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Kung Lao counts his steps down the Academy’s long, drafty hall, silently cursing the freezing wood beneath his bare feet and struggling to balance a too-full bowl of steaming tea in his small hands. The high walls do little to keep out the cold of a winter night, and his breath comes in puffs of vapor that dissipate as he steps through them like clouds of smoke. He makes a game with himself of keeping his footsteps as silent as possible- he fears no lasting punishment if he is caught, but if he has to withstand a long-winded lecture, the tea will go cold, and that is no good at all.
He can hear Liu Kang’s coughing before he even steps back into the dormitory, though the other children are asleep, or at least pretending to be despite the noise. He looks almost as pitiful as he sounds, curled beneath a too-thin blanket with his lank hair obscuring half his face, but it is still an incalculable improvement over the state he had been in when he had arrived. He had been a wisp of a child, cheeks sunken and skin burning with fever, and Kung Lao distinctly remembers the panicked nights praying that the boy only just put under his care would not die- and thinking that it would be somehow his fault if he did.
But he had not, and two years of food and safety have put enough weight and health on him to lift that fear, even if he is still prone to illness, especially in the colder months. As miserable as he may be now, this will not kill him.
Liu Kang sits up at the sound of footsteps, pushing the hair from his face, and frowns with confusion at the tea. “Where did this come from?”
“I woke a healer,” Kung Lao admits, setting the bowl on the floor beside them when his hands can no longer take the heat. Liu Kang’s frown deepens, but he barely manages to look reproachful in this state, let alone angry.
“Shī xiōng, you shouldn’t have bothered them. I am fine.” His point is undercut slightly by another fit of coughing that he tries to muffle behind his sleeve.
Kung Lao rolls his eyes. “That does not sound fine.” He has insisted to Liu Kang as often as possible since his arrival that he is not inconveniencing anyone by needing the barest necessities, but the lesson has yet to fully stick. “Come on, shī dì. It will help you sleep.”
There is a brief moment of war within Liu Kang’s eyes, between insisting that he doesn’t need help and not wanting to refuse something Kung Lao has asked of him, but the latter seems to win out. With a sigh of defeat, he picks up the bowl, blowing gently on it. The smell of the herbs is strong and medicinal, but not unpleasant, and Kung Lao pats his shoulder encouragingly as he finally gives in and takes a tentative sip.
They lapse into silence for a while- true silence, as the warm concoction soothes Liu Kang’s cough. Kung Lao pulls his knees into his chest, trying not to visibly shiver. He is the elder of the two of them, and supposed to be the stronger one, but the dead of winter in this place is wretched at the best of times. He sighs, gently nudges Liu Kang's shoulder with his. "Scoot over. It's too cold to sleep alone."
Liu Kang hesitates, shakes his head, and Kung Lao frowns- he is still shy at times around others, but they curl under the covers together to stave off the biting cold all the time. Kung Lao has never admitted it aloud, but despite the way the frigid air makes his nose and ears burn, despite Liu Kang’s sharp elbows inevitably ending up in his ribs, those are his favorite nights- legs tangled, breathing in unison, the warmth of another human pulled close to his own when who knows how long it will be until he sees his family again. The other boy has never pushed him away like this- he cannot truly be upset that Kung Lao imposed upon the healers, can he?
But when Liu Kang hesitates, then finally speaks, it isn’t that at all. “...I'll make you sick,” he mumbles, sounding miserable at having to refuse. Kung Lao just rolls his eyes again.
“No, you won't.” He offers a playful little grin in the candlelight. “Besides, if you do, Master Li Bing will have to give me a break for a few days.”
Liu Kang raises a brow back, unable to keep the smile from his face entirely. “I suppose, though he might also give you one if you ever completed one of his lessons without looking for some kind of shortcut to finish your work faster.” Kung Lao kicks his foot beneath the blankets and he chuckles, shifting over to make room. There is a tinge of envy in his voice when he adds, “But you're probably right. You are never sick.”
