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Macaque grit his teeth, sneaking through the shadows onto Sandy’s boat, trying to ignore the subtle burn in his forearms from blocking Mk’s kicks in training, and Wukong’s actual kicks during the fight they’d gotten into.
He fiddled with the lock, biting his tongue between his front teeth as he focused.
“C’mon don’t do this to me..” He grinned when the lock clicked open, and did a silent victory dance.
It was still early, so maybe, just maybe, if he was lucky, Sandy would still be asleep.
Sandy poked his head out of the kitchen, beard messy and eyes tired.
“Where were you?”
“Uh, out?”
Macaque slipped past him into the kitchen, trying to keep his tail from moving.
He had learned the hard way that cats like to chase moving objects.
“Out where?” Sandy looked worried. “Did you get in another fight?” He leaned down and sniffed carefully.
“Did you just fucking sniff me?” Macaque didn’t mean to snap, but his nerves were already shot from the morning’s argument with Wukong.
“Ok,” Sandy stepped back and straightened up. “I’m gonna let you cool off for a little bit.”
Macaque felt bubbles of panic rise in his chest, eyes fixed on the water pouring from the kettle’s spout into the mug on the counter.
Letting Macaque ‘cool off’ meant that Sandy would probably leave the boat, leaving him to stew in his emotion until he was calmer. It meant that, instead of a morning spent napping, curled up close against Sandy’s chest, he would have to deal with his feelings.
Disgusting.
“Hey,” Sandy’s voice snapped him from his swirling panic.
“I’m just gonna be in my room, ok? Let me know when you’re ready to talk.”
With a casual salute, Sandy vanished into his room, leaving his housemate to stew.
Macaque sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets, freezing when he felt a cool rectangle. He took it out, and chirped in panic when he saw that he was holding a phone.
Specifically, it was Mk’s phone.
Macaque almost called for Sandy, almost asked for help, but he closed his mouth when he realized that, rather than his own jacket, he had grabbed Mk’s by mistake when he’d left the mountain earlier.
Which also meant that he had also accidentally taken Mk’s keys.
“Shit.”
His fur puffed out when the phone started beeping loudly.
Hesitantly, he pressed the little green button, holding the phone out to avoid straining his ears.
“Mk’s phone-“
“So, it turns out that I really don’t know mortal slang.” Wukong’s voice came through, high pitched and on the verge of hysterical.
“Huh?” Macaque perked up his ears. Was he actually admitting to not knowing something? And admitting to not knowing something they had just been arguing about?
This day was starting to look up.
“I just looked up the term ‘Dummy thicc-”
Macaque choked back a burst of laughter. Dummy thicc was one of the few mortal slang terms he knew well, and he could only imagine how horribly Wukong had butchered it.
“Wukong-”
“No, no, listen!” The Monkey King’s voice was rapidly approaching a note that only dogs could hear.
“I did not intend to imply that Macaque was.. that!” A deep, shuddering breath. “I thought that it was thick like stupid! Not thick as in thicc!”
Macaque couldn’t help snorting.
“ Sun Wukong!” He raised his voice to get the babbling king’s attention.
“Yeah?” Wukong wavered.
Macaque tried not to burst out laughing.
“This isn’t Mk.”
There was a long, dead, silence.
“Who is this?” Gone was the sobbing, the almost-pleading- replaced by something flinty and suspicious, ready to hunt down anyone who may have hurt his successor.
“Oh, y’know.” Macaque giggled.
“Just Macaque.”
The call dropped at lightning speed, and Macaque could faintly see what looked like a rocket being launched full force into the atmosphere from the side of Flower Fruit Mountain, as Sun Wukong ruined yet another phone.