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Chapter Text

It was a day just like any other on Flower Fruit Mountain, when Liu’er’s problem first began to show.

The weather was perfect, as it often was—sunny and warm, with a few fluffy white clouds and a light breeze. Liu’er and Wukong were enjoying the day outdoors, just playing and messing around. Eating fruits from the trees, and drinking from the crystal clear streams.

Just two monkeys enjoying each other’s company.

At the moment, the two of them were playing a game, similar to hide-and-seek; they had created it together. They would both hide and sneak about, and once one of them was found, the game would quickly devolve into a wrestling match until one was declared the winner, or both monkeys were left on the ground, breathless from laughter.

Liu’er was currently using his magic to hide inside the shadows on the highest tree branches, where he could easily see the forest below. It didn’t count as cheating. He was simply using the environment and his powers to his advantage.

He could hear Wukong a ways away, tramping through the forest like an elephant. Honestly, was the other monkey even trying to be quiet? Though even if he was, it wouldn’t matter—Liu’er would hear him either way. In fact, he could hear that the golden monkey was coming towards him right now. So Liu’er slipped from the shadows and leapt through the trees, almost silent as he started towards Wukong.

As Liu’er traversed the treetops, his eye caught a glimpse of golden fur, and he immediately dove into the shadow of the tree trunk in front of him. He waited inside the dark abyss, holding his breath as he watched Wukong land on the branch he had just been standing on. The golden monkey looked around, his expression one of deep focus as he muttered under his breath, “where did you go…?”

Liu’er clamped a hand over his own mouth, trying not to giggle as he watched Wukong peak down through the branches below, as if Liu’er was possibly hiding underneath him. When really, he should have been looking behind him.

Wukong hadn’t noticed him yet, so Liu’er took the opportunity to strike. Wukong yelped as Liu’er tackled him out of the tree and they tumbled through the branches to the ground below. They wrestled briefly, both covered in twigs and leaves and blades of grass, before Liu’er pinned Wukong to the ground with a triumphant grin.

“I win.”

“Pssh, do not.” Wukong scoffed. “I haven’t revealed my secret attack yet!”

Liu’er rolled his eyes, but decided to go along with Wukong’s charade. He tilted his head curiously. “Oh, yeah? And what is that?”

Wukong smiled mischievously. “You gotta lean in. It’s a secret.”

“I can hear you just fine, Peaches.” Liu’er wiggled his six ears to emphasize his point.

Wukong’s smile widened. “I’m not telling unless you do it.”

Liu’er groaned before leaning down, their faces now only a few inches apart. “What?”

“Closer.”

Liu’er leaned in closer and turned his head to the side a bit, so that his ears brushed against the fur on Wukong’s cheek. “What is it—”

Suddenly, Liu’er shrieked, lurching back when Wukong opened his mouth and licked the side of his face. He tumbled off of the golden monkey, who was cackling loudly as he sat up and threw his arms up in victory.

“I win!”

Though somewhat disgusted, Liu’er couldn’t help the smile that came to his lips as he giggled, and then began to laugh. “You’re so gross!”

“Yeah,” Wukong beamed mischievously at the other monkey. “But you love me anyway.”

Liu’er’s laughter caught in his throat, and he coughed to try and clear the tickle that had formed. But the sensation only grew, inducing a coughing fit as Liu’er struggled to catch his breath.

The hacking caught Wukong’s attention, and his own laughter faded as he looked at his friend with slight concern. “Hey, you alright?”

Liu’er nodded as he cleared his throat. He coughed once more, and when he did, something fluttered out of his mouth and landed in his open palm. Alarmed, he looked down and saw that it was a singular, tiny, pale pink flower petal.

Wukong laughed. “Eww! Liu’er, you’re supposed to wait until the fruit is ripe to eat it!”

Liu’er was confused; he hadn’t eaten any fruit blossoms. Perhaps I breathed in a petal while we were playing?

Deciding that the petal was nothing serious, Liu’er let it go for the time being.

He had thought it would be a one time thing. An accident.

Yet as the days progressed into weeks, and into months, and eventually into years, petals kept appearing.

It was nothing, at first. When Liu’er had coughed one up the second time (after Wukong had teasingly called him “dragonfly” because of his six petal-shaped ears), Wukong hadn’t even remembered the first time it had happened, and had once again made a joke about Liu’er eating flowers.

But Liu’er had remembered.

He had brushed it off that time, too, but been a little more wary afterwards. One would think he would notice inhaling flower petals, no?

And when it had happened a third time, (Wukong had fallen asleep with his head in Liu’er’s lap one lazy afternoon, and Liu’er had decided to brush some loose strands of golden fur from Wukong’s cheek), Liu’er had realized that something must be wrong. He wondered if he should tell someone—Marshal Liu was rather skilled in healing magic. Maybe she could help him.

But if he told Marshal Liu—or anyone else, for that matter—then there was a chance that it would get to Wukong. And he didn’t want Wukong to think that something was wrong with him.

Because nothing was wrong.

The petals grew worse. He was coughing them up daily, two or three at a time. He noticed the worried glances that Wukong was giving him, and it made him only more careful to ensure that Wukong didn’t see any of the petals. Wukong had far more important things to deal with at the moment than Liu’er’s strange illness. The golden monkey had plans; he had deemed himself as equal with the gods, and he and the newly formed group of sages had plans to make their presence known.

Whatever happened, Liu’er would stay by Wukong’s side. He had faith in him, and he would follow him, wherever he went.

Sun Wukong was captured by the forces of Heaven, and Flower Fruit Mountain was attacked. The gods set fire to the monkeys’ home, burning every tree, and scorching the earth until it was as black as the night sky. Liu’er did what he could to protect the island, but his persistent cough was only made worse by the poisonous clouds of smoke. He swore he could feel his lungs vibrating with each and every breath; he could feel each puff of air ruffle its way up and down his throat, and the smoke felt like it was going to smother him. It burned his eyes and throat, until Liu’er was on his hands and knees, coughing and gasping for air.

Many members of the Monkey King’s troop perished that fateful night.

Yet even after the fires had died out and the smoke had long since cleared, Liu’er’s cough never got better. The dry raspiness remained, and the dull pain and weird fluttering sensation lingered. When he coughed, sometimes entire flowers would fall from his mouth, and it was then that he realized what was apparently growing inside of him:

Peach blossoms.

But why? He didn’t care for peach fruit, or even particularly like it. The one who was practically obsessed with the stone fruit was…

Wukong.

A harsh cough tore itself from Liu’er’s chest, and he brought a hand to his mouth as he gagged. As he coughed, he could feel something coming up from the back of his throat, slimy and coppery in taste as it slid over his tongue and fell from his lips.

He pulled his hand away, and saw a whole flower, small and delicate where it rested in the palm of his hand. It was shiny and wet, and its pale pink petals were stained red around the edges.

They were stained with blood.

Centuries passed, all spent in longing on Flower Fruit Mountain as Liu’er waited for Wukong to come home. He spent every day trying to care for the surviving members of the troop, and every night he laid down either in Wukong’s bed or out under the stars, the quiet rattle of his breathing lulling him to sleep.

But it was half a millennium before Sun Wukong finally returned.

Liu’er was the first to notice his coming. He had just been exiting the waterfall late one afternoon when the faint rhythm of a heartbeat that he hadn’t heard in many, many decades suddenly reached his ears. It had taken him a moment to register the sound, and when he realized what he was hearing he couldn’t believe it.

He sprinted down the mountain, leaping over roots and stones as he followed the river to the edge of the island. When he broke through the treeline and reached the soft white sand of the beach, he looked up to the sky and saw none other than him. The Monkey King himself, who leapt from his somersault cloud and landed on the soft sands of his kingdom; a place which had long awaited its ruler’s return.

“Wukong!”

Liu’er tackled the golden monkey, who received him with open arms and a joyful laugh. They fell to the earth, and Liu’er nuzzled his face into Wukong’s neck, enjoying the warmth and familiar scent of the golden monkey. “You’re back!” He cried.

Wukong’s arms squeezed Liu’er tightly. “I’m back,” Wukong agreed, and he buried his face in Liu’er’s hair. “Oh, I’ve missed you,” he mumbled into Liu’er’s fur, his warm breath tickling the monkey’s right set of ears and making them flutter. “I have so much to tell you about.”

Liu’er allowed himself to enjoy the hug for a few seconds longer, before pulling away at last. He stood up and helped Wukong to his feet, holding Wukong’s hand tightly in both of his own. He smiled adoringly as he told Wukong: “Tell me everything.”

And so Wukong did. He told Liu’er about how he had been cast into Lao Tzu’s furnace, and how after that had failed to kill him, Wukong had then been pinned under a mountain by none other than the Buddha himself, left to languish until he was freed 500 years later by a human monk.

“Yeah, so I was supposed to go on a journey with him and all that,” Wukong explained as he laid in Liu’er’s lap, with Liu’er gently grooming his scalp. “But not even half a day into our adventure we were attacked by bandits! And you know what I did?”

“No. What did you do?” Liu’er prompted him, relishing in the feeling of Wukong’s soft fur under his fingers.

“I killed them!” Wukong answered, as if that was the obvious thing to do. “And Tripitaka got mad at me! So I left. If he thinks he can make it to India without killing anyone or anything, then he can go ahead.”

Liu’er pondered quietly over Wukong’s tale. He wasn’t eager at the idea of Wukong going on some silly quest. The Monkey King’s troop needed him here, on Flower Fruit Mountain. Liu’er needed him here. “So… are you going back?” He asked quietly, silently hoping that Wukong would say no—of course not. His home was here, and here he was going to stay.

“Well…” Wukong’s brow furrowed, his expression troubled as he turned away from Liu’er’s questioning gaze. “I actually went and talked to the Dragon Emperor first, before coming back here. And he told me that I should give Tripitaka a second chance.”

“Oh.” Liu’er mumbled, a tickle beginning to form at the back of his throat. He swallowed it down. “Well, who cares what the Dragon Emperor thinks?”

“I know, and that’s what I thought, too,” Wukong assured him, but he was still uneasy. “Except… on my way back here, I ran into Guanyin, and she told me the same thing. She said that I shouldn’t give up on him because of a single argument. And besides, he did free me from the mountain, so… I kinda feel like I owe him, y’know?”

No, Liu’er did not know. He didn’t understand why Wukong would follow after a silly mortal man just because the human did him a favor. He didn’t know why Wukong would choose a nobody monk over Flower Fruit Mountain. Over him. “But… you can’t just—”

Liu’er’s argument was cut short as he fell into a coughing fit. Wukong immediately sat up and turned to face him, his expression one of concern as he rested a hand on Liu’er’s shoulder.

“Are you alright?” Wukong asked him softly.

Liu’er couldn’t do anything more than nod, his hand clamped tightly over his mouth as he felt petals land on his tongue.

“I thought your cough would’ve cleared up by now.” Wukong frowned, puzzled. “It’s been years.”

Liu’er couldn’t answer. If he uncovered his mouth and spat out the petals, then Wukong would see. And he couldn’t let that happen, because then Wukong would know that something was wrong, and nothing was wrong, nothing was—

“Don’t worry,” Wukong said as he gave Liu’er a pat on the back before standing up. “I’ll be back before you know it, okay? Promise.”

And then he was gone, zooming away on his somersault cloud before Liu’er could say a word.

Liu’er waited. And waited.

And waited.

The flowers grew worse. He became weak, his breathing labored with every step that he took. He was coughing up blossoms daily, and he had grown to be sick of peaches. Even seeing the fruit trees on the island was enough to put him in a sour mood.

And over time, he had realized what the flowers were connected to.

It should have been obvious from the beginning. When the first petal had fallen from his mouth, he should’ve known.

Sun Wukong was the cause of his illness.

He didn’t know how, or why, but somehow, his… feelings for Wukong had manifested physically inside his body. And as his feelings had grown over time, so had the flowers. And when Wukong had left… it had gotten so much worse.

Liu’er didn’t know how to get rid of the flowers, but he knew that he needed to. And he believed that somehow, Wukong could fix it. Maybe somehow, just being around Wukong would make them shrivel up and die, like an unexpected snowstorm on an early spring day. And then Wukong would stay, and care for his troop once more—his faithful subjects, who had been struggling to survive without their king’s protection.

But Liu’er couldn’t just wait around for Wukong to return. The flowers were getting worse every day, and he was afraid that if Wukong took too long to come back from his journey, the pink-petaled blossoms would smother him from the inside.

So he didn’t have a choice. Liu’er set out from Flower Fruit Mountain, in search of aid from his beloved friend.

Liu’er Mihou had never thought that his life would end this way. In a thousand—no, a million years, he never would have thought that Sun Wukong would betray him.

Damn the gods. Damn their fickle minds and convoluted punishments. And damn that monk. If he hadn’t twisted Wukong’s mind, and made him into nothing more than a submissive puppet that followed his master’s will, then Liu’er’s plan wouldn’t have turned out like this. Wukong would have listened to him, and come home.

But no. No, Wukong and his new “buddies” had to go get those stupid scriptures first. But Liu’er didn’t have the time to wait for Wukong to complete his quest. And so, with tensions high and neither monkey willing to back down, their dispute spiraled into a deadly fight.

A fight which ended with Liu’er where he was now. Lying on his back in the dirt, unable to breathe due to the petals and blood clogging his throat. Wukong was crashing down from above, the end of his infamous staff aimed straight at Liu’er’s head. Liu’er couldn’t speak; if he could have, then there was one thing he would’ve said:

“I love you…”

Many, many years later, when Macaque crawled his way out of the Underworld, thanks to that witch’s magic, the first thing he did was take a deep breath of fresh air. His throat ached with the action, but so did every other part of him, so he didn’t think much of that fact at the time. He was far more focused on getting far, far away from here.

Wherever here was. Of course Wukong hadn’t had the decency to actually bury him on Flower Fruit Mountain. His home.

But it wasn’t his home anymore, was it? No, that island had been the home of Liu’er Mihou—a celestial monkey that was far too trusting and kind. Far too hopeful, and far too willing to follow his king without a shadow of a doubt.

But Macaque wouldn’t be like that. During his many years of punishment in the Diyu, Liu’er’s love for the Monkey King had fallen away, replaced by hurt and resentment. By hatred.

The only good thing about being in the Diyu had been the fact that there were no more flowers. He didn’t know if the illness was even able to follow him into the afterlife, but he was certain that it wouldn’t plague his return to the world of the living. Because there was no reason for the flowers to grow now—there were no feelings of goodness left in his heart for Sun Wukong.

Clearly, whatever forces there were in the universe, that controlled the lives of every living being in some way or another (he refused to believe in Fate), didn’t like that. As if on cue, Macaque’s throat itched, and a ragged cough bubbled up from his chest. It caught him by surprise and he stumbled, coming to a stop as he brought a hand to his mouth. He felt something dry sticking to his tongue, and he spat it out onto his hand. What, was it dirt from his time spent resting in a shallow grave? Bugs, maybe?

But when Macaque looked at what he had coughed up, his newly beating heart felt like it was going to stop.

There, in his palm, laid three little flower petals.

No.

That didn’t make sense. Macaque had assumed—hoped, really—that he wouldn’t have to deal with those flowers anymore. So why… why were they still—

But then Macaque noticed something about the petals, and relief flooded his systems, calming the anxiety churning within his gut. The petals were dry and withered, their once vibrant pink pigment now replaced by a dull, dreary yellow. They were old—ready to crumble into dust at the lightest touch.

They weren’t fresh. Which meant that they must’ve been left in his lungs, from back when…

No.

Macaque shook his head as he held out his hand and let the petals be carried away by the wind into the open sky. He wasn’t going to think about that anymore. About mindless daydreams and foolish hopes. About yearning and loss.

About betrayal.

No, he wasn’t going to think about any of that anymore.

Those flowers were Liu’er’s problem. Not Macaque’s.

Yet no matter how hard he tried, Macaque just couldn’t stay away. Only a week after he’d come back from the dead, his wanderings had taken him back to the island he had once called home. He didn’t know what he had expected to find upon his return, but the lack of what was left caused him to despair. The once bountiful troop had dwindled to a handful of plain old monkeys. There were no yaoguais left. Not even the marshals and generals.

The danger facing the troop was one of the reasons Macaque had set out after Wukong in the first place. They had needed their king to come back. To save them. Macaque had hoped to find Wukong and show him reason; to bring him back home, where he could protect and care for his subjects and rule once more with Macaque by his side.

Clearly, Sun Wukong had failed him in more ways than one.

The rushing of wind reached Macaque’s ears, and he looked up and saw a small white cloud fly up out of the mountain and start towards him with blinding speed. Speak of the devil… The Monkey King must have sensed Macaque’s dark magic from miles away and come to investigate.

Macaque knew he should leave, but for some reason his feet felt rooted to the sandy beach. He could only stand there, hands clenched and tail lashing out behind him as Wukong reached the beach and leapt from his cloud onto the sand below. The king looked ready to fight, and Macaque noticed that he didn’t have his legendary staff with him.

Ahh, yes… Macaque had heard something about that a couple of days ago, while he had been finding his bearings in this strange new world. It seemed that Wukong had betrayed all of his sworn brothers, in the end.

When Wukong’s eyes landed on Macaque, the golden monkey froze. He turned as pale as a sheet, as if he had seen a ghost. Maybe that was exactly what he thought he was seeing. After all, Macaque shouldn’t be back. He should still be in a forgotten hole in the ground, suffering every punishment the Ten Kings could imagine for ever even touching that stupid monk and his posse of outlaw misfits.

Macaque noticed a faint tremor in Wukong’s hands, and he could hear the golden monkey’s heart beating rapidly in his chest as he took a shaky breath. Macaque felt like he was going to be sick as Wukong… smiled at him, of all things.

“Liu’er?” The Monkey King breathed, like he couldn’t believe his eyes. Like he was wondering what strange, wonderful, benevolent twist of fate had brought his beloved friend back to him.

Macaque couldn’t help it. He laughed. The bitter chuckle that slipped past his lips quickly morphed into an almost unhinged cackle, and he relished in the pleased feeling that blossomed in his chest as Wukong’s expression fell. Whatever Wukong had been hoping for, Macaque wasn’t going to give it to him.

“No,” Macaque said at last, and he gave Wukong a feral grin. “Not anymore. Liu’er’s dead. And you killed him.”

Their interaction after that quickly devolved into a fight. Or a sad excuse for one. Macaque was on the attack, but Wukong… he didn’t deliver a single blow. He blocked, and dodged, and avoided until at last he pinned Macaque to the ground with a single hand around his throat.

“Leave,” Wukong growled. “Now.”

And so Macaque did, slipping into the shadows with a sinister laugh that he just knew would get on Wukong’s nerves. He would call the fight a win. Not because he had overpowered the Monkey King—unfortunately, no. But there were three things that overall made him consider it a victory in his book.

1: he hadn’t died in the attempt. 2: he had upset Wukong in the process—the look of sorrow on the stone monkey’s face would bring Macaque joy for a long time. And 3:

There weren’t any flowers.

Of course, he knew there was no love left in his heart for that stupid ape; not after his death—his murder by Wukong’s hands. But just knowing for certain that the flowers would plague him no longer… it was a relief he hadn’t known he had needed.

The next time that Macaque and Wukong met face to face was because of a human child. Yes, Macaque had heard plenty about Wukong’s new “apprentice,” and he had learned firsthand that the kid was every bit as loud and irritating as the Monkey King himself.

And yet, in the short time Macaque had spent with the human child, he had grown to like tolerate him. He almost felt bad for tricking him, but if Macaque was to break free from the Lady Bone Demon… he needed every bit of power that he could get.

And he would do what was necessary to achieve that. He wouldn’t end up in the Diyu’s clutches again. Not if he had anything to say about it.

But of course, Wukong had come to save the day. Macaque would’ve expected nothing less of him; Sun Wukong had always been overprotective of those that he saw as his. Macaque would know.

He had once been Wukong’s.

Macaque would never admit it, but… it hurt to see the anger on Wukong’s face. Whereas the last time they’d met Wukong had looked pained, yet hopeful (ever the optimist, that stone monkey was), now there was only anger and betrayal. Not unlike when Macaque had attacked Wukong’s pilgrim brothers.

And so, just like that time on the fabled journey all those hundreds of years ago, they fought.

This time, he didn’t consider the fight a win. Sure, he had once again survived the encounter, but not without harm. The kid had wicked aim with that staff, and even though it hadn’t killed him—hadn’t done much more than leave him with a bad bruise—the phantom pains it had caused brought back old memories that Macaque was not ready to deal with.

He had fled the mountaintop, slipping undetected through the shadows and rubble like a thieving rat. Upon reaching his dojo, he resurfaced from the welcome darkness of his training room and immediately fell to his knees with a ragged cough. His throat burned, his blind right eye stung like it had been pierced with a hot poker, and his head felt like it was going to split open at any second. Tears pricked at his eyes as he dug his claws into the wooden floorboards. Damn it…

No, this wasn’t a victory in his book. Why had he ever sought out MK in the first place? He should’ve known—he had known that doing so would draw him back into Wukong’s reach. Into Wukong’s blazing light, which had once warmed his fur, but now only burned away at his shadows and left him weak and vulnerable.

I needed his power, he tried to reason with himself. To get away from the Lady Bone Demon, I need—

Macaque retched at the feeling of something in the back of his throat, and he coughed as he spat a flower petal out. It fell to the floor between his hands, and fear sparked to life in the pit of his stomach once more. Another petal. But they couldn’t be back. They couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible, it—

Macaque took a deep, shuddering breath as he struggled to calm his racing heart. The petal was yellowed and withered, just like the previous ones. It was old; a remnant of a life long lost. It was just left in his body from when…

When he had died.

So it was fine. He was fine. The flowers were dead. He just needed to clear them out of his system. They couldn’t hurt him anymore.

He didn’t leave his dojo for a week after that.

The remaining dead flowers cleared up over the next few weeks, and Macaque found that it became all that much easier to breathe when Wukong left town on his “vacation.” (Of course Macaque knew it wasn’t a vacation. When he strained to listen, he could hear the Monkey King pacing away the hours of the night over on Flower Fruit Mountain. Whatever Wukong was worried about, Macaque didn’t care; he had his own worries to deal with.)

However, the cough lingered. It wasn’t debilitating by any means—more irritating than anything. So Macaque pushed his concerns to the back of his mind and carried on with his second chance at life.

Macaque never should have put on that stupid shadowplay. But… he had needed the money. That was the annoying thing about life; it required a lot of effort and hard work. And if he had to work, then he had figured that he should at least get to do something that he loved.

Though, whether he went out and worked or hid himself away in his dojo, he supposed it was inevitable that the Lady Bone Demon would find him eventually. That icy old hag had been livid at Macaque’s betrayal (which really, she should have seen coming), and sent her corpse puppet to bring him back into her clutches. And she had been clear in her orders:

“One misstep, one failure in any way, I will erase the very memory of you. Now, bring them to me, my champion.”

And so, without much of a choice, Macaque did as he was told. He followed the Monkey King and his newfound pilgrim group as they made their way across the continent, searching for something to stop the Lady Bone Demon. And if he had just so happened to eavesdrop on their plans, and learned that they were planning to rebuild the Samadhi Fire, and decided that he would rather take it for himself, well… the Lady Bone Demon didn’t need to know.

If the Lady Bone Demon hadn’t seen his second betrayal coming, then she really didn’t know him at all. But, well, ice slowly consuming one’s entire body was a pretty good way to motivate an unwilling “champion” into doing what they were told. She must have thought that Macaque would surely obey her orders this time.

… yeah, no.

Once the cursed ice was gone and Macaque was finally, finally free, his first instinct was to run. To leave this mess behind and find a hole to hunker down in until Doomsday had passed, and hope that there was something worth living for afterwards.

But MK’s pure, unwavering optimism could persuade even the most pessimistic and bitter of people. Or monkeys. So Macaque found himself aiding the pilgrims on their fool’s errand, and a small part of him deep, deep inside hoped that they would win; that they would beat the Lady Bone Demon and save the day.

Because if they didn’t… then Macaque knew that he would face a fate far worse than death at that witch’s hands.

Macaque knew Wukong. He had known him for a long, long time. So of course he knew that Wukong often held back when fighting. It was common for him to do so with his friends, and apparently even with his friends-turned-enemies, if their last couple of encounters were anything to go by; Macaque knew that Wukong had held out on him the last few times they had fought.

Unfortunately, the Wukong he was now fighting—one possessed by the Lady Bone Demon—didn’t give him the same courtesy.

MK’s “great plan” had been for Macaque to keep Wukong at bay while MK retrieved his staff, and together their little group would take on the Lady Bone Demon’s mech, and… what, win?

Yeah, fat chance. They were outmatched—Macaque knew it, and either MK knew it too or he was just plain stupid. Heck, Macaque wasn’t keeping Wukong at bay so much as he was merely distracting him. Honestly, he was surprised he had even survived this long; this fight was happening far too similar to their last big battle. The one where Macaque had died.

Macaque wasn’t one to believe in fate, but if it did exist it seemed to find his thoughts to be rather ironic. One moment, he was managing to narrowly dodge Wukong’s attacks, and the next the possessed monkey’s hand was clenched around his throat like a vice. Any foolish notion that the two celestial monkeys were on equal footing was instantly gone, like a fallen leaf in a windstorm.

Macaque struggled to breathe, clawing at the fingers around his neck. Wukong’s hand was like a boa constrictor, slowly and mercilessly crushing his windpipe under its steel-like fingers.

“S-stop…” Macaque managed to gurgle out. His throat felt like it was on fire. “Wu—”

Something fluttered up from the back of Macaque’s mouth, and he gagged. He spat it out, and every thought about his dire situation was immediately forgotten as he saw a little pink fleck land on Wukong’s sleeve.

No. It couldn’t be. There was no way.

But there was no denying it. A singular peach blossom petal was stuck to the fabric of Wukong’s robe, its light pink color contrasting sharply against the dark blue cloth. Its presence was as damning as the strike of a judge’s gavel; its mere existence was proof that all of Macaque’s efforts to put his feelings behind him had been in vain. No matter how many times he told himself that he hated Sun Wukong—repeated it in his mind every night like the prayers of a convict on his way to the gallows…

It just wasn’t true.

Damn it… damn it, damn it, damn it!

He should’ve known. The dead petals had cleared, but the cough had never left him. That should have been a sign to him that even after everything he had been put through by the hands of Sun Wukong…

He still loved that stupid monkey.

Macaque felt like he wanted to die, but he knew better than that—he had already experienced death once before, and he certainly wasn’t looking forward to going back anytime soon. But it wasn’t like he had a choice. The hand currently clasped around his throat would seal his fate.

And it was then that Macaque decided: better late than never, right? Maybe, after all these thousands of years, maybe telling the truth would give him some semblance of a peace that he had never known. Maybe the Diyu would somehow be more bearable if he could at last release this dark confession from his soul.