Kung Lao laughs softly at that as he settles in beside his friend, leaning back against the cold wall. “That is not true.” As Liu Kang sets down the empty bowl, he pulls the blanket up to their chests. He can feel Liu Kang's shivering despite the fever-warmth of his skin and the hot tea, and loops an arm around his back. "A year or so before I came to the Academy, I broke out in red spots absolutely everywhere. Here-" he pokes the spot on Liu Kang's ribs that he knows will make him giggle, "-and here, and here, and here- " he attacks the other boy's sides and stomach and arms until Liu Kang is laughing, too loud for the quiet air, dissolving into another fit of coughing at the end.
A boy in the opposite corner of the room lets out a groan of irritation and they can just make it out through the darkness when he wraps the thin pillow around his ears. A glance back to each other has them both dissolving into giggles again, stifled fruitlessly into each other's shoulders.
"They itched so badly I wanted to tear my skin off," Kung Lao picks the story back up in a whisper, shuddering at the memory. "And the ointment my mother put on them was the worst thing I have ever smelled. Made my nose burn.” He smiles, picking absently at a little moth hole in the blanket. “But she cooked things that I liked and fussed over me until every last spot was gone. ...So I guess it wasn’t all bad.”
When he looks up, Liu Kang’s face has fallen, and too late, Kung Lao realizes his mistake. He misses his mother- not as much as he had feared when he had clung quietly to her skirts the night before he left, perhaps, but it sneaks up on him when he least expects it. Some nights, after days of especially harsh training, he even indulges in guilty fantasies of being no one at all, a coddled child able to return to her arms whenever he wants and never expected to shoulder an ancestral weapon and a mystical destiny that both feel too big for him.
But that is still better than never having had one at all.
That, Kung Lao guesses, is the crux of all this. Liu Kang has never had anyone to care for him- he is still learning that the kindness shown at the Academy does not come with strings attached. But Kung Lao is determined to prove that to him, a hundred times more if he must.
"Hey," he says, turning to meet Liu Kang's eyes, resting a hand on his. “It doesn’t matter how often you get sick or need help. You are not a burden on us. Or on me.” He gives it all the gravity that a boy of eleven can, squaring his shoulders and keeping their gazes locked. “You are my shī dì, it’s my job to take care of you.” He softens a little, and admits, “And I want to.”
The fever-flush of Liu Kang’s cheeks seems to deepen at that, but it is difficult to tell for sure in the dim, flickering light. Hesitantly, he nods. “...Okay.”
There is a hint of uncertainty still, but Kung Lao will work on that. They have so much time ahead of them.
The night has truly set in now, and they have to be up at sunrise for their lessons, so Kung Lao pinches out the candle flame and pulls the blanket over them both. In the dark, Liu Kang is braver, and he curls his small form against Kung Lao’s side, head pillowed on his shoulder. His breathing sounds better already, and if Kung Lao has to do extra drills tomorrow for sneaking out of bed, it will be worth it. Kung Lao can feel himself beginning to nod off, but he forces himself to stay awake just long enough to feel Liu Kang’s body relax and the rise and fall of his back even out in sleep. Just in case he is needed again.
If so, he will be there.
---
Kung Lao has never entirely grown accustomed to the silence of having a room to himself. His first brother had come only a year behind him, and his sister after that, so the memories he still has of his childhood home are full of crying and chaos and piling together in a single bed. It had not been so different after he had come to the temple and gained a dozen more brothers- and Liu Kang, whatever they are to each other now. Something that feels more than that, though Kung Lao dares not try to put a word to it.
He is not accustomed to being alone. And his nights will be even quieter- and lonelier- soon.
