after the fateful day where Xan Irelia broke Mr. Swain’s arm in two.
The entire incident occurred almost four years ago, but he still remembered every detail. It was impossible for any witness to forget. Jhin admired the longevity of it, how one bold moment existed still in the minds of the populace, how one decision shaped the very law itself. One might even call him an admirer of Irelia’s nerve, though he’d never say that to her face. But, ah, he was losing himself. Recalling it all required the utmost focus.
It was a sweltering day. In the past, they would have been able to dress in loose robes and sit in the shade. He had distant memories of a childhood that must have been his own where that sort of thing was possible. He vaguely remembered wading in the river and fishing out snails to bash against the rocks. But now he lived in Qayanvi, and Mr. Swain was here. Always Mister, never anything more familiar. If you dared to call him something like Elder, no matter the respect you intended it with, he would surely see you bleed within the hour. The man’s accent in Ionian was horrid. His expectations? They were worse. There was a brief moment of time, a blip of sorts, where they were allowed to still wear their old clothes to classes. Now, they were replaced by rigid uniforms, no matter the weather. And the drills! The less said about the drills, the better. At times, Jhin imagined death as simply a never-ending drill session, all under Mr. Swain’s watchful eye.
Occasionally, their families were ‘cordially invited’ to see their children’s progress in learning the art of war. They’d march and twirl their weapons, all the while attempting to ignore their loved ones sitting on yellowed grass against their will. Jhin never felt the pressure others complained about on those days. He was used to unpleasantness, resigned to it. Many of his peers could not say the same, but their faltering only made him look more competent by comparison.
A select few however were emboldened by the misery. Rumors spread swiftly in Qayanvi. The entire Xan clan had been slaughtered for the simple crime of disloyalty. All of them dead, except for the child that had happened not to be home. Irelia, only 14, drifted through the halls of their school like a living cumulonimbus cloud. It was no wonder in his eyes why she was the one to march up to Mr. Swain in order to demand a break. What more did she have to lose?
After her tidy rant about unfairness and the importance of avoiding dehydration, everyone held their breath. Mr. Swain looked down his long nose at her. “You all may have a drink when drills are over and not a moment before,” he said, his voice rich with the sort of condescension that was practiced. Miraculously, that might have been the end of it if he hadn’t continued. “Foolish girl.”
To the surprise of no one who knew her, Irelia promptly kicked him in the groin.
Mr. Swain grunted as he slumped over. His eyes were blown wide open, like he couldn’t conceive that anyone would dare lay a hand on him, but especially not a newly subjugated teenage girl. Irelia, for her part, didn’t give him a moment to consider what she had done to him. In the view of everyone, she picked up a large stone off the ground, strode over to his side, and started swinging it at his arm with all of her might. Being a dancer, one who typically lifted up other girls in the absence of any suitable boys, meant she had quite a bit to spare. The screaming came first. Then there was the loud crack. Blood arrived soon after, fashionably late and the center of attention. Not once did she stop until she was dragged off of him, screaming curses as she went.
There were two main camps of observers. For most of the students and a few of their parents, they looked genuinely ill. The remainder did their best to mimic the former. But Jhin hadn’t yet fully cultivated a sense of self-preservation. So, the perpetual outlier, he beheld the gory scene and laughed.
He kept laughing, over and over, until his father marched up to him and pulled him off to the side. The two of them huddled next to the shed, hidden from prying eyes. “What the hell are you doing?" Bàba snarled in his face, spittle flying everywhere.
Jhin wiped away the mess without grimacing. Disgusting, he thought, but he also felt too amused to let such a gross display of bodily functions ruin his mood. “Finding levity in the midst of adversity, Bàba,” he said dutifully, reciting one of their tenets. “Isn’t it humorous? She’s so tiny, and yet, she felled the giant. Wouldn’t it make for a brilliant story when this is all over? If only they let her get his other arm-”
His head exploded with pain; a firecracker went off in his skull. He stumbled, bracing himself against the hot metal. One ear rang with static. And at the center of it all was his father panting with rage, a meaty hand still outstretched in the position of a slap. “You freak. Are you trying to get us killed?”
“No, Bàba,” Jhin replied, though it hurt to speak. He poked at his cheek with one finger and immediately regretted it. The resultant throb was almost worse than the initial hit.