Summoning what strength he had, Macaque looked into Wukong’s blank, emotionless eyes and whispered: “I… l-love…”

Suddenly, the ever-present tickle faded from Macaque’s throat, and Wukong’s grip loosened, allowing Macaque to suck in a desperately needed gasp of air. Before the dark-furred monkey could do anything else, the Monkey King leapt into the air, taking Macaque with him. Wukong flew back to the Lady Bone Demon, like a hawk with a mouse in its claws.

When Wukong at last landed at the top of the mountain, in front of the Bone Demon’s cave, he tossed Macaque to the ground like a piece of trash and stomped off towards MK, who was still fighting to free his staff from the ice. Macaque couldn’t do anything except lie there where he had fallen, struggling to catch his breath.

His thoughts felt like they were racing around at a thousand miles per hour, yet at the same time it was deafeningly silent within his skull. There was just… no way. It couldn’t be.

Why?

Macaque took a deep breath and let it out with an angry shake of his head. He couldn’t be thinking about this right now.

Right now, it was time to save the world. He would deal with his feelings later.

The tickle in his throat came back after the fight.

The Lady Bone Demon was defeated. The fight was won. The world was saved. And the heroes decided to celebrate their victory with a nice warm meal, enjoyed around a campfire and shared with good friends.

Friends to most of them, anyway.

Macaque, ever the loner, lurked in the shadows of the trees on the edge of the camp. No one was paying him any attention, and that was fine. He didn’t want to talk right now, anyway. He had far more pressing issues on his mind.

His mind was a mess of post-adrenaline rush exhaustion, mixed with… well, the shock of his discovery.

The flowers were back.

Macaque spared a glance at Wukong. The golden-furred monkey was sitting by the fire, his tail curling lazily behind him as he stared into the orange flames. A quick search of the crowd revealed that MK was sitting alone on the edge of the cliff, and Macaque decided to go annoy the kid. He found MK far more tolerable than the rest of the group, and besides—it was better than being alone with his thoughts right now.

Macaque silently slipped into the darkness, and resurfaced from MK’s shadow. He leaned over the kid’s shoulder, took a whiff of the steaming bowl of noodles in his hands, and smirked. “You’re done with that, right?”

MK jumped, clearly startled by Macaque’s appearance. “O-oh, well,” he stammered. “Actually, I—”

“He was saving that for me.”

Wukong could be just as silent as Macaque when he wanted to be, and that was exactly what he had been this time, sneaking up on MK’s other side. He harrumphed as he sat down beside his successor and snatched the bowl out of the kid’s hands. He gave Macaque a cocky smirk. “Y’know, ‘cause I’m his mentor.”

And with that, Wukong proceeded to scarf the food down like an absolute heathen. Macaque grimaced. Even if he was hungry, Wukong’s lack of manners killed his appetite almost instantly. He folded his arms and sighed. “Still the same Wukong. Doing whatever he wants with no regard for others.”

That was exactly the right thing to say to get on Wukong’s nerves, and Macaque couldn’t help the flutter of excitement in his chest as Wukong sat the bowl down on the ground and got to his feet to square up against the dark-furred monkey.

“Oh, yeah?” Wukong retorted, hands on his hips as he leaned into Macaque’s personal space. “Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind next time you scheme with the enemy, and almost get us all D-E-D!”

Macaque mentally facepalmed. Of course, he just had to be head over heels for an idiot.

“Uhh, you guys know you two are the same, right?” MK piped up helpfully.

How dare he?

“I’M NOTHING LIKE HIM!” Both monkeys shouted in sync, turning to the kid with almost identical looks of deep offense.

MK withered under their glares, shrinking in his seat as he looked away sheepishly. Macaque, immediately realizing the irony of the situation, stepped back with an embarrassed huff. He turned to leave; after all, he had just wanted to talk to MK. Not any of the others. And definitely not Monkey King.

“Hey!” Wukong shouted. “Where are you going?”

The back of Macaque’s throat tingled, and he struggled to hold back a cough. “Dunno,” he said coolly, and he could practically hear Wukong’s hackles rising with indignant rage. “Somewhere I can do a bit of scheming, probably.”

Wukong looked like steam was about to erupt from his ears, but Macaque blatantly ignored him and instead spared MK a sideways glance. “See you around, MK.”

And with that, Macaque sunk into the shadows, fleeing before the other two could speak. He reappeared in the trees on the far side of the campsite, perched in the upper branches where no one would casually look. He knew he should just leave, but… instead, he watched Wukong.

The golden furred monkey was sitting beside MK, both of them watching the setting sun from the cliff’s edge. Macaque could hear Wukong’s poor excuse of an apology that he was giving to the kid, and he scoffed; Wukong had never apologized to him. Wukong was never sorry. He never cared when his actions hurt others.

Macaque was twice living proof of that.

But then a question came to Macaque’s mind—one that he hadn’t thought of before—and he froze. Had Wukong… heard him? Back when they were fighting one another… had Wukong heard Macaque’s confession?

Macaque shook his head. There was no way. Wukong had been possessed; it was impossible—well, unlikely—that Wukong remembered much of anything from that experience. And if their argument just now was anything to go by, then it was safe to assume that Wukong had no recollection of what Macaque had said.

Macaque knew that he should be relieved… but he wasn’t.

With a quiet, frustrated growl, he leapt from the tree and landed almost silently on the earth about twenty feet below. The shock was fading now, and being replaced by anger. This was ridiculous.

No, this was impossible.

A mix between disbelief and anger flooded Macaque’s chest; there was no way the flowers had come back. Forget what he had said when he was literally being choked to death—he had no feelings for Wukong other than hatred and pure spite. Even after they had worked together to help stop the Lady Bone Demon, the mere thought of Wukong made Macaque’s fur stand on end and his chest burn with anger. Forget their silly banter, that had been nothing more than Macaque playing nice for MK’s sake.

Nothing more.

But the flowers inside of him had a different idea. Macaque couldn’t hold back the cough this time, and with it came another dainty petal, which fluttered to the ground at his feet. It was a mellow shade of pink, and soft to the touch; fresh.

Alive.

Macaque stomped on the little pink petal, grinding it into the dirt with the toe of his boot. He twisted his foot, shredding the delicate little thing until it was unrecognizable among the dead foliage on the ground.

Underneath the wrath bubbling in Macaque’s chest, there was a darker, colder feeling. And Macaque didn’t like it. It sent shivers down his spine and made him break into a cold sweat. It constricted his throat, making it just as difficult for him to breathe as the flowers did. Macaque knew what the emotion was, but he didn’t want to name it. Naming it gave it substance. Naming it gave it power over him.

Its name was Fear.

Chapter Text

It had only been a couple of weeks after the Lady Bone Demon’s defeat, when Macaque ran into MK again. The kid had been leaving cartons of noodles for Macaque, in the shadows of dark alleyways and on top of abandoned rooftops. Honestly, Macaque was grateful. Food was food, but this food in particular was good food. And considering Macaque’s significant lack of income since everything got out of hand, it was greatly appreciated.

So when MK showed up on the doorstep of his dojo one Friday afternoon, Macaque let him in.

Well, Macaque didn’t keep him out, anyway. The door was unlocked, and MK let himself in after knocking and standing on the doorstep for a couple of minutes with no response. Macaque watched from the shadows as the kid wandered from the entry hall and further into Macaque’s home, a bag of delicious smelling food hanging from the crook of his arm.

“Macaque?” MK called out as he entered the training hall. “Are you there?”

Alright. That was enough sneaking around. Macaque silently rose from MK’s shadow, and he couldn’t hide his smirk as he intentionally leaned in close and breathed down the back of MK’s neck.

MK shrieked, leaping high enough that Macaque was surprised the kid didn’t crack his head on the ceiling. He whirled around, staff in hand and ready to fight, only to find Macaque casually standing there, hands behind his back and a mischievous grin on his face as his tail swished lazily from side to side.

“Macaque!” MK whined, his hands falling to his sides as he realized that he wasn’t about to be attacked (probably). “What was that for?”

“Oh, y’know,” Macaque shrugged goodnaturedly. “Just testing you, like a good mentor does. You should pay more attention to your surroundings.”

“I was paying attention!” MK argued back. “Why didn’t you just answer the door like a normal person?”

Macaque’s grin only grew wider. “Oh, I just wanted to have some fun, is all. Besides, you’re the one that entered my home without permission.”

MK looked like he wanted to keep arguing, but instead he took a deep breath and sighed. The staff shrunk in his hand and he tucked it away in his ear, before stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket and directing his gaze to his feet, suddenly shy.

Macaque raised an eyebrow and placed a hand on his hip. “What do you want, kiddo? What’s with the visit? Thought we were doing a whole ‘secret rooftop delivery’ thing.” He gestured to the bag of food for emphasis.

“Well…” MK scuffed his sneaker against the floorboards; he didn’t seem keen on telling Macaque the reason for his intrusion into the monkey’s home.

“Do you want some training?” Macaque guessed. “I’m willing to give you some more lessons, if that’s what you’re here for. I’m sure Monkey King has gotten lazy since the Lady Bone Demon’s defeat.”

MK’s expression immediately soured at the mention of the bone spirit. “Let’s not talk about her right now. Okay?” His tone made it clear this was not up for discussion.

Macaque didn’t answer. He just stared expectantly, waiting for MK to get to the point.

MK slid the plastic bag from his arm and held it out to Macaque. “I brought you some noodles. And… I came to invite you to hang out.”

Macaque hesitantly took the bag, wary as he asked, “… hang out where? And with who?”

MK smiled nervously and rubbed the back of his neck, but he pressed on. “Well, Sandy’s having a get-together on his boat tomorrow. It’s gonna be him, Pigsy, Tang, Mei, maybe Red Son, me, and…”

Don’t say Wukong, Macaque thought desperately to himself. Don’t say Wukong, don’t say Wukong—

“And Monkey King.” MK finished. “Oh, and Bai He!”

That caught Macaque off-guard, distracting him from his anti-Sun Wukong internal monologue. “Who?”

“Lady Bone Demon’s host,” MK explained helpfully. “She’s coming, too. And I know that she wants you to be there. She wants to thank you for saving her.”

Macaque grimaced; he didn’t really save her. Breaking her fall was nothing. Saving her would have been somehow removing the evil demon from her body before any of this mess ever happened. But Macaque hadn’t been strong enough for that; he had been far too focused on his own issues to spare the poor girl more than a second glance.

He should’ve helped her escape, too.

“I dunno, kid,” Macaque mumbled, fidgeting with the bag’s handles. “I don’t think your friends are big fans of me. They probably wouldn’t want me there.”

“What?” MK exclaimed, as if that very idea was absolutely preposterous. “Of course we want you there! I want you there, and Bai He wants you there, and so does Sandy!” But then he frowned. “I think Tang is cool with you, and Pigsy… well, he’ll be fine.”

“Aaand what about Wukong?” Macaque pressed. He was sure he already knew the answer, though:

Hell to the no.

“Oh! I’m sure it’ll be fine,” MK said cheerfully with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Monkey King’s cool.”

“Uh-huh.” It was strange, just how much Macaque believed that Sun Wukong would not be cool with Macaque being within even a hundred yards of his successor. Strange, indeed.

“You should come!” MK persisted. “It’ll be fun! And honestly, you seem like you could use some friends.”

Ouch. The kid was perceptive—Macaque would give him that.

Macaque pursed his lips as he mulled over the invitation. It wasn’t like he had any other plans for tomorrow (or the next week, except for maybe grocery shopping and working on his romance novel; he had to make money somehow). But he wasn’t sure he wanted to spend his afternoon being isolated and ignored.

How’s that any different from how I usually spend my days? Macaque thought to himself. MK was right: he needed friends.

At least if he went to the party, he could say that he made an effort. Even if it resulted in nothing, or in a fight with a certain monkey (which was far more likely), Macaque could say that he gave friendship a shot.

Besides… if the host girl wanted to see him, it was the least he could do.

Macaque sighed in resignation. “Alright.”

MK blinked, surprised, before his expression quickly morphed into one of hopeful eagerness. “Really?”

“I’ll go,” Macaque said decisively. And he hoped, deep down inside, that he wouldn’t regret his decision.

And so, the next day, Macaque found himself on the dock beside Sandy’s boat, silently cursing himself for having ever agreed to come to this ‘get-together’.

He was already almost an hour late. He could try to blame it on the fact that he had struggled to decide what to wear (he had finally gone with a plain black sweater and faded jeans), but honestly, he just didn’t want to come in the first place.

But he had made a promise, so here he was.

He could hear people talking on the boat. And lots of meowing. Cool. If there was a cat or two, maybe he could just spend the party in the corner with the felines and avoid any human/demon interaction.

That counted as socializing, right? Macaque certainly thought it did.

“Hey, Monkey King?”

Macaque’s ears flicked under his glamour as he heard MK speak up; he could hear the anxiousness in the boy’s tone.

“Yeah? What’s up, bud?” The Monkey King replied, and the mere sound of his voice was enough to make Macaque’s fur stand on end.

Yeah, he should just leave. Just turn around and go back to his dojo, where he could hide away and just… not deal with this. Who cared if MK was disappointed in him? Disappointing others was one of Macaque’s specialties.

“Do you have, like, Macaque’s number or something?” MK asked. “I didn’t think to ask him for it yesterday, and I’m just wondering if he’s running late, or needs help, or… something.”

Macaque could hear as Wukong’s heartbeat picked up; the mere mention of the dark-furred shadow monkey must’ve gotten on his nerves.

Good.

“Uh, no.” Wukong chuckled. “Why would I have his number? We’re not friends, MK. Heck, I doubt he’s even gonna show up.”

“But…” Macaque could practically hear MK’s fidgeting. “He said that he would…”

Monkey King laughed, as if MK had told him a good joke. “Hah! Don’t count on it, bud. It’s not like Macaque actually cares about anyone. Not even your adorable charm could sway that heartless bas—”

“Hey!” A gruff voice snapped; Macaque recognized it as Pigsy’s. “Language!”

“In fact, y’know what?” Wukong continued. “I’ll bet you my limited-edition signed Monkey Cop 2 action figure that he won’t even make an appearance tonight.”

Y’know what?

Frick Wukong.

Before Macaque even knew what he was doing, he stomped up the gangway and onto the boat’s deck. His actions didn’t even register in his mind until he was rapping his knuckles against the front door.

The voices on the other side of the door fell silent, and Macaque was suddenly overcome by the strong urge to turn tail and flee. This was a terrible idea. Why did he ever agree to this?

But before he could enact his escape, heavy footsteps hurried to the door, and it swung open, revealing none other than the big blue giant himself: Sandy.

“Mister Maquack!” Sandy’s smile was warm enough to melt snow as he beamed at the newcomer on his doorstep. “How wonderful of you to join us on this lovely evening!”

“Uhh… yeah,” Macaque mumbled, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. “Sorry I’m late, I… y’know…”

Sandy nodded as if he completely understood, and stepped to the side, gesturing for Macaque to come in. Macaque hesitated, but did as he was instructed. He walked into the little home, his tail between his legs and his hands shoved into his pockets. His anxiety bubbling under his skin like a boiling pot of water, Macaque’s gaze quickly sought out each of the room’s occupants:

The pig demon and the human, Tang, were seated together on the couch. The pig scowled as Macaque met his gaze, while Tang just looked uncomfortable, his gaze traveling everywhere but in Macaque’s direction. The host girl—Bai He, right?— was seated in the armchair, with a blue-furred cat in her lap and a forearm crutch resting against the arm of her seat. She met Macaque’s eyes for a split second, before looking away shyly.

Mei and MK were sitting on the floor at Bai He’s feet, a card game of some sort spread out on the carpet between them. Mei didn’t even look up from her phone screen, but MK beamed at the shadow monkey, looking like he had just won the lottery.

As for Sun Wukong, the golden monkey was leaning against the counter that divided the living room from the little kitchenette. And he looked like he had just discovered piss in his lemonade.

MK leapt up from the floor and bounded over to Macaque, looking every bit like an excited puppy. “You made it!”

Macaque couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto his lips at the kid’s eagerness. “Yep. I made it.”

“I’m so glad you’re here!” MK gushed. “Now everyone can get to know you better, and we can all be friends!”

Macaque bit back a scoff. From the looks of it, it was highly unlikely that anyone in the room (other than MK, Sandy, and maybe Bai He), even wanted Macaque to be there, let alone wanted to be friends with him. “Uhh, kid—”

“Red Son couldn’t make it,” MK continued, completely steamrolling over Macaque’s words. “He had plans with his parents. But that’s okay! We can catch up with him later.” MK then gestured around the room, pointing at a stack of cardboard game boxes, some bowls of chips and popcorn on the coffee table, and then at the flatscreen TV on the far wall across from the couch. “We’ve got games to play, we’ve got snacks to eat, and we’re gonna watch a movie later!” He was bouncing on his heels as he turned and stared eagerly at Macaque, waiting for an answer. “So, what do you wanna do first?”

Macaque was usually one to enjoy being the center of attention, but this time that was not the case. “Uhh, I…” He swallowed nervously as he felt a drop of sweat trickle down the back of his neck. MK’s words were buzzing around his head like a swarm of bees, and he could feel all the eyes watching him. “I…”

“Hey, MK, let’s give Mister Maquack a moment to decide,” Sandy interjected softly, stepping in between the human and the monkey. He turned to Macaque and gave him a gentle smile. “How would you like to meet some of my therapy cats? They can be very calming for the nerves.”

“Yes,” Macaque managed to utter weakly, grateful for the giant’s help. “I like cats.”

Sandy patted Macaque on the back (his hand was big enough to easily cover both of Macaque’s shoulders) and guided him to the far left corner of the room, on the left side of the TV, where an impressive, multi-layer cat tree stood in the corner. There were three cats currently residing on the cat tree, and another one asleep on the cat bed next to it.

“I only have five at the moment,” Sandy explained as he reached down and began to pet each of the kitties one by one. “I foster cats, but I can’t have that many on the boat at a time, y’know? Not a whole lot of room here.”

Macaque nodded. Yes, yes, this was good. He was socializing.

Sandy pointed to the first cat, which had a tortoiseshell coat and was lounging at the top of the cat tree. “This is Marshmallow.” The next one he gestured to was cream-colored with brown spots, and was playing with a little toy mouse. “And this is Cookie Dough. She’s a little rascal, but we love her. That guy down there,” he pointed to the third cat on the tree, who was kneading the base of the post and had a rusty orange coat. “That’s Ginger. He loves belly rubs.”

“Good to know,” Macaque acknowledged, the cloud of anxiety looming over his head slowly beginning to disperse.

“And the one sleeping in the cat bed is Cocoa,” Sandy said, pointing at the snoozing feline. It was chubby and had a dark brown coat, and Macaque noticed with surprise that it only had one eye—its left eye socket was scarred over. “He thinks he’s the king of the house, but that’s actually Mo’s title.” Sandy nudged Macaque with his elbow and gave him a conspiratorial wink. “Don’t tell him that, though, alright?”

Macaque chuckled. “My lips are sealed.”

There was the sound of movement behind them, and then the uneven shuffling of little footsteps, accompanied by the faint creaking of metal. Macaque and Sandy turned around to see Bai He hobbling toward them with her crutch, Mo following dutifully behind her. Macaque’s eyes widened as his anxiety returned like a boomerang, smacking him upside the head with its presence.

Crap. MK did say that Bai He wanted to see him, didn’t he? That she wanted to talk to him? Why?

Technically, he was the one she had spent the most time around out of all the members of the group; back when she was being used as the bone demon’s host. Did she remember her time under Lady Bone Demon’s possession? Did she have lingering feelings of resentment towards him? How strong of a hold had the Lady Bone Demon had on Bai He?

… and did she still have one?

A shudder ran down Macaque’s spine as his tail puffed up behind him, and his fingers curled into fists. Was the Lady Bone Demon here now, possessing Bai He? No, there was no way. MK had defeated her, with everyone’s help. She was gone, and there was no way she could hurt Macaque anymore, she couldn’t—

The little girl came to a stop in front of Macaque. She was unsteady on her feet, and before Macaque could think of what to do she lurched forward. He raised his hands, ready to defend himself, but then…

Then she wrapped her arms around his waist, and buried her face in the front of his sweater.

… What?

What was this? Some strange fighting technique? Was she… going to suplex him, maybe? No, not with that limp.

Some small part of his brain—one that hadn’t been affected by all the fighting and betrayal and overall grittiness in his long, long existence—spoke up then.

No, you idiot. It’s a hug.

… oh.

Bai He sniffled tearfully as she spoke, her words muffled by the fabric of his shirt. “Thank you…”

Macaque felt like he was going to be sick. She shouldn’t be thanking him; he didn’t deserve it. If he had been able to break free of the Lady Bone Demon at any point before her defeat… then he would’ve left the poor human girl behind without a second thought.

Unsure of what he should do, Macaque looked up at the rest of the room, as if searching for guidance. Everyone was watching him, but their demeanors had changed. Pigsy’s scowl had noticeably softened, and Tang was actually looking at him now. Mei and MK were smiling warmly (MK gave him an encouraging thumbs up), and Wukong was watching Macaque closely. The golden monkey had probably noticed how on edge Macaque was when Bai He approached, and was watching in case he needed to interfere for the girl’s safety.

Macaque looked at Sandy for help, and the giant helpfully pantomimed giving a hug. Macaque was supposed to return the embrace?

Yeah, no. He wasn’t comfortable with that.

So Macaque cleared his throat and after a moment’s hesitation, gave Bai He an awkward pat on the back. “Uhh… sure,” he muttered. “Anytime.”

Bai He pulled away, and she wiped at her eyes as she gave Macaque a teary smile. Macaque’s tail twitched as he stuffed his hands back in his pockets and tried not to hunch his shoulders. So… what now?

Luckily, Bai He was far better at socializing than he was. She pointed to the blue cat at her feet. “This is Mo,” she said dutifully. “He likes pets.”

“Oh. Cool,” Macaque replied awkwardly. “Uhh… good to know?”

Bai He looked at Macaque expectantly, and he realized that he was supposed to pet said cat. So he crouched down and held his hand out to the feline. The cat came forward and sniffed Macaque’s hand, his whiskers and breath tickling the backs of the monkey’s fingers. After a moment, the cat rubbed his cheek against Macaque’s hand with a tiny purr.

Bai He gasped excitedly. “He likes you!”

A hint of a smile graced Macaque’s lips. “It would appear so.”

Mo purred again as Macaque scratched between his ears, and Ginger decided that he needed in on the action. He walked over and butted his head against Macaque’s leg with a loud, demanding meow. Macaque scoffed quietly as he reached over and petted Ginger with his other hand.

“What, were you feeling left out?” He asked the little cat.

Ginger meowed again as he rubbed up against Macaque’s pant leg, as if to say, “duh!”

Under all the purrs and meows, Macaque could hear as the conversation in the room picked back up. Mei and MK returned to their game, while Pigsy and Tang immediately began to argue about noodles or something; Macaque didn’t care to listen in. Cats were far more interesting.

Sandy helped Bai He sit down on the floor, and she smiled as she beckoned for Mo. He pitter-pattered back over to her and sat down on her legs with an adorable little meow, and Bai He giggled as she ran her fingers through the cat’s soft fur.

Macaque smiled softly as he brushed Ginger. The orange cat purred loudly, and promptly rolled over onto his back, giving Macaque an adorable look that seemed to ask, “belly rubs, please?”

Macaque rolled his eyes with an amused huff as he proceeded to gently scratch the cat’s tummy.

“Wow, Mister Maquack,” Sandy remarked; Macaque had almost forgotten that he was still there. “You’re really good with cats! You must be a natural!”

Macaque’s face grew warm at the compliment. “If you say so.”

But then, to Macaque’s left, someone scoffed. Loudly. A scowl immediately appeared on Macaque’s face as he cast a sideways glance at Wukong. The golden monkey had stood up from his spot against the kitchen counter, and he huffed as he jabbed at himself with his thumb. “I’m pretty good with cats too, y’know.”

“O-oh.” Sandy blinked, confused by the sudden outburst. He took a step back and gestured to the cat corner. “Well, please, feel free to come play with them. They love the attention.”

Macaque growled under his breath, briefly startling Ginger (who, upon seeing the lack of danger, immediately settled down for more belly rubs). Of course, Wukong just had to butt in and ruin his fun. Why couldn’t Wukong play with MK or something? Why did he have to bother Macaque, who was just minding his own business?

Wukong came to a stop on Macaque’s right, and knelt down next to the cat bed. Cocoa stirred in his sleep, and he blinked his eye open with a startled meow as Wukong reached over and gently patted him on the head. Macaque rolled his eyes; that stone idiot was gonna get himself either scratched or bit.

But to Macaque’s surprise, Cocoa leaned into Wukong’s touch with a warm purr. Wukong smiled, and a small tickle popped up in Macaque’s throat.

Crap.

Macaque shook his head and looked away, returning his attention to his own cat. No. He was not going to let Wukong affect him. He was going to ignore that stupid, arrogant monkey; surely he could exist in the same room as him without having some sort of “petaled reaction.”

This was fine.

…

At least, it was fine until Wukong started speaking.

“Aren’t you just the cutest little thing, huh?” He cooed at Cocoa, who was eating up the attention like a greedy little goblin. “Huh? Aren’t you?”

The tickle grew stronger, and Macaque cleared his throat. Shut up. Don’t pay attention to him. He focused on giving Ginger the best possible tummy rubs, and the cat was happy to receive them. He purred loudly, and Macaque could feel the vibrations under his fingertips.

As for Cocoa, he stood up from the cat bed and waddled closer to Wukong, who gasped with excitement when the cat pawed at his knee. “You’re so adorable!”

Don’t listen to him, Macaque ordered himself. Don’t listen to him, don’t listen—

“And your fur is so soft!” Wukong gushed as he picked Cocoa up and set him down on his lap, continuing to ramble on in that stupid baby voice. “Aww! I just wanna give you all the snuggles, and pets, and kisses!”

Macaque choked. He immediately covered his mouth as he began to cough, and Ginger rolled over onto his stomach, his expression startled and confused as he looked up at Macaque with big, questioning eyes.

Sandy came over and patted Macaque gently on the back, concerned as he asked: “Can I get you some water?”

Macaque shook his head as he held his breath, trying to make the coughs go away. But they persisted, and he swore he could feel petals rising up his throat. Macaque spluttered, his coughing wet and ragged as he got to his feet, hand still clamped tightly over his mouth. Dang it… Stupid Wukong…

“Sheesh. Are you allergic to cats?” Mei called over from across the room. She and MK were both watching Macaque with confusion.

“No,” Macaque rasped, his eyes watering. “I’m not—”

Another cough erupted from his mouth, and with it Macaque tasted blood. He turned on his heel and ran out of the room, ignoring the others calling after him as he yanked open the front door and escaped to the outside.

It was evening out on the deck, and Macaque barely made it to the side of the boat before he threw up. He spluttered as he collapsed against the railing, and blood spilled from his lips, splashing onto the metal banister and dripping from there onto the floor below.

