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“Do you even remember what I look like?”
Johnny can’t help himself to ask, one day, a good year and a half into their growing relationship. It’s a normal day like any other, the bright neon of Malibu’s nightlife, the waves of the ocean crashing near the shore, accenting the uneasy peace that was hard fought and narrowly won.
Kenshi sits close to Johnny at the bar where they are currently situated, outside on the patio where the beach is in full view. It’s hard to appreciate the ocean noise, given that a DJ is currently shuffling the top hits on their turntables. Johnny was familiar with the fact that Kenshi was a man more prone to introspection and quiet than to the bustling noise of LA nightlife that Johnny found endlessly entertaining. His dark glasses reflect the lights dancing across the patio, perfectly complimenting the charcoal gray suit he was wearing.
Kenshi’s knee brushing against his thigh takes Johnny out of his head, making him hyper aware of the minute distance between them. Physical touch has been infinitely more important to Kenshi ever since he lost his sight, something that Johnny was only too obliged to accommodate. A gentle hand on his chest, fingers brushing, arms around the shoulder. Johnny was nothing if not considerate.
He could see the relief exerting out of his companion’s body at the touch, as if the weight of it all– his family legacy, his position, was lifted off of his broad shoulders.
“Somewhat.” Kenshi responds after a thoughtful expression.
A relief. Johnny has always placed physical beauty on his list of priorities– a given, considering his profession. A meticulously curated image to sell to the masses. He enjoyed being seen as meat on a slab, and luxuriated in being desired.
He knows he shouldn’t care. Regardless, he needs validation and craves the attention. Hell, he wants it from people that he barely knows, fans completely separated from his social stratosphere. To have the person closest to him, someone who probably knows him better than anyone in the entire world aside from his ex-wife, not see him the way he feels like he’s supposed to– it feels like a withholding of love. He knows in his heart that it absolutely is not Kenshi’s fault; he chastises himself in his mind for even thinking of that awful time as something like that. It was out of his control.
So why does he feel this way? He feels some sort of selfishness, that him rubbing facial oil and plucking his eyebrows and spraying the cologne he hasn’t been able to take off ever since Kenshi complimented the smell, feels meaningless in the face of his–
“To be honest, though…” Kenshi continues. “Sometimes I don’t even remember what I look like. Didn’t look in the mirror too often. Not when I had so much to do.”
Johnny readjusts his posture and his traitorous mouth speaks before he can cut the words with his tongue. Maybe it’s the alcohol. Maybe it’s being this close to his best friend.
“You should have. You’re sexy as hell, man. Got the whole handsome Yakuza boss thing down to a tee!”
It’s definitely the alcohol.
Before Kenshi can even offer a response, Johnny immediately retracts to defend himself.
“Sorry. Too soon? I mean you’re on some heroic quest to free your family from the clutches of the Yakuza… so… you’re like a sexy Matt Murdock. Tortured hero vibes. Yeah, that’s what I’m going with.”
Kenshi stares at Johnny thoughtfully with a slight curve of his mouth. He then exhales a breathy laugh, his voice rumbling deeply. “What the hell?” He says quickly, and continues to laugh.
Johnny finds himself wanting to bottle that sound and store it in his finest cellar, letting it ferment and age gracefully before savoring a sip, enjoying the taste, lest he never hears that beautiful sound ever again.
“Thanks.” Kenshi says after the fact. “Think I have what it takes to get on the silver screen?”
“More than. You’re star material. Leading man, with Oscar nominations to boot.”
“Maybe I’ll get the chance to star alongside Hollywood heartthrob, Johnny Cage.”
“I’ll put in a good word with his agent, see if he can pull a couple of strings.”
The bar lights, night sky, and booming music feel like footnotes to the view in front of him. Kenshi’s face is directly angled so that the lenses of his glasses are level with Johnny’s eyes. Johnny can see his own reflection— dumbstruck, tender, at a loss for words. He aches for Kenshi to see him now. He settles for putting his hand gently on his back, steadying him.
“You wanna get out of here?”
“Lead the way.”
–
They settle on watching one of Johnny’s old favorites, Groundhog Day. Kenshi is vaguely familiar with the film, but has only heard of it in passing. Since Kenshi is trying to get accustomed to watching films again, Johnny takes it upon himself to narrate everything that happens within a scene. He stands, gesturing wildly, injecting his own unique brand of movie-loving melodrama into his reenactments.
“And so he walks along the street after that killer speech, when suddenly, a kid in a red jacket is falling out of a goddamn tree! He catches him, of course.”
Kenshi smiles at the description. It goes on like that until the movie runs its course, and Johnny finishes narrating the ending. Kenshi claps, grinning. Johnny takes the opportunity to bow gracefully, blowing kisses to his imaginary audience.
“Thank you, everyone. I’ll be here all night.” He says, walking over and collapsing on the couch, draping an arm around Kenshi in the process.