“Then act like it! You’re lucky no one was paying attention to you. Laughing at that? Insinuating what, the failure of the empire? I will not have my only child making me look like some… some fucking traitor!” The brutish man’s eyes glowed with a hot mix of fear and disdain. Whatever he saw in Jhin’s face, whatever compelled him to lay his hands on his son for the first time, only seemed to stoke the flames of his ire. “Get yourself together. Do not embarrass me again today.”
He stood there and watched his father retreat. It was then, with half of his face going numb, that he first truly reflected on the concept of normalcy. A normal teen might have cried or worked themself up into a fit after such a sudden act of violence. But Jhin couldn’t summon up any feeling more intense than dull annoyance. How dare he. And what he meant by that thought was not ‘how dare he hurt me’. It was ‘how dare he dampen my pleasure for the sake of his own safety’.
Still, he knew what was expected of him. He blinked rapidly until his eyes were watery and headed back into the fray, brushing past underclassmen until he reached the sanctuary of his peers. He was nothing if not adaptable. If taking pleasure in extreme violence made him a freak, he’d become more discreet. The only solution was to truly embrace his cuckoo bird status and mimic normalcy at any cost.
Of course, the best solutions were the ones that were the most difficult to achieve. As any proper performer might say, imitation was most effective when you understood the material. At the time, Jhin didn’t. He was the odd boy from Zhyun, the friendless one with the giant father who scorned every extracurricular activity. It suited him before, but no longer. He knew nothing of the world his classmates inhabited, but he had the determination necessary to force himself to learn. At the age of 15, he realized that he cared most about living a life free of judgment and obstruction, and that required adherence to the rules. Even though he didn’t agree with them, even though they meant nothing to him and his mind, he molded himself into the sort of boy who effortlessly followed them all.
By now, Jhin thought he was quite adept at the normalcy game. Once he put in the necessary work, his fellow students started to openly enjoy his company. His teachers loudly praised his work ethic, now that they thought he was truly devoted. Athletic. Charismatic. Kind. He held on to every label with relish. But the one he adored most was inoffensive. No one had anything bad to say about Khada Jhin. He did nothing to rock the boat. As he scaled the hierarchies, both Noxian and Ionian, he never openly challenged them. Though he thrived in a few clubs, not once did he do anyone real harm.
It was all so… mind-numbing.
At 18, he still dreamed about blood. He sat through his classes, which were always the same, and thought about how easy it would be to draw out that liquid from the flesh of those around him. Where others stared at each other and imagined possible romances, he contemplated a future where he could finally stop someone’s heart. The temptation only grew, day after day. Not a single Noxian in charge would weep for a dead Ionian child. Oh, they’d pretend to. They might even search for a culprit. But he felt confident that he could push anyone out of the nest and not be blamed.
It would take a miracle to stay his hand. Or a grievous error. Jhin was still trying to determine what category the Lukai murders fell under by the time of the funeral.
“I still do not see why we need to wear suits," he complained, though very carefully, as he fought with the tie. “Did Hwei set a dress code?”
Bàba clicked his tongue with disapproval before marching over. His fingers deftly tugged the offending scrap of fabric into place. “I doubt that boy’s been in much of a state to decide anything. Like I told you, this is the new style. Don’t you like style?”
“I suppose,” Jhin replied, smiling. He didn’t go on to say how style only mattered to him when he found a type of outfit to be practical. But his father bristled regardless.
“Why are you using that boy’s name anyway? Are you friends? You never mention him.” Bàba’s voice held a hint of suspicion now.
“Of course not. We’ve never even spoken. I simply thought using his surname might become confusing, considering the occasion.” He schooled his features into something resembling innocence. It was the truth, even if his father didn’t want to believe it. Lukai Hwei meant nothing to him.
From another person, that sort of statement would have been more personal and rooted in animosity. From Jhin, it was akin to commenting on the weather. Their school wasn’t nearly as large as the ones in Ionia City, but it had more than enough students for all of them to blend together. He only paid close attention to those in his own year or students in his clubs. Hwei existed on the periphery of his radar, around enough to be noticed but not nearly present enough to be notable.
Honestly, him nearly dying is probably the most interesting thing about him, Jhin mused while checking himself over one more time in the mirror. I wonder if it hurt. Did he see the others pass on and know he was next? Was that terror worse than the poison?