Damn it… He would need to clean that up before anyone else saw. But then his stomach churned, and he pushed that thought to the back of his mind as he leaned over the rail and threw up again. Blood and bile dribbled from his mouth, and Macaque watched a handful of red-stained petals drift on the sea breeze as they slowly fell into the ocean below.

Blood. There… there shouldn’t be blood yet. The flowers hadn’t progressed this quickly last time. He had dealt with just petals and blossoms for years before any blood showed up the first time, so why was there so much now?

Maybe the disease had never truly left him. Maybe its roots were still in his lungs from all those thousands of years ago, and the flowers had merely blossomed again after he came back to life; like a rosebush, in the spring following a long, cold winter. But if that was the case…

Then Macaque had less time than he thought.

He had hoped he would have more time before it got this bad. Time to figure something out. What, exactly? He didn’t know, but… something.

He didn’t… he didn’t want…

I don’t want to die.

“Mister Maquack…”

Macaque jumped, and looked over his shoulder to find none other than Sandy standing a few feet behind him. He had no idea how the blue giant had snuck up on him, but it wasn’t like he had exactly been listening for anyone; he had been far more focused on making it outside before he threw up.

Sandy took a hesitant step towards Macaque, and then another, walking forward until he was standing with him at the railing. Sandy’s gaze drifted down to the deck, and Macaque watched, his breath rattling in his chest alongside his pounding heart.

There, in a small puddle of blood between their feet, rested two petals and a half-formed peach blossom.

Macaque’s breath caught in his throat as Sandy crouched down and carefully picked the blossom up. He cupped it in his palm, studying it for a long, agonizing moment before standing back up. Sandy glanced over his shoulder, back at the cabin door—where all the others were, unknowing of and unworried about what was happening outside.

Sandy turned back to Macaque. “You need to tell him.”

Macaque stared at Sandy, his eyes wide with disbelief and his voice scratchy as he asked: “You… know what this is?”

Sandy nodded. “Hanahaki disease, I’ve heard about it in my travels.”

“Hanahaki…?” Macaque repeated slowly, the word foreign to his tongue.

“The name is Japanese in origin,” Sandy explained. “Do you know what it is?”

Macaque took a moment to wipe the blood from his lips using his sleeve, before shaking his head. He didn’t know that anyone else even had this… condition.

Sandy frowned softly. “It’s an ailment inflicted by unrequited love.”

Macaque winced. He’d had a feeling that his unknown illness had something to do with love, considering how it often acted up whenever Wukong so much as crossed his mind. He just hadn’t known it actually had a name, or was known by anyone else.

Sandy continued, his gaze falling back to the flower in his hand. “Flowers burrow into the tissue of your body. They start in the lungs, which is why you cough up petals. It spreads from there, and when it starts to get bad you cough up whole blossoms, and… blood…”

Silently, they both looked down, at where Macaque’s blood pooled on the worn metal floor below them, a few petals resting in the red liquid like ducks in a pond.

“It spreads from your lungs, up into your throat and down into your stomach.” Sandy continued solemnly. “Once it gets past that stage…. there’s not anything that can be done.”

Macaque looked away from the puddle, his hands gripping the railing tightly enough that the metal creaked under his fingers. He stared at the gentle waves below, watching how his reflection rippled and became distorted on the water’s surface. His ears flicked under his glamour as Sandy sighed heavily, but he didn’t look at the giant. He didn’t want to see the annoying sympathy on his face. The pity.

“You need to tell him,” Sandy said quietly, breaking the silence between them. “You need to tell Wukong.”

Macaque choked, coughing as he turned to Sandy with wide eyes. How had he figured it out? Was it really that obvious?

“If you tell him, then the flowers should go away,” Sandy told him. “I believe that’s how it works. At least, from what I remember. But you need to tell him before it’s too late.”

“How…” Macaque cleared his throat. “How do you know it’s…?”

Sandy merely raised an eyebrow. “Peach blossoms?”

Macaque’s cheeks grew warm, and he looked away with an embarrassed huff.

“Besides, I can’t see you liking anyone else here in that way,” Sandy pointed out.

The water demon was not only observant, he was also right. As much as Macaque wanted to deny it, he had feelings for Sun Wukong. Stupid, stupid Sun Wukong. But the other thing Sandy had said gave Macaque pause.

There was a cure?

But if said cure was confessing his feelings to Wukong’s face…

“… no,” Macaque said quietly, his gaze falling to the red puddle at his feet. “I won’t. I won’t tell him.” I can’t.

He could feel Sandy’s eyes on him, but he refused to meet the other’s gaze. And after a long moment, Sandy sighed. “Alright,” he accepted quietly. “But no one else can do it for you. If you want any chance of getting better, you need to tell Wukong yourself.”

Macaque nodded, but didn’t say anything. He did want to get better—really, he did—but he couldn’t… he couldn’t tell Wukong that he loved him. There was far too much bad blood between the two monkeys. Whatever they had now… this mutual acknowledgment of each other’s existence, without breaking into a fight any time they were in the same room… that was probably the best relationship that Macaque could ever hope to have with the Monkey King.

Macaque closed his eyes with a tired sigh. “I’m sorry about the mess.”

“Huh? Oh, it’s alright,” Sandy assured him. “I can clean it up, don’t worry.”

The giant grabbed an oily rag from a nearby toolbox, but Macaque shook his head and held out his hand. “No, I’ll do it.”

“… alright.” Sandy handed Macaque the cloth and stepped back. “But come to the kitchen when you’re done. I’ll make you a nice cup of tea to soothe your throat.”

Macaque merely nodded, but secretly he did appreciate the offer. He watched as Sandy tossed the half-formed flower over the side of the boat and headed back inside, and once the door swung shut behind him Macaque got to work. He wiped up the blood and tossed the remaining petals overboard, but he faltered as he wondered what to do with the rag. He couldn’t bring it inside, or leave it on the deck—someone might see it. So he shoved the bloodied rag in his pocket—he would deal with it later—and took a deep breath before heading back inside.

Upon returning to the cabin, Macaque found that the living room lights had been turned off and a movie was playing on the screen. It was some cartoon, with a piano playing a melancholic tune as a gargantuan, gruesome-looking thing with chicken feet walked across a foggy field. The group was all gathered around the TV, with Pigsy, Tang, and Bai He all squished onto the couch while Sandy took the armchair. Wukong was sitting cross-legged on the floor, with a bag of chips in his lap.

Everyone looked up when Macaque entered, and MK sat up from where he was lounging on the rug, with Mei using his legs as a pillow. “Macaque!”

Macaque waved awkwardly. Great. Everyone was staring at him again.

“Are you okay?” MK asked him.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” Macaque answered with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Oh, that’s good.” MK breathed a dramatic sigh of relief. “I was worried when you ran off, but Sandy said he’d check on you.”

Macaque was once again grateful for the giant’s help, and he shot Sandy a quick glance (the giant smiled in return) before giving MK an easygoing smirk. “It’s cool. Thanks, kid.”

MK opened his mouth to speak, but then Mei shushed him. MK shushed her back before returning his attention to Macaque. “We’re watching Howl’s Moving Castle!” He told the monkey. “Do you wanna join us?”

“Nah, I’m good,” Macaque insisted. “It looks a little… crowded in here, so… I’m probably just gonna head out.”

MK’s smile fell, and he immediately gave Macaque his best impression of a sad puppy. “Aww! Can’t you stay?” MK quickly glanced around, before pointing at Wukong. “There’s a spot next to Monkey King!”

In the dark, it was easy to see as Wukong’s glowing golden eyes widened, and he looked at Macaque with alarm. The annoying, persistent tickle rose up in Macaque’s throat, and he looked away with a grimace. “Uhh, no, thanks.”

“Mister Maquack?” Sandy said in a stage whisper. “Don’t forget your tea. It’s in the kitchen.”

Oh, right. Sandy had said he’d make Macaque some tea. And honestly, a cup of warm tea sounded pretty good right now. So Macaque gave Sandy a grateful nod and said, “Alright. I guess… I can stay a little longer.”

MK cheered, but he was promptly silenced by Mei shoving a handful of popcorn in his mouth. Macaque proceeded to slink through the crowd, awkwardly squeezing between the coffee table and the couch, and wincing as he bumped into Pigsy’s knees. There was more room to walk in front of the coffee table, but MK was currently writhing on the floor as he choked on popcorn, and also… if Macaque went that way, then Wukong would be sitting in his path to the kitchen, and Macaque wasn’t going anywhere near the other monkey.

Macaque mumbled a quiet apology to Pigsy, and the pig gave an annoyed huff in response. Macaque then slipped around and behind the armchair, silently congratulating himself as he at last made it to the kitchen. He stepped past the bar counter and was grateful for the space that the kitchenette offered; it was compact, but far less crowded than the living room.

On the counter sat a mug filled with steaming, golden liquid. As Macaque picked it up, the warm citrusy scent hit his nose. Lemon…? He wondered to himself. A sip revealed that the tea was syrupy sweet, with a hint of a sour aftertaste. Ah, honey lemon.

Macaque took another sip, content as the warm drink soothed his aching throat. Maybe he could ask Sandy how much it would cost to buy a box of the tea from him. But then Macaque noticed, beside where the mug had been sitting, two little individually packaged tea bags. On the counter next to them was a sticky note, reading:

Stop by if you run out! It’s on the house!

~ Sandy

He set the mug down and grabbed the bags, staring at them for a long moment before pocketing them. He would definitely have to thank Sandy later. For everything. Macaque moved to take another sip of his drink, but faltered as he heard movement. He held his breath as he watched Wukong get to his feet and tread over to the bar.

“Hey,” Wukong greeted quietly, his eyes glowing like candles in the dark.

Act normal, Macaque commanded himself. Act normal! “Hey.”

“How…” Wukong cleared his throat. “How are you doing?”

… what was Wukong playing at? He didn’t care about Macaque; Macaque knew that. Maybe Wukong was just trying to look good in front of everybody by pretending to be concerned for the shadow monkey.

So Macaque didn’t answer, and instead took a loud slurp of his tea. Maybe Wukong would take the hint and leave him alone.

But Wukong persisted. “You didn’t sound so good earlier, so… I was wor—wondering how… you’re doing.”

See, the thing with glowing eyes was that they made it pretty obvious where a person was looking. And Wukong was looking everywhere but at Macaque. His gaze finally rested on Macaque’s mug of tea, and Wukong failed to hold back a grimace as he awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck.

Wow. Could he make it any more obvious that he didn’t want to be there? It was clear that the Monkey King would rather be doing anything else than talking to his ex-best friend at the moment. He was probably doing this to make MK happy; to make MK think that the two monkeys were finally getting along.

Speaking of MK…

“So, how much is that action figure worth?” Macaque asked Wukong. “What… 14,000 yuan?”

Wukong blinked, clearly confused by what Macaque was referring to.

“Well.” Macaque swirled the dregs around in the bottom of his mug. “I’m sure MK will treasure it, no matter its value.”

Something clicked behind Wukong’s eyes, and his face flushed with embarrassment as he realized that Macaque had heard the bet he’d made with MK earlier. Wukong turned on his heel and flounced off back to his seat, where he plopped himself down on the floor with an indignant huff. Macaque cleared his throat and looked down into the remains of his drink, enjoying the warmth of the ceramic mug against his fingers.

He had done it. He had socialized today. And better yet, he hadn’t gotten into a fight with Sun Wukong.

Now the next step was to make friends.

Maybe…

Maybe Sandy would like to be his friend.

Chapter Text

Macaque returned home late that evening, and the following week was fairly uneventful for him. He coughed, and went grocery shopping, and coughed, and worked on his book, and coughed, and took naps whenever he could.

Did he mention that he coughed? Yeah, his condition was definitely getting worse; droplets of blood were becoming a regular occurrence, and the petals had increased as well. But there wasn’t anything he could do about it, other than confessing his love for Wukong to said monkey, which was obviously not an option. And he didn’t know anything about his illness, other than what Sandy had told him.

Speaking of Sandy… maybe Macaque should pay him a visit. But Macaque didn’t really have a reason to visit; he still had a bag of tea left (he had been saving it in case he didn’t happen to get any more), but maybe he could claim that he had run out? He couldn’t just show up for no reason at all. That was something that friends did, and… Macaque didn’t know if the two of them counted as friends just yet.

So that Sunday morning found Macaque at home, catching up on his chores. He hadn’t meant to put them off, but he had been preoccupied with other things (such as finding an alternative cure to his problem; he had begun to morbidly, yet legitimately wonder if drinking weed killer would get rid of the flowers in his body). However, he had run out of clean clothes a couple of days ago, so it was best to just buckle down and get the work over with.

Macaque hummed a tune to himself as he sorted out his dirty laundry; it was from a musical that had been performed the other night at the theater a few blocks away, where he used to put on his shadow plays. He hadn’t gone and seen the performance, but he had been able to hear it just fine from the rooftop of his building.

Maybe he should get around to seeing the show in person, before… well, in case he didn’t have much longer. Because who knew how much longer he had? Maybe he would somehow find a cure, and then he wouldn’t have to worry anymore about an unknown expiration date to his lifespan. Then he wouldn’t have to worry about bucket lists, or what he wanted to do before he died again.

Grabbing a dirty pair of jeans from the laundry basket, Macaque checked the pockets, and was surprised to find something. He pulled it out, and found that it was an oily rag, stained with dried blood. Oh, right. Back at Sandy’s boat, he had used it to clean up the blood, when…

Macaque smiled to himself. It looked like he now had a reason to visit.

“Mister Maquack!”

Sandy spotted Macaque before Macaque spotted him. The giant was out on the deck of his boat, watering a couple of leafy plants near the bow. He went to meet Macaque as the monkey came up the gangway. “It’s wonderful to see you again! What brings you here?”

Macaque pulled the cloth (now clean and neatly folded) from his pocket and handed it to Sandy. “I was just returning this.”

“Oh! Thank you!” Sandy took the rag and set it back on top of his toolbox. “Much appreciated.”

“Of course,” Macaque replied casually. And then he stood there, unsure of how to continue the conversation.

Luckily, Sandy came to the rescue. “Would you like to come on board? I’m just watering my plants. I was about to head to my upstairs garden.”

Macaque nodded. Maybe while Sandy tended to his garden, Macaque could ask him more about this so-called hanahaki disease.

Sandy gave him a cheerful smile and headed towards the back of the boat, watering can in hand. Macaque followed him, and together they went up a set of stairs to the upper level of the deck. Up there, there was a large crane at the stern of the boat, and to their left was a little balcony on top of the dark blue shipping container, right next to a small yellow shipping container. The balcony was occupied by two planter boxes and a few pots, all of which were overflowing with lush, lively vegetation. If Macaque didn’t know better, he would’ve thought that Sandy was some sort of plant spirit, rather than a water demon.

“I’m glad you decided to stop by,” Sandy said as he got to work watering each of the plants. “I did a little more research on ha—well, your illness.”

Macaque nodded. Alright. They were getting right to it, then. “What can you tell me?”

“Alright. Well… hanahaki—” Sandy hesitated. “I-it’s alright if I say the name, right?”

Macaque scoffed. “Of course you can say it.”

Sandy nodded. “Okay. Didn’t know if we were keeping this a secret, or…”

“Oh, it’s a secret,” Macaque assured him coolly (threateningly). “But there’s no one else around, except your cats.”

“Well, you never know,” Sandy replied jokingly. Now done with watering the potted plants, he moved over to the planter boxes. “Sometimes I catch my cats eavesdropping. Who knows what secrets they’re sharing with their feline friends?”

Though it was an incredibly lame attempt at a joke, Macaque still chuckled.

Sandy grinned. “Just trying to lighten the mood.” He turned to the second planter box and began to water there as well. “Well, let’s start at the beginning, I suppose. Hanahaki. The name basically means flower vomiting disease.”

“How pleasant,” Macaque muttered dryly.

Sandy chuckled. “I know. It’s also called huā tǔ bìng in Chinese.”

Macaque wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Flower spit?”

“Eeyup,” Sandy replied. “The name is fairly literal.” He was quiet for a minute as he finished watering the plants, but then he set down the watering can and turned around. Macaque noticed immediately that the giant’s expression had become troubled.

“I was a bit… misinformed when we last spoke. On how to cure the disease. I did some more reading…” Sandy’s gaze fell to the floor as he began to fidget with his hands. “From what I’ve been able to find, the love needs to be reciprocated romantically. Platonic love, or friendship, isn’t enough.”

It took a second for those words to process, but when they did Macaque’s heart sank into the pit of his stomach. So, not only did he have to confess, but Wukong had to like him back?

Yeah, not a chance.

Was that it, then? Confess, and be accepted and loved in return, or… die? Because… because no matter how much Macaque loved Wukong—even though he knew that he shouldn’t—he also knew that there was no chance of Wukong ever reciprocating. Not after all that Macaque had done to Wukong, and to his pilgrim brothers… Considering the way their fatal fight had ended, it was clear that there was no coming back from that. Wukong had hated Macaque enough to kill him in cold blood. And it was a miracle now that Wukong hadn’t yet sent him back into the grave he had crawled out of.

Even if Macaque could somehow muster up the courage to tell Wukong that he loved him, Wukong would never return the feeling.

Macaque gave a mirthless chuckle. “Well, I guess that’s it, then. There’s nothing I can do.” Though his voice was cool and confident, Macaque’s hands began to shake, and he stuffed them in his pockets before Sandy could see. His throat felt uncomfortably tight, like there was a lump that he had to struggle to speak around. “Wukong… hates me.”

Sandy’s expression turned to one of sorrow. “I mean, that might not be true. Y-you never know—”

“No,” Macaque said quietly, cutting him off. He knew Wukong—he had known him—better than anybody else. “No, I’m positive. The only thing Wukong would love about me is to see me dead.”

The blue giant looked devastated, and Macaque honestly felt a little bad for shooting him down so quickly. Call it being pessimistic, if you want—Macaque called it being realistic. He was just speaking the truth.

Wukong had killed him once, and would likely do it again if given the chance. There was just… no coming back from that. Even if Macaque forgave him (and he didn’t know if he was ready for that just yet), his blood would still forever stain Wukong’s hands.

When Wukong looked at him, what did the golden monkey see? An old friend? An old enemy? A regret? A mistake?

When Macaque looked at Wukong, he saw a lost opportunity. But had there ever really been a chance for… something more between the two monkeys? Or had Macaque just been a daydreamer, with vain hopes for things that would and could never be?

“Well, while you’re here,” Sandy began, breaking the gloomy silence. “Would you like to see my tea garden? I figure you could learn a little more about what I’ve got growing, and I could give you some more samples to try.”

Macaque contemplated the offer, and nodded. That sounded nice. It would at least get his mind off of his impending demise for the time being.

Sandy smiled and gave him a pat on the shoulder, before walking over to the yellow shipping container. He pulled open the sliding door, then motioned for Macaque to come inside. So Macaque did, pushing his uncomfortable and unwelcome feelings deep down inside, where they could rot for all he cared.

Where they could rot, just like he would once his time came to an end.

Inside the shipping container was something that Macaque could only think to describe as a secret oasis. The rectangular room was neatly arranged, with shelves of potted plants hooked up to complex-looking irrigation systems. Along the back wall were potted fruit trees; lemon, orange, peach, and plum, along with a couple of slightly overgrown tea plants. There were also a couple of small workbenches, on which sat various plant clippings and gardening equipment, such as trowels and pruning shears.

It was like a mad scientist’s laboratory, but… for plants.

“This is where I grow the plants that I use in my teas,” Sandy explained. “That way, I can make sure that they have the optimal conditions for their growth.”

“It’s… impressive,” was all Macaque could think to say. Though, impressive felt like an understatement.

Luckily, Sandy took it as a compliment. “Daww, thank you! I’ve put a lot of work into this setup, but I’ve never shown it to anyone before. It’s sort of, like, my sacred space, if you will. I don’t want it to be disrespected.”

“Then… why did you invite me in here?” Macaque asked, puzzled.

Sandy gave him a soft smile. “Because you look like you could use some peace right now. And there’s nothing more peaceful to me than gardening.” He patted Macaque gently on the shoulder, then walked over to the first set of shelves. “Come here, let me introduce you to some of my favorites.”

Introduce me? Macaque thought bewilderedly as he joined Sandy. To the plants?

Sandy proudly pointed to the bottom shelf, which was lined with what looked like plain grass, but smelled just like lemons. “This is lemongrass,” Sandy explained.

Makes sense. Macaque thought to himself with a nod.

“It’s good for relieving stress, and can help to relieve pain as well.” Sandy gestured to further down the shelf, where the grass switched to thin, purple-flowered stalks. “And down there is lavender. It’s similar to lemongrass in its uses, but it can also soothe headaches and improve your sleep.”

“Maybe I should try some of that,” Macaque remarked. He knew plenty about headaches and sleepless nights; his crush curse was a main cause of both of them for him.

“I’d be happy to give you a tea sample!” Sandy happily replied, before directing Macaque’s attention to the second shelf. “Up here, I have some classics growing. Chamomile and peppermint. Chamomile is known to treat motion sickness and nausea, and peppermint can also help with headaches, as well as increase your energy.”

The white-petaled chamomile flowers had a sweet, pleasant scent, but the green-leafed peppermint was almost overwhelmingly pungent, and Macaque recoiled a bit at the smell. Sandy didn’t seem to notice as he pointed to the top shelf.

“And up here is my favorite. At the moment, anyway. There’s just so many different types of tea, I can’t love just one!” Sandy chuckled.

Macaque stood on his toes to peek at the top shelf, and he saw that it was blooming with vibrantly colored flowers. Each petal looked like it had been dipped partially in dark purple ink, leaving the base of each petal white where they connected to their leafy green stems. Strangely, the flowers had no smell. “What are these?” He asked Sandy.

“Butterfly pea flowers,” Sandy answered. “It’s native to Southeast Asia. I discovered it a few months ago, back before…” Sandy’s cheerful smile suddenly became strained. “Well, y’know. Y’know?”

Macaque nodded silently. “Lady Bone Demon?”

Sandy flinched, but he covered it up with a clap of his hands. “Anyway! This is my favorite tea. Do you wanna know why?”

“Why?” Macaque prompted, going along with the giant’s blatant redirection of the conversation. Clearly, no one wanted to discuss what had happened during the bone spirit’s reign, and Macaque was just fine with that.

“Because it’s blue!” Sandy laughed adorably. “I know that’s a silly reason to like it, but sometimes, you just have to enjoy the simple pleasures in life. When we’re done here, I’ll brew a fresh pot and you can try some. What do you say?”

Macaque nodded with a small smile. “That sounds nice.”

By the end of Macaque’s visit, he had learned more about tea than he had ever cared to know. But it had been nice. Sandy was a pleasant person to hang around; the water demon practically radiated warmth and joy wherever he went. And now, Macaque was standing at the bar counter while Sandy worked in the kitchen. The blue giant added dried flower petals to a tea infuser and set it inside a cute little cat-themed teapot, then turned and watched the kettle on the stove closely while he waited.

“The water must come to a simmer, but not to a boil,” the water demon explained informatively. “If the water’s too hot, it’ll burn the tea and make the drink bitter.”

“Interesting,” Macaque hummed. He didn’t actually find it very interesting, but he was content to listen. This was better than sitting at home alone.

“Ah!” Sandy gasped, startling the monkey. “There it goes!” He snatched the kettle off the burner, and quickly poured it into the teapot. He then placed the lid on top of the pot, set the kettle back down, and grabbed the little cat-themed kitchen timer from its place on top of the stove. “I like to brew this tea for four minutes precisely,” Sandy said as he set the timer down on the counter between him and Macaque. “Not too short, and not too long. This way, the flavor is just right.”

“Whatever you say, big guy.” Macaque’s tail swished lazily behind him as he leaned against the counter. “I don’t know much about tea, but yours isn’t half-bad.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Sandy grinned.

A comfortable silence fell over the two of them as they waited for the tea to be done. Macaque could hear the cats in the “cat corner”, as Sandy called it. The felines were all asleep, their cute little snores and purrs making Macaque’s heart feel warm and squishy. Sandy had told him that they were taking their “afternoon cat nap.”

“Y’know.” Sandy began, drawing Macaque’s attention from the cats. “I… I have heard about another cure for hanahaki disease.”

Macaque stood up straight, his tail going still as his heart faltered for a split second. “What? W-why didn’t you say anything?” He asked, honestly feeling a little betrayed.

“Well…” Sandy wrung his hands nervously as his gaze fell to the counter between them. “Because there’s not much about it. Supposedly, some research has been done on seeing if the flowers can be surgically removed. But the disease is so rare that there’s no factual evidence supporting the claim, and no doctors willing to perform the surgery. No trustworthy ones, anyway,” Sandy grumbled. “Not to mention the fact that there’s no real proof that it works. The flowers might just grow back afterwards.”

Macaque mulled over the news Sandy had given him. If he could get the flowers removed, then maybe he would have a chance of survival. He was a celestial monkey—he had a better chance at surviving a risky surgery than most people. Besides, even if the flowers came back, Macaque would have time—time to make things right. Time to get to know Wukong again, and maybe…

And maybe build something more than they had had before. And then, if the flowers eventually returned, maybe Macaque would finally be strong enough to confess his feelings. And maybe… just maybe… Wukong would feel the same way.

“I did find a couple of reports about people who have supposedly had the surgery done,” Sandy continued, drawing Macaque from his thoughts. “And they said that the flowers went away and didn’t return, but… they didn’t feel anything anymore.”

Macaque paused. “… what do you mean?”

“They lost all feelings for the person of their affections,” Sandy explained. “All romantic feelings were gone, but so were any platonic feelings, or even feelings of hate. After the procedure, they felt nothing, no matter how much the other person had meant to them beforehand. Whether they had once been best friends, or even soulmates… there was nothing left.”

“… nothing?” Macaque repeated quietly.

Sandy nodded solemnly.

But… Wukong had meant everything to Macaque, at one point in his life. He couldn’t just… let that go. Even after all the hurt, and betrayal, and everything in between… there was just too much. And he couldn’t let it just disappear. Because before the resentment, there had been feelings of happiness. Of companionship.

Of love, both platonic and romantic.

And even though bitter feelings of resentment and hurt often plagued Macaque’s mind, those feelings only existed because of his love. It was only because Wukong meant so much to him in the first place that those feelings of hatred and anger and grief had even developed.

And if they all went away…

Then he would have nothing left.

“Honestly…” Macaque placed a hand over his heart, his claws digging into the fabric of his shirt. “I… I don’t want the feelings to go away. I-I know that I hate Wukong, and… and that I said I would never tell him how I feel, but… if these feelings were taken away from me, and I was left with nothing…” His voice cracked, and he chuckled bitterly. “Gods, I’m such a mess. One minute I’m complaining, a-and the next, I’m…”

Tears pricked at the corners of Macaque’s eyes, and he ducked his head to hide the fact that he was about to cry. Sandy came around the counter, and before Macaque even knew what was happening the giant pulled him into a gentle hug.

