Chapter Text
Macaque wasn’t a handy man by any means, but as the next day rolled around with no ideas for try outs, it became his mission to fix his sad home. While sure, he hadn’t bought it with actual money, he’d rather feel secure. The part of the city was like a dystopian novel, compared to the utopian photos online. In the trash, where Macaque had witnessed two raccoons snuggled together earlier only to start yipping at each other, he would pull out an old bit of a mop, a replaceable end piece. While he wasn’t exactly fond of the idea for using this mop piece like a broom, he didn’t really find using an old wire barbecue cleaner as any better.
Scavenging became regular at that point, and before Macaque knew it, he had a decent amount of recycled junk. With a bit of two by four jammed and taped to the mop head, he had a mop. With a bucket from a drawer, he had a mop bucket. With a broken sand belt, he had sand paper to get splinters out of the floor, and the copious amount of rags gave him enough to wipe every surface. Macaque himself was happy with the turn out, as his OCD tendencies kicked in and he started cleaning obsessively to get the stress out.
Scrub, scrub… cleaning was soothing in a way to Macaque, because his hearing was so sharp that each crunch of a sponge, every pop of a bubble, was a sign that he was doing good. The smells that hit him weren’t great, seeing as his cleaning product of choice was gutter water and his favourite shampoo, but the lavender smell was relaxing. Suddenly, there was a knock on his door, rattling his head until it ached. Macaque would slick his hair back and glamour over into the human facade, then he would set his mop aside, grunting as he fiddled with the finicky door and slid it open.
Who met him at the door was a surprise.
“Oh, thank heaven you’re here,” the voice of sass hit Macaque with familiarity from the day prior. It wasn’t late, but the sunlight was beginning to die out into the horizon, leaving Macaque confused.
“Peng, was it? …What are you doing here?” Macaque murmured, his voice dry and uneven. Peng, slicking their hair back and scrunching their face with distaste, peeked behind Macaque to look inside. Regardless, their intense expression, complimented by the intense makeup, would calm.
“Well, Macaque,” Peng’s voice would spit the Puppeteer’s name in an awkward way, “I remember you stating that you play the guitar, yes?” The question wasn’t exactly asking for a confirming nod from Macaque, clear by how Peng flicked their hair to the side and began talking with their hands, glossy finish on their nails shining in the sun. They hum, “Wukong would like to invite you to play with us, since he insists that you are very, very talented according to your website… and according to your voicemail tone which we have heard every hour, on the hour.”
Macaque would blink confusedly, pushing his hair to the side. Peng’s gaze would be a sharp pink colour now as they waited for a response. Wukong had been… looking for him? Was that what it was? Seeking a new bandmate so desperately that he had found his old website he shared with Savage and Rumble seemed to compliment that thought.
“…Wait, where’d he get my number?” Macaque tilted his head, only for Peng to shrug, uncaring of how. Macaque could only bite his tongue at the apathy, but to be fair, he’d only known Peng for two days, and was presumably being asked by not only his partners in crime but sworn brothers to fetch a newcomer in. Maybe it would take a bit for the fierce attitude in the demon to soften. Macaque could only hope.
“Well, you know where our Brother Bull let us stay, right? Wukong and the others are waiting for you,” Peng would cross their arms and give a smug smile to Macaque, “I have a class to get to in about ten minutes darling, I’ll have to catch up with you and the others in… say, two hours.”
Macaque would blink in a sense of disbelief as Peng waved, their golden wings fluttered and then carried them away before Macaque’s eyes could truly trace them. Macaque groaned, shutting his door with enough force to perk his six ears out of hiding with an ache. He pulled his hair to the side and began to look for a reflection, which ended up being his broken flip phone. The shattered reflection that met him was faintly lit with the sun, showing how ragged Macaque truly looked. He couldn’t help but cringe, knowing that the fancy and prissy Peng had seen him like this. No wonder they were so disgusted.
With hurried, calculated motions, Macaque would brush his fingers through each wave of his hair, loose strands falling between his fingers. The waves, not very clear anymore from the damage of being miscared for, would be dry. Macaque liked his hair long, because it disguised his ears so well, and it was as if curtains were protecting his face from the world. He’d pull an old elastic from his arm, pulling it tight, and begin to tie his hair in a loose bun, only for it to snap. Disgruntled, Macaque would pull another out from his bag nearby and start again, concentrating with one hand as he hooked his hair, half assedly tied it again with less twists, and sighed, making his curtains even, dampening his fingers to push his stray baby hairs away, and eventually, he looked somewhat alive and human.
…so how did he end up on an air mattress with Wukong admiring his hair and taking care of it on a beanbag? Macaque didn’t know, but those gentle, sometimes pulling hands, soothed his stresses as he crossed his legs and tuned a guitar. Each string was a firm coil, no stray aways, and very well taken care of. The wood was a light birch in appearance with feathers painted on with thin lines of pink. It smelt like nail polish. It was very obviously Peng’s, in every way shape and form. Acoustic, and gorgeous. Wukong’s next pull on a tangle made Macaque yelp.
