Archive of Our Own ^beta

Kung Lao is drunk. He thinks. He's ninety-percent sure. Much more so than he expected from the few beers he’s had tonight, but there's no other reason he should be feeling this way. He knows he's drunk because looking across the table at Raiden now, his hair messy from their training session that day and his shirt pulled open just slightly from the Summer heat, Kung Lao feels like he’s going to explode.

Beer can make you explode, right? He’s never heard of that before, but all warm and fluttery and flushed down to his shoes like he is right now, it’s got to be an option. Anything is possible at Madame Bo’s, isn’t it? She has that… special tea that they aren’t allowed to drink yet that she says lets you look into other realities, and that—what was it Raiden called it?—magic touch that makes everything under her roof feel better. 

Maybe that’s all this is. Intoxication and… magic old lady stuff. There’s no other reason he should be squirming in his seat like this, heat burning his cheeks while he watches Raiden talk about a book he’s been reading, Kung Lao’s eyes catching on his mouth every time he smiles. He’s drunk too, Kung Lao knows, evident from the lopsided way he keeps tipping to his right, but he seems… fine? He’s always been more of a lightweight and he doesn’t seem like he’s one spark away from igniting, so why is Kung Lao?

“Everything alright, gentlemen?” 

Kung Lao physically startles when Madame Bo appears at their table. 

“Yes, thank you,” Raiden answers for them both. “The food has been amazing. The perfect way to end the day, as always.”

He flashes her that smile again, soft and bright and just the slightest bit bashful, and Kung Lao swears he swallows his own pulse on his next swig of beer. 

“Good to hear,” Madame Bo says, shooting Kung Lao a pointed look as she moves to take their empty plates before returning back to the kitchen. 

When it’s just the two of them again, Raiden stirs his spoon around a few times in the remains of his soup, poking at a piece of fish, before he laughs. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I completely forgot what I was talking about.”

Kung Lao doesn’t remember either, though in fairness, he wasn’t paying enough attention to begin with, too distracted by Raiden’s eyes and his one slightly crooked tooth and the gentle bow of his lips and—

“Lao?”

He blinks rapidly, reflexively taking another drink. He swallows thickly. “Sorry, I think I’m… I think I’m drunk.”

Raiden raises a brow, chuckling. “Really? And here I thought we were spending the night out sober.”

Kung Lao rolls his eyes, warmth spreading down from his neck all the way to the pit of his stomach. “You know what I mean,” he mumbles.

“Of course.” 

There’s a light knock of Raiden’s foot under the table, and Kung Lao gently kicks him back. They both return to eating, mouths too full to talk until their stomachs have become too full to walk, and by that point, Kung Lao has almost forgotten about his previous worries. Almost. There’s still a thread of something knotted up around his tongue, making everything he says sound a little more stupid than he intends to, but he has a bill to pay, and for the moment, that’s much more dire.

When they finally leave the tea house, both of them are stumbling. Raiden knocks his shoulder against Kung Lao and Kung Lao knocks back, a familiar push and pull, and Raiden almost topples over before Kung Lao can grab his hand and steady him. They both laugh. Messy, loud, laughter that is definitely not suited to martial arts masters in the making, but neither of them can find it in themselves to care. 

They walk home with their arms looped together and their bodies pressed close, and when Kung Lao glances over as they turn towards their street, he catches another flash of Raiden’s smile in the dark. It lights up his chest, lights up the skin beneath his hands until they’re sweating like crazy, and burns through his lungs until he has to cough into his elbow to remember how to breathe.

“Are you alright?” Raiden asks, pausing momentarily.

“Yeah,” Kung Lao chokes out. I think I just realized I’m in love with you. “I swallowed some spit wrong.”

Raiden laughs again, smoother than normal, his face loose and warm and just… so fucking kissable, and turns to tug Kung Lao forward.

“Come on,” he says. “If I don’t get you home I think you’ll probably die in the street right here.”

“Yeah…” Kung Lao mutters, barely listening. He follows behind on leaden feet, feeling heavier and lighter in equal measure. 

“Hey Raiden?” he asks, keeping hold of his arm when they finally reach Kung Lao’s house.

“Yes?” 

Raiden turns to him in the endless blue and black of the late July evening, not a vision from beyond, not some drunk hallucination, but his very real, very handsome best friend, and for a moment, Kung Lao swears he lights up the world around him brighter than the sun itself.

He swallows. 

“Uh… nothing,” he says quietly, and pulls his arm free.