It took Macaque’s mind a moment to process what was going on, and his first instinct was to pull away. He almost did, but… for some reason, he stayed.

He wasn’t… like this, normally. Macaque was always cool, collected, and in charge. He was a master at showing people only what he wanted them to see—what feelings he wanted them to witness. He was a performer, both onstage and behind the scenes. Of course, he had slipped up here and there, but never…

Never like this.

For some reason, Macaque felt like he could let go. Let go of the carefully built facade that he always wore, and… just let himself feel for once. Here, in Sandy’s arms, hidden away from the rest of the world, letting go felt possible—for just a moment.

Macaque leaned his forehead against Sandy’s chest, and the giant’s arms gently squeezed him in their embrace. He could hear Sandy’s heart, strong and steady in his chest. He could feel the other’s calm, deep breaths—in, out. In. Out.

Macaque tried to copy the rhythm, but his own breath was fast and unsteady. It rattled in his lungs and caught in his throat as his eyes grew wet and his bottom lip quivered. He blinked furiously and after a moment of hesitation, he opened his mouth, to admit something quietly enough that only Sandy could hear.

“I want to feel.” Macaque whimpered. “Even if it kills me.”

Sandy didn’t respond, but Macaque didn’t need him to. The giant’s presence was more than enough. Just having someone to talk to about this, when he had kept it to himself for so long… it was like an enormous weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

Macaque took a quick moment to compose himself (more or less) before stepping back. Sandy immediately pulled away, and Macaque would never admit it, but he felt sad that the hug was over.

Sandy gave Macaque an earnest look as he said, “If you need anything, I’m here.”

The shadow monkey nodded and wiped at his teary eyes, once again feeling thankful for the water demon’s presence. What stroke of luck had blessed Macaque’s life so that someone as wonderful and perfect as Sandy could be in it? The gentle blue giant was, like, goodness incarnate, and Macaque was grateful that he had ever had the chance to meet him. Even after Macaque had attacked Sandy and the others multiple times over the course of their journey… When Macaque had decided to turn over a new leaf, the water demon had welcomed him with open arms.

Something brushed against Macaque’s calf, and he jumped. Startled, he looked down and saw that it was none other than Mo. The cat had woken up at some point during Macaque’s breakdown, and he purred as he stared up at the monkey with big, adoring eyes, as if to say, “I’m here for you, too. Don’t worry.”

Macaque’s heart melted at the sight of the little blue-furred kitty, and he idly wondered if he should adopt a cat of his own. Maybe he could talk to Sandy about it; ask if he knew of any shelters in the area.

“Oh!” Sandy reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. “Here, let’s trade numbers. You have a phone, right?”

“Yeah.” Macaque pulled out his phone and opened the contacts (which were practically empty, except for his book editor’s number and the numbers of a couple of local food places with delivery). He handed it to Sandy, and the giant typed some words onto the screen before handing it back. Macaque looked down at his phone, and saw that a new contact had been added:

Sandy (friend)

Macaque looked up at the other demon, surprised. “W-we’re friends?”

“Of course!” Sandy beamed. “I don’t invite just anybody into my tea garden.” But then his smile faltered, replaced by a look of nervousness. “I mean, if you want to be friends, that is.”

Macaque smiled—a genuine smile. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

Step one—socialize. Check.

Step two—make friends. Check. Well… Work in progress.

Suddenly, the kitchen timer rang, startling both of the demons more than they would care to admit. Sandy returned to the kitchen and took the lid off the teapot. He removed the infuser, setting it in the sink before reaching up and pulling two teacups out of the cupboard.

“This tea actually has a pretty cool trick,” Sandy said excitedly as he poured the rich, sapphire-blue liquid into the cups. “Here, let me show you.”

Sandy set a cup of steaming hot tea in front of Macaque, then grabbed a lemon from the fruit basket by the sink and a knife from the drawer. “The flavor of this tea is pretty mild on its own. It’s like a weak green tea. But add some lemon juice…” He sliced the lemon in half and squeezed some juice into the cup. “And it’s not just the flavor that changes.”

Macaque watched as the drops of lemon juice hit the tea’s surface. It was like drops of ink landing in a glass of water, and the drink turned from ocean blue to a vibrant purple.

“Ta-dah!” Sandy looked quite proud of himself, as if he had just performed a neat magic trick. “You see, the drink changes color depending on its pH level. Adding honey…” he grabbed a jar of honey from one of the cupboards. “Will also lighten the color, and hibiscus leaves will turn the tea hot pink. Pretty neat, huh?” He added a dollop of honey to the purple cup of tea and stirred it in, before backing away with a flourish. “There you go. Enjoy!”

Macaque stared down into the pretty purple drink; he had never seen purple tea before, and he decided that he liked it. Even though he hadn’t tried it yet. “So, uhh, what does this tea do?” He asked, trying to make casual conversation after the emotional moment they had just had. “What’s it good for?”

“Oh! It’s a stress reliever!” Sandy explained helpfully. “It’s also known to reduce symptoms of anxiety, and increase your mood. I find it to be particularly refreshing after a long day’s work.”

Macaque took a sip of the purple drink. It was light and floral; a bit too sweet for his taste, but Wukong would probably like it. The golden monkey had always had a sweet tooth.

And it was then that the tickle in Macaque’s throat became just a bit too strong. He had been able to push down any urges to cough so far during his visit, but just a mere, peaceful thought of the other monkey was enough to cause his throat to tingle and burn painfully. He couldn’t stop himself from hacking into his sleeve.

Sandy reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, which he offered to the monkey. Macaque accepted it with a nod of thanks and spat a glob of bloody mucus and petals into the cloth. He grimaced at the sight of it, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he muttered, “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Sandy assured him. “But, uhh… how are you doing?”

Macaque knew what Sandy was really asking: how far had his disease progressed?

“… it’s getting worse,” Macaque admitted quietly.

Sandy’s patient smile grew nervous. “Are… are you going to… tell Monkey King?”

Macaque’s silence was a clear answer. He could tell that Sandy was distressed by his refusal to confess, but… he just couldn’t do it. He would die either way. At least this way, he would die with some dignity.

Sandy continued to smile, but it was forced. “Well, before I forget, let me grab some more tea for you to take home.” The giant turned away and opened one of the cupboards, which was completely stocked with tea bags. He grabbed a few before returning to the bar counter and setting them down. “Here are a couple of lavender teas, since you said you wanted to try them. And a couple of ginger teas. They’re, uhh, they’re very good for sore throats and inflammation. Maybe… maybe they’ll help you.”

Macaque nodded his thanks as he reached for his cup. He hoped the tea would be able to wash the metallic taste from his mouth. But he was stopped by Sandy, who gently took Macaque’s hand in his own. Sandy’s expression was almost pleading as he gently said, “Please. Come visit again sometime.”

“… okay,” Macaque whispered.

Chapter Text

As the days went on, and the weeks slowly dragged by, Macaque’s condition grew worse. He hadn’t gone to any more “get-togethers” with the group, no matter how much MK pestered him; he couldn’t risk running into Wukong and speeding up his inevitable demise.

MK had continued to drop off food for him once or twice a week, and Macaque had noticed the kid’s growing concern for him. He had gone from greeting the monkey with cheerful hellos and silly jokes, to asking him if he was alright—if he was sick. His deteriorating health must have started to show, either in the bags below his eyes, or the raspiness in his voice.

Yes, Macaque was sick. But there was nothing that could be done about it. So he didn’t tell MK the truth. Instead, he told the kid that he had been busy, or he was having trouble sleeping, or that it was just allergies.

“Celestial monkeys can get allergies?” MK had asked him, surprised.

“Sure,” Macaque had replied with a shrug. “And right now, I’m allergic to your nosiness. Now shoo.”

Eventually, Macaque stopped answering the door when MK knocked. The first time it happened, MK opened the door and walked in, but quickly seemed to rethink his decision (probably because of the scare he had gotten the last time he did so). So he had set the bag of noodles down just inside the doorway, and left.

After that, Macaque had locked the door.

But then MK began leaving food on the doorstep, with little drawings of things that MK thought Macaque would like, and notes saying that they were all worried about him. And Macaque wondered what exactly it was that the kid saw in him; he hadn’t exactly been nice to MK in the first place, but the kid still cared about him. Even now, when Macaque was actively shutting the kid out, MK was still showing him that he cared, with free food and little notes wishing him well.

Macaque didn’t deserve someone like MK in his life.

But one afternoon, a couple of weeks after Macaque had started locking the door behind him, MK arrived and didn’t leave the food on the step. Instead, he knocked, and stood there, and waited.

And waited.

Macaque tried to wait him out. He didn’t want to talk today. His throat hurt from a night spent hacking and retching flowers and bloody spittle into the toilet, and he was exhausted. Why couldn’t the kid just leave the food on the doorstep and leave? Macaque didn’t feel like eating, anyway.

After half an hour of the kid standing on his doorstep, looking like a homeless beggar, Macaque finally opened the door. “MK,” the monkey greeted, hoping the kid wouldn’t notice the scratchiness of his voice. “What’s up?”

“Macaque!” MK cheered, looking as if he had just seen a rainbow on a cloudy day. “It’s been too long! How are you doing? What have you been up to? Why haven’t you come to our hang outs? We miss you!”

The kid was talking at a thousand-miles-an-hour, and Macaque struggled to keep up with what he was even saying. He cleared his throat and tried not to gag at the taste of blood and flower petals that lingered on his tongue. “What do you want, kid?”

Caught off guard, MK stood there like a deer in the headlights for a split second before answering. “Oh! Well, actually, I came to ask if you’d like some of Pigsy’s famous noodles. Y’know, world-renowned, super tasty, just the best.”

It was clear that the kid was trying to sell him on the idea. Macaque didn’t really feel up to eating anything, but… maybe he could just drink the broth and throw the noodles out. “Sure.” He looked down at MK’s hands, and saw the kid wasn’t holding anything. Confused, he glanced over MK’s shoulder, wondering if the kid had left the food on the tuk-tuk.

“Great! But, umm, actually…” MK suddenly looked nervous as he tapped his fingers together and gave Macaque a shy look. “The noodles are at Pigsy’s shop.”

MK’s words took a second to process in Macaque’s tired brain. “Huh?”

“Well, we’re having a get-together at Pigsy’s today, after closing,” MK explained quickly. “And I wouldn’t mind just bringing you some food, but the others have been asking about you, and honestly, I’ve been worried, too. You haven’t even answered the door the last few times I’ve dropped by.”

“Yeah…” Macaque looked away guiltily as he rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “Sorry, kid. I haven’t been feeling great.”

MK’s smile fell away, replaced by a doe-eyed look of concern. “Are you sick?”

“No,” Macaque said quickly. “No, of course not. Just… feeling a little under the weather, is all.”

“That’s called being sick,” MK pointed out flatly.

“No, it’s not—” Macaque cleared his throat and swallowed down some bloody spit, barely keeping back the bile that rose in retaliation. His gaze fell away as he sighed again. “I’m just… tired, MK.”

“Oh… okay,” MK said slowly. “Well… I was thinking that you could come over for a bit, and maybe we could spend some time together. I haven’t seen you in a while, and…”

MK trailed off, but from the look on his face it was pretty obvious what he meant to say: he was worried. About Macaque.

And on top of everything else, that made Macaque feel just that much worse. He hadn’t meant to scare the kid, he just… had a lot going on. And he didn’t want people worrying about him—not that he believed any of them would, other than MK and Sandy. But still—he didn’t need anyone’s sympathy. Or pity.

He was resigned to his fate. He didn’t need anyone fretting over him, or sticking their noses into his business. But… he also didn’t want MK worrying about him, anymore than the kid normally did.

“Alright,” Macaque begrudgingly agreed. “Sure.”

MK briefly looked startled by Macaque’s acceptance, but then his surprise morphed into a look of glee and triumph. “Awesome! Do you wanna come with me? I can give you a ride!” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, pointing to the sorry excuse for a vehicle behind him.

Macaque didn’t even have to think about his answer. “Absolutely not.”

MK’s confident expression fell away, replaced by hurt puppy eyes, but Macaque wasn’t falling for it. He had heard the screams from pedestrians, caused by MK’s driving, and he had seen the kid on occasion, flying down the road like a bat out of Hell.

He had spent the whole night vomiting; he wasn’t sure he had anything left to throw up, but he certainly didn’t want to find out.

Macaque rolled his eyes, but a hint of a smile still came to his lips. “Go on ahead,” he told the kid. “I’ll get ready and then I’ll meet you there.”

“Okay…” MK whined, but he didn’t leave. He stood there, scuffing the toe of his sneaker against the ground as he lingered.

Macaque frowned. “What?”

“You’re not gonna… just tell me that you’re coming to make me leave, and then not show up, right?” MK asked him meekly.

Ouch. Though not an unreasonable concern for the kid to have, it still kinda hurt. “I’ll go,” Macaque assured MK. “Promise.”

MK frowned, but then he held out his hand, with his little finger extended. “Pinky promise?”

Macaque tilted his head and furrowed his brow dramatically, as if he was confused by the gesture. “What’s this?”

MK scoffed incredulously. “You know what a pinky promise is, Macaque!”

The monkey tried to keep up the act, but after only a second or two he grinned. “Yeah, yeah.” He held out his hand and interlocked his little finger with MK’s. “I pinky promise.”

MK beamed, and he tugged on Macaque’s finger for good measure before pulling away. “Okay! I’ll see you soon, then!”

Macaque gave MK a lazy salute, and waited until the kid had driven off before closing his door. Now alone, he immediately shook out his hands and flicked his tail from side to side, trying not to let his nerves get the best of him. This was fine. He just needed to show up, eat some food, and show everyone that he was doing fine, so that they stopped worrying about him.

He didn’t want anyone to know that anything was wrong—okay, Sandy knew, but that had been an accident. He didn’t want anyone else to know, because it was embarrassing. He felt… ashamed, for having such a ridiculous condition. The powerful, sly, and stone-cold Six-Eared Macaque, dying a slow and miserable death because he was smitten with his old buddy?

Like he’d said before, he would rather die with dignity. Unlike last time.

Besides, it wasn’t like there was anything that anyone could do. There was no saving him.

After changing into a clean set of clothes (black pants, shirt, jacket, and boots; everything black, except for his faded red scarf, which he wore for comfort), Macaque stepped into the shadows and teleported to the alleyway behind Pigsy’s Noodles before he could change his mind. He was greeted immediately by the smell of the dumpsters, and the rancid garbage within them. Macaque covered his mouth and nose with a grimace. He wasn’t feeling particularly hungry, despite the fact nothing was left in his stomach after his night spent praying at the porcelain throne, and the stench definitely wasn’t helping.

Maybe he could just sit in the corner and hang around the others for a bit, and that would be enough socializing to get MK off his back for a little while. He didn’t want to eat.

A light rain had started to fall while Macaque was getting ready to leave his home, and he hunched his shoulders and stuffed his hands in his pockets as he trudged out of the alleyway, flinching at the drops of water that splashed onto his ears. As Macaque walked out onto the road beside Pigsy’s, he noticed that the pink neon sign had been switched off, and as he rounded the corner he saw that the metal shutters had been rolled down over the windows. The front door had been rolled down about halfway, with a sign hung on the front of it which read, “CLOSED”.

Macaque hesitated. He knew MK had said that the get-together would be after closing, but… should he just walk in? He could see light coming from under the door, and hear noises on the other side: a knife chopping vegetables on a wooden cutting board, the bubbling of soup in a pot, and the amicable chatter of MK and his ragtag group of friends. Even Red Son was there, to Macaque’s mild surprise.

And Monkey King, of course. Macaque shouldn’t be surprised that the golden monkey was there; he was sure that the others liked Wukong far more than they liked him.

The floorboards creaked as footsteps came towards the door, and the dragon girl—Mei—sighed dramatically. “Really, MK? Are you checking again?”

MK’s voice came from right inside the door. “I just want to see if he’s here yet. He pinky promised that he would show up today.”

Oh. Were they talking about him? Macaque took a step back from the door and held in a tired groan. He didn’t want to be here, honestly, but MK was right; he had pinky promised.

Suddenly, MK’s face peeked under the door, and his eyes grew wide when he saw the dark-furred monkey standing on the other side. “Macaque!”

MK stood up straight—or tried to, anyway. Instead, he cracked his head on the bottom of the partially-closed rolling door with a solid BANG that made Macaque wince.

Several voices immediately cried out from inside the restaurant.

“MK!”

“Kid!”

The door rattled as MK crumpled to the floor with a whimper of pain, his hands cradling his head. Macaque took a hesitant step towards him, unsure of how to help. Multiple footsteps hurried towards the door, and next thing Macaque knew it was being thrown open, revealing a crowd of worried faces standing on the other side.

Pigsy leaned down and patted MK’s shoulder, while Monkey King knelt down next to the kid with a look of concern. “Are you okay, bud?” The monkey asked.

“Yeah,” MK squeaked, his eyes watering from the pain. “Yeah, I’m good. Just… got excited.”

Pigsy groaned as he stood and helped MK to his feet. “You’ve got to be more careful, kid! I’m not sure how many brain cells you’ve got left!”

“Hey!” MK whined. “Be nice to me!”

“Y’know, the pig man’s right, Noodle Boy.” Red Son teased with a smirk as he reached over and poked MK in the side. “Pretty soon all that’ll be left in that cavernous skull of yours is noodles!”

“Hey!” MK shoved Red Son’s hand away. “You take that back!”

“Make me.”

“Boys, boys.” Mei placed herself between the two before they broke into a fight. “You’re both pretty. Now, move aside and let the sad, wet monkey inside, please.”

Macaque scowled. He may be wet from the downpour, but he was not sad. MK suddenly seemed to remember that Macaque was even there, and he turned back to the monkey with an eager grin. “Macaque! You’re here!”

“Yeah.” Macaque waved awkwardly. “Hey. Uhh… you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah!” MK said with a flippant wave of his hand. “I’m A-Okay! Super duper!”

Macaque didn’t believe him one bit, but he wasn’t going to fight MK over it. He would rather just come inside and get out of the rain before he was completely soaked through. Pigsy walked away, heading back to the kitchen, while MK, Mei, and Red Son all got out of the way, waiting for the monkey to come in.

But Wukong was still there, crouched in the doorway, like he had forgotten where he was. And Macaque wasn’t going to squeeze past him to get inside. No, he wasn’t going anywhere near Wukong if he could help it.

Wukong blinked stupidly at Macaque, seemingly confused by the monkey’s hesitation, before he realized that he was in the way. He quickly got to his feet and backed out of the doorway. “Sorry,” the golden monkey mumbled, his gaze fixed stubbornly on his feet as his hand rubbed at his neck.

Macaque clenched his fists inside his pockets, silently steeling himself before he stepped over the threshold, leaving the cold and rainy street behind and entering into the warm protection of the homely little noodle shop. Macaque stepped aside as MK rolled the door all the way closed, and the shadow monkey stood there, unsure of what to do.

Wukong stood there as well, and he gave Macaque an awkward little smile. “Hey.”

The faint tickle that normally tingled Macaque’s throat whenever he was in Sun Wukong’s presence was far more painful this time around, due to the irritation caused by him throwing up all night. His throat burned painfully, and all he could manage was a small nod in response to Wukong’s greeting.

Wukong’s smile faltered, but luckily MK was there to break the awkward tension in the air. He turned and gave Macaque a hug, startling the dark-furred monkey. “I’m glad you made it! I’m sure you already know that Pigsy’s food is the best, but it’s even better fresh. Just wait til you try it!”

Macaque’s stomach churned at the idea of food—he didn’t think it would agree to anything more than plain broth at the moment. So as MK and Wukong walked away, heading towards the tables and seating on the other side of the room, Macaque hesitantly tip-toed over to the kitchen counter. He watched as Pigsy added a bowl of diced tofu into a large, bubbling pot, before giving it a stir and a quick sniff.

“Needs more chili oil…” Pigsy muttered to himself. He turned away from the stove, and froze, eyes wide with surprise when he saw the monkey staring at him.

“Hey,” Macaque said awkwardly, trying not to fidget under the pig demon’s stern gaze. “Sorry, but… could I just have some broth, please?” He cleared his throat, trying to alleviate the itch inside of it. “I’m not feeling up to noodles today.”

Pigsy raised a brow in question, but to Macaque’s surprise and relief he just shrugged. “Sure,” he huffed. “That’s fine by me.”

Macaque nodded his thanks and backed away, letting the demon chef get back to work. With that issue solved, Macaque turned his attention to the rest of the room.

The scholar, Tang, was sitting at the counter, watching Pigsy as he worked, and asking if he could have a quick taste-test (which was met with a resounding “no”). At the first table, closest to the door, Bai He and Sandy were sitting on the bench that rested against the wall, and Mei and Red Son were sitting across from them on stools. Mei was showing Red Son a video on her phone, while Sandy and the little host girl were cooing over Mo, who was basking in all the love and attention.

At the other table sat Wukong and MK. The Monkey King was sprawled out across the bench, his tail swishing lazily in the air as he listened to MK ramble on about some new comic book he had gotten. That left two seating options for Macaque:

The bar, or Wukong’s table.

He didn’t want to sit at the bar. For one, he knew that once Tang got over Macaque’s intimidating aura, he would start hounding the monkey for information about Monkey King this and Journey to the West that. And two, he didn’t need to sit there and have Pigsy watching him like a hawk; he was surprised the pig demon had even let him into his restaurant, and he wasn’t going to push his luck.

Macaque wished that he could sit at the first table, but both of the stools were taken, and the bench was completely occupied; Bai He and her crutch took up the end of the bench, while Sandy took up the rest of the space at the table. If Macaque tried to squish in, then he would be stuck between Sandy and Wukong. And he was not sitting next to Wukong.

So, the stool next to MK it was. He liked the kid just fine, and he would do his best to ignore Wukong from the other side of the table. It wasn’t like either of them wanted to talk to each other, so it would be fine.

It would be fine.

MK looked up as Macaque reached the table, and he smiled at the sour-faced monkey. “Macaque! Here, sit next to me!” MK patted the stool next to him for good measure, and Macaque rolled his eyes as he sat down beside the hyperactive teen.

“I’m glad you made it!” MK gushed. “And I know that you basically said I’m a bad driver earlier, but I’ll have you know that I only crashed once on my way back home!”

“Congrats,” Macaque scoffed amusedly. “But, uhh, I still don’t think I’ll be catching any rides with you anytime soon. No offense.”

MK gasped, his expression taken aback as he clutched a hand to his chest. “Offense taken!” He turned to Monkey King, as if looking for support. “Monkey King, Macaque thinks that I’m a bad driveeerrr!”

Wukong looked up from his phone, realizing that he had been put on the spot, and he gave MK a nervous smile. “Well… I mean… you see, kid, it’s, umm…” He sat up and shrugged helplessly. “You… have a lot to learn?”

Though Wukong had worded it as kindly as he could, his successor looked like his mentor had just spat in his face. “I-wh-wha-how-wh—” MK spluttered, and Macaque wondered if the kid was going to have a conniption.

Suddenly, MK stood up from his seat, and he scowled at the two celestial monkeys. “You know who doesn’t think I’m a bad driver?” He said loudly. “Pigsy! So I’m going to go hang out with him instead!”

Wait—was MK crying? Macaque and Wukong watched in stunned, bewildered silence as the kid turned on his heel and stormed off to the kitchen with tears in his eyes. Yeesh. It seemed they had touched on… well, a touchy subject.

“Is… he okay?” Macaque wondered aloud. But he was startled when there was a response.

“Aww, don’t worry about it,” Wukong replied with a flippant wave of his hand. “He’s just a little dramatic at times. Not unlike someone I know.”

Macaque made the mistake of turning to look at Wukong, and he saw that the other monkey was giving him a knowing smirk, like he often used to do back on those sunny days spent on Flower Fruit Mountain. Immediately, Macaque’s breath caught in his throat, and he covered his mouth with his hand as a wet, ragged cough tore its way out of his chest.

Dang it… Macaque thought angrily to himself. Not here. Not now!

He doubled over as he continued to cough, and he could taste blood on his tongue. He heard the squeak of table legs scraping against the floor, and next thing Macaque knew a large hand was patting him gently on the shoulder. He managed to glance up and see Sandy standing over him, the blue giant giving him a worried look as he rubbed Macaque’s back.

“Deep breaths,” Sandy instructed quietly. “Calm your mind.”

Macaque did as he was told and managed to take a shaky breath in. The air fluttered down his throat, and he had to fight back the urge to cough it back up. Macaque breathed out slowly, and his gaze drifted over from Sandy to Wukong. The monkey seated across from him was watching Macaque with a look of… concern.

Macaque looked back at Sandy, silently asking for help, but Sandy just gave him an encouraging smile and a wink that Wukong couldn’t see before returning to his table. Macaque watched him go, and it was then that he noticed Bai He was looking at him. The little girl had a worried frown on her face, her hand resting on her crutch as if she was ready to get up and come over to check on the shadow monkey. Macaque gave her a weak smile to reassure her that he was fine, and she blinked before returning the smile with a toothy grin of her own.

“Are you okay?”

Macaque flinched at the sudden question, and he almost coughed on instinct alone. He looked up and met Wukong’s gaze—the other monkey was still watching him, his brow furrowed and his lips set in a concerned frown.

Calm down, Macaque warned himself. Don’t cough.

Still tasting blood and feeling something on his tongue, Macaque brought his scarf up over his mouth and spat into it. A subtle glance revealed a couple of bloody pink petals in the red fabric, and he scowled. He wiped his lips with his scarf and dropped it; he would wash it later, and if Wukong was grossed out, then good.

But as he looked up again, he saw that Wukong didn’t seem to be disgusted in the slightest; he just looked worried.

Despite his better judgment, a small flicker of hope sparked to life deep in Macaque’s chest. He knew better than to get his hopes up, but… that wasn’t hatred on Wukong’s face. No, it was worry—concern. One didn’t feel concern for an enemy, no? He knew Wukong… had hated him, but… maybe, just maybe… that wasn’t the case now.

It was such a small chance. Infinitesimal, at best. And Macaque didn’t know why—why now, of all times, was when he was finally feeling hope, but…

Maybe he could confess?

It couldn’t hurt to try.

He could just… just say the words. He didn’t have to say them loudly; just loud enough for the other monkey to hear. He didn’t need to make a scene. And maybe those softly spoken words would be enough to make the flowers go away.

No, no. Sandy said the love has to be reciprocated, the more pessimistic part of his mind reminded him. All you’re going to do is embarrass yourself.

Well… you never know, Macaque argued back silently. If I’m going to die either way… then what’s the harm?

Your pride, his mind retorted. Your dignity.

Honestly… those were a small price to pay for a chance of survival.

I’ll just say it, then.

Macaque clenched his scarf in his fist, his gaze fixed stubbornly on the tabletop. If he looked at Wukong, then he knew that he wouldn’t be able to get the words out. “I…”

… come on.