He pulls the heaviest robe he owns tighter around his shoulders, for all the good it does. The metal brim of the hat in his hands is so cold that his fingers have begun to go numb as he studies it. It feels different, somehow, now that this connection between him and it has opened- feels like a part of his body, an extension of his arm. Arcana. His graduation is fast approaching, but by the standards of the gods that bestow these strange powers- the standards that matter- he is already ready. The walls of the Wu Shi Academy feel smaller every day, and he should be thrilled to leave for the wider world and the next step of his training.
But it is not quite so simple.
As if the universe knows where his thoughts have begun to wander, he hears a soft, familiar knock at the door. He opens it to find Liu Kang, shivering even in his own heavy coat. He is supposed to still be in the dormitory with the younger boys- though how much younger he is than Kung Lao they will never really know- but Kung Lao spares little more than a cursory glance at the hall for anyone who might see before ushering him inside.
Kung Lao is their best student, after all- and the only one with a mark and an arcana. Let them tell him no.
Once the door is shut, he pulls Liu Kang into a tight embrace, rubbing his back for warmth. Liu Kang’s hands find their way beneath his outer robe- they are icy even through his shirt, but the shudder that runs up his spine is not entirely from the cold.
“One of these days, they are going to freeze you to death in that drafty room,” he grumbles, making a show of annoyance. Liu Kang chuckles in his ear.
“You survived.”
Kung Lao rolls his eyes. “Barely.” He manages- somewhat unwillingly- to extricate himself from Liu Kang’s arms, and gestures to his bed, the covers rumpled since there is no one now to scold him for leaving them that way. “Come here, it’s late.”
They curl together beneath the blankets as they have always done, slotted together comfortably now that they have grown into the once-awkward length of their limbs. Liu Kang’s hair smells of the medicinal herbs he has spent the afternoon grinding and mixing, and the rise and fall of his chest under Kung Lao’s arm feels like home- but like something else too, something that stirs Kung Lao’s blood in a way he does not entirely understand. He cannot place the moment at which things changed, at which he began to see not only Liu Kang’s dedication and tenacity and kindness, but also the new sharpness of his jaw, the grace in his hands, the curve of burgeoning muscles so different from the scrawny thing he had once been. He knows every inch of Liu Kang by heart, but still finds himself sneaking glances, chasing the quickening of his heartbeat even if he refuses to consider too hard what sets it skipping.
The word beautiful sneaks into his mind- more often by the day now- but he does not allow it to take root. If it does, he will never be able to put that thought aside again.
He feels Liu Kang’s sigh as much as he hears it, and he frowns. “What is it?”
For a moment, Liu Kang does not answer, but his hand finds Kung Lao’s wrist in the darkness and squeezes, almost hard enough to hurt. “I will be cold every night once you leave,” he says quietly, and the careful evenness of his voice is not enough to entirely hide the hint of resentment.
Kung Lao huffs a little chuckle against the back of his neck. “So will I.” Being cold is the least of what makes his stomach twist at the thought of them being separated, but it is the easiest to focus on now, the clearest and least confusing. “But you will join me soon.” There is another pause, this one long enough to let doubt set in along with the deep silence of the night. “ Shī dì? What is on your mind?”
Liu Kang delays for another moment, but eventually he speaks. “Master Zhou told me today that I have great talent as a healer.”
“You do,” Kung Lao agrees easily. That talent has been a balm to him as his training has grown in intensity, as Liu Kang has bandaged the endless cuts on his hands, kneaded the soreness from his arms and shoulders, carefully soothed his pressure points with acupuncture. The fact that even such practical touches have become deeply distracting is something that need not be shared, nor does the way that Liu Kang’s devotion to him makes his heart swell more than any victory.
Liu Kang shakes his head, hair brushing against Kung Lao’s cheek. “He...asked me to consider making that my path in life. Staying here.”
Oh. Kung Lao pulls away, propping himself up on one elbow, hating the loss of contact already but wanting to be able to study what he can see of Liu Kang’s face. “...Is that what you want?” he asks, bracing himself for an answer that may be the last thing he wants to hear.
