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Liu Kang watches him with something unnatural in his chest, something he thought he’d expel after all this time.
He no longer gains warmth from the tea in his mug, despite still holding it to his lips. His hands wrap around it mainly for an anchor. He pays no mind to what is being discussed around him. The chatter is incessant, and he feels distinctly sorry for his Raiden for having to put up with the two of them.
Him and Kung Lao, Kung Lao and him. He’s not speaking much tonight, but he’s smiling and laughing and nodding along to Johnny's anecdotes that last longer than any war he’s lived through. There’s something he wants to say to him. There’s always something he wants to say to him.
On the precipice of reality, he promised himself he would be kind to all those he loved, and all those he couldn’t. He knows that there are some he cannot save from their fates, but nobody can say he didn’t try. Some people are just made with defiance in their blood, no matter how much Liu Kang tries to sway them otherwise.
Then, there’s him. His best friend, his other, his one true ally. It pains him, thinking too closely about it. About them. But he’s all he thinks about, really. This new version of him, strange and unfamiliar, a new dynamic that even he cannot truly understand. He wants to sit with him, let their easy conversation take over, forget his new life with a wave of laughter.
He lowers his mug. Johnny is announcing his leave, and goading Kenshi to follow him. Both of them start to squabble about it, but Kenshi is tiptoeing his lead exactly. Raiden asks if they know which way they're headed, and as they say ‘no’ in unison, Liu Kang lowers his drink. He should probably lead them.
Raiden herds them out of the restaurant, and Kung Lao leans back with a sigh. He nods to Liu Kang before he begins to rise to his feet, and Liu Kang automatically reaches out to try and stop him. He doesn’t know why. Maybe it’s because he simply needs to talk to him. Maybe because he has been so quiet tonight.
“How are you finding it?” Liu Kang asks. Kung Lao pauses to consider. Liu Kang tries to finish his thought. “Life now, after it all.”
“Peaceful,” Kung Lao says, lowering back to the seat. He twists his hat on his head slightly, the soft one that doesn’t have the blood of an army in its name. Then he bites his lip, a habit that he once scorned him of when they trained together. It makes Liu Kang’s heart ache.
“Something you wish to disclose, Kung Lao?”
“Something I know I shouldn't.”
“I will not judge you.”
“No, but I will end up regretting it.”
They remain in silence. Liu Kang often wondered what would become of his Kung Lao, the man who stayed by him no matter what. He always hoped he’d find his way, but the opportunity had rarely presented itself. The Kung Lao he knew was fine with this, or maybe not. Either way, he never let it get the best of either of them.
He wonders if the world could have been kinder to him, his friend. The man wasn’t cruel, unjust, or malevolent. He was good. Too good. Good to Liu Kang, to Raiden, to Earthrealm and its people. That’s what he cared about, at the end of the day. If he could defend, even in the backline, he would be happy.
He was happy.
Wasn’t he?
Liu Kang looks as Kung Lao stares at a stain on the table probably left by one of the others, intent on not paying him any more attention than he deems necessary. He remembers this tactic of his, the way scrutiny would hit his cheeks in a flush of colour and heat. He doesn’t want Liu Kang to see, but of course, he knows all about his old friend.
He had to have been happy.
“You did well, protecting our realm,” he tries. Kung Lao nods. There’s something he wants to say, too. He remembers how he used to struggle to find the right coin of phrase in situations like this.
“I thought I would do more,” is all he says in return. Liu Kang could throttle him. No, not him. Himself. What could he have done to possibly have instilled yet another sense of higher duties in this man? All he’s ever wanted was to prove himself, and Liu Kang gave him that chance, right?
Wrong.
He never was happy, really, was he?
“You would have made a good Champion,” he says, perhaps by mistake, because Kung Lao stands up so quickly his mug shakes with the impact. He blinks up at the man.
“Then why didn’t you make me one?” He asks. He expects something else, some sort of hellfire to erupt from the ground and swallow him whole. Even if he had that power, Kung Lao would not do that to him. He knows that. He is still wary of him as he narrows his eyes and curls his lips.
“I cannot answer you that,” Liu Kang says. He hears Raiden’s voice behind his own, and he remembers this conversation. He hates it. He remembers guilt, heartache, the need to help fix something he couldn’t. “I wish I could.”