He just wanted to let it out—to confess and get the disappointment over with. He knew that it was impossible—well, practically impossible for Wukong to like him in the same way, but if he could just get the words out, then maybe…

But the words caught in his throat, just like they had so many times before back on Flower Fruit Mountain. Trapped behind flowers that were too afraid to let him speak, and would rather smother him than let him say the truth, for fear of rejection.

It was exactly the same as before, back when he still cared. Back when he still had hope.

Back when he was alive.

Macaque let go of his scarf and dropped his hands into his lap, clenching his fists so tightly that his claws dug painfully into his palms. He could feel Wukong’s eyes on him, waiting expectantly for him to speak.

But he had nothing to say.

“… it’s nothing,” Macaque muttered, glaring at the wooden tabletop with so much anger that he was surprised it didn’t spontaneously catch fire.

Wukong gave Macaque a strange look, and Macaque tensed as he waited for Wukong to speak. To say something.

But before he could, there was the ding of a call bell from over on the counter, and Pigsy proudly announced, “Dinner is served!”

MK zipped out of the kitchen with a tray loaded with bowls of steaming hot noodles. Macaque was worried that the kid would drop them, but MK expertly walked over to the first table and placed the bowls down in front of each of its occupants. He set the last bowl down in front of Red Son.

“I added extra chili flakes and hot sauce, just for you,” he said to the fire demon with a wink.

“Thank you,” Red Son said grumpily, and if Macaque didn’t know better he would’ve sworn that he saw a blush on the young demon’s cheeks. “But I doubt it’s hot enough for my exquisite tastes.”

Mei smirked, and she leaned over and elbowed Red Son in the side as MK walked away. “The noodles may not be hot enough, but what about the server?” She whispered in his ear. “Huh? Huh?”

Red Son’s ponytail burst into flames, and he shoved Mei so hard that she fell from her stool with a mischievous cackle. “SILENCE, PEASANT!!!”

“Hey!” Pigsy barked. “No fire in my store! I won’t have you two burning my shop down!”

Red Son’s flames promptly went out, and he grumbled as he picked up his bowl of noodles and took an angry slurp of broth. His face was almost as red as his hair, and Macaque would laugh if it wouldn’t be so hypocritical of him to do so. So he turned his attention to MK instead, wondering if the kid was anywhere near as flustered as the fire demon.

Pigsy had set five bowls on the table. One was already being consumed by Tang, and one was sitting in front of the seat right next to the scholar. MK, seemingly oblivious to what his friends were up to, reached for the other three bowls, but Pigsy stopped him with a shake of his head.

“No, you go sit down. I’ll bring ‘em over.” Pigsy told him with a pat on the shoulder. “Thanks for the help, kid.”

MK grinned at the pig demon before turning on his heel and skipping happily back to his seat. He sat down beside Macaque and looked eagerly at the two monkeys, all offense from their earlier conversation seemingly forgotten. “So, did you two get along while I was gone?”

Uhh… Macaque glanced at Wukong, and was startled to find that the other monkey was looking back at him. Macaque quickly averted his gaze, and Wukong gave MK a helpless shrug.

MK frowned, but before he could say anything Pigsy came over to the table, with a tray of food resting on his arm. “Here ya go, gentlemen.” Pigsy set a bowl of noodles in front of Wukong, and another in front of MK, before finally setting a steaming bowl of cloudy, light brown broth in front of Macaque. “Enjoy.”

MK leaned over (in a clear violation of Macaque’s personal space) and stared into Macaque’s bowl with a critical gaze. “Uhh, Pigsy? You forgot his noodles.”

Macaque gently pushed MK away. “Nah. It’s just what I ordered.” His mouth watered at the smell of the broth, and his stomach growled against his will. Okay, maybe he was a little hungry.

Wukong gave him an odd look in between bites of his own food. “That’s a bit boring, don’t ya think?”

Macaque scowled at the Monkey King, his neck growing hot under his scarf. “Says the guy who eats nothing but peaches—”

But then, he coughed. Because of course he did. Macaque immediately pulled his scarf over his mouth, his face burning as he choked on those stupid flower petals. He could feel everyone’s eyes watching him, and his ears burned under their glamour. This was so stupid. Why had he thought that this visit was a good idea?

Wukong reached for Macaque, but Macaque turned away with a flinch. Nope. He couldn’t risk Wukong seeing the petals, the damned petals—

Macaque hadn’t noticed that Pigsy had left until the pig returned, holding a glass of water. He held it out to Macaque, who stared for a stunned second before taking it with a shaking hand. He subtly spat more flower petals into his scarf before lifting the cup to his mouth and drinking it. The cold liquid felt wonderful to his sore, aching throat, and he downed the entire glass before handing it back to Pigsy with a grateful nod of thanks.

Pigsy took the glass and walked away without a word, and Macaque turned his attention to his food. However, as he reached to grab the spoon, MK spoke up. “Are you okay?”

Macaque just nodded. He didn’t trust himself to not start coughing again if he tried to speak. MK opened his mouth again, but he was cut off by a loud voice from the kitchen.

“And my broth ain’t boring, Monkey King!” Pigsy shouted, waving his wooden spoon threateningly in the golden monkey’s direction. “It’s a work of art, all on its own!”

“Pssh!” Wukong leaned back in his seat with a cheeky grin. “If you say so!”

Pigsy gave an annoyed huff in response before turning away, intent on enjoying his own meal with Tang. A comfortable air fell over the room, with quiet, pleasant chatter (except for whatever Mei and Red Son had going on; they were both quite animated in their speech). MK noisily slurped up a mouthful of noodles before turning to Wukong and beginning to do what he did best: rambling.

“So, Monkey King! Did you really record your own stunts for all the Monkey Cop movies?”

As the meal came to an end, Macaque stretched out his arms with a pleased hum. He had finished the broth (which had been simply delicious), and proceeded to sit there in silence and listen in as MK and Wukong chatted with one another. It had been… nice.

MK jumped up from his seat, knocking the stool over in the process. “Oh! Monkey King, I’ve gotta show you this new Monkey Mech figurine I’ve got! I bet you don’t even have it yet!”

“Hah!” Wukong got up from the bench and walked past Macaque without a second glance, joining MK as the two of them headed upstairs. “How much do you wanna bet, bud? I’m the Monkey King connoisseur. I’m literally the Monkey King! I’m sure I own it already.”

“Hey!” Pigsy called after them. “MK, pick up your chair!”

But either MK didn’t hear, or he was too invested in his “Monkey King this, Monkey King that, Monkey King everything” obsession to even notice that Pigsy had called to him. Macaque leaned down and picked up the stool, setting it back on its feet. He hadn’t expected anything in return, so he was startled when Pigsy spoke.

“Thank you, Macaque! I swear, that kid never listens to me!”

Macaque stared at the pig demon with wide eyes, unsure of how to respond. But Pigsy didn’t seem to care or even notice as he turned away and began cleaning up the kitchen.

“C’mon, Red Boy.” Mei stood up and slapped the fire demon on the shoulder, before whispering into his ear. “Let’s go hang out with your crush!”

“I WILL CRUSH YOUR BONES IF YOU SPEAK EVEN ONE WORD—”

Mei cut off the raging demon with a cheeky giggle as she sprinted towards the stairs. “You’ll have to catch me!”

Red Son leapt from his seat and darted after the dragon girl like a cat after a mouse, leaving the dining area in sudden silence. Macaque looked at each of the remaining occupants of the room in turn; Tang had started to gather the dirty dishes, and Pigsy was wiping down the counter, while Sandy quietly asked Bai He if she needed help getting home.

Macaque wondered if he should go say hi to the blue giant and the host girl. He didn’t really have anything to talk about, but they were pleasant to be around.

But before he could decide, someone stepped into his line of sight: Tang. The human took Macaque’s empty bowl, and the others that had been left by MK and Wukong. And then…

He just stood there silently, staring at Macaque with a strangely thoughtful expression.

Uhh… Macaque gave Tang a questioning look, as if to say, “Can I help you?”

“It’s hanahaki, isn’t it?”

Macaque choked on his breath, and he clamped a hand over his mouth as he broke into a coughing fit. How? How had he figured it out? Had Sandy told him?

But the answer revealed itself as Macaque’s gaze fell to his scarf, and he saw a single pink flower petal sticking out of the folds of red fabric.

Damn it.

“Whoever it is… talk to them,” Tang encouraged him gently. “Please… MK would be sad to see you go.”

Tang had probably meant that kindly, but to Macaque, it stung. Just MK, huh? None of the others would care if he died? Because that was what Tang had implied with his words.

Macaque’s gaze darted away from Tang, over to Pigsy (who wasn’t even looking his way), and then Sandy (who was helping Bai He pack up her leftovers).

… none of them would care?

Macaque was silent as he got to his feet, and sunk into the shadows without a word.

Chapter Text

Macaque appeared in the shadows of his entryway, and immediately fell against the wall with a ragged gasp for air. He retched and coughed, blood and petals dripping from his lips onto the floor below. His throat burned, and Macaque stumbled over his own feet as he made his way to the kitchen.

Macaque clipped his shoulder against the doorway as he finally reached the kitchen, his breath wheezing in and out of his lungs. He didn’t bother to turn on the light—he could see just fine in the dark, due to his deep connection with the shadows. Instead, he grabbed a dirty glass from the counter and filled it under the tap, before gulping it down. The cold water did little to soothe his pain, but Macaque managed to take a deep breath as he refilled the cup.

His face and neck burned as hot blood rushed through his veins, but not from embarrassment. No, he was angry—at Tang, at Wukong, but mostly at himself, for having such stupid, foolish feelings. If it wasn’t for the ridiculous puppy love tucked away in his chest, that made his heart flutter like a hummingbird whenever he so much as thought of that rippling golden fur…

His arm trembled as his grip on the glass tightened, the water inside it rippling as a frustrated growl rose from his throat. And not only were his feelings killing him, but no one even cared. Macaque was scared, and alone, and…

Of course none of them cared. They wouldn’t miss him. Nobody would—

The cup shattered, immediately soaking his hand and sleeve with water. The shards of glass fell to the floor with the clinking and tinkling of a dissonant wind chime, and Macaque hissed at the immediate stinging pain in his hand as blood began to leak from his palm and thumb. Damn it…

Macaque knelt down and began to pick up the broken pieces, tossing them into the sink as he did so. He would move them to the trash in a minute, after he had gathered up all the mess… At least the pain had helped him to snap out of his anger and just breathe.

His left hand landed on a long, jagged shard, and he picked it up, turning it over in his palm. It was clear and crystalline, and its edges were as sharp as a blade. He moved to toss it into the sink, but… for some reason, his body didn’t obey his command. It was like he was frozen in place, his pounding heartbeat almost deafening in his six ears.

When the pain had appeared, his thoughts had quieted. His noisy, incessant, unwanted thoughts, that made him act foolishly and wish for hopeless things, that stole his breath and left him longing for fresh air and a calm mind. He had spent countless sleepless nights tormented by the words and pictures in his mind, but… right now, with the smarting ache in his hand, his mind was quiet. Muffled.

He held his breath, and it was almost like his hand was moving of its own accord as his fingers slowly, deliberately wrapped around the glass shard.

And he squeezed.

The pain was immediate. Hot, sharp, stinging. His eyes watered as his hand grew warm and wet from the spilling blood. The carmine liquid welled up between his fingers, and shined under the moonlight coming in from the windows. But… it felt… good, in a sense. Despite the flowers in his lungs, Macaque felt like he could finally breathe.

His grip on the glass tightened, and he gasped in pain as its edges sliced through his skin and into muscle. His fingers throbbed with hot, burning pain, and he clenched his teeth with a snarl.

But with the pain, he didn’t have to think. He didn’t have to hear his conflicting, confusing thoughts. He didn’t have to feel stupid emotions, like hurt and loneliness. Like love and rejection. All he had to feel was pain. And he could handle pain.

From his many long, miserable years of punishment spent in the Diyu, he had known no feeling more intimately than pain.

Macaque took a slow, deep breath to calm himself and clear his thoughts. And then he stood up, and after a moment’s hesitation he dropped the shard of glass into the sink. He leaned down and carefully picked up the remaining pieces, and tossed them into the sink as well. Then, as if in a daze, he walked out of the kitchen. He watched his feet as they carried him, one foot in front of the other, into his training room, where he kept a well-stocked first-aid kit in the corner.

He knelt down in front of the little toolbox and undid the latches, leaving a bloody handprint on its lid as he pulled it open. He grabbed a pad of gauze and wiped away the blood on his hand (hissing in pain as he did so), then pressed the gauze against his palm. With his right hand, he grabbed a roll of medical tape and proceeded to wrap it tightly around his injured palm. It wasn’t his best work (he was left-handed, after all), but it held the bandage in place.

Then he closed the first-aid kit, and put it away. And he didn’t know what to do next.

…

… he was going to bed.

A few days passed before Macaque even thought to check his phone. It wasn’t like there was anyone that would be contacting him (he had never given MK, or anyone else his number), but for some stupid reason, Macaque hoped to see something. A missed call. A text, just asking how he was doing.

All he found was a couple of emails—one with coupons to the local pizza shop, and one from his editor, reminding him of his upcoming chapter deadline.

Nothing else.

What were you expecting? He thought bitterly to himself. You never talk to anyone. You never care about anyone. So why should anyone care about you?

He… he did care. He cared about MK. The kid was a shining light in his dark and dreary life, and even though he didn’t show it much, Macaque did care for the little, monkey-crazed weirdo.

And… he cared about Sandy, too. The giant repeatedly went out of his way to show Macaque kindness, even when the shadow monkey most certainly didn’t deserve it.

Sandy…

Macaque frowned as he opened his contacts. Hadn’t Sandy given him his number a few weeks ago?

Yes, yes he had. There, in simple black letters below a generic profile picture, read:

Sandy (friend)

Macaque didn’t know why, but he opened his messages and typed out a short message to the water demon.

Me: can i come over

He watched his screen, waiting for a response, and one came in about a minute later.

Sandy (friend): Sorry, who is this?

Oh. Right. He never gave Sandy his number in return. Idiot.

But before Macaque could reply, Sandy sent another message.

Sandy (friend): Mister Maquack?

Sandy (friend): Of course you can come over! :D

Me: it’s Macaque, actually

His response showed as read, but Sandy didn’t reply. And Macaque had to wonder: was Sandy intentionally mispronouncing his name?

But more importantly… Sandy had said that Macaque was welcome to visit. And after spending the last few days moping around his home, without leaving for so much as a breath of fresh air… maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea.

“Mister Maquack! It’s so good to see you!”

Macaque gave Sandy a tired wave—given the constant pain in his throat from the encroaching peach blossoms, he didn’t want to talk any more than he needed to.

Sandy stepped aside and ushered Macaque into his little home, before closing the door. “Please, sit down,” he told the tired monkey. “Let me bring you some tea.”

Even though he didn’t feel like drinking anything, Macaque merely nodded and sat down on the couch. He stared at the surface of the coffee table as Sandy got to work in the kitchen, and his gaze traced the patterns in the table’s wooden surface, following the lines in the wood and noting each of the chips in the painted golden accents.

“So, which tea is your favorite?” Sandy called over. “Since you’ve tried a few now. Just say the word, and I’ll make it for ya.”

Macaque shrugged. Any tea was fine. It wasn’t like he was going to drink it. He hadn’t been able to stomach anything other than water for the last couple of days.

“Hmmm… you seem like you’d like some lemon ginger,” Sandy said decisively. “Don’t worry. It’s one of my specialties.” There was the brief sound of water flowing from the tap, and then the clank of metal on metal as Sandy set the kettle on the stove. “It’s wonderful for sore throats. Speaking of which, how are you doing? Y’know… with the flowers and all?”

At the lack of verbal response, Sandy turned around and looked at Macaque. His expression was one of deep concern as he quietly, fearfully asked, “… can you still talk?”

Macaque nodded. “Hurts…” he mumbled gruffly.

“Oh.” Sandy breathed a dramatic sigh of relief. “That’s good. That’s a good sign.”

Silence fell over the two of them as Sandy set about making a pot of tea. Macaque didn’t mind, though; he was content to listen to the bubbling of the water in the kettle, and the calm ocean waves bumping against the boat’s hull. He could hear the cats, as well, as they hung around the cat-corner and did their cute little cat-activities.

It was better than sitting alone in the silence of his house. If it could even be called a house. Really, it was an abandoned warehouse of some sort that Macaque had claimed, and fixed up into a little place that he could call his own. Since, y’know. It wasn’t like he could go back to Flower Fruit Mountain. He wasn’t welcome there anymore.

Macaque tried to clear his throat, but all the action really did was make a loud, wet rattle in his chest that had Sandy glancing over at him with worry. Macaque gave him a dismissive wave, to assure the water demon that he was alright, but then Sandy spoke up.

“What happened to your hand?”

Oh. Yeah, he had… “Cut it,” Macaque muttered. “Accident.”

To Macaque’s dismay, Sandy stopped what he was doing and came over to the couch. He knelt down beside Macaque and gently took his bandaged left hand, looking over it with careful scrutiny. Macaque tried his best not to flinch or pull away, and after a few tense seconds Sandy looked up at him.

“Do you mind if I rewrap it?” The blue giant asked. “These bandages are dirty, and they weren’t applied very well.”

Macaque hesitated, before giving a small shrug. Sure. If Sandy wanted to do that for him, then… he didn’t mind.

Thank you.

Sandy pulled out a neat little box from under the couch, and he opened it, revealing a well-stocked first-aid kit. It was practically bursting with neatly arranged ointments, gauze pads, and bandages of every sort. There were even curved sewing needles and packaged sutures, and Macaque wondered just what sort of trouble Sandy got into at times.

“My friends get injured a lot,” Sandy explained helpfully as he pulled out some cotton balls, a little bottle of rubbing alcohol, and a pair of tweezers. “It’s part of the whole ‘being a hero’ thing. I like to keep supplies on hand, so I can care for them.”

Sandy grabbed a tiny pair of scissors from the box and used them to cut away the dirty bandages on Macaque’s hand. Macaque was a bit surprised to see that his wounds hadn’t healed yet; they hadn’t done much more than stop bleeding, and scab over in a few places. Though maybe he shouldn’t be surprised. As his disease had progressed, he had started to feel weaker. Even his magic was starting to be affected; it now took him extra effort to keep the glamours up on his blind eye and six ears.

Sandy picked up the tweezers and used them to grab a cotton ball, before soaking the cotton with rubbing alcohol. With his free hand, Sandy took Macaque’s injured hand and turned it palm up. “Warning, this might sting a bit.”

Macaque grit his teeth in anticipation, but the burn of the alcohol on his cuts was nothing compared to the pain when the wounds had first been inflicted. He watched silently as Sandy tenderly cleaned the cuts one by one, and then applied a clear ointment to them. Sandy then placed a gauze pad over Macaque’s palm, and held it in place as he carefully wrapped an elastic bandage around the monkey’s hand. He finished by wrapping the end of the bandage around Macaque’s wrist and tying it off in a neat little knot.

Macaque began to pull his hand away, but he flinched as Sandy quickly spoke up. “Wait, wait! I’m not done!”

Sandy reached back into the box and grabbed a handful of bandaids. The blue giant’s tongue was sticking out, his expression one of deep focus as he dutifully peeled the wrappers off and then placed each bandaid on Macaque’s cut fingers. Once he was done, he inspected his work, before giving a nod of approval. “There we go! All done!”

Macaque stared at Sandy’s handiwork. The bandaids were all neon-colored, with little smiley faces and stars and hearts printed on them. They certainly didn’t fit Macaque’s personal tastes, but he thought that they fit Sandy rather well.

But before Macaque could manage to do anything, like give thanks, the kitchen timer went off. Sandy got to his feet and hurried back to the little kitchenette. “Oops! Tea’s done!”

Macaque remained seated as Sandy quickly set everything on a little tea tray, and then carried it into the living room. He placed the tray down on the coffee table, and proceeded to sit down on the couch beside Macaque. The monkey was caught off guard by the sudden closeness (his personal space bubble was easily the size of the whole couch on a good day), and he blinked stupidly up at Sandy, who was pouring tea into the two little cups.

Sandy picked up one of the cups and handed it to Macaque. “Here you go! Lemon ginger tea, with just a pinch of honey, since you don’t like it too sweet.”

Macaque silently took the cup, and just held it in his hands. He stared down into the golden-colored drink, and his reflection stared back up at him.

He looked tired. His cheeks were slightly sunken in, and the dark purple bags below his eyes were prominent on his face. The golden glow of his eyes had turned dim—almost unnoticeable, even in the dark.

He was tired. He felt so drained, every single day. It was like the flowers in his body were draining him—feasting on his life force, and drinking up every last drop of his energy through their hungry roots. And they wouldn’t stop until there wasn’t anything left to take.

And Macaque didn’t want that. He didn’t want to die again. He truly didn’t. And he had tried to stop it, but…

He just couldn’t say the words.

The tea in his cup rippled from the shaking of his hands, and Macaque’s voice was no more than a whisper as he spoke:

“… I tried.”

Sandy had been taking a sip of his own tea, but he set his cup down on the table and turned his attention to Macaque. “Hmm?”

Macaque’s grip tightened on the teacup in his hands, and he was a little worried that it might shatter in his grasp, so he set it back on the tray. “I tried to tell him,” he said a little louder.

“… how did it go?” Sandy asked carefully.

Tears pricked at Macaque’s eyes, and he hung his head in defeat, his voice shaky as he admitted his failure. “I couldn’t.”

Macaque could feel Sandy’s disappointment without even having to look at the other demon. Macaque was just too weak; he was just too afraid to… to speak the truth.

“W-well, that’s okay!” Sandy tried to assure him. “You can just try again!”

“No.” Macaque shook his head. “There’s no point. He doesn’t love me.”

Sandy frowned, and Macaque looked away, his fur bristling as he waited for Sandy to inevitably speak again. To try and convince Macaque that somehow, everything was going to just be okay. But Macaque knew that wasn’t true.

“… Mister Ma—”

“No!” The word was a rough bark that tore itself from Macaque’s throat as his fist slammed down onto the coffee table, rattling the cups and saucers. He was surprised that he didn’t manage to splinter the table’s wooden surface. He really was growing weak.

And as if he needed another reminder of his weakness, Macaque coughed. He brought his hands up to his mouth as red spittle flew from his lips, splattering onto his hands and sleeves. Sandy got up quickly and walked away, likely in search of a rag or napkin for Macaque.

Macaque’s lungs felt like they were convulsing with each cough and gasp for air, and he squeezed his eyes shut as he struggled to just breathe, darn it!

He could feel as something big painfully slid its way up his throat, and next thing Macaque knew he was gagging. He couldn’t breathe—there was no room for air to pass by as a mass of some sort lodged in the back of his throat, and his eyes flew open, wide with fear as his hands clawed uselessly at his neck. He was choking.

His lungs burned as they begged for air, and Macaque tried to cough, but he couldn’t—the unknown object was completely blocking his airway.

Suddenly, something struck Macaque hard, right between the shoulder blades, and dislodged the lump in his throat. It was just enough that Macaque managed to get a sliver of air, and at last he coughed, retching as something slimy and disgustingly metallic in taste slid over his tongue and fell from his open maw.

Flowers. Of course it was flowers. A whole clump of them, all crumpled and stained and held together with a thick coating of clotted, bloody mucus. The wad fell into his open hands with a disgusting splat, and Macaque immediately doubled over and threw up on Sandy’s floor.

“I’m sorry!” Sandy yelped from where he was standing by Macaque’s side, fretting over the sick monkey. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hit you so hard! Are you okay?!”

If Macaque could, he would’ve laughed. Sandy was sorry? He had probably just saved Macaque’s life. And in return, Macaque had thrown up on the giant’s rug. Macaque should be the sorry one. The monkey’s throat felt like it was on fire, and all he could do was nod miserably as pained tears leaked down his cheeks, which were burning with embarrassment and shame.

He… wasn’t being a very good friend, was he? He had asked to come over without warning, and shouted at Sandy, and punched the coffee table, and now he was ruining the decor. Good friends didn’t do things like that.

Sandy’s hand came into view—he was offering Macaque a dish towel. But Macaque just stared at his hands, as if he was in a trance. The clump of flowers had fallen apart in his cupped palms, and at least three fully-formed peach blossoms were staring back at him from the puddle of goopy, gore-covered petals and stems. Blood dripped between his fingers, landing on his boots and sliding down onto the vomit-soaked carpet at his feet.

This… was the end, wasn’t it?

He didn’t know exactly how much time he had left, but it wouldn’t be long now. He could almost feel the icy breath of the death gods on his neck—their ghostly hands grasping at his fur, eager to drag him back into the depths of Hell, where he would continue his punishment.

And he was sure that it would be eternal this time around, for he had committed a personal slight against the Ten Kings: he had escaped the Underworld before his punishment was complete. And the Ten Kings did not take kindly to rule breakers—especially not rule-breaking monkeys.

Macaque was startled from his thoughts by Sandy delicately taking his hands and beginning to wipe away the blood and petals with the dish towel. The giant was gentle as could be as he wiped the mess from Macaque’s palms and fingers. Macaque could do nothing more than just stare at him in stunned silence.

… why?

Sandy noticed Macaque watching him, and he gave the monkey a warm smile. “Don’t worry about the rug. I’ll take care of it.”

Macaque weakly shook his head, and as he regained his senses (mainly, his common sense), he stood up from the couch. “No, no. I’ll do it.”

But he was stopped by Sandy placing a gentle, yet firm hand on his shoulder. “No. It’s alright. This carpet has been puked on plenty of times. I have cats, remember?” The weight on Macaque’s shoulder increased, as if subtly trying to push him back down into his seat. “You should rest.”

“But…” Macaque stopped himself. He knew that he wasn’t going to win this argument, so he decided to try and peacefully slip away instead. “Then… I guess I should be going.”

“Oh, won’t you stay?” Sandy pleaded, his hand never leaving Macaque’s shoulder. “I can see that you’re not up for tea, but I think some cuddles from the kitties will do you some good.”

Nothing would do Macaque any good now. At the rate that he was deteriorating, he had… what, maybe a week left before the flowers finally suffocated him? What was he supposed to do with his last few days of life? Of freedom? It wasn’t like he had the strength to do much more than exist and struggle for air. He didn’t have the energy to go out and do things. To go to places he had always wanted to see, or see shows and plays at theaters all around the world…

This life had been far shorter than his first one, but somehow, it had also managed to be far worse.

“I’ll have you know,” Sandy said—he hadn’t moved from his spot beside Macaque. “My cats specialize in deep pressure therapy.”

“… in what?”

Sandy’s smile grew. “Lie down. I’ll show you.”

Macaque gave Sandy a wary look, but acquiesced and did as he was told. Sandy grabbed a pillow from the loft bed above the kitchenette, and he fluffed it up before placing it under Macaque’s head. “Just stay here. I’ll go get Mo.”

Macaque… had no idea what he had unknowingly subjected himself to. He wondered if he should just get up and leave, but before he could decide, Sandy was back, with a blue-furred feline in his hands. He set the cat down on Macaque’s chest, and Macaque gave both of the blue beings a bewildered look.