His father cleared his throat before he could decide on a satisfying answer. “Well, good,” Bàba said gruffly. “He’s a prodigy, you know. Plenty of eyes are tracking his trajectory. Knowing you…”
“Knowing me?” Jhin pressed, poking the bear a little harder. Just what are you implying, hm? They remained in a standoff, one perfectly calm and the other building up to a truly nasty display of irritation.
“Nothing. Let’s get moving,” the older man snapped at last, breaking eye contact first.
He knew he would pay for the insolence later, perhaps not that day but eventually. In the moment though, Jhin felt no fear. It was always a thrill to see how far he could push the man who dragged him into this world kicking and screaming. Everything came down to appearances. They couldn’t avoid coming to the funeral because they were the sort of family who always paid their respects to bereaved members of the community. Jhin couldn’t arrive visibly bruised because training had been publicly postponed for the event. And they couldn’t wear traditional clothes because, above all, Bàba wanted to appear like a good lapdog.
Well, he can be the king of brutes and assimilationists if he wants. The mental image of his father wearing a tarnished crown lifted his spirits as they drudged across uneven ground. He followed his flesh and blood as he made a beeline towards a lone figure sitting on the grass. To no one’s surprise, but especially not his own, Bàba also valued the appearance of being one of the first to comfort those in mourning.
Along the way, they passed by four coffins. They were all shut, the tops strewn with flower petals. He had to bite the inside of his cheek to maintain a neutral expression. What a pleasing image it made! It would have been nice to shake the orchestrator’s hand, but alas. Only the final victim remained.
“Hwei,” Bàba spoke, stealing Jhin’s tactic for his own as he approached the younger teen, “we’d like to offer our sincere condolences for your loss. If you need anything, we’d be happy to support you.”
For his part, Jhin stood back and observed. Unlike the two of them, Lukai Hwei wore white robes that nearly swallowed him whole. Although he had only ever seen him at the edge of his vision before, the sight of his loose, tangled hair was abnormal too. He watched his father try and fail to touch Hwei’s shoulder. The flinch was the sort a person made when they hadn’t been touched for a long time. It clicked in his mind then. Too large garments, ravaged keratin - the boy that should be maggot food had been left to his own devices. What a world, where half the city came to a funeral but not a single soul attempted to help a minor plan it.
He would have been satisfied with that feeling of amusement if only Hwei hadn’t raised his head. Their eyes locked for the first time. Jhin held his mask of sympathy in place, but it was a close thing. Though they were the palest red, Hwei’s eyes still stabbed into him, deeper than daggers. “Thank you for coming,” he said, not looking Bàba’s way at all.
Because he was nothing if not predictable, Jhin’s father barrelled on. “It’s a tragedy. I always thought Lian was a bit strange, too cold, but I never imagined he would do such a thing. He always said how much he valued you. It must feel like your world has ended.”
Hwei’s fingers began to play with the ends of his sleeves. Fresh tears slid down his cheeks. “It has ended. I had a life. I… I had one, and now it’s all over. The future I would have had is gone. Murdered, like them. I have to find a new one now,” he croaked out. And still, he stared, the red darkening by the second.
The sight of his sickly, wet skin should have repulsed him. But there was something in his bearing that Jhin’s mind decided to latch on to. He continued to tear away at it, through his father’s awkward apologies and the tedium of the service, until only the bone remained. Near the end, as they lowered the four men into the ground, he examined Hwei’s profile. The underclassman stood alone, his hands free of dirt. He looked into the nearest hole, a pit that should have represented a certain sort of finality, and he didn’t shed a tear.
Jhin fought back a grin. That was the final piece of the puzzle. He knew nothing about normalcy, but he understood liars. He knew the ways they’d wrap their falsehoods up in truth to make them easier to swallow since he did the same. Lukai Hwei wasn’t grieving. And if his intuition was correct, he might not be a victim either.
Perhaps he’d get to compliment the murderer after all.
From then on, he watched Hwei. It wasn’t a trial. Though they were a year apart, finding Hwei in the halls was never especially difficult. In the mornings, they always passed each other, even if Jhin arrived at an odd time. At lunch, Hwei never failed to wrangle a seat in his line of sight. Physical education was the sole course they shared. While Jhin couldn’t definitively say the underclassman owned one of the sets of eyes that trailed him during those long minutes in the sun, he felt the probability of it being true was high. Orchestra club? They had all gotten used to seeing a pale face peek in from the doorway. Theater club? It let out long after art club, but somehow, Jhin held vague recollections of a flash of teal out of the corner of his eye when he headed home on those days.