“All I wanted was to be something,” Kung Lao says, sitting back down after a moment. Liu Kang waits to see if there’s anymore, and there isn’t, so he opens his mouth to try and explain.
He has nothing to say.
It’s not like he didn’t try. He had tried so hard to get it right. He had his list of priorities: Raiden lives a good life, Kitana has a family, Mileena has a family too, Hanzo gets to rest, Bi-Han and Kuai Liang work together, and… well, what was his plan for Kung Lao? To farm rice? No, there had to be something.
There had to be. Kung Lao is looking at him now, striking in the way he does so. He shares a face, a voice, but not the eyes. No, these eyes are full of something much more bright than his Kung Lao’s, and he is adverse to letting that diminish. He wants to smile at the thought, but there’s a frown on his friend’s lips, and he realises he probably shouldn’t.
Champion. He never wanted that for him. The man has a big enough ego as it is, and wouldn’t that just destroy him? Perhaps. Raiden said something similar once, and Kung Lao took it as gracefully as he could with puffed, red cheeks and shuffling feet. He’s a good fighter, he could have easily won. He swallows thickly.
“When I made you,” he says, “I did it with love. I did not want to let you down.”
“You haven’t,” Kung Lao says, so genuinely it makes Liu Kang ache from his temples to his stomach. There’s always been that in the man, a sincerity that is sickening. Juxtaposed to his arrogance, it makes for a man who Liu Kang admires every single day.
“Much like my own master, I will inevitably indirectly hurt you,” Liu Kang says, tapping his fingers against the table. “I did not mean to outcast you from greatness. I am sorry.”
“Don’t apologise. What could you have done with me, really?”
“Do not say that, either,” Liu Kang says, soaring with emotions ranging from pity to anger to self loathing. What an awful thing for someone so great to say, does he not know that?
No.
Kung Lao has never been told that.
This timeline, or the multitude before.
He looks desperately at the man, and the conversation almost feels over, but he can’t leave it like that. He burns for something more, something different than what Raiden would have told him. He tries to understand Kung Lao, and the indifference turned to spite over always standing by his left side. He tries to remember Kung Lao, and that hurts far too much.
Kung Lao was, is, a man who works far too hard for far too little outcome. He knows that. He wishes he could give him something now, to work towards, to receive and be known, but that defeats the whole point of it, really, doesn’t it? For the sake of the man’s already looming self-importance, Liu Kang doesn’t want him to be showered in flowers. But he, perhaps stupidly, thought that the love and recognition was always already there.
“I hold you to such a high esteem, that I forgot that the world does not see you that way,” he says, a burn on his tongue as the words are formed. Kung Lao blinks at him. There’s something he needs to say to him, something more substantial, something that makes the world make sense for both of them.
“Did I leave that much of an impression in your timeline?”
“We were close, Kung Lao. Exceedingly so. I loved you dearly.”
Kung Lao only hums, and Liu Kang wants to say more, but how can he? They sit there, and had Liu Kang any wits about him, he would clear the air. Say something about how much he appreciated his time with him, how much he wants to get to know Kung Lao now, how he will try to help him achieve what he deserves to achieve.
Nothing comes. At first, he’s scared. At first, it means Kung Lao has turned to scorn him, to spit on him for loving him so much before, only to have him till rice in this new life. Then, he sees the soft smile gracing his lips, and Liu Kang, for a second, sees the man he trained with so vigorously, so closely, that it made him want to just give the man a break.
“And I didn’t even have to be Champion?”
“You didn’t need to be, not for me,” Liu Kang says, then realises what he wants to say to Kung Lao in a flurry of things he wishes he could have said a lifetime ago. “It was a title even I came to resent having. Nothing but trouble. You, however, faced that trouble without a bad word, or at least a bad word that was supposed to be taken seriously. You, my friend, are a man who does not need any title to be great.”
Kung Lao sits there in silence, almost stunned, as he lets the words sink into his skin. Liu Kang finishes his tea, as ice cold as it is. Neither of them say anything more. There’s merit in the idea of saying something else, but neither of them seem to fancy fighting for that right now.
It’s peaceful, and Kung Lao is happy.