“Sorry!” The redhead would giggle with an apologetic stroke down where he had already taken care of the hair, where it was soft and sensitive. Wukong would hum, “it sounds pretty in tune to me, why are you still tuning it?”
“It’s not quite in tune… while humans won’t hear the difference, I very much do,” Macaque would murmur, his six ears fluttering at the thought like a dragon fly’s wings. Another row of strikes of the strings would hit his ears, and by the last string, it was almost perfect… almost. Another slight twist of the knob left was given.
“Brother Macaque, we do appreciate the fact you have come to help us, but do not stress over the little things. It is purely practice,” Tusk’s voice was low, carrying through the room with practiced calmness. Macaque would perk his head up to look at the pale skinned man, the glamour strength looser than yesterday in the car. The casualness from Tusk was unfamiliar, mostly because he was as stoic as Wukong was animated. Reading Tusk was like reading ancient letters. Tusk would hum and move to a synth, which Macaque could not remember being in the car. “We really just need Peng’s part of our songs to stay in, given the fact that they enjoy having the lead melody often.”
Macaque couldn’t say that he was surprised by the statement, so he strummed a couple more times, then twisted the knob one last time to be satisfied. Wukong’s hands would continue adjusting his hair, until Azure walked into the garage from the house, holding the door open for an unfamiliar person. Tall, taller than Tusk, stronger than Azure, and more ragged than Wukong. Those were good descriptors, sure, but the way that the man was shirtless gave Macaque a choked huff of surprise. Wukong snickered above him, though waving.
“Ay! How’s it kicking D.B? Bet your wife was pulling your horns again,” Wukong’s teasing tone would be met with a strained attempt not to smirk from Azure, as the man’s glamour threatened to give way as he grit his teeth.
“Just because I have a romantic partner, does not mean that dear Princess Iron Fan is holding me back,” the unfamiliar man would squint his amber eyes to Wukong, before catching sight of Macaque. He confusedly stared at Macaque, making him cower behind his hair. ‘D.B’ would sigh disappointedly, “Did you invite another person to live in my garage?”
“Oh no, he’s just here instead of Peng today. He’s suuuuuper handsome,” Wukong would grin, leaning down and pulling Macaque close to his face, cheek to cheek, leaving Macaque awkwardly staring up at ‘D.B’ and Azure, who gave a fond laugh to the chaos.
“Wukong, you’re going to make Macaque run away at this rate,” Azure murmured, stepping into the mess of cords and finding his drum set, sitting down on a stool that Macaque’s ears picked up as unstable. Wukong himself would sigh and let go of Macaque, letting the puppeteer free to nervously scratch his neck. He looked away to the floor, then looked back up to see the unfamiliar face staring down at him as if he was scum of the earth. Macaque trembled.
…Then was given a firm pat on the back.
“Well, pardon me then. I’m the Demon Bull King, hah! So long as you’re not freeloading off me like my sworn brothers, you’re welcome to visit,” the demon would smile and then stand up straighter to make his way to another guitar, though, Macaque quickly recognized it had been tuned like a bass, making Macaque’s ears ache.
“He’s a bit of a drama queen,” Wukong whispers very loudly by Macaque, getting the attention of DBK and earning a bark of protest in foreign anger, the words melting together in accent and pure distaste. Macaque laughed nervously, shuffling up to his feet, even as Wukong still tried to groom his hair.
“Well before we start ripping each other’s arms off as you so lovingly said, Brother Bull,” Azure tuned in, tapping the drums gently to figure out whether or not he was happy with the set up. He would smile, pushing his long blonde hair behind his shoulders, “Let’s play. Wukong, get your microphone, and give Macaque the music sheet,”
Macaque would begin to meditate as he stands there, being handed paper that he has to stare at harshly. Despite how his fingers do not move, he closes his eyes after reading over the page and hears the music, his body sways to a beat that isn’t there yet, and he hums his focus. His tail, hidden in his shadows, flicks side to side, counting like a metronome. There’s a moment of silence, as Macaque waits for the others to start, only for him to break out of his pre-play trance to see Wukong still standing there awaiting his reply to a question.
“Macaque, you’ve never played this before, do you want to hear the recording Peng left?” Wukong’s question isn’t restated, Macaque just hears it in the past, leaving him struggling for an answer.
“…Sorry, I can hear it by reading it, I’ll be fine,” Macaque would murmur gently, fluttering his ears. Wukong would tilt his head without comprehension of what the raven haired simian meant, only for Tusk to clear his throat.
“He’s studied enough that he can do it without listening first, is what he means, Wukong,” Tusk would hum, and although it took another second for Wukong to process it, the redhead gasped excitedly.