But Liu Kang shakes his head again, more vehemently, rolling onto his back so they can speak face to face. “No.” The certainty in his voice makes Kung Lao breathe a little easier, but then he continues. “I just...I am no one.” Kung Lao opens his mouth to argue, but Liu Kang raises a hand in a plea to let him speak. “I have no mark. There is no guarantee I will ever have one.” That much is true, though Kung Lao wonders if he is uncertain whether or not he can find one- or whether or not he can do what would be required to claim it for himself. “I...do not want to be a liability to you,” he whispers, eyes downcast. “I could still help you in other ways."
There is frustration in his tone, and resignation, and Kung Lao allows himself a moment to process this and untangle his tongue before he speaks. “Kang…” he murmurs, and the rare use of his name gets Liu Kang’s attention immediately. “You are my shī dì, and my- my friend.” He trips over the word- it feels shallow, not enough to describe this, but if there is a better one, Kung Lao does not know it, not yet. “But I do not own you.” No one will ever own you again goes unspoken, but only because he has said it so many times before. “If this is what you decide, I will support you. But…” He trails off, and feels Liu Kang’s hand close over his wrist again.
“...But?” Liu Kang prompts, barely audible, and Kung Lao realizes that maybe he needs to hear it aloud- needs to hear one more time that his presence in the next stage of their lives is not only tolerated, but desired. Kung Lao does not know how Liu Kang could think otherwise, but he has had enough of his own moments of insecurity in these cold, dark hours- moments that no one but Liu Kang has seen- that he understands, and will always humor another, will always tell him one more time.
“This will be dangerous,” he says softly- they have always known this, but it feels much more real than it did as children, fighting imaginary monsters with pebbles and sticks. “But I want you by my side.” The words hang heavy in the silence, and in a moment of sudden courage- or perhaps foolishness- he adds, “...In every way I might have you.”
Liu Kang freezes at that, and Kung Lao sucks in a mouthful of frigid air, throat suddenly dry, heart threatening to beat out of his chest. He has been deluding himself, pretending he does not know what he wants- he may lack the experience, the words, the means to give Liu Kang anything like the life of comfort and peace he really deserves, but he knows. And yet, for all that he has led the way for the both of them for so long, it does not feel like his to take. He knows that Liu Kang would deny him nothing that he truly wanted, and that is the problem. If only he desires this, then it is better that Liu Kang never know.
Then again, he has well and truly ruined that hope now.
The very air between them feels charged, and after a tense moment, Kung Lao shifts to move away, to apologize, to assure him that this need not change anything between them.
But Liu Kang- who has always been braver than he gives himself credit for- leans up and brushes their lips together.
The kiss is feather-light, barely there, but everything seems to click into place, as if this was the most natural thing in the world. Maybe it was. Either way, Kung Lao has utterly forgotten the cold- he feels as though he will never be cold again.
When they part, even in the darkness, he can see the fierce, joyful spark in Liu Kang’s eyes. Fire, that has always been there, that Kung Lao hopes Liu Kang will see in himself someday. The hand still clasped around his wrist shifts, seeking his own, and Kung Lao laces their fingers together, grasping like he will never let go. Liu Kang squeezes back, and nods.
“Then that is where I will be.”
With that promise tucked away, leaving does not feel so daunting anymore. They will not be parted for long, and once Liu Kang finds his power and joins him- and Kung Lao knows he will- they will never be parted again.
---
Kung Lao’s exhausted feet drag in the sand as Raiden’s temple finally comes into view, somehow still far enough away to make him groan in protest. He shakes flurries from the brim of his hat- true snow is rare here, but it seems as though fortune has turned against him in every possible way today. Though, considering the tear in his tunic and the bandaged gash hidden beneath it, he supposes things could have still gone worse.
Through the flurries, he catches a pinprick of light, and smiles.
