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It is not late in the evening, not at all, but the skies are dark outside, and Kung Lao feels unspeakably tired as he closes the door behind him to his private bedchambers in the temple. He puts his hat down with a sigh. It has been a rough day, but it is only the start; the coming days will be even tougher, he knows. And then, once the tournament starts –
They are not exactly looking forwards to days off any time soon.
A small breeze tickles his hair, and he glances towards the windows, at the far end of the room. They are open, as they most often are, letting in a draft which is comforting and pleasant even as the fall cold creeps up on them in the night.
It’s okay – Kung Lao will stay warm as long as Liu Kang is with him.
Liu Kang. His faithful partner, his heart, the only one he trusts unconditionally with the tournament looming at the horizon.
Kung Lao wouldn’t say he’s anxious about the tournament – he is as ready as he could ever hope to be, after a lifetime of preparation towards the upcoming fight. Still, his heart would rest a lot easier for himself and Liu Kang if Earthrealm’s other fighters weren’t so severely lacking.
He looks down at his helmet, the razor-sharp edge glinting dangerously in the warm candlelight flickering through the room. It’s a mighty weapon in its own right, but made moreso with Kung Lao’s arcana.
The greatest weapon the Gods can give them – and yet, so inaccessible to their newfound champions.
But their flaws are not just about their missing arcana, although that it is a major concern – they are not the formidable warriors Kung Lao had prayed for, hoped for, when they set out to search. The man Liu Kang had found, half-dead from blood loss and arms brutally torn from his body, was near useless to them in his current state. His arms were serviceable in everyday life, but even the youngest initiate at the Wu Shi Academy could deflect his punches.
The others are hardly better although all limbs remain intact.
Sonya Blade is not even a marked champion. A shame, Kung Lao thinks, because she appears competent both in mind and as a fighter. And unlike the others, she seemed to take the matter of Mortal Kombat seriously, pressing them for questions and seeking to fill holes in her own research. Kung Lao likes her, but she will not be his equal in the tournament. Surely that is a detriment to Earthrealm’s chances – but the Gods did not mark her, so she will remain behind.
Although, Kung Lao has seen by now that the Gods do not always pick the right champions. For one, they did not bless Liu Kang with a mark, and yet he has never seen anyone as deserving of it.
Instead, they gave it to Cole Young.
Kung Lao isn’t sure about this one; maybe Cole Young would have been a worthy possessor of the mark ten, fifteen years ago. In his prime, when he had the strength, and motivation. When he had the will to fight. Not so much anymore. He’s clever and pragmatic, but age has made him sluggish even as he sees the patterns in his opponents movements. From what Kung Lao can tell, he’s missing any form of disciplined training, and while it makes him flexible, it also makes him slow. If only he could make up for it all with dedication, maybe Kung Lao could forgive him.
But there is no drive in Cole Young. No fire, no will. No faith.
He’s too… Defensive. Content to hold on for as long as possible but nothing more.
That sort of attitude will not hold up in Mortal Kombat.
His biggest concern will still be Kano.
Kung Lao has conflicting emotions about the discovery from supper. On one hand, it should be a cause for celebration to see his method working and finally having unlocked the arcana within one of their guests; on the other, he hates that it had to be this particular guest.
Kano is a terrible excuse of a human, and helping him obtain this dangerous power seems bittersweet at best. It will be a great weapon in the tournament, but Kano is a loose cannon, and the more Kung Lao thinks about it, the more worried he gets.
They can only hope that Kano sees the value in saving his world, regardless of other less charitable impulses.
Kung Lao deliberately chooses not to think about what may happen after the tournament.
Perhaps it is hypocritical of Kung Lao to say he sees no honour in someone who stole his mark, since he has nothing but pride in Liu Kang for doing the same. When he knows that Liu Kang, despite not being chosen by the Gods, is a fighter as good as himself on any day.
Still, he refuses to think too hard about it – any fool would see the difference between Liu Kang and Kano.
Kung Lao’s eyes soften as they turn from his hat to the opposite side of the room again.
