Work Text:
The church's door is so heavy that, when it falls close, the air around him seems to vibrate - until the stone walls swallow the sound once more, and all Hwei can hear are his footsteps, as he walks through the mid row, until he sits down on one of the benches.
He isn’t even religious, has never seen a church from the inside, let alone an imposing cathedral such as this, at least until he moved to Piltover. Out of all the places on campus, this is his favourite. Nothing but stone around him, ages old, statues of gods he doesn’t believe in, yet seem sacred in this very moment.
His professor said that the painting he made wasn’t suitable for the exhibit of his class, “it could make other people uncomfortable, please, prepare something else”.
And then; "It's simply too obscene for a public display, anyone could walk in and see it, guests might get triggered."
Three days until the new deadline, three days to order his emotions and present an artwork he can get behind, without accidentally upsetting anyone else.
Why is he even taking this class, he wants to become a teacher, is never going to be an artist anyway. Only someone stopping kids from eating watercolours or throwing crayons at each other.
And even if, everyone says they value art, until it’s questioning their understanding of the world. Here too, in one of the most prestigious universities of runeterra, the students and professors are painfully mediocre - impressive in technique, but what spark, what vision are they trying to communicate?
Art isn’t just supposed to look pretty, for fucks sake!
Hwei leans back, above him someone painted one of their gods to the ceiling. Blood is spilling from his hands and his feet. The man, naked except for a thin cloth covering his genitals, is nailed to the cross, with a wreath of thorns cutting into his forehead. Its beautiful, his pain is holy and depictions of his suffering foundational during many art epochs in this area of runeterra.
Yet when it’s Hwei’s suffering he is painting, they are flinching away. It’s different when it’s forcing you to ask uncomfortable questions, is it?
It’s different when it gives a name to secrets unspoken, saying what is, can be a revolutionary act. Speaking truth to power proved deadly over and over again. But the comfort, oh, the co-
The door opens with a bang, the intruder doesn’t give the church the chance to settle, marches past the benches at a fast pace, before stepping into Hwei’s niche.
“Of all the places, the cathedral?”
Jhin’s lips twist upwards, Hwei pulls his legs closer towards his body and shifts until his classmate can plop down next to him.
“Really, quite impressive work, I gotta say.”
He whistles and nods, a self important prick. Disturbing his silence and being haughty about it, how Hwei hates those kinds of fucks. Arrogant, entitled, looking down at those of them that can’t solely study art and actually need a secure job option later in life. Those that can not or are unwilling to bet everything on having the luck to actually make a living doing what they love.
“I’m here because I looked for silence and solitude.”
Hwei mumbles dryly, but of course, it only makes the bastard snort.
“You’ll find solace when you’re dead, there is creation waiting to happen.”
What bullshit;
“Taking death of the artist a little too seriously, are you?”
He throws back at this fucker. Because a rt doesn’t have to end in tragedy, Hwei is doing his best to keep his mind from spiralling into despair, from getting wasted or throwing himself off the cathedrals tower to create the beautiful artwork of his own shattered body.
But Jhin doesn’t seem to get it, only shrugs, then smiles sheepishly:
“What are you going to hand in on Friday, then?”
Hwei has thought about it, of course he did, for the last hour it’s been the only thing on his mind, aside from the raging, burning anger.
“Why do you care, wanna spit on a naive, too sincere education student?”
To his surprise, Jhin’s eyes widen, and for a moment it seems as though he is actually lost for words - before proving Hwei wrong, by replying, almost gently:
“You’re not naive, you’re dreaming of what this institution should be, if anything, you’re a visionary.”
Hwei shakes his head and stares at the ceiling again, watches the red drops clinging to the gods fingertips, running down his forehead, into his eyes.
By his side, Jhin sighs quietly, before admitting:
“I meant it, your painting awoke something inside of me… akin to hope, perhaps?”
Pretentious bastard.
“Hope for what?”
The god’s pain is looming over them all, what religion would centre suffering in this way? What does it turn the believers into?
“This school isn’t meant to teach us art, only give us skills and tools, that we then utilise for our own craft. And… I never tried to express myself knowing that, but you had the courage to try, it’s that, which I admire.”
How… bizarre.
Jhin is looking shy, with a light blush dusting his cheeks, almost as though he is embarrassed by the admission.
“Then you’re smarter than me, I guess.”
Hwei forces out, but it doesn’t make Jhin smile, instead, he only lowers his head.
“Academic and artistic liberties are only worth so much here, when the university requires the approval of wealthy donors. But I’m left thinking, art should terrify, art should make people uncomfortable… If you go to an exhibit and leave without your stomach turning and throat closing, then you either didn’t look, or there was nothing to see.”
Jhin pulls his lip between his teeth, worrying it before letting it spring free, spit slick and swollen. Not as if he would care, isn’t he straight? With how pretentious he is, maybe not, if gay men are one thing, Hwei thought, it’s pretentious. Just how trans men are into the freakiest shit, and trans women have a weird relationship to humanity. Not like it mattered, he too has written poems about the dark well staring back at him, and now he is just trying to survive while minimising the agony of his own existence.
Jhin, apparently viewing his silence as an obstacle to overcome, clears his throat.
“I apologise. May I inquire about your painting?”
It’s not as if anyone else would ever see it, or care enough to try and understand, so Hwei shrugs.
“Sure?”
A chuckle, Jhin probably views him as a fucking leaf in the wind, but after spending the last nights painting, Hwei is nothing if not exhausted.
But Jhin swallows down whatever insult he could throw at him, instead asks:
“It’s not about genital mutilation, is it? You created a self portrait.”