It’s a comfortable and relaxed silence. Johnny tunes in on the sound of their breathing, in-sync. He is splayed over the couch, comfortable. Kenshi’s posture is the opposite, back straight, posture impeccable, borderline regal. Johnny can see the contemplation in his face.
“Something on your mind, Kenshi?”
He hums in agreement.
“If you could change anything about the past… what would it be?”
Johnny sits up at the question.
“You talking like, Groundhog Day type shit? Like, stuff that would make the universe reset over and over until I got it right?”
“If it fits, yes.”
Johnny sighs thoughtfully.
“Shit, I mean— alot of things. Maybe I would go back and fix my marriage. Try harder to land the roles I wanted. Maybe I could stop my past self from buying Sento.”
Kenshi’s face drops at that suggestion.
“Would you?”
Johnny perks worriedly at how vulnerable he sounds asking that question.
“Yeah. I think it would have spared you a lot of pain, even though I loved teasing you about it.” Johnny jests, lightly jabbing Kenshi’s ribs with his elbow.
“If you did that, perhaps you and I would have never crossed paths.” Kenshi states, all melancholy.
Johnny’s face cracks at the open admission. He can’t imagine his life without Kenshi now. He doesn’t know how he survived all these years without him.
Still, he has an image to maintain. Joking it is.
“I don’t know, I think Liu Kang was seriously lacking in the Washed-Out Movie Star and ex-Yakuza Samurai department. He probably would have done a diversity hire on us, just to tick the boxes. And I probably would have gotten Sento back after beating you in a bet.”
Kenshi smirks at the hypothetical. “Oh yeah? And what bet would that be, Cage?”
“Seeing who gets their ass beat by Raiden first. That, or seeing whoever could get Kitana to laugh.”
“I would have won both of those.”
“In your dreams, Takahashi. Ladies cannot resist the Cage charm.”
Kenshi chuckles, opting to take another sip of his wine from his glass situated on the table next to them. He then leans back, mirroring Johnny’s now relaxed pose. Johnny feels a surge of honesty rise up to the surface at their state of ease, and after a beat of quiet, says:
“I would have stopped you from saving me.”
Kenshi’s face and body tighten at that sudden confession.
“No. I would have done it again, if the situation arose.”
“I would have stopped you. No one deserves to have something taken away from them like that. You deserve to see beautiful things.”
At that, Kenshi’s brows furrow worriedly, his face morphing into something impossibly sentimental. His hand moves to Johnny’s back, leading them to both sit upright. Johnny lets his body be easily maneuvered by his strong hold. He thinks he would let him do anything, even let his wonderful fingers move between his joints to move him like a puppet, if only he would keep this contact on him. Kenshi then cups Johnny’s face in between his hands, gently, as if he were holding a priceless artifact. His eyes are tender. It makes him feel exposed and raw.
“What are you doing?”
“Mapping your face. So I won't forget.” He moves his palms across the planes of his cheeks, fingers trailing across his forehead, moving along the hairs of his brows and down the curve of his nose. His thumb brushes tenderly along his lips, before landing at their starting position, cradling his face.
“Did you ever think I was handsome?”
Kenshi smirks playfully. “It’s not the first thing I noticed."
Johnny feels his heart sink to his stomach.
“But it’s not the best thing about you.”
Johnny scoots in closer to minimize the distance between their faces.
“Yeah?”
Kenshi’s right hand then trails to his chest.
“You’re kind. You’re generous. You’re brave. You’re a pain in my ass. You always find some way to make me at ease, even when we were fighting for the fate of the entire timeline.”
There, in that moment. Johnny feels the hand on his chest like a brand. He wants to bask in the warmth that is Kenshi, to douse himself in the light of his praise, and offer up his heart to the altar of his love. To his partner in crime. The Sally to his Harry. The Mr. Darcy to his Bridget Jones. The Mikey to his Scott. The Neo to his Trinity. Hell, the Matt Murdock to his Karen Page.
Searching his memory bank for the most opportune thing to say in the moment, he cashes out on a classic. Putting on his best accent, he says:
“You have bewitched me. Body and soul.”
Kenshi looks at Johnny, surprised. He then bouts into a fit of laughter, harder than he’s ever seen him do. “What the hell was that?” He then collapses onto his chest as he continues to cackle, to where Johnny wraps his arms around him, holding him to his chest, laughing brightly along with him.
“What? I thought it was appropriate! It’s a classic.”
Kenshi shakes his head while looking down, smiling. As he sits up, he captures Johnny’s chin in between his thumb and finger, and moves in to slot their lips together sweetly.
And just like that, Johnny is a goner. Their first kiss. It feels right. Monumental, a world shattering, reality breaking event. Even bigger than his old Golden Globe nomination.
So maybe Kenshi can’t see him the way he thought he needed to be seen. It doesn’t matter. He’s convinced him there’s other things to love.