Liu Kang sits on the windowsill, as he often does, keeping watch of the temple grounds below. He has always preferred perching on heights, for as long as Kung Lao could remember – tall trees, ledges, rooftops, cliffs. When they were younger, and Liu Kang still much smaller, hollower, Kung Lao used to affectionately call him a little bird and ask him if he would fly if he were to fall.
One day, Liu Kang had responded with a sad little no, and Kung Lao had never asked again.
It had been a while since he stopped worrying though, and now the sight of his shī dì meditating by the window seems oddly comforting to him. Familiar, a little bit like the feeling of home. He would sit there every night, easing his mind and relaxing his body before joining Kung Lao in sleep.
Today, Liu Kang is troubled, and Kung Lao fears he will sit all night lest he can ease his worries.
A lifetime of practice has made Liu Kang good at tempering his emotions – so much so that any outsider would believe his mask of serenity to be truthful, that he truly is as controlled and patient as his behaviour suggests.
But Kung Lao knows better. Kung Lao can read the tiniest shift in Liu Kang’s mood as if he were screaming at him, and now he sees the storm raging in his shī dì’s heart despite the stillness of his posture.
His shoulders are stiff, and Liu Kang has shifted the beads from his wrist to his knuckles, running his thumb over them idly. Kung Lao cannot see his eyes from this position, but he is sure they stare vacantly into the air below.
That will not do.
“Will you share your troubles with me, shī dì?” He calls out as he leisurely crosses the room to lean against the wall in an exaggerated display of ease. Liu Kang can read him as easily as the other way around, but Kung Lao hopes he will refrain from pointing it out. That he will play along instead, indulging Kung Lao as he usually does.
Liu Kang does not disappoint. At Kung Lao’s imploration, he sighs heavily and shakes his head ever so slightly. “My troubles are insignificant tonight.”
“Don’t lie to me,” Kung Lao retorts immediately, frowning a little as he stares at Liu Kang’s carefully neutral profile. “You have not succeeded since we were children.”
“You think so?” Liu Kang says, the ghost of a smile flickering across his expression. “I have bad news for you, shī xiōng.”
“Don’t think yourself so clever, I’ve turned many a blind eye to your willfulness over the years.”
“And thus we could argue all night.”
“If you keep deflecting, we surely will,” Kung Lao points out with a raises brow as Liu Kang’s lips falls from his little smile to instead press together thinly. “What are you thinking about?”
Liu Kang runs his thumb across his beads slowly, carefully measured. Carefully measuring his words.
“It really is nothing, shī xiōng,” he settles with eventually, but that isn’t enough.
Kung Lao sighs in lieu of expressing his frustrations in more antagonizing ways.
“Then let me share my worry with you and see if we agree,” he frowns. “The days before the tournament are dwindling quickly. And our companions are not ready.”
Liu Kang stiffens ever so slightly, his amusement disappearing in a blink of an eye.
“They will be,” he says, voice quiet but firm. “They will have to be.”
He says it as a certainty, but it feels too much like he is clinging to a diminishing hope – a prayer, rolled around his fingers in one-hundred and eight worn beads.
“How?” Kung Lao asks, and Liu Kang briefly glances over at him before turning back to the view, a tiny flame building around his upturned, flat palm. “I wish you would share some of your optimism with me, shī dì, because my faith in these people is despairingly low.”
“My faith is not in them,” Liu Kang all but snorts – had he been a pettier man, Kung Lao is sure he would have.
“Then where does it come from?”
“From you,” Liu Kang says simply, as if it’s an obvious conclusion. “You will lead us to victory, shī xiōng.”
It is an honest answer, full of conviction and admiration, and Kung Lao’s heart swells a little at the words. Were they said by anyone else, he would feel the familiar, uneasy weight of a burden on his shoulder, the expectation to be strong and defeat a champion no one has bested for nine generations.