All together, each event formed a picture that pleased him. Clear interest was far simpler to work with than other possibilities. Besides, Jhin basked in attention. The way people treated him, like he was someone worth watching but not necessary to condemn, only proved to him that his strategy of presentation worked wonderfully.
The main problem was finding the time to actually speak to the other teen. He made the effort to nod to him when they crossed paths now, but Hwei always lowered his gaze. Once, Jhin waved at his perpetual observer before kicking off orchestral practice. Hwei had the gall to immediately duck out of sight. He didn’t return for a week. His behavior perplexed him. Was it that the other boy was unused to making friends? Strange. It seemed that pursuing the reclusive called for more drastic measures.
He set the trap during a rare free period. “Hello there, Hwei.” Jhin beamed, stepping directly into his path. “Would you mind speaking to me privately for a few minutes? I promise not to monopolize all of your time.”
Hwei’s perpetual shadow scoffed. “As if he’d want to go anywhere alone with y-”
“Syndra, please…” Hwei patted her arm. She puffed up further, but he didn’t stop with the placating gesture. “I can do this. I’ll be quick.”
She didn’t continue to fight after that. Jhin walked off, ignoring her glare and secure in the knowledge that Hwei was following behind him. They ended up in a secluded stairwell. To his relief, he didn’t have to bargain for the space with one of the resident couples. “This should be perfect,” he said aloud.
Strangely, Hwei shuddered. His face twisted into a frown. “What, uh, what… Hm. Is there something that you need from me, J… Jhin?” The younger teen forced his name out through clenched teeth.
Jhin looked down at him, considering his options. It would be simple, too simple, to simply ask to be friends. The thought alone bored him. To put Hwei in the same category as people like Sett or Yi was unthinkable. The one standing before him was stick-thin. His slender fingers played nervously with his uniform shirt collar, and yet, he had killed. A far more risky course of action presented itself, becoming more appealing the longer he stared him down. As he opened his mouth, he knew he would travel down this path and see where it led.
“I know your secret.”
Hwei blanched, his violet eyes even more dark than before. “You do?” he whispered.
Jhin nodded. “I do. It’s peculiar that you thought you could hide it from me. I’ve known since the funeral.”
Hwei's hand inched upward until his fingers grabbed hold of his hair. “Then…” He began playing with the ends of his ponytail. “What do you think about it? My secret, I mean. N-Not the funeral.”
“Oh, I accept it of course.” He grinned, and for once, allowed a hint of the sharpness to bleed through. They were kindred spirits. Jhin felt it in his bone marrow. It wouldn’t be long before he too made his mark on the world. Then they could be equals, each other’s alibi through thick and thin. He pushed away the vague concern of betrayal. He wouldn’t allow something with such a simple solution to spoil his mood in that moment.
“Really?” Hwei’s eyebrows rose. A spot of color arose on his cheeks, matching his newly red gaze.
Jhin indulgently touched his shoulder. “I know it might be hard to believe coming from me. But I do. This is not a dream. I-”
Abruptly, he froze. There were hands. Cold hands. Hands on his face. “What?”
It was the last word he said before their lips collided.
The kiss lasted only a few seconds. In that time, stars died and were born. Jhin witnessed it all, eyes open, more passenger than participant. “What?” he repeated himself articulately as Hwei drew back, no longer on tip-toes.
“I don’t know what came over me,” Hwei breathed out, his voice soft with wonder. “Um… We can discuss this later? If you want? Syndra’s going to come looking for me, and I don’t think that will be fun for anyone. But I’m so happy we’re on the same page. I really am, Jhin! I never thought… Well, we can talk about it another time. Bye now!”
Like that, the rabbit slipped free and ran away. Slowly, Jhin sank to the floor. He pressed two of his fingers to his lips. They were still tingling. The sensation matched the burning in his chest. He half-expected to expel smoke with every exhale.
How had he missed the truth of Hwei’s interest? He replayed every memory and found no clues. This was a wrinkle in his plans. This was a disruption of the life he had and a derailing of the train heading on the track to the life he wanted to build.
Jhin smiled, imagining the new possibilities. This was perfect.