“Stay still,” Sandy instructed. “Mo is trained for this.”

Mo pawed a bit at Macaque’s shirt, before lying down on top of him. Macaque didn’t know what was going on, or what he was supposed to be doing, but Mo seemed to have it under control. The cat nuzzled his face into the crook of Macaque’s neck, and then began to purr.

Macaque could feel the vibrations through his shirt, and after a few tense moments he took a shallow, yet slow breath. Even with the literal (though small) weight on his chest, it was the easiest he had breathed in days.

He breathed out slowly, being careful not to disturb the cat. But Mo didn’t seem to mind. His tiny little breaths were warm and light against Macaque’s neck, his whiskers tickling the monkey’s exposed skin.

Macaque breathed in again. Slowly. Mo rised with the movement of his chest, and sank as he breathed out once more. In. Out.

With each breath, Macaque seemed to settle into place on the plush sofa. The cushions were lumpy and well worn, yet somehow still comfortable. Macaque’s limbs felt heavy, but not in a burdensome way.

In. Out.

Sandy walked away without a word, obviously trying to muffle the sound of his footsteps as he left Macaque’s vision and made his way back into the kitchen. It made no difference to Macaque, but he appreciated the effort nonetheless.

With the next breath in, Macaque closed his eyes. He could hear Sandy moving around in the kitchen—the rush of water from the tap, the clinking of dishes, and the sound of bristles on ceramics as Sandy began to clean.

On the next breath out, Macaque sighed deeply. He heard Sandy briefly pause in his work, before continuing on as if nothing had happened.

In.

Out.

Macaque was going to stay for just a few more minutes, but then he really should get going. He didn’t want to impose any more than he already had.

In.

Out.

In…

Macaque didn’t know when he had fallen asleep, or for how long he had slept, but when he awoke he was surprised to find that he had become a perch for several of Sandy’s therapy cats.

Mo was still lying on his chest, while Ginger was curled up on Macaque’s stomach. The spotted one—Cookie Dough, right?—had managed to squeeze herself in between Macaque and the couch, and she looked quite content with her inevitable fate of sinking into the abyss of the couch folds. And last but not least, the tortoiseshell (it took him a moment to remember her name—Marshmallow), was sprawled out over Macaque’s legs.

Which meant that one cat was missing.

Macaque turned his head to the right, and saw Cocoa.

Sitting in Bai He’s lap.

The little girl was staring at Macaque silently, and if Macaque hadn’t been currently pinned down by a clowder of cats, he would’ve jumped at least a foot in the air.

“Hello,” Bai He greeted softly.

“H-hi,” Macaque managed to respond. He blamed his sleepiness for the fact that he hadn’t noticed the girl immediately upon waking. “What… what are you doing here?”

“Physical therapy,” she replied coolly. “I had an appointment with Sandy.”

Oh. Macaque supposed that made sense. Humans healed far slower than celestial monkeys, and Bai He had been possessed by the Lady Bone Demon for several months. Who knew what tolls that had taken on her mortal body?

Macaque wasn’t sure he would be able to sit up with all the felines on top of him, but as he began to move the cats got the message and got out of the way.

Ginger rolled off of Macaque’s belly and fell to the floor with a dull thud, but he seemed to be fine, as he promptly got up and trotted over to the food bowl in the corner. Mo stood up and stretched his legs, before leaping from Macaque to the coffee table, where he sat down and began to clean his paws.

Marshmallow hopped up onto the arm of the couch and gave a little meow as she stared at Macaque, as if she was waiting for something.

Now free, the shadow monkey sat up slowly, but then he heard a muffled meow from behind him. Oh! right!

He quickly reached down and pulled up the couch cushion, freeing Cookie Dough from her upholstered imprisonment. She didn’t seem upset, though. She hopped up and immediately pitter-pattered over to the other side of the couch, where Marshmallow hopped down from her perch and the two of them proceeded to cuddle together.

Okay. That was all of the cats accounted for. But where was their owner?

Bai He seemed to read Macaque’s mind. “Sandy’s up in the tea garden. He’s filling an order for my grandma.”

Macaque nodded. That sounded like something Sandy would do.

Mo looked at Macaque and tilted his head cutely to the side. Macaque reached out to pet the cat, and it was then that Macaque noticed his hand had been rebandaged. The vomit-covered wraps were gone, replaced with clean gauze and elastic bandages.

A quick glance at the floor revealed that the carpet had been cleaned, as well. It was still damp, and smelled strongly of lemon and lavender. Even the table had been cleaned up, the tea tray gone from sight and the tabletop now shining with wood polish. How in the world had Sandy managed to do that without waking him? Macaque was a light sleeper; always had been, due to his sensitive hearing.

But before Macaque could wonder much more on the matter, Bai He spoke again. “Macaque.”

The monkey flinched at his name; he hadn’t heard it in that particular voice for a while now, but the sound of it still sent chills down his spine. She’s gone, he reminded himself. Lady Bone Demon is gone. “Y-yeah?”

“Are you sick?”

The girl looked sad. Worried.

“Uhh…” Macaque cleared his throat. He didn’t want her to worry. He didn’t want anyone to worry (though it was already far too late for that).

“Sandy said he made you tea to help you feel better,” Bai He continued. “And that the cats were helping you feel better. Does that mean you’re sick?”

Macaque sighed in resignation. “Yeah,” he admitted quietly, picking at the edge of his bandages as he avoided her gaze. “I’m sick.”

“Did you go to the doctor?” Bai He asked him.

Macaque shook his head and gave a mirthless chuckle. “Nah. Doctors can’t fix this.”

Silence fell over the two of them, but Macaque could feel the sadness radiating from the little girl. Why was she sad? Macaque had hardly even talked to her before today. Sure, she had some weird… fondness of him because he had caught her, back when she had fallen during the final battle with Lady Bone Demon, but surely that wasn’t reason enough to care about him. To be concerned for him.

Rescuing others was just something that… that heroes did.

But he wasn’t a hero.

“Do you need a hug?”

… what?

Macaque looked up at Bai He in bewilderment, and saw that the girl was waiting for an answer. “Uhh…”

Need a hug? What a ridiculous idea. Who needed hugs? People needed water, food, and shelter, in that order. Emotions and feelings were just add-ons that made life that much more difficult. Hugs weren’t needed.

But the puppy eyes that Bai He was giving him made Macaque afraid to say no. The girl looked like she might burst into tears if he declined her offer.

So… one hug would be permissible. Allowed. “Umm… if you want a hug, then… that’s fine,” Macaque mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked away shyly.

Bai He nudged Cocoa off her lap and pushed herself to her feet, and Macaque moved to grab her crutch from where it was resting on the coffee table. But Bai He took a step forward without it. And then another, and another, crossing the small distance to the couch on wobbly legs.

Macaque fidgeted in his seat, unsure if he should stand up, or hold out his arms, or something. How did one… give hugs?

You idiot. You’ve given hugs before, his mind scolded him. It’s not that hard.

Right. Right, this…

This was fine.

But as Bai He came within arms reach of Macaque, her foot caught on the carpet, and she stumbled. Macaque immediately sprung forward and caught her in his arms as she fell, all awkwardness forgotten in favor of making sure the little human girl was safe.

“Are you alright?” He asked her quickly.

Bai He was shaky as she got her feet securely back under her, but then she looked up at Macaque and gave him a small nod.

Macaque nodded in return. “Good. Good. Umm…” Should he step back? But what if she fell again? Was she stable enough to stand on her own right now? Should he grab the crutch for her?

However, Bai He had another idea. She leaned forward and closed the small gap between her and the monkey, wrapping her arms around his waist as she buried her face in his shirt.

And this time, after a moment’s hesitation, Macaque returned the embrace. His tail was lashing nervously behind him, and he wasn’t sure he was doing a very good job at this whole hugging thing (he was several hundred years out of practice), but… it felt okay. Nice, even, though he wouldn’t admit it aloud.

… why had he stopped doing this?

“I hope you feel better, Macaque,” Bai He said quietly. “I hope you get better soon.”

Macaque could only nod.

Chapter Text

It was only two days after Macaque’s impromptu visit with Sandy that someone came knocking at his door.

Macaque felt awful. The nap he had taken with Sandy’s cats was the only good sleep he had gotten in a while; anytime he laid down to rest, he felt like he was going to suffocate from the pressure in his lungs. So he hadn’t gotten more than an hour of sleep at a time for the last couple of days, and the exhaustion was beginning to take a toll on him. He could barely see straight, and it didn’t help that he hadn’t eaten since that bowl of broth he’d had at Pigsy’s about half a week ago.

The knocking continued, and Macaque frowned tiredly. It was probably just MK. The kid was annoyingly persistent. But could he just leave the noodles and go away, please? Macaque wasn’t going to eat them, anyway.

But after another minute of the continuous tapping at his door, Macaque finally got up from the couch and trudged out of the training room. He came to a stop in front of the door and pulled it open, groaning loudly in exasperation. “MK, what do you—”

Wait.

That wasn’t MK.

“Hey.” Wukong gave him a lazy wave. “Sup?”

Macaque slammed the door in his face without a second thought.

No. No, no, no. His heart rate immediately skyrocketed, and his throat felt like it was swelling shut with flowers that were eager to burst out of him, even if they killed him in the process. Why? WHY?

The knocking began again, and it was like knuckles were tapping against Macaque’s very skull. He grit his teeth in pain, his claws scratching lines into the door. He should have listened for who it was before he opened the door. He should’ve recognized the heartbeat; he knew Wukong’s heartbeat. He had fallen asleep to it countless times back on Flower Fruit Mountain, before their friendship had fallen apart and they had become bitter enemies.

He should have been paying attention. Macaque blamed his prolonged exhaustion for the fact that he hadn’t noticed who it was, but now the annoyance at his door knew that he was there, and wouldn’t be leaving until he got what he wanted.

So he took a deep breath, trying not to cough at the feeling of petals rustling in his throat, and opened the door just a crack.

“There you are!” Wukong said, like nothing had even happened. The golden-furred monkey was dressed in a yellow hoodie and red sweatpants, with a pair of big, gaudy sunglasses resting on top of his head. Was he even trying to be inconspicuous? Because if so, he was failing miserably.

Wukong held up his hand, presenting a plastic bag with the Pigsy’s Noodles logo stamped on the side. “The kid heard from Sandy, who said you’re sick, so he asked me to drop this off for ya. He’s too busy with work to stop by himself, so…” Wukong gave a nonchalant shrug. “Y’know.”

No, Macaque did not know. Why couldn’t MK have just stopped by later? Why had Wukong agreed to do it for him? Sun Wukong was lazy—he didn’t just… do stuff for others! What, had he seen the opportunity to harass Macaque and been eager to take it?

Macaque bit back a groan as he rested his head against the doorframe. MK was too sweet and kind for his own good. Macaque still didn’t understand why the kid liked him, but he wished that MK would maybe tone it down a notch. He didn’t need to be sending anyone to deliver him food. And certainly not Sun Wukong of all people.

“So… can I come in?”

Hell no! And Macaque was ready to tell Wukong as much. But as he opened his mouth to speak, it wasn’t words that left him.

It was flowers.

Macaque shoved the door shut again, eyes wide with fear as he turned away and clamped his hands over his mouth. Frick, frick, frick! He couldn’t let Wukong see the flowers, he couldn’t—

Macaque stumbled away from the door and fell to his knees with a wet cough. He spat a couple of fully grown blossoms into his hand and immediately shoved them into his pocket. Not even a second later, he heard the creak of the front door swinging open behind him. Had it not latched? Or had Wukong opened it?

Footsteps came towards Macaque, and—yep, it was Wukong. The golden monkey grabbed him by the arm and pulled him to his feet. Macaque wanted to protest, but instead he kept his hand clamped over his mouth, far more interested in keeping the petals contained and hidden. Why? Why was Wukong doing this? Why couldn’t he just leave Macaque alone?

Wukong led Macaque into the kitchen, and pushed him down into the only wooden chair that Macaque owned, which sat by his pitifully small kitchen table. Macaque glared at the other monkey, all the while his heart felt like it was about to burst out of his chest; whether it was due to nerves or anger, he wasn’t sure.

Macaque could taste blood coating the inside of his mouth, but even more alarming was the peach blossom that he could feel resting on his tongue. He couldn’t spit it out with Wukong standing right there. So instead, he grimaced and swallowed the flower back down, trying not to gag at the feeling of it sliding down his throat. A shudder ran down Macaque’s spine, and he looked up to see Wukong standing in front of him. In his house.

Wow. This was, like, his worst nightmare come true. Great.

“Are you okay?” Wukong asked him, with what looked like concern on his face. “Can I… get you some water, or… something?”

Macaque hesitated before pulling his hand away from his mouth. A quick glance revealed that no petals had stuck to his palm—only a splatter of blood—and he breathed a sigh of relief. “No,” he muttered gruffly, his voice catching in his throat. “I’m good.”

But it was obvious that Wukong didn’t believe him. The golden monkey’s nose wrinkled as the coppery scent of blood wafted into the air, and before Macaque could protest Wukong grabbed his wrist and turned his hand over for both of them to see. The red liquid on his fingers glinted under the kitchen light, and Wukong’s eyes widened in shock. “Holy Buddha…”

Macaque’s stomach twisted, and his heart felt like a frog that was trying to leap up into his throat; luckily, the flowers kept it at bay. He watched with anxiety as Wukong’s expression only grew more troubled.

“What’s going on?” Wukong asked him quietly. “Are you okay?”

Macaque scowled, his voice scratching at his throat as he spoke. “Of course not.”

Wukong crouched down in front of Macaque, putting the two of them at eye level as he placed his hand gently on Macaque’s knee. “What’s wrong?”

His touch was like lightning on Macaque’s skin, and the monkey flinched so hard that the chair rattled beneath him. Macaque’s body reacted before his mind did, and he shoved Wukong away from him with all his might. The stone monkey, caught completely off guard, fell flat on his butt.

“Hey!” Wukong shouted angrily, glaring at the shadow monkey as he got to his feet and brushed himself off. “I’m trying to care about you, butthole!”

Macaque’s throat felt like it was swelling shut, but he managed to wheeze out two words: “Get out.”

Wukong’s angry expression immediately fell away, replaced by one of regret as he held up his hands in a calming gesture. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I…” Wukong sighed and grabbed the bag of food off the floor, from where it had fallen when he was pushed over. “I’m just worried about you.”

Macaque’s breath whistled in his throat as he glared at Wukong, the shadow monkey looking every bit like a cornered cat. Worried? Since when did Sun Wukong worry about him? Wukong didn’t even like him. At least, that was what Macaque believed.

But… if Wukong had actually agreed to bring him food, then… maybe Wukong didn’t really hate him like Macaque had originally thought. And despite the hopelessness of Macaque’s situation, he still felt a little flicker of warmth in his chest, like a candle on a cold winter’s night.

So he looked. As his lungs struggled to pull air in and push it back out, each breath labored, he looked intently at Wukong’s face, searching for… something.

But what he found a lack of was perhaps more startling to him. There was no hatred on Wukong’s face. No anger, no irritation—not even a sliver of annoyance. All that Macaque could see was true, honest worry. For him.

And he had seen that look on Wukong’s face before. Wukong had given him that same look long, long ago, back when Macaque went by the name of Liu’er Mihou. Back when the two of them didn’t have a care in the world, and were content to simply exist happily by the other’s side. Back when the flowers had just been a tickle in his throat that he could easily ignore.

Back before everything went wrong.

Wukong was looking at Macaque like he actually cared. So…

Could that mean…?

Macaque breathed in, and it didn’t hurt as badly as before. Maybe he had been blind to what was really going on. Maybe his resentment for how his last life had ended had blinded him from the opportunities that he had now.

Now, even though he was on the brink of death, maybe he could still be saved. Maybe…

“I care about you, Macaque.” Wukong’s voice was earnest as he held the bag of noodles out for Macaque to take. “As a friend.”

And just like that, that little flame of hope was extinguished.

Those simple, kind words were like a knife to Macaque’s heart. Or more accurately, his lungs. He doubled over in his seat with a pained gasp, his arms wrapping around his stomach as he struggled not to vomit right then and there.

That was it, then. That was his confirmation. There was no love there—nothing more than platonic, anyway. And Macaque didn’t have time to try and build something more with Wukong. To become something more to him.

He would rather Wukong hate him than see him as nothing more than a friend. Then at least Macaque wouldn’t feel like he had missed his chance. If Wukong had said that he hated him, then Macaque could at least die with some semblance of peace, knowing that there was nothing he could’ve done to save himself.

But… friends? Friends meant that maybe, just maybe, there had been a chance for something… more than just friends.

And Macaque had long since lost that chance.

Wukong was still holding out the bag of food, waiting expectantly for Macaque to take it from him. Instead, Macaque braced his bloody hand against the table and pushed himself to his feet. His breathing was ragged, and he covered his mouth as a wet cough forced its way out. Wukong took a step towards him, but Macaque fixed him with a glare that had the other monkey stopping dead in his tracks.

It hurt to speak, but Macaque did so anyway. He could feel the flowers at the back of his throat, blooming like a peach tree in the midst of spring. He could feel them trying to escape, and he pushed out the words before they could do so.

“I ‘ate you,” Macaque gurgled, blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. “So… ‘o ‘way.”

The words were muffled by the flowers sitting in the back of his mouth, but by the way that Wukong’s expression changed, Macaque was sure that he got the message. Wukong’s outstretched arm fell to his side, the Pigsy’s Noodles bag hanging listlessly from his hand as he stared at Macaque in disbelief. Macaque could see the hurt in Wukong’s eyes, and he blinked furiously as tears welled up in his own.

“… what?” Wukong breathed.

Flecks of blood flew from Macaque’s mouth as he wheezed pitifully, petals sticking to the backs of his teeth. He glared hatefully at Wukong to hide the fact that he was about to cry. “I hate you,” he hissed, the words far too loud in the crushing silence of the room around them. “So go away.”

It felt like time had frozen. The seconds were unbearably long as the two monkeys held a silent staring contest. One’s eyes spoke of false anger and hatred, while the other’s professed shock, and an undeniable hurt. Betrayal.

And then anger. Wukong stepped forward (Macaque’s heart leapt in his chest at the sudden action), and dropped the bag of noodles onto the table without a word. He turned on his heel and stormed out of the kitchen, and Macaque’s heart felt like a stone that was cracking in two.

No. Wait.

Macaque took a step forward and immediately fell to his knees as a breathless cry tore itself from his chest. The tears flowed down his face as he heard Wukong’s footsteps stomping towards the entryway, and he crawled after him, desperate to somehow stop him. To make him turn around, to make him just wait. Please!

But the word wouldn’t leave his lips, blocked by flowers that spilled from his lips in a trickle of blood and regret.

The front door slammed like a judge’s gavel, sentencing Macaque to his death.

And all was silent.

Macaque wanted to scream, but all that left his mouth was blossoms and blood. He retched as red-tinted bile poured from his open maw, splattering onto the tiles of the kitchen floor. It felt like peach buds and twigs were sliding up his throat, choking him from the inside, gagging him as they sliced into his soft flesh. A wet gurgle bubbled up from his throat as tears streamed down his cheeks; it was a desperate cry for help, muffled by the pink-petaled consequences of his prolonged silence.

He needed help. He needed Wukong.

Gasping for air, Macaque began to crawl again. Hand over hand, he crawled through the puddle of vomit, the blood soaking into his jeans and the petals sticking to his hands and clothes. His arms trembled, and his throat felt like it was on fire as flowers crept their way out of his lungs like a cluster of spiders, forcing their way into his throat where he struggled to breathe around them.

His thoughts were frantically buzzing around his mind like a swarm of angry hornets, all shouting and echoing within the confines of his skull.

No, no, NO, NO, NO! PLEASE!

Come back!

Please!

I’m sorry!

I didn’t mean it. I didn’t!

I love you.

Macaque dragged himself along the floor, his claws digging into the floorboards as he finally reached the kitchen archway. He wanted to leap to his feet and run—to pull open the front door and call after Wukong. He wanted to beg him to stay, please. He hadn’t meant it. He hadn’t.

“Please…” Macaque rasped, fighting to speak through the blossoms that were threatening to asphyxiate him.

…

But there was no answer.

Wukong was already long gone.

A broken cry tore itself from his chest, and brought with it a fountain of flowers and blood. Macaque vomited again, retching and heaving, and all that left him was flowers. There wasn’t anything else to throw up; he hadn’t eaten in days. Flowers, flowers, flowers. All pink and red, their delicate little petals felt sharper than knives and stronger than stone as they tore his body apart from the inside. The innocent-looking blossoms were more ravenous than any beast, and they were eager to use his flesh and bone as nothing more than fertilizer for their growth. And they would continue to do so until there was nothing left of him.

Back in the Underworld, there hadn’t been any flowers. There had been mountains of knives that he had been forced to climb, and oceans of burning sand that he had been made to run across until his feet were raw and bloody. He had been set aflame, and skinned alive, and had maggots burrow into his flesh, where they ate away at him from the inside out.

But there hadn’t been any flowers.

And honestly, right now… Macaque felt like the punishments of the Ten Kings would be far more bearable than his current state.

Damn peach blossoms… Macaque snarled as he grabbed at his shirt. His claws ripped easily through the thin fabric and scratched at his chest. If only those blossoms had never plagued him, then maybe…

Maybe he could have been happy.

A guttural growl rose from his chest as Macaque’s fingers dug into his flesh, the tips of his claws drawing little drops of blood. This was ridiculous. Macaque was ridiculous. Foolish, naive, and stupid, stupid, stupid! How could he possibly have let himself believe, for even one second, that things could be different? After all the lies, and fights, and bad blood spilt in his wake, there was nothing left worth caring for. Nothing worth saving.

And there was no one left who would care when he passed. MK would be sad for a bit, and Sandy, too, but the only one who might have truly mourned his death would’ve been Wukong. But after everything that had happened between them… their relationship had been irreparably damaged. All Wukong saw him as now was a friend, and honestly, that was the best that Macaque could’ve really hoped for. Not lovers. Not mates. Just… friends.

Why should I even care? Macaque thought angrily to himself. Why should he care for Sun Wukong? Why should he feel for him? Wukong had killed him! So why…?

Why…?

“Why do I love him?” Macaque hissed to himself through clenched teeth.

The admittance of those words from his lips sent a lightning strike of anger searing through his body, and he bellowed in white-hot rage as he raked his hand across his chest. DAMN IT! WHY?!

His claws sliced painfully into his skin, leaving searing, bloody scratches in their wake. His teeth were clenched so tight that they felt like they were going to crack, but he powered through the pain as he deliberately clawed at his sternum; he was going to get rid of the cursed flowers in his lungs, or die trying. He wasn’t going to just lie down and let them consume him.

So he dug, just as frantically as he had dug his way out of the earth—out of the shallow grave that Wukong had put him in. He wouldn’t stop until he struck bone, until he cracked open his own ribs and plucked those blossoms out one by one. Blood drenched his fingers and pooled in his palms before trickling down his forearms, where it dribbled down onto the floor in crimson rivulets of pain and sorrow.

A hiccup bubbled up from his throat, weak and pained as it slipped past his lips and the tears streaming down his face. Macaque’s chest felt like it was on fire; every inch of his skin burned with indescribable agony as his wickedly sharp claws tore through soft flesh and dug into dense muscle, searching for bone to scratch through. White spots were igniting in Macaque’s eyes like fireworks, and through the overwhelming, deafening buzzing in his mind he wondered if he was going completely blind.

Suddenly, there was a dull scraping sound as Macaque’s claws struck his sternum, and it was like lightning struck him right through his core, filling his eyes with a blinding white. Macaque collapsed in the puddle of his own blood, and if he hadn’t been frozen in shock then he was sure that he would be writhing in agony. His mouth was wide open in a silent scream, that took with it what little breath he had. Stabbing pins and needles ran across his skin, followed by a cold sensation that washed over him, like he had been plunged into an endless black sea that did nothing to soothe the burning hot pain he had inflicted upon himself.

The following darkness that overtook him was a relief.

Macaque eventually woke up, though he wished that he hadn’t. He didn’t know what time it was, but his home had been cloaked in darkness, and as he managed to sit up and look through the windows he could see that it was pitch black outside.

It was night, then.

Macaque groaned as he dragged his hand down his face. Everything ached, from his lungs, to his back, and all the way to the tips of his fingers and toes. Considering he had been crying and vomiting so hard that he passed out, maybe he shouldn’t be surprised. On the bright side, at least no one had been there to witness it. No, his mortifying and shameful display of tears and weakness had been for his eyes alone.

How embarrassing.

Macaque grunted as he moved to push himself to his feet, but then he fell back with a startled cry as white-hot pain shot through his chest like a kick in the ribs. Frick. Yeah, he should’ve expected that.

He took a moment to breathe and allow the aching, tingling pain in his chest to subside, before trying again. With a hiss of pain, Macaque rolled onto his side and managed to get both of his knees under him. Looking down, he saw that his upper chest looked like it had gotten into a fight with a tiger and lost. His shirt had been shredded to ribbons, and his skin wasn’t in much better condition. The flesh was angry, red, and inflamed where it had been cut. The bleeding had slowed to a sluggish trickle, but it wasn’t anywhere near as healed as it would have been had he been in the prime of his health.

It wouldn’t be healing any time soon, and certainly not before he passed.

Macaque’s bottom lip trembled, but he bit down on it with a scowl as he forced himself to stand. His body protested, but that was too bad; he wasn’t going to spend the last hours of his life lying on the floor in a sticky puddle of vomit and blood. He would rather get a shower first.

Macaque set off on unsteady legs and slowly, painfully made his way across the spacious training room. It was silent, except for the sound of his bare feet against the floor planks, and his own labored breathing. Even the city around him seemed to have entered a state of peaceful slumber, leaving Macaque alone in the solitude of the night. Alone, just like he always was and always had been.

Like he would be when he died.

The journey up the stairs to the second floor was a labor worthy of Hercules. At least, in Macaque’s mind it was. Once he had reached the second floor landing, he turned to the left and entered the first door on his left. Flicking the light on, he came to a stop in the middle of his bathroom, his feet sinking into the soft, worn bath mat, and took a deep breath—as deep of a breath as he could, anyway.

Gods, he was tired. But he wasn’t about to go back to sleeping on the floor, and he certainly wasn’t going to bed covered in blood (it wouldn’t have been the first time that he had done such a thing, but it was always such a hassle to clean up afterwards). So a shower it was.

A tremor of exhaustion ran through his body, and Macaque hesitated. Okay… maybe a bath would be better. He wasn’t sure he had the strength to keep standing, and he didn’t need to be slipping and falling and cracking his head open. Though… would that be a better way to go than slowly asphyxiating on peach blossoms?

Macaque shook his head to clear that thought from his mind, and immediately regretted the action as his vision blurred and his head spun. Definitely a bath, then.