Coming from Liu Kang, Kung Lao knows them for the declaration of love they are. Liu Kang does not believe in his bloodline – he believes in Kung Lao’s strength, perseverance, and his will. He, more so than anyone else, knows what Kung Lao is capable of, and where his power comes from. His faith is born from watching Kung Lao grow and hone his skills through a shared life, and Kung Lao knows there is no better validation than Liu Kang’s admiration.
Still.
He knows they ought not to take this task lightly.
“Your confidence inspires me, shī dì,” he says warmly, leaning down to place a small, gentle kiss at the top of Liu Kang’s head. His hair smells a familiar blend of smoke, musky sweat and fresh herbs – of home, in more ways than one.
When he pulls away, Liu Kang smiles up at him, in his gentle, subdued way.
“They may not look like much, but you will show them the way,” he says, and it sounds like a promise.
“You and me together, shī dì,” Kung Lao points out, because it is true. Liu Kang may have faith in him, but Kung Lao knows he could not do this alone. “Though, I must admit I am unsure if even our combined efforts will be enough to get these meandering apes in shape for the tournament.”
Liu Kang huffs.
“Such a pessimist,” he murmurs. “They will be ready.”
Kung Lao raises an eyebrow. “Even Kano?”
And at that, Liu Kang looks pained, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. It’s almost humorous.
“Even Kano,” he says, patient and benevolent. As if saying it could make it so; Kano will be the tipping point, Kung Lao knows. The most unlikely champion – if they can make a protector out of him, the others will be easier.
But Kung Lao is not convinced.
“He is a brute,” he says. “Lacking discipline, honour and morals. I don’t like him.”
“He may be useful still,” Liu Kang points out, but Kung Lao can tell from his tone he hardly believes his own assurances.
“He may be,” he half-agrees, reluctantly. “Though his spirit is weak, there is much power in his arcana. But I struggle to trust him. He seems to care little of anything beyond his own ambition.”
Liu Kang stays quiet. He doesn’t voice his agreement out loud, but Kung Lao knows him too well for it to be necessary.
The Academy had taught Liu Kang to be hopeful; his life before it had taught him not to trust.
There is conflict in Liu Kang now, Kung Lao thinks, because as much as he wishes to trust their guests, his heart refuses to believe their conviction and loyalty. He knows they need them, but fears they won’t be enough.
Kung Lao understands; he feels the same doubts.
And suddenly, though he wants nothing but to vent and growl about Kano, he feels the need to downplay the risk. Or at least – to rekindle something he fears is drowning in Liu Kang as the days dwindle. He would never coddle his shī dì, it is something he neither needs nor deserves, but Kung Lao has no desire to chase him further into dark fears either. It is futile to ignore the rapidly approaching tournament and their lack of preparation, but still – Liu Kang is not the one who deserves to shoulder the burden of their increasingly slimmer odds, but he will, if Kung Lao lets him stew in his misery long enough.
Tonight, Kung Lao wants to give him some reprieve.
“Kano is a bit crude,” he hums, forcing a lightness into his voice which does not match the gravity in his chest. “But some of his observations are entertaining, if nothing else.”
“Entertaining,” Liu Kang echoes, only somewhat doubtfully.
Kung Lao takes the bait and runs with it.
“He certainly brings some interesting perspectives,” He puts a finger to his chin, pretending to ponder it seriously. “Some of which I have not yet considered, but do not necessarily disagree with.”
“You found anything agreeable in what that man said?” Liu Kang sounds incredulous, frowning out at the desert as if the sand makes more sense than Kung Lao.
Kung Lao doesn’t blame him. He feels like he’s losing his mind merely from entertaining such a thought.
“For the most part, he lacks sensibility,” he shrugs. “But he did compare you to a royal today, and while I know you come from no silken pillows, I found his comment both amusing and strangely fitting.”
Liu Kang squints his eyes slightly in confusion, obviously trying to recall such a statement. Quite justifiably, Kung Lao thinks, because Kano has a lot of words, and few of them are worth commemorating.
Then Liu Kang makes a doubtful noise.
“You refer to when he called me... Princess?”
“Don’t you agree it’s fitting?”