Liu Kang is perched on the steps like a beacon, legs crossed, flame cupped in his hands. When Kung Lao first spots him, his eyes are closed and his face serene, but he stirs at the sound of footsteps and lets out a wordless cry. The fire flickers and vanishes as he runs out into the snow, but his skin still blazes with it as he barrels into Kung Lao’s arms- Kung Lao can feel it beneath his hands even through his gloves. Liu Kang has to duck under his hat to reach him, but the lips beneath his as they meet are warm too- their kisses are well-practiced now after so many years, but no less ardent. The pain and the exhaustion and the snow all fade into insignificance for a moment as he tangles a hand into Liu Kang’s hair, presses their foreheads together, then their lips again.
“A-Lao,” Liu Kang breathes as he pulls back, studying Kung Lao’s face- no doubt taking in the deep crease between his brows, the bags beneath his eyes. “I had begun to worry.”
Kung Lao frowns, brushing snow from Liu Kang’s hair. “How long have you been back?”
“Days,” he murmurs, and the frown deepens- that does not make sense, but Kung Lao barely has the energy to speculate as to what might have happened. He is certain he will find out. For now, he follows Liu Kang out of the snow and back to the stone steps, sinking down at the first opportunity with a hoarse groan of relief. Kneeling beside him, Liu Kang conjures the handful of flame again, holding it out to him like a gift that Kung Lao cannot take. It seems to come so easily to him now, and Kung Lao is so, so proud every time he watches his partner’s arcana blossom.
There could be no one worthier of such a blessing.
The worry lines on Liu Kang’s face are cast into sharp relief in the firelight, and he begins, “Are you-” But it is at that moment that his eyes flicker down, then widen at the sight of the tear, the flash of white linen beneath it. “A-Lao, what happened?”
Kung Lao shakes his head silently. The story can wait. “I have dealt with it.”
Liu Kang looks unconvinced. “You need a healer.”
“Give me some credit, a-Kang,” he replies wryly, peeling off his wet gloves and holding his trembling fingers up to the heat. “I will see them. But it is minor, I will not keel over in the next ten minutes if you let me sit.” After his hands have warmed enough to move, he reaches up to unbuckle the strap of his hat and set it carefully aside. “What happened to your target?”
Liu Kang shakes his head. "Dead." When Kung Lao looks up in surprise, he continues. "Whatever this man had once been, he had fallen into some...bad habits." He does not elaborate, but it is not difficult to guess. "I tracked down his sister. She told me that he broke his neck on a flight of stairs a month ago." He lets out a sigh. "The mark died with him."
Kung Lao presses his lips into a thin, disdainful line. "What a waste."
Liu Kang’s expression is softer, more pensive. “Of the mark, or the man?”
“Both.”
They lapse into silence for a moment, Kung Lao shifting closer to Liu Kang to curl against his side and rest his chin on his shoulder. Liu Kang’s short sleeves look absurd as they breathe clouds of vapor in the dark, but the exposed skin there is warm too, the fire burning as bright within as without.
“I came back that night. We expected you the next day, but…” He leans his cheek against Kung Lao’s damp hair. “What went wrong?”
“I...lost her,” Kung Lao admits, unable to entirely keep the bruised pride from bleeding into his voice. Much about him has changed since he was a brash, foolish boy, but failure still does not sit well with him, and he suspects it never will. “We are not the only ones searching for people with these marks.”
Liu Kang’s shoulder tenses beside him. “Outworld?”
“Maybe.” Kung Lao pauses, picking through his brain for details and finding them scant. “I don’t know. It did not...feel human.” He wishes he could say more, but that is all he knows. “I fended it off with only a little damage-” he nods to the bandaged spot on his side, “-but only because it seemed mostly uninterested in a real fight. It wanted her, not someone who already had mastery of their arcana.” He sighs, lowers his warmed hands from the flame to set one on Liu Kang’s knee. “But wasting time with each other gave her the chance to slip into the woods. I tried for days to track her, but…” With a defeated shrug, he concludes, “If it caught up to her, she is likely as dead as yours.”