Macaque reached down and plugged the drain, and then he turned on the hot water as high as it would go. Maybe the steam would help to clear his lungs and allow him to breathe a little easier in his last hours. He then shed his dirty clothes and tossed them on the floor. He started to think to himself that he would wash them later, but then he realized: what would be the point? He would be dead soon anyway. And the shirt definitely wasn’t salvageable, so…

The roar of the water from the faucet flooded Macaque’s hearing, and luckily it was enough to help block out his more unpleasant thoughts for the time being. He glanced down at himself, wondering just how bad of a state his fur was in (he hadn’t showered in a while), only to find that his fur was clumped and matted with dried blood, with little pink flower petals sticking out like sprinkles on a cake. Great.

Deciding that the tub was full enough, Macaque turned off the water. He could feel and see the heat rising up from the water in visible clouds of steam, and he held his breath as he lifted up his leg and tentatively dipped his foot into the tub. The water was scalding, but Macaque didn’t pull away. Instead, he breathed out slowly as he lowered his foot into the almost boiling water, and then lifted his other leg in.

Taking a deep breath, Macaque gingerly lowered himself into the bath. The water was probably hot enough to blister a normal person’s skin, but Macaque didn’t care. It was strangely freeing, not having to worry about things like that anymore. Or anything else, for that matter. The laundry, the bills, his wounds… they were of no consequence to him anymore.

He wouldn’t be around to worry about them for much longer.

After a moment of breathing deeply and slowly, Macaque grew accustomed to the hot water, and he leaned back with a quiet sigh. It wasn’t bad. In fact, it felt nice to his aching body. Macaque closed his eyes and just sat there, resting and breathing as calmly as he could with his clogged lungs.

With the tap off, the bathroom had fallen silent, except for the faint sound of gentle ripples on the surface of the water, and Macaque’s congested breathing. Which meant that his thoughts were now loud. Too loud.

And it was then, in the silence of his bathroom, that everything started to come back to him.

For the longest time, Macaque had often been kept up at night by feelings of anger and frustration towards Sun Wukong, but the only emotion that plagued him now was… melancholy. Not every memory he had of Sun Wukong was bad. Most of them weren’t. Even though the two of them had grown apart towards the end of Macaque’s life, his earliest memories were filled with warmth and light, endless joy and laughter…

And love.

And even though their relationship had soured near the end, it wasn’t just Wukong’s fault.

It was Macaque’s, too. Just as much, if not more so. Macaque never should have attacked the group of pilgrims all those thousands of years ago. He knew he shouldn’t have. But he had been hurting for a long time, and desperate for a change—for things to go back to how they were. And the crushing pressure of the flowers in his lungs hadn’t helped in his decision making.

Of course, Wukong shouldn’t have killed him, either, and Macaque had every right to be upset at him for that. But Macaque understood now that… it may have been a mistake on Wukong’s part. Wukong had been known for his hot temper back in those days; it was what had usually gotten him in trouble back then.

But… deep down, Macaque didn’t believe that Wukong had meant to kill him. And it was clear now that the golden monkey had been trying to make up for it for a long, long time. In every interaction the two monkeys had ever had since Macaque came back from the dead… Wukong had been different.

He never started their fights—Macaque did. And even though Wukong did still get upset with him now and then, there was never anger in his eyes. Wukong never shouted at him, or struck him, or caused him any sort of harm (except emotional, but even that was unintentional on the golden monkey’s part).

A shaky breath left Macaque’s mouth as tears slid down his cheeks, the drops falling into the bathwater with almost inaudible little splashes.

He had let his resentment blind him, and twist his memory of Wukong into some anger-filled, heartless monster that cared for no one other than himself, and certainly not for Macaque.

But that just simply wasn’t true. Wukong had never been like that. Sure, the golden monkey had become misguided in his original goal over time—his oath to grow stronger and protect those he loved—and their arguments over the matter had resulted in a bitter, painful end to more than just their friendship…

But Sun Wukong had never hated Macaque.

A whimper slipped from Macaque’s mouth, startling him more than he would care to admit. Even though there was no one around to hear, his face still burned with embarrassment as he sat up and bit down on his tongue. Shut up, he thought angrily to himself. Who cares? It doesn’t matter now. Nothing does.

But his thoughts persisted. Wukong didn’t hate him; he never had. All of this… this mess? It was all Macaque’s doing.

Shut up! Macaque’s fingers curled as he hunched over, his fur bristling with anger. Just shut up!

This was his fault. This was all his fault. Wukong had killed him the first time around, but now?

This time, Macaque had no one to blame but himself.

Macaque’s claws dug into his forearms, leaving bloody scratches in their wake. He grit his teeth as a growl rose from his battered chest. It didn’t matter whose fault it was. Nothing mattered now. He was going to die, and there… there was nothing he could do. His fate was sealed, and it had been for a long time now.

Except… he could have survived this if he had just told Wukong, but it was too late now. Too late, too late—

Macaque’s hands fell from his bloodied arms and latched onto his thighs. He scratched frantically at his skin to distract himself from his thoughts, the pain causing a buzzing in his ears that did little to silence the incriminating words in his mind. Tears leaked down his face, falling into the bath like rainwater into a lake. He leaned his forehead against his knees, squeezing his eyes shut to try and stop the tears as his claws cut into his skin and his breath came out in desperate little gasps. Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!!!

But there was no silencing his mind. And it was intent on making him understand just how badly he had messed up. No amount of self-inflicted pain would silence the truths ringing in his ears. He had allowed his anger and hurt to control all his decisions concerning his life, and this was where it had left him.

Alone.

The adrenaline left Macaque’s body all at once, and he slumped forward with a broken sob. His blood-stained hands fell listlessly from his mutilated legs as he wept bitterly, wishing that things had been different. Wishing that he had been different. That he had done something, or said something that wouldn’t have resulted with him being where he was now. But it was too late for him—it was too late to turn his miserable life around. To go back and apologize, and make amends. To make friends, like he had needed so long ago.

It was too late to say sorry, and to both ask for and give forgiveness.

It was too late.

Long after the water had gone cold, Macaque finally decided to leave the bath. He sat up and saw that the water had turned murky with his blood, and little pink petals were drifting across its surface. Eww.

Macaque frowned tiredly as he reached up and began to scrub the blood out of his fur. The filth ran through his thick black pelt in dark watery rivulets, washing away the flower petals that were still stuck to him. The gouges on Macaque’s chest had finally stopped bleeding, but they still burned with a dull, aching pain. And his arms and legs were in no better condition.

Deciding that he was clean enough, Macaque hefted himself up and clambered out of the bath, leaving smears of blood on the sides of the tub. Water dripped onto the tile floor as he plodded over to the linen cabinet and pulled it open. He grabbed a clean towel and dried off his arms and legs (being careful to avoid his new wounds), before wrapping it around his waist.

With his bath finished, he left the bathroom and went down the hall, to his bedroom. He pushed the door open, flipped on the light, and went to sit down on his bed, but faltered as his phone buzzed from its spot on the nightstand.

Who in the world would be contacting him?

Macaque hesitated for only a few seconds before grabbing the device, and he saw that he had notifications filling his screen. Texts, missed calls, and voicemails from Sandy and a number that Macaque didn’t recognize. But a quick glance at the first text sent from it revealed that it was MK—apparently, he had stolen Macaque’s number from Sandy’s phone.

Scrolling through the messages revealed that they were all more or less the same: the two of them were asking if he was alright. Macaque assumed that the voicemails were probably asking him the same question, as well.

And honestly, the answer was no. No, he wasn’t.

Macaque stood there for a minute or two, staring at the screen in silence, before he powered off his phone. He set it back down on the nightstand, then grabbed a long-sleeved shirt and sweatpants from his dresser. He pulled the clothes on over his damp fur, before switching off the light and lying down on his bed.

Contrary to his time spent in the bath, his thoughts now were strangely silent. But he wasn’t complaining.

Macaque brought his knees to his chest and curled his tail around the calves, closing his eyes as he slowly fell asleep to the rhythmic rattling inside his chest.

Chapter Text

MK POV:

“Hey, do you guys mind if we make a detour?”

It was a bright and sunny afternoon in Megapolis. And MK thought that it was perfect for hanging out with friends. He and Mei had met up with Bai He and Sandy, and the four of them had made plans to go out for cheese tea and then head to the anti-gravity arcade (the literal weightlessness of the arcade’s atmosphere made it easier for Bai He to move around without her crutch). And MK was definitely excited to hang out; he loved spending time with his friends!

But even though he had an awesome, fun-filled day planned out ahead of him, he still had one thing in particular weighing on his mind:

Macaque.

He hadn’t seen the dark-furred monkey since the meet-up at Pigsy’s. And Macaque hadn’t been doing well the last time MK saw him. It was obvious that the monkey had some sort of illness or injury going on, despite his refusal to admit it. And MK wasn’t sure how to help him. What kind of illnesses did celestial monkeys even get? And even if he tried to help, he knew that Macaque would be resistant to any sort of aid or care from anybody; the shadow monkey was frustrating like that.

MK still cared about Macaque, though. Obviously. They were friends! … somewhat? MK thought they were friends; but he wasn’t sure what Macaque thought about him. Despite that, MK still cared, and he was worried.

He had been wanting to drop off some food for Macaque a couple of days ago, but MK had been swamped with work. During a call with Monkey King (yes, MK had been driving during the call, but it was fine! He was a good driver), he had bemoaned his dilemma, and to his surprise Monkey King had offered to drop off the food for him.

MK had been hesitant, but… the two monkeys hadn’t really fought much at all since Lady Bone Demon’s defeat, so… maybe they were trying to be friends again. And MK would love for them to be friends! So of course he had agreed.

Monkey King had stopped by to grab Macaque’s order, and zoomed off to deliver it.

And MK hadn’t heard from him since.

He had texted the monkey several times, asking him if he had dropped off the food, and how Macaque was doing, but Monkey King never responded.

And Macaque hadn’t responded to MK’s texts either. He had stolen the monkey’s number from Sandy’s phone, but even though he had made sure to mention who he was in his messages, Macaque hadn’t said anything in return.

MK had been worrying since, and he had been fighting the strong urge to stop by and check on Macaque, just to make sure everything was okay.

“Where to?” Mei asked him.

“Well… we’re kinda close to Macaque’s place, and…” MK rubbed the back of his neck as he looked away sheepishly. “I just wanna check on him. Make sure he’s doing okay.”

“Sure thing, little man,” Sandy said with a smile. “We don’t mind.”

Bai He nodded silently from where she was sitting on Sandy’s shoulder, and Mei shrugged.

MK smiled; his friends were the best. “Okay. It’s just down this street here. It won’t take long.”

A couple of minutes later, they found themselves standing on the doorstep of the big, dilapidated building that Macaque had claimed as his dojo. MK stepped forward and knocked on the door, and then waited.

“Yeesh. This place is kinda… creepy-looking,” Mei commented with a grimace as she stared up at the tall brick facade, which had begun to crumble away in some places.

“Meh.” MK shrugged. “I think it suits him.”

The little group fell silent, and after a minute of no response from the other side of the door MK knocked again. He knew that he didn’t have much of a reason to be worried—Macaque rarely answered the door anymore—but he still was.

…

There was no response.

“Should we try opening the door?” Sandy suggested as he picked Bai He up off of his shoulder and set her down on the ground. “Maybe he can’t hear us.”

MK found that idea to be highly unlikely, but he tested the doorknob anyway, and it turned. The door swung open with a loud creak, which immediately set off alarm bells in MK’s head. Macaque didn’t leave his front door unlocked anymore. He hadn’t for weeks.

Maybe that’s a good sign, he tried to reason with himself. Maybe he’s just hiding in the shadows and planning to scare me again.

But deep down in his gut, MK somehow knew that that wasn’t the case.

The entryway to Macaque’s home was dark and silent. MK stepped inside, and the others followed behind him, all of them cautious and on edge as they entered into the dark and spooky building.

“Macaque?” MK called out, his voice echoing down the hall.

… but there was no answer.

“Ick! What’s that smell?” Mei whined.

MK hadn’t noticed the scent at first, but at Mei’s comment he took a deep breath. A rancid stench struck his nostrils, and MK grimaced as his eyes watered. It smelled like something had gone bad. Like something was rotting.

MK turned towards where the smell was coming: the kitchen. He walked to the end of the counter and turned, and his shoe immediately landed in…

Blood?

There was a puddle of blood on the kitchen floor that had started to dry, but still stuck to the sole of MK’s sneaker as he stumbled back in alarm. The smell was pungent and sulfuric, and MK felt like he was going to be sick.

What had happened here? And where was Macaque?

A hand grabbed MK’s shoulder, startling him so badly that he jumped at least a foot in the air. He whirled around and saw that it was just Sandy standing behind him, but the water demon’s normally cheerful demeanor was completely gone. “You guys stay here,” he ordered solemnly, yet quietly, as if trying not to startle MK. “I’ll go look for him.”

MK’s heart began to pound a fearful rhythm against his rib cage. What? Why did Sandy want them to stay back? Was something wrong?

Was… was Macaque…?

MK turned and ran, ignoring Sandy’s voice calling after him as he ran into the training room. The lights were off, cloaking the room in shadows. MK couldn’t make anything out in the darkness, but he managed to find the lightswitch on the wall and flipped it on. The lights flickered as MK stepped further into the room, his eyes darting all over. It appeared to be vacant, but he was still afraid of what he might find. He hadn’t heard from Macaque in days—nobody had. What if… what if Macaque was dea—

Suddenly, as MK turned, his eyes landed on a dark, crumpled heap at the base of the stairs. “Macaque!”

The sound of footsteps filled MK’s ears as Mei and Sandy came up behind him, with Bai He in Sandy’s arms. Sandy immediately noticed Macaque, but the water demon was frozen for only a split second before he set Bai He down on her feet, quickly making sure that the little girl was alright before he turned and ran. Mei followed after him, both of them going to check on the fallen monkey.

But MK couldn’t move. He was frozen on the spot; he felt like he had forgotten how to breathe. What had happened? He had known that Macaque was sick, but… he hadn’t known it was this bad. Macaque’s lifeless body was lying in a puddle of what looked like fresh blood, and… pink. Something pink was scattered throughout the puddle, but MK couldn’t make out what it was.

Sandy carefully rolled Macaque onto his back, and MK paled as he saw that Macaque’s face was scarred. Had he been attacked?

No, no… the injury over the monkey’s right eye was old. But… how? His eyes had looked just fine the last time MK saw him, and every time before that.

And it was then that MK noticed Macaque’s ears. The monkey had three of them, on both sides of his head—six in total. What? Since when? MK had never seen him with six ears.

A faint memory came to MK’s mind then, of when he had first met the shadow monkey:

“Uhh, sorry, who are you?”

“Macaque. Actually, the, uhh, Six-Eared Macaque is, y’know, my full name.”

So his name is literal, then? MK briefly wondered to himself, before angrily shaking his head. That was not important right now. Just what in the world was going on? And why…?

And why hadn’t MK done more? He should have been more persistent in checking on Macaque. He should have pushed more, and not listened when Macaque claimed that he was fine.

But he hadn’t. He had stepped back and given the monkey his space, and now…

MK took a step forward, but he faltered as he heard a little whimper behind him. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw Bai He; the girl was shaking like a leaf, and her legs looked ready to give out.

MK turned and grabbed her by the shoulders before she could fall, and the girl flinched at his touch. “Hey,” MK said weakly, trying to give the girl a calming smile (but he was sure that he wasn’t successful). “Let’s sit down, okay?”

Bai He didn’t answer, but she allowed MK to help her sit down against the wall. Her eyes were wide and her skin was as white as a sheet; she looked like she was about to faint. MK wanted to comfort her, but it was then that he noticed his own hands were trembling. He blinked, and was startled by the feeling of teardrops running down his face. Why… why was he…?

A shudder ran down MK’s spine, and his breath hitched in his throat as the weight of the situation finally came crashing down on him. Macaque… Macaque is… He’s…

What was MK supposed to do?

Though MK’s thoughts were swarming around his head like bees in a smoky hive, he managed to pull out his phone. His hands shook as he opened the contacts, and clicked on the first name that came to his mind.

The phone rang only a couple of times before Monkey King picked up.

“Hey, bud,” Wukong said cheerfully, completely unaware of MK’s distress. “What’s up—”

“Macaque’s dead!” MK wailed, and he was startled by the loudness of his own voice. He could feel his heart racing in his chest, his breath quick and uneven, and his hands shook as he waited for Monkey King to respond. To tell MK that it was all going to be okay, that Macaque would somehow be alright. To tell MK what to do.

But he was only met with silence on the other end. Not even a breath was heard, and after a moment MK began to wonder if he had lost connection when at last Monkey King spoke, his voice cracking as he simply uttered, “… what?”

MK took a deep breath, struggling not to break down into tears as he began to repeat himself, but then Mei shouted for him. “MK!”

MK looked up, and saw that Sandy had pulled Macaque’s head into his lap. Mei pointed, and MK nearly dropped his phone when he saw the shallow rise and fall of Macaque’s chest. He was breathing.

He was alive.

“MK?” Wukong’s voice crackled over the phone. “What’s going on?”

“He’s not dead,” MK croaked, his knees feeling weak with relief. “He’s not dead. But you need to get here now.” MK slid down the wall and plopped down next to Bai He, and the little girl leaned into his side as she began to weep quietly. “He’s sick. Really sick.”

“I’ll be there as soon as possible,” Monkey King assured him, before immediately hanging up. MK pulled his phone away from his ear and stared at the dropped call screen, wondering what he was supposed to do now. Should he call the police? An ambulance?

Completely lost, MK decided to call the most responsible adult he knew: Pigsy.

Macaque POV:

There were noises.

Muttering. Quiet voices. And a faint fluttering sound, like wind in the leaves of a tree, but softer and muffled.

Something was touching his fur. He could feel it moving, picking, and combing, and he finally realized that it was a hand. Someone was grooming his fur.

Gods, when was the last time someone had done that for him?

Macaque struggled to open his eyes, and when he finally did he was immediately greeted by a harsh light that made him hiss in pain and close his eyes once more. Someone had turned the lights on in his dojo. He knew he certainly hadn’t. He preferred the dark.

The hand in his fur faltered briefly before continuing to groom.

Macaque opened his eyes again, squinting up at whoever was cleaning his fur. Why? It wasn’t like anyone actually liked him, or cared enough to do that for him.

His vision slowly cleared, and he saw probably the last person he wanted to see at that moment.

Sun Wukong.

The golden-furred monkey looked distressed. His eyes were red—not their natural red, no. They were tinged red as if he had been crying. He frowned softly down at Macaque as he continued to groom the dark monkey’s fur, and Macaque realized that his head was resting in Wukong’s lap. Macaque wanted to get up and move away, but he was so weak that he couldn’t even move his fingers. Couldn’t do anything more than just lie there and quietly gasp for air.

Wukong’s hand brushed over Macaque’s neck, and when it moved away Macaque saw a bloodied flower petal pinched between the monkey’s fingertips.

Macaque’s eyes widened. Frick. He’d meant to hide those. He couldn’t risk Wukong seeing them and learning what they were… what they meant…

Macaque’s throat burned like acid as a weak cough forced its way out of him. He couldn’t even bring a hand up to cover his mouth, and he coughed out a few flower petals that floated daintily into the air before landing on his chest.

Wukong’s eyes narrowed with worry, his brow furrowing as he reached down and ran his thumb along Macaque’s bottom lip. When he pulled his hand away, the pad of his thumb was coated in a glossy red sheen.

Blood.

Before Macaque could speak—not that he was sure he actually could at this point—the sound of clinking dishes reached his ears, and Sandy entered his field of view. The blue giant was holding a teacup and saucer, which clattered in his shaking hands as he knelt down beside Macaque.

“H-hey, Mister Maquack.” Sandy gave him a weak smile, his eyes bright with unshed tears. “I-I brought some more o-of that lemon tea you like. I…” Sandy cleared his throat and set the teacup down on the floor, before standing up and taking a step back. “I…” His voice cracked, and he hid his mouth behind his hands. “I’m sorry…!”

Sandy turned and quickly walked away, and as Macaque watched him go he realized that everyone else was there, as well. Tang and Pigsy stood together in the entryway to the training room, watching him somberly, while MK stood a little closer, his cheeks streaked with tears. Mei stood beside him, a hand resting on his shoulder while her own gaze was fixed stubbornly on the floor. Bai He was sitting on the couch, with Mo pacing nervously at her feet as she stared at Macaque in silent horror; he was sure he wasn’t a pretty sight to see at this point.

And to his surprise, they were all watching him with varying levels of sorrow.

Why were they all here? They couldn’t possibly care about him, could they? He… didn’t deserve that. He wasn’t worthy of their friendship or kindness, considering everything he had put them through…

Yet a warm feeling flooded Macaque’s chest at the idea. The idea that they cared, even just a little bit. Even if they were all just here as emotional support for MK (the kid liked him, for some strange reason—he knew that at least), the fact that they took the time to stop by… Even Wukong was here, after what Macaque had so hatefully said to him…

Macaque grimaced in pain, the air whistling through his nose as he struggled to breathe. With his inhuman hearing, he could hear the flower petals rustling in his lungs, and the sound made him nauseous as he realized that was the fluttering he’d heard when he first awoke. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to focus on the other sounds in the room instead. The creak of the floorboards, the chirp of a bird outside the window, the breathing of each and every person in the room with him—

“Macaque.”

The dark-furred monkey flinched at Wukong’s voice, which was far too close and loud for his liking. He opened his eyes again to find the other monkey staring down at him, his expression one of… distress.

Macaque flinched and used what little strength he had to look away. He didn’t want to see that. He didn’t want to see the pain he had caused to the one he loved.

Wukong spoke again. “What’s happening to you?”

Macaque didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure he could, even if he wanted to. He just closed his eyes once again and focused on his breathing. He knew…

He knew that he didn’t have much longer.

“Liu’er…”

Surprised, Macaque blinked open his eyes. He hadn’t heard that name in a long, long time. Not since…

Wukong placed his hand on Macaque’s chin and gently turned his head back so that they were facing each other once more. To Macaque’s surprise, Wukong’s eyes were full of tears, a heartbroken expression on his face as he cupped Macaque’s face in his hands. His voice was strained and ready to break as he whispered, “Please…”

Macaque wasn’t sure how to respond, or even how to feel. Why was Wukong crying? He didn’t care for Macaque. He shouldn’t, anyway. Not after how Macaque had treated him. Not after what he had last said to him.

Macaque’s ears twitched as he heard the floor creak under someone’s foot, and Tang whispered:

“I don’t know how much longer he has left. The flowers are worse than I thought.”

A dismayed sigh left the pig demon beside Tang, and Macaque was surprised. He was sure that Pigsy didn’t like him. The demon chef had made it pretty obvious anytime they were around one another. So why did he sound upset?

There was a loud sniffle from MK, and Macaque’s ears fluttered weakly at the sound while his heart ached. He felt bad that the kid was seeing him like this, but it wasn’t like there was anything he could do…

Wait. His ears.

His six ears were out, which meant that his glamour had fallen. And that meant his blind eye was now visible, too. And honestly, Macaque felt a little sheepish at that fact. But could you really blame him? Here he was, in his most vulnerable moment, stripped of all magic and strength, cradled in Wukong’s arms like an injured animal… and he had a whole audience.

Theater performer or not, it was still embarrassing.

“What are these?” Wukong asked, holding up one of the blood-stained petals for Macaque to see. “I… I remember them. From before…”

The monkey trailed off, but Macaque knew exactly what he was talking about: from before Wukong’s journey. Back when the two of them had nothing better to do than whittle their days away eating ripe fruit and sleeping under the eternal summer sky.

Macaque was touched that Wukong remembered. Even after all that had happened between the two of them, and the centuries following Macaque’s death… Wukong still remembered the petals.

He did care. Even now, at the end of everything, Wukong still cared for him.

And Macaque cared for Wukong, dearly. More than he had for anybody else. He hadn’t shown it, though. Not for a very, very long time. And now, while Wukong tended to him on his deathbed, couldn’t Macaque just give him the one answer he was looking for?

Couldn’t Macaque just tell him the truth?

He didn’t care what happened to him once he returned to the Underworld. Bring on the punishment. Bring the fire and knives and biting dogs. He didn’t care what pain was inflicted on him.

Because to Macaque, right now, the hurt on Wukong’s face was far more unbearable to witness.

Dignity be damned.

Macaque opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out except for a wheeze of air. He could feel the flowers clogging his lungs and his throat. He could taste them on his tongue, and feel them rustle with every shallow breath that he managed to take. They were trying to keep him quiet. They wanted him to take this secret—this unspoken confession—to the grave, and they would kill him to make it so.

But he wouldn’t let them silence him now.

Macaque gurgled on the blood in his throat as he struggled to speak, his voice no more than a ragged whisper.

“I… love… you…”

He wasn’t sure that Wukong would actually be able to make out what he said, but it seemed that the golden monkey had understood him, if the change from his forlorn facial expression to one of complete and utter shock was anything to go by. Wukong leaned back and stared at Macaque as if he had grown a second head, and the awful ache in Macaque’s heart only grew stronger. His lungs burned as he breathed in what little air he could and spoke again, his voice even quieter than before.

“I… love you…”

And with those words, the last of Macaque’s strength left him. Against his will, his eyelids fluttered shut. He could feel the bubbles of blood moving in his throat as his breath slipped from his lungs, and he wondered if it would be his last… if this was his end…

Only to be startled by the feeling of something smashing into his face.

Macaque’s eyes flew open, instantly watering from the pain of whatever had struck him in the nose and mouth. And what he saw was Wukong’s own face, not even one inch from his own. The golden monkey’s eyes were squeezed shut, the breath from his nostrils hot on Macaque’s skin as his lips mashed clumsily against Macaque’s own.

… what.

This… was not happening. It wasn’t. Macaque was obviously hallucinating from a lack of oxygen. Or he had passed out. Better yet, maybe he was already dead, and this was some strange daydream that he got to briefly experience before returning to the depths of the Underworld to serve out his unfinished punishment.

There was just no way that this was real.

And yet it was. Gasps and squeals erupted from those scattered around the room, and Macaque’s face burned as he remembered that there was an audience watching him.

Oh, gods. Just let me die now, thank you.

But as was the usual, Macaque never got what he wanted. As he laid there, on the brink of death in Wukong’s arms, he could feel energy flooding his veins. The beat of his heart grew stronger in his chest, and he felt more alive than he had since he first crawled out of the grave. A light, warm, buzzing sensation seemed to run from where his lips were touching Wukong’s, all the way down to the tips of his fingers and toes and tail. Macaque felt like he could run, and dance, and leap…

But right now, he was torn between wanting to stay right where he was, and wanting to disappear into the shadows and never return.