Liu Kang doesn’t even look at him. “Fitting? I don’t know why he would say such a thing. He has many peculiar names for me, as well as you, and I don’t understand any of them. Best not to dwell.”
Kung Lao allows himself to grin.
“I know you are not one for vanity, dear shī dì,” he says. “So I will forgive you this oversight.”
Liu Kang does look up at him now, frowning in confusion. It almost makes him look like the small child he used to be, tailing Kung Lao around the Academy like a little shadow. His little bird.
“It may have escaped your notice,” Kung Lao continues as he throws a leg over the ledge, perching himself next to Liu Kang almost conspiratorially. “That you are, in any manner of speaking – “
He moves slowly, purposefully, to tuck a stray piece of messy hair behind Liu Kang’s ears. His calloused fingers are too rough to appreciate the softness of Liu Kang’s cheek, but he still feels the heat on his skin, the tiniest shudder running through his shī dì’s body at the contact. Liu Kang closes his eyes and leans into his touch ever-so slightly, almost on instinct.
Kung Lao’s grin settles into a fond smile.
“ – beautiful.”
Liu Kang’s eyes open again, searching Kung Lao’s expression for traces of a joke. He won’t find any – Kung Lao’s face is full of mirth and affection, but no mischief. There is no lie between them today.
Liu Kang is beautiful, in a way that only nature itself can craft. Like an untouched, ancient forest - unkempt, natural, unique. Too wild and powerful for any human to imagine. He carries soot on his face and tangles in his hair, but none of it obscures the softness of his features, the gentle curves on his face and his wonderful, beautiful sparkling eyes. Kung Lao has watched him grow from a gaunt little boy to a gangly teenager and finally a lovely man – and he never grew tired of watching him, either as a fragile bird or strong warrior. Adverse as he was to acknowledge it himself, Liu Kang had an enticing and magnetic charm about him, one that pulled people in like moths to a flame.
Kung Lao isn’t surprised to see that even their gruff and unfriendly mercenary guest had been drawn to the fire.
How could he not?
Attraction or not, Liu Kang is simply a pleasure to look at, art in its rawest, human form.
How lucky Kung Lao wis to have him, every day, at the end of the night.
“Shī xiōng…” Liu Kang sighs, sounding almost exasperated with him.
Kung Lao won’t have any of that. No Liu Kang belittling himself tonight, he decides.
“Even a brute has eyes that see,” Kung Lao says quietly. “I think it may be our only agreement.”
Liu Kang exhales slowly, eyes big and hesitant as he looks at Kung Lao.
“I don’t think that’s what he had in mind, shī xiōng,” he murmurs and looks down bashfully, almost uncertain. Kung Lao can’t help but smile.
His beautiful, kind, humble Liu Kang. Sometimes Kung Lao thinks Liu Kang would be perfectly content to be forgotten by the world; to fight for Earthrealm in the shadows, to give his life protecting a universe where no one knew to miss him. It’s a thought Kung Lao hates – the world already owes Liu Kang too much, and letting him give his life for it with no recognition of his sacrifice would be the greatest insult to his memory.
Not that it matters. Kung Lao will make sure it never comes to that – he can imagine a world without Liu Kang, but not he cannot imagine a life for himself without his shī dì by his side.
“I would dread feeding your ego,” he says fondly, moving his hand to stroke Liu Kang’s brow gently. “If I thought it there in the first place. I wish you’d see yourself through my eyes, just for a day, a-Kang.”
“Rose-tinted and biased?” Liu Kang gives him a small smile, not self-deprecating, just amused. It’s better than what he would have received ten years ago, Kung Lao thinks. “Don’t fear for my confidence. I know my own might, shī xiōng, and it’s not tempered by false modesty.”
“No, you’re far too rational for that,” Kung Lao agrees with a chuckle. “Still, I do not think you spend enough time around a mirror to appreciate what I – and evidently, our crude guest – can see.”
“If you say so.” Liu Kang cocks his head, playfully raking his eyes over Kung Lao’s face. “I would return the sentiment, but… You do have somewhat of an opinion of yourself.”