“So you walked all the way back?” Liu Kang asks, incredulous. Kung Lao huffs out what is almost a laugh.
“Not all the way. I took a train.”
Obviously not amused, Liu Kang presses, “Why not call for Lord Raiden?”
“It was enough to fail in my mission,” Kung Lao mutters, all too aware that he sounds sullen and unreasonable, “without having to beg for help like a child.” Or to see the subtle hint of disappointment on the god’s face, though he cannot avoid that forever. Perhaps just until the morning.
Liu Kang has nothing to say to that, just rolls his eyes, shakes his head again in what Kung Lao hopes is fond exasperation. The silence that falls is preferable to any further discussion anyway. The soft dusting of white on the dunes glistens in the moonlight- almost beautiful, now that he isn’t shivering in it. More than that, it is undisturbed save for the faint line of his footprints. Peaceful.
They know less and less of peace these days, as the tournament looms nearer. Kung Lao has known since he was old enough to understand the existence of war that this would be his lot in life, but living it every day is still so different from the fantastical things he had once imagined. There may be glory to come, if they can win, but for now their lives feel like little more than a blur of training and fruitless searching and bone-deep exhaustion.
The only part that is exactly as he had pictured it is that Liu Kang is here with him, and moments like this to break up the drudgery are enough to keep him going.
Pressing a kiss to Kung Lao’s temple, Liu Kang sighs again and speaks, voice low and thick with a bitterness that is wholly unlike him. “We must do better than this. Leaving with outdated information, returning empty-handed…” It is a criticism as much of himself as of Kung Lao, but Kung Lao suppresses another surge of stung pride to hear him out. “We cannot keep being too late.” He pauses, and Kung Lao knows him well enough to know that what he really means to say will come. “The two of us are not enough to defend all of Earthrealm,” he breathes, and there is fear in his voice that Kung Lao has not heard in years. “That weight...it cannot be on our shoulders alone.”
“If we have to be enough, we will be,” Kung Lao murmurs back, one arm wrapping around Liu Kang’s waist, allowing the younger man to support him and keep him upright. He could doze off right here if they stopped talking, but then he would well and truly freeze to death. “We will win.”
What other choice do they have?
Liu Kang’s lips curl into one of his sad little smiles against Kung Lao’s skin. “Always so confident.”
Kung Lao sits upright at that, enough to look Liu Kang in the eye. “Maybe so, but not just in myself.” He lifts a hand to lay it along Liu Kang’s- the closest he can come to touching the flame itself- idly stroking the jut of his knuckles with the pad of his thumb. “We said that we would face whatever came together. You are not my scrawny little shī dì anymore- you are every bit the fighter I am. You are ready for this.”
Liu Kang raises an indignant brow, but he is still smiling. “Scrawny?”
Laughing, Kung Lao replies, “You were! When you first started your training, I feared I would snap you in half like a dry twig. But that was a long time ago.” If Liu Kang was once kindling, now he is the bonfire itself- his skin burns, not with fever and sickness but with power, with the light that will surely guide Earthrealm’s defenders through whatever darkness is to come. He has so much more of that in him than Kung Lao ever has.
He is glorious.
A strange realization comes- a bittersweet moment looking back on a past that feels so much simpler- and Kung Lao lets out a soft laugh. “You don’t need me to keep you warm now.”
The flame in Liu Kang’s hands gutters out then, and he leans in, cupping Kung Lao’s face in his searing-hot hands, streaking ash across his cheeks. “No,” he breathes, and the fire is in his eyes now, his gaze so intense that it threatens to devour Kung Lao- and he knows that he would let it. “I do not.” His lips hover mere inches from Kung Lao’s own, voice dipping to a whisper, low and full of promise. “But I want you to.”
And that choice, Kung Lao realizes, matters more than anything that has come before it.
So he pulls his lover close, and he does.
---
Art by Gabisart