“Dude, great! Peng’s going to be so mad when they’re back!”
The rest of Macaque’s memories of the evening were fuzzy. Each song would be played, not all the way through each time, because someone messed up, or someone was lost, but it was never Macaque. He wasn’t listening at times, too caught in the music, too caught in his own thoughts. If a certain lick on the guitar reminded him of something, he would really get into the melody, playing even when everyone else had stopped. Macaque would apologize several times, but from what he could tell, Wukong admired it, Azure appreciated it, and Tusk complimented it faintly, even in his stoic nature. DBK on the other hand, was busy trying to conversate with his wife occasionally, about only Macaque could acknowledge as family things. Babies? Ew.
Then before Macaque knew it, the practice session was over a little earlier than expected when Wukong got bored. Specifically Wukong because he could whine the loudest. Macaque however kept strumming on the guitar he was borrowing, closing his eyes and focussing. He played a slow, gentle tune he wrote with his cousins a couple months prior.
Rumble had been on the drums that day. Both of the twins knew how to play each other’s instruments, because they each took several lessons in several instruments. Macaque was the only one who wasn’t very good with the drums.
“Savage, where’d you put the Xiao?” Rumble would call from the recording room, which was a rentable one they had gotten for an hour, but always begged the owner to give them another five minutes. Rumble and Savage weren’t great convincers, but Macaque always ended up bartering by leveraging the fact his cousins looked younger than they were.
“It’s in the blue bag,” Savage called as he opened the door and walked back inside the well lit, padded room. Macaque laughed at their antics every time they were in the room. They would eventually find the Xiao, and all would be well again. Only Savage was the master of playing a Xiao with his hands, then a lute with his feet. Being monkey demons had their perks.
“Alright you two, we’re playing ‘Fruit Basket’ this time, so if I hear either of you switch to playing anything that even sounds like a Weezer song,” Macaque would squint to Rumble as he was smirking already, while Savage would hum the tune of ‘Sweater’ to himself. Macaque sniggered, “I will personally, give you both a real wrestle, worse than Bai He’s!”
“Bai He doesn’t even wrestle! She just assaults your crotch because she wins right away,” Rumble complained, with a hum of agreement from Savage. Macaque chuckled.
“Exactly, now get playing the right song. I put a lot of time into writing it,” as he turned away and counted down with the tapping of his shoe, his fingers began to strum. That day, they had forgotten to start recording, and out of frustration, Savage and Rumble went home, leaving Macaque cleaning it up.
Good times…
“What’s this song? You seem to be really into it,” Wukong’s voice, as well as his gentle hands, brought Macaque back to the world. The chair he had stolen from Azure’s drum set creaked as he leaned back into the touch, and his palm went over the strings to stop their vibrations. His ears fluttered, glowing from embarrassment.
“It’s a song I wrote ages ago. It was back when I was with my cousins in their band. Peng told me you saw the website,” Macaque quietly explained with a twist of his hair, curling it around his hair. He’d smile awkwardly as Wukong gasped.
“Peng told you that?! I told them not to tell you! Sorry, that sounds even worse,” Wukong would take his hands away and stressedly walk around to the front of the stool. He’d sigh, pulling on his hoodie strings tightly, until he was calmed enough. A sheepish giggle escaped Wukong, “I just really wanted to know more about you I guess, and hear what you make! Or, made.”
Macaque would smile fondly, and give a light pat on Wukong’s shoulder. Nothing rough, but Macaque got in return, a very genuine and happy Wukong, who laughed excitedly.
“I do remember the lyrics, even if I’m not a great singer,” Macaque would murmur softly, crossing his legs comfortably, pulling his sweater higher up on his body, and taking a deep breath. His tail flicked again, left, right, left, right, in a consistent pattern. His hands took over and his mind let go.
“Woven tight, basket holds,
The tree that grow, they know,
That even when I become old
The cherries in my basket show,
That nothing beats a good summers treat,”
Macaque would be cut off to Wukong getting into it at the first verse, humming, then carrying it on when Macaque hesitated.
“I want to be in your basket too,
From the peach tree down the road
And I know, I know, it’s hard to do,
But maybe there’s enough of the load,
To make today’s heat just a little sweet,”
Macaque would smile, peering to the corner where peach juice bottles were dumped, half empty or half full. Those must’ve been Wukong’s. He picked back up where he was, inhaling sharply.
“Whatever it takes, I’ll be strong enough to carry the weight,
Take your time picking out your favourite flavours, I can wait,
I don’t mind if you’re happy when we’re home,
Cause a day spent picking fruit is a day not alone.”
…Macaque wouldn’t mind if Peng was late, after all was said and done. If Macaque’s ears were correct, as they fluttered alight, so too did his heart beat flutter with the butterflies within.