Oh, how Kung Lao loves him.
Gentle and earnest, but with a hidden spark he would only let out for the few, the lucky, who had proven themselves worthy his trust. Hard-won as it was, Kung Lao could think of no grander prize. Liu Kang was enticing, magnetic, and with a heart was warm as his Dragonblessed fire.
Kung Lao grins at the beautiful, cheeky mirth in Liu Kang’s eyes.
“No respect for your elders,” he laments with a click of his tongue. It’s a song and dance they have played many times before; and as always, Liu Kang only responds with an innocent, beautiful little smile.
It’s intoxicating in its familiarity.
“Maybe you should be on your knees before me, then?” Kung Lao parrots Liu Kang’s words from that dinner back to him. Before Liu Kang has the chance to retort, Kung Lao swings his legs back over the ledge and onto the floor. In the same motion, his arms find purchase around Liu Kang’s middle, lifting him from the window and backwards into the room. “Come on, princess!”
“Shī xiōng!” Liu Kang hisses with that particular scandalized tone he has, but he is laughing immediately afterwards, and Kung Lao’s grin widens.
For all his pretty eyes and softly curled hair, Liu Kang is no delicate flower – a full-grown man, and it takes Kung Lao some effort to manhandle him across the room with his less-than ideal grip around his waist. Still, Liu Kang doesn’t offer much of a fight, and though Kung Lao is no longer eager to measure muscle with his shī dì, he still has more than enough power to wrestle him around.
He adds a couple of spins just to be a menace, Liu Kang’s protests silent against his own mischievous chuckles, before unceremoniously dumping his victim on the bed.
Liu Kang sighs a tad too dramatically for it to be natural from him as he leans up on his elbows. “You are incorrigible, shī xiōng.”
“This princess has no respect for the Chosen One who will save his realm,” Kung Lao tuts and crosses his arms for show. Liu Kang chuckles and lets himself fall back on the bed.
“Will I ever hear the end of that?”
Kung Lao wriggles his eyebrows smugly. “You will not.”
And as Liu Kang sighs again and shakes his head in mild exasperation, Kung Lao can’t help the affectionate little smile tugging at his lips. Seeing Liu Kang like this, content and relaxed – it was exactly what Kung Lao had hoped to achieve when he witnessed his partner’s morose mood. Tomorrow would be challenging, as would the week, the next months – counting down towards Mortal Kombat.
But if they were crossing days until their lives would change forever, Kung Lao would not dwell on it tonight.
Tonight, he would enjoy what he had – what he would fight for.
To remind himself, as much as to ease Liu Kang’s worries.
With that thought in mind, he starts to crawl over their modest bed, keeping a smug eye on Liu Kang the entire time. Liu Kang, for his part, indulges him, as he always does, with his fond little smile.
Kung Lao loves him so much.
“Now, princess,” he murmurs slyly as he positions himself on his knees above Liu Kang, their faces only inches apart. Liu Kang looks even more beautiful like this, up close, illuminated by the warm fires on the wall and hair spread out beautifully on the bed below. “How would you prefer your evening to go? A quick goodnight, or some more entertainment for your highness?”
Liu Kang’s smile widens, but it is still oh-so soft, as he reaches up with his hand to cup Kung Lao’s cheek. His thumb strokes gently over the cheekbone, touch gentle and soothing, and Kung Lao wants to melt on the spot. Liu Kang must see as much, because he makes a small humming noise as his eyes crinkle a little with affection, before leaning up to give Kung Lao a small, chaste kiss on the lips. It’s innocent enough, but just like the first hundred times, it sends a spark down Kung Lao’s spine.
Liu Kang pulls away after a moment, rubbing his nose briefly against Kung Lao’s as he lets himself lean back against the bed again.
“If you offer, dear Chosen One,” he whispers quietly, reverently. “Then I would not object to your entertainment tonight.”
Kung Lao smirks, and sits back on the bed to remove his tunic.
“As you wish, princess.”
And he knows, that at least tonight, they are fine.
And for tonight, that will have to be enough.