After what felt like an eternity, but at the same time was far too short, Wukong finally pulled away. He gasped for air, and Macaque instinctively did the same, although he knew that he wouldn’t receive the oxygen he so desperately needed. His throat was closed up with flowers, and any second now, he… he would…

Yet to Macaque’s complete and utter disbelief, his throat tingled with a cool rush of air, which flowed freely all the way down to his lungs. Macaque took a small moment to relish finally being able to breathe again. He had forgotten just how wonderful it felt. He hadn’t noticed just how badly he had declined, and he was grateful to finally be able to breathe a quiet sigh of relief.

Or try to, anyway. The puff of air caught in his throat, and Macaque was struck with the overwhelming urge to cough. But when he did, he could feel as a flood of flowers rushed up his airway, and Macaque rolled over just in time to throw up all over his floor.

Pink flooded Macaque’s vision, coating his hands and the hardwood beneath him as peach blossoms poured out of his open mouth. He barely had time to gasp for air before more petals were forcing their way out of his system. Macaque’s stomach was tossing and turning like a ship on a stormy sea, and he felt just as queasy as a sailor on the deck as he retched and hacked up enough blossoms to supply an entire flower shop.

A hand brushed Macaque’s shoulder, and he realized that Wukong was gently patting him on the back. The soothing gesture was appreciated, but it did little to help as with Macaque’s next breath, the vomit pushed itself out with enough force to come out his nostrils. Macaque cried out in pain as his eyes watered from the awful stinging burn in his sinuses.

“Pigsy?” Over the sounds of his own retching, Macaque faintly heard Tang’s voice. “Where are you going?”

“To get him some water,” Pigsy answered, and Macaque could hear the pig’s footsteps as he left the room.

Macaque wanted to protest—Pigsy didn’t need to do that for him, really—but as he opened his mouth he threw up again.

A mound of slimy, bloody peach blossoms had formed on the floor, soaking through the legs of Macaque’s sweatpants. And it was then Macaque noticed that Wukong was kneeling in the puddle of vomit, as well. The golden monkey hadn’t left his side, instead choosing to stay and comfort Macaque through the purging of the flowers from his system. They were all there. For him.

And Macaque couldn’t be more grateful for the support.

Thankfully, after a couple of minutes of stomach-churning agony, the flow of flowers eventually trickled to a stop, and Macaque was able to take a deep, shuddering breath without immediately throwing up again. He sat back on his knees with a shaky sigh, and stared at the flowery carnage he had upheaved.

Despite the disgusting nature of the situation, Macaque was morbidly impressed by just how many flowers had been inside of him. It looked like a whole peach tree had been plucked of its blossoms, which had then been run through a bloody washing machine before being dumped in a slimy heap on Macaque’s floor.

Macaque sat back with a miserable groan, and Wukong chuckled as he patted Macaque on the shoulder. “Aww, c’mon. Was the kiss that bad?”

Wukong was clearly expecting a response to his (frankly terrible) joke, but Macaque just gave him a look of disbelief, breathing heavily as he managed to quietly ask him, “… why?”

Why had Wukong kissed him? There was no way Wukong liked him. None.

… was there?

Wukong didn’t answer, and instead only gave Macaque a sad smile. Macaque’s heart immediately sank. Was Wukong about to reject him? Even after that kiss, a-and the hanahaki; it had gone away, hadn’t it? But Sandy had said—

Macaque was abruptly pulled from his thoughts by someone crashing into him and knocking the air from his lungs. Macaque fell to the floor with a wheeze of pain, and when he blinked the spots from his vision he saw MK, clinging to him as if holding on for dear life.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” MK cried, his voice ringing painfully in Macaque’s ears. “I knew you weren’t feeling well, but…”

As if feeling terrible physically wasn’t enough, Macaque’s heart sank and twisted painfully in his gut. Gods, he hadn’t known that MK would be so upset. He didn’t think that… that anyone would really, honestly care. He wanted to apologize to the kid, but… he didn’t know how. It felt like, after all the worry he had put them all through, any apology he gave would just fall flat.

That, and MK was hugging him so tightly that Macaque was worried the kid was going to break his ribs. That certainly wasn’t helping Macaque’s brain through the apology-making process.

Wukong stood and gently grabbed MK’s shoulders, trying to gingerly coax the kid off of Macaque. “Hey, bud, give him some space.”

MK shook his head, his grip on Macaque tightening painfully, and a pitiful wheeze was squished from Macaque’s lungs. Yep, this was it. After everything he had overcome, he was going to die at the hands of an emotional, super-powered child. Awesome.

The pig demon stepped in then, and he grabbed MK’s arm and gave a gentle tug. “C’mon, kid. Let him breathe. He’s in bad shape.”

Together, Wukong and Pigsy managed to pull MK off of Macaque, and MK immediately turned and clung to Pigsy with a tearful wail (which made Macaque feel terrible). After quickly making sure that Pigsy had it under control, Wukong turned his attention back to Macaque, and immediately grimaced. Butterflies of alarm immediately fluttered to life in Macaque’s stomach, but they disappeared just as quickly as Wukong reached for Macaque’s face.

Wukong hissed through his teeth as he gingerly touched Macaque’s nose, which had already begun to swell and bruise from their… “kiss” earlier. Macaque flinched away, his eyes watering from the pain the touch brought. He doubted his nose was broken, but it was certainly tender. Though, considering how hard-headed Wukong was, maybe he had managed to break something.

“Yeesh… sorry about that…” Wukong mumbled softly.

A raspy, pained chuckle rose up from Macaque’s throat. Wukong was sorry? Please. After everything that had happened to Macaque, a bruised nose was nothing.

Suddenly, the two monkeys were caught off guard as they were swept off their feet by their big blue friend, Sandy. The water demon scooped both of them up into his arms as he began to sob loudly.

“Not you, too…” Macaque groaned. First MK, and now Sandy? It seemed Macaque was a master at making people cry, whether he wanted them to or not.

“Hey, big guy,” Wukong patted Sandy gently on the shoulder. “Don’t be sad! We’re all good now, see?”

Sandy sniffled loudly. “Oh, I’m just so relieved!” He gushed, giving both of the monkeys a tight squeeze before looking at Macaque with tear-filled eyes. “I know I promised you that I wouldn’t say anything, but—” Sandy hiccuped, the movement jostling the monkeys in his arms. “It was almost too late! And I was so scared when we found you unconscious! I thought you were—”

“Woah. Wait, wait, wait.” Pigsy (who had an arm wrapped comfortingly around an unhappy MK) fixed Sandy with a stern glare, instantly silencing the water demon. “You knew?”

Sandy blinked, confused. “Huh? W-wait, you knew?”

Macaque wasn’t too surprised by the revelation that the pig demon had known about his illness. Tang probably told him after the human had figured it out himself.

“Knew what?” MK sniffled. His tears had dried, but his eyes were still red and puffy as he gave Macaque a confused frown. “What’s going on?”

Well, it looked like the jig was up. Due to a surprising turn of events, it was now time for Macaque to come clean.

To finally tell the truth.

“I have…” Macaque began, but faltered as his gaze landed on Wukong, who was watching him intently. Macaque quickly looked away, and he could feel the blush forming on his cheeks. “I had hanahaki.”

MK’s frown grew, and from the corner of his eye Macaque noticed that Wukong looked rather puzzled as well. “Hana-what-y?” MK asked. “What’s that?”

Macaque opened his mouth to answer, but then it hit him just how many people were watching him. MK, Sandy, Wukong, Pigsy, and Tang. Even Mei and Bai He, who were seated with Mo on Macaque’s couch. There were children here, for Buddha’s sake. What, should he wait for a camera crew to show up, too? To broadcast his shameful, embarrassing condition to the whole world?

“It’s a respiratory disease,” Tang piped up once it became clear that the blushing shadow monkey wasn’t going to answer. “A magic one. The afflicted has secret romantic feelings towards another person, and the disease causes flowers to grow in their respiratory system. It progresses over time, and eventually turns fatal if said person does not confess, or their feelings are not reciprocated by the other party.”

“Wait.”

Macaque looked up at the sound of Wukong’s voice, and saw the golden-furred monkey staring at him in confusion. “But you’ve had those petals for, like, ages.” Wukong pointed out. “Since, uhh…”

Wukong began to count on his fingers, and the burning embarrassment on Macaque’s face only grew hotter. Yeah… Wukong didn’t have enough fingers to count how many centuries Macaque had been sick with those magic peach blossoms.

And it was then that the realization clicked in Wukong’s eyes, and he turned to Macaque with a look of pure disbelief. “No way. YOU LOVED ME ALL THIS TIME???”

Macaque gave a forlorn sigh. “I know. How stupid of me,” he muttered dryly.

Wukong’s shocked expression promptly turned to one of offense, but Macaque merely gave him a teasing smile as the rest of the group broke out into laughter. And though it was loud, it was nice to hear. Better than the sniffles and worried whispers that Macaque had first heard upon waking.

“Wow.” Mei’s brazen voice was particularly harsh on Macaque’s ears, and so was her slow, sarcastic clapping. “So both of you are as dumb as rocks. And here I thought it was just Monkey King.”

“Hey!” Wukong snapped, glaring at the dragon girl as he tried to squirm his way out of Sandy’s grasp. “You better watch it!”

But then MK spoke, and the cheerful banter came to a halt. “Why didn’t you say something?”

Macaque gave the kid a blank stare, unsure of how he was supposed to respond.

It was obvious that MK was still upset as he threw his hands up in the air. “Why didn’t you just… tell Monkey King before it got this bad? You almost died, Macaque!”

The kid was right. Macaque knew that he was. All of this pain and sorrow could have been avoided if Macaque had just confessed his feelings long, long ago. So many things could have been different. Maybe Wukong would never have set his sights on Heaven; maybe he would have been content to stay on Flower Fruit Mountain. Maybe Wukong would never have left on that journey. And maybe he would never have killed Macaque.

A lot could have been different.

But at the same time, Macaque had been afraid. Secretly, he still was, even now. Even though he had finally confessed, and Wukong had miraculously returned his affection, Macaque was still afraid that this was all just a dream.

Because… how could Sun Wukong possibly love him?

Honestly, deep down inside, Macaque still didn’t quite believe that he did.

“Sometimes it ain’t that easy, kid.” Pigsy said, giving MK a light pat on the shoulder. “You’ll understand someday.”

MK didn’t look satisfied with that answer, but thankfully he dropped the subject. Wukong twisted his way out of Sandy’s arms and landed on the floor, before giving MK an easygoing smile. “Don’t worry about it, bud. We’re all good now.” He walked over and ruffled MK’s hair. “It’ll be okay.”

“So, uhh…” Everyone looked at Tang, who was staring intently at the mess of bloody flowers on the floor. “Who’s gonna clean up? I’m, umm… allergic, so…”

Pigsy snorted derisively. “No, you’re not, you big baby! All you’re allergic to is hard work!”

Mei giggled at their interaction. “I dunno, I think the flowers are pretty! Maybe we should make a bouquet for the new happy couple!”

Eww. Definitely not. And as Macaque gave the dragon girl a disgusted look, Wukong seemed to share in his revulsion. “Ehh… normally I’m a big fan of peaches, but, uhh…” Wukong poked at a lone blossom with the toe of his sneaker and grimaced. “Not this time.”

Macaque gave a tired chuckle as he leaned back against Sandy. “I’m never touching that cursed fruit again.”

“Hey,” Wukong protested, his expression slightly hurt. “C’mon, they’re not that bad.”

Macaque just stared at him. “… are you serious?”

Chapter Text

Once everyone had finally settled down, it took quite a bit of convincing to get them all to leave. Yes, the disease was cured. Yes, Macaque would be alright. In time. No, he didn’t need them all fretting over him. He was fine.

He would be, anyway.

MK had been insistent on staying; he was afraid to leave Macaque alone after learning just how close the shadow monkey had been to death. They had only been able to finally get him to leave by having Wukong promise to stay the night with Macaque, and call at the first sign of trouble.

Yep. That’s right. Wukong was staying the night.

How did Macaque feel about that? Honestly, he didn’t know. All he could really focus on was the fact that he was tired. He felt ready to drop dead (haha, very funny), and all he wanted to do was go to bed. He would deal with the fact that Wukong was in his house in the morning.

And so, eventually, everyone left. Except for Wukong, of course. He had made it clear that he wasn’t leaving Macaque alone anytime soon, and honestly… Macaque was okay with that. Somewhat.

“Do you want anything to eat?” Wukong asked him, as if this was a normal, everyday situation. As if they were just casual roommates, and not… whatever they were now.

Macaque shook his head. He probably didn’t have any food left; not anything that was still good, anyway, except for a couple of packets of instant ramen in the back of the cupboard. He hadn’t been grocery shopping in a while.

Wukong frowned, concern written clearly in his face. “You sure?”

Macaque nodded tiredly. “Yeah…” he mumbled as he rubbed his eyes. “I just want to go to bed.”

“Alright,” Wukong acquiesced. He took Macaque’s hand and pulled him to his feet from where Sandy had set him on the couch, and then he paused. “So, uhh, where’s your room?”

“Oh… it’s upstairs,” Macaque replied slowly as he started towards the stairs on his unsteady legs. “I can show you…”

But Macaque trailed off as he reached the foot of the stairs, and looked up. The staircase looked… far more daunting than he remembered. He wondered if he even had the strength to make it up the stairs—maybe he could just sleep on the couch?

But Wukong had other plans. In one smooth move, he scooped Macaque up and started up the stairs with him in his arms. Macaque, caught completely off guard, looked at Wukong, thoroughly flabbergasted, but the golden-furred monkey didn’t even notice, a stupidly content smile on his face as he made his way up to the second floor.

“P-put me down!” Macaque snapped once he finally managed to find the words, taking a second to cough into his hand before he continued indignantly. “I’m not your bride!”

“Well, do you want to be carried in my arms like a bride, or over my shoulder like a hostage?” Wukong asked, blatantly ignoring Macaque’s protests as he continued up the stairs with the irate monkey in his arms. “Because you’re getting carried either way.”

Macaque wanted to protest, but he knew there was no point in doing so; Wukong’s mind was made up. Besides… it was a nice gesture, he supposed.

Once they reached the second floor, Wukong paused for a brief moment before starting towards the first door on the left.

“No.” Macaque cleared his throat. “That’s the bathroom.”

“Oh.” Wukong hesitated for only a moment before continuing to the first door. “Well, that’s good. We’ll stop there first.”

Macaque’s heartbeat picked up, and Wukong didn’t seem to notice as Macaque paled. He hadn’t cleaned the bathroom yesterday. And he realized with alarm that he hadn’t drained the tub after his bath, which had been rather…. bloody.

“No,” Macaque said gruffly. “Put me down.”

Wukong frowned softly, clearly confused by Macaque’s resistance. “No way, Plum. You’ve got blood and puke all down your front. You’re not going to bed with that caked in your fur.”

Macaque tried to argue, but his breath caught in his throat at the silly nickname Wukong had called him, and he started to cough instead. And he was unable to stop Wukong as the other monkey turned the knob and opened the bathroom door.

The bathroom was just as disgusting as Macaque had left it, if not more so since the bloody bathwater had been left to sit and stew overnight. A musty, coppery smell wafted from the open door, and as Wukong stepped inside and turned on the light, Macaque saw that he had left blood and flower petals all over the place. Across the floor, and the counter… there was even a distinct bloody handprint left on the side of the tub.

The bathtub itself was a horrific sight. There were little pink flowers floating on the surface of the water, while the spilt blood had settled to the bottom of the tub, and there was far more of the red liquid than Macaque had realized. It looked like a crime scene.

“Gods…” Wukong breathed in disbelief. “Macaque…”

Macaque ducked his head in shame as Wukong walked over to the toilet and sat him down on the closed lid. “I’ll clean the tub later,” Wukong told him. “For now, where are the towels?”

Macaque wanted to fight back—he didn’t need a bath, or any help taking one for that matter—but he just pointed silently at the linen closet beside the shower. Wukong pulled the door open and grabbed a couple of washcloths, before returning to the sink. He ran one of the towels under the tap, and then turned to Macaque.

Wukong cupped Macaque’s face in his hand, and before Macaque could ask what he was doing, Wukong began to wipe his face with the damp cloth. Like he was a child.

“Stop it,” Macaque growled as he swatted Wukong’s hands away.

“Nope,” Wukong replied calmly, popping the ‘p’, and he knocked Macaque’s hands away easily as he returned to work. “Now stay still.”

Macaque scowled, but relented, and begrudgingly allowed Wukong to fret over him like a mother cat with her newborn kitten. Wukong set to work carefully running the cloth over Macaque’s face, wiping away the dried blood and spit on his chin. He scrubbed at the fur on Macaque’s neck and chest, taking care to dutifully wash away the bloody vomit that had dried onto the monkey’s black pelt.

Wukong then turned his attention to Macaque’s arms. Considering the fact that Macaque was wearing long sleeves, the mess had only really stuck to his hands, so it was easy enough to clean off. But as Wukong took Macaque’s left hand and turned it over, palm up, he paused. The bandages Sandy had applied had become wet and nasty in the bath, so Macaque had taken them off, leaving his scabbed palm and fingers bare for Wukong to see.

“What happened?” Wukong asked him worriedly.

Macaque was hesitant to answer, and his gaze fell away from Wukong’s as he finally muttered, “… nothing.”

Wukong frowned when it became evident that Macaque wasn’t going to give him a real answer, but he didn’t push the matter. Instead, his eyes returned to Macaque’s neck, and he frowned as he reached up and ran his fingers through Macaque’s damp fur. “I missed a spot,” he mumbled quietly.

An uncomfortable silence fell over the two of them as Wukong continued to groom Macaque, and Macaque wondered why he had allowed this. He should’ve just told Wukong to leave him alone.

But… Wukong was just trying to help him. He was just being kind. And Macaque shouldn’t be mad at him for it.

It wasn’t Wukong’s fault that Macaque was such a mess.

Okay, maybe it was partially his fault, Macaque argued with himself. But it’s not like… it’s not like he made me hurt myself. That’s… on me.

Wukong began to push aside the neckline of Macaque’s shirt, but the dark-furred monkey shot his hand out with surprising speed and grabbed Wukong’s wrist. He gave Wukong a harsh glare, hoping that the other wouldn’t notice the thinly veiled panic in Macaque’s voice as he firmly said: “No.”

Wukong’s brow furrowed, his expression turning to one of concern. Macaque fought the urge to cough as he held the other’s gaze, refusing to back down. He couldn’t let…

He couldn’t let Wukong see his scars.

“… alright,” Wukong acquiesced at last, pulling his hand away. He tossed the dirtied washcloth onto the counter (which irked Macaque) and rinsed off his hands under the tap. “We’ll deal with the dirty bathtub tomorrow. For now, let’s get you to bed.” He shot Macaque a smile, though there was a hint of worry in his eyes. “You look ready to keel over and, uhh… die.”

Well, I almost did. Macaque thought bitterly to himself. But he couldn’t argue; sleep did sound pretty good at the moment.

“You’re getting a shower first thing in the morning, though.” Wukong persisted. “No ifs, ands, or buts about it.”

Macaque rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue back. That was just another issue that he would deal with in the morning. He stood up, and Wukong was quick to grab his shoulder to steady him.

“I’m fine,” Macaque insisted. “I’m—”

But as Macaque took a step forward, his legs gave out. Wukong caught him before he could crack his head on the bathroom counter, and Macaque was far too embarrassed to protest as Wukong promptly picked him up again, and carried him out of the bathroom.

Wukong walked down the hall with Macaque in his arms, and entered the second door on the left: Macaque’s bedroom. He flicked the light on with his tail as he walked inside, and sat Macaque down on the side of the bed. He then turned and looked around the room, before sauntering over to the dresser.

“What are you doing?” Macaque asked him.

Wukong pulled open the top drawer and began to dig through it. “Where are your PJs?”

It took Macaque a few seconds to process that absurd question. “… what?”

“PJs?” Wukong repeated. “Don’t you wanna sleep in something… clean?”

“No,” Macaque answered, even though it was a blatant lie. He felt disgusting in his dirty, bloody outfit. But he wasn’t going to risk Wukong seeing any of his cuts, because… he didn’t need the other monkey asking any nosey questions.

… and he didn’t want to tell him where the scratches had come from. He didn’t want Wukong to have that knowledge, and to look at him… differently.

He didn’t want Wukong to be a witness to his shame.

Wukong paused in his search for pajamas, and turned to Macaque with a look halfway between confusion and annoyance. “What was the point of me cleaning your fur if you’re gonna sleep in a vomit-soaked shirt?”

“I didn’t ask you to clean my fur,” Macaque pointed out snarkily.

Wukong sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Macaque…”

Macaque scowled stubbornly, but after only a minute spent under Wukong’s scrutinizing stare he grumbled and held out his hand. “Hand me my hoodie.”

Wukong blinked, taken aback. “Huh?”

Macaque pointed at the oversized purple hoodie hanging off of the back of his desk chair. Confused, Wukong walked over and grabbed it, before returning and handing it off to the dark-furred monkey. Macaque took it and—with a bit of effort—pulled it on over his filthy shirt, before patting it and giving a hum of approval. “There,” he said proudly. “No vomit on the bed. Or blood.”

Wukong gave him an annoyed scowl, and the golden monkey’s gaze landed pointedly on Macaque’s blood-stained sweatpants. But Macaque wasn’t budging, and after a moment of stubborn silence Wukong relented and sighed loudly.

“Fine.” Wukong rolled his eyes. “Go to sleep, then, if you’re so tired.”

Macaque certainly wasn’t going to argue with that. He flopped back onto the pillows and gave Wukong a lazy thumbs-up. “Got it, boss.”

Macaque was tired enough to fall asleep right then and there, but… he didn’t. Instead, he stared up at the ceiling, listening to Wukong as the other monkey just… stood there, at the foot of the bed. Wukong scuffed his shoe against the floor, and breathed out a low sigh, like he was waiting for something.

Macaque felt like he was waiting, too. But… waiting for what, he didn’t know.

“Alright. Well…” Macaque sat up at the sound of Wukong’s voice, and he noticed the golden monkey’s suddenly awkward demeanor. “Yeah, I’m… gonna stay the night, if… that’s alright with you.” But then Wukong’s eyes widened as he realized the implications of that statement. “I-I mean, I’m going to stay to watch over you! T-to keep an eye on you! I-I’m not… I promised MK that I would keep an eye on you, so—”

“That’s fine,” Macaque replied quietly, in a feeble attempt to ease Wukong’s distress. “I mean… i-it’s fine.”

… say something.

“Oh. Okay,” Wukong said weakly. “Cool.”

Please.

“I’ll take the couch,” Wukong offered, rubbing at the back of his neck as his gaze fell to the floor. “I’ll check in every hour or so. Make sure you’re doing alright.”

Macaque nodded silently, his heart sinking. He was used to being alone—he had been alone most of his life—but for some reason, the very thought of it seemed just awful to him now.

He watched as Wukong turned to leave, and his heart began to ache as terribly as his sore lungs. The flowers were gone now—more or less, anyway—yet once again, Macaque felt like he couldn’t breathe as he laid there and watched the other monkey walk away.

Was that it, then? Macaque had confessed, and Wukong had… kissed him, and that was all? All they would ever have, all they would ever be to one another?

If that was the only taste of love that Macaque would ever get, then it would’ve been better if the flowers had killed him after all. For all the pain those blossoms had brought him, the current ache in his heart—in his very soul—felt far more unbearable.

Macaque opened his mouth to speak—to call after Wukong, and ask him to stay for just a little longer—but before he could make a sound, Wukong reached the doorway and stopped dead in his tracks. He reached out and switched off the lights, cloaking the bedroom in darkness that was illuminated only by the streetlights shining in from the windows, and both of the celestial monkeys’ glowing eyes.

But then Wukong shoved his hands into his pockets and hunched his shoulders, his tail swishing with clear agitation as he just… stood there.

“… Wukong?” Macaque’s voice crackled in his throat from lack of use. He hadn’t spoken so much in ages.

The Monkey King flinched, and Macaque heard him curse under his breath before he lifted his head and stared out into the hall. He took a deep breath and then whispered, in a voice far too quiet for anyone other than Macaque to hear:

“… I love you, too.”

And with those softly spoken words, Macaque… didn’t know what to think. He was shocked, of course, and he supposed he should feel relief. He did feel relief, but at the same time… doubt. Macaque remembered what Sandy had said about curing the disease: the love needed to be reciprocated for the flowers to go away. And obviously, the flowers had.

Yet Macaque just couldn’t quite make himself believe that Wukong really, truly… loved him.

Wukong spun on his heel to face Macaque once again. Their golden eyes met—one pair wide with shock, and the other set with determination—and Wukong squared his shoulders before repeating himself clearly in a louder, more confident voice.

“I love you, too, Macaque.”

Macaque felt like he was frozen in place as Wukong walked back across the room, the sound of his quiet footsteps on the floor somehow almost deafening to Macaque’s ears. He came back to Macaque’s bedside, and hesitated for only a split second before he leaned over the bed and gently placed his lips against Macaque’s.

This kiss was far more gentle than their first one. The touch of Wukong’s lips was soft and delicate as they brushed against Macaque’s own. Macaque couldn’t even remember how to breathe, unable to hear anything over the deafening beat of his own heart pounding in all six of his ears as Wukong kissed him.

Wukong turned his head slightly, deepening the kiss. His hands came to rest on either side of Macaque’s head as he clambered onto the bed. He straddled Macaque’s hips, pushing the dark-furred monkey back down onto the pillows, and their lips never parted until a few seconds later, when Macaque turned away. Wukong frowned, disappointed at the rejection, but his eyes immediately widened in alarm when Macaque gasped for air and began to cough.

Macaque’s face burned as he wheezed and struggled to catch his breath. It wasn’t that he hadn’t wanted the kiss—believe him, he wanted it more than anything—but after months of flowers growing in his lungs, he was still having a bit of trouble breathing at the moment.

“I-I’m sorry,” Wukong said quickly, and even in the darkness of the room Macaque could still make out the embarrassed blush on Wukong’s face. “I forgot…”

Wukong sat up and moved to leave, but Macaque grabbed his forearms before he could do so. Wukong gave Macaque a confused look, and the latter gazed back up at him with a pleading expression.

“Stay.” Macaque whispered breathlessly. “Please.”

Macaque feared that the other monkey would leave anyway, now that the moment had been ruined, but to his immense relief Wukong nodded. The golden-furred monkey leaned in, and Macaque closed his eyes as he waited for Wukong’s lips to meet his own once more.

But instead, Wukong kissed him on the nose. Startled, Macaque opened his eyes just as Wukong kissed him on the cheek. And then the other cheek. And then both of his eyelids, and then Wukong began to kiss along the outline of Macaque’s face marking.

“Wukong,” Macaque chuckled weakly. “What are you doing?”

“Well, I’ve got a lot of love to catch up on giving!” Wukong replied incredulously, as if it should have been obvious, and Macaque could feel the air moving from Wukong’s tail swishing excitedly behind him. “I’d just rather not, y’know, suffocate you in the process.”

Macaque rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help the giddy smile that made its way onto his lips as Wukong continued his onslaught of abundant smooches, peppering them all over Macaque’s face. Macaque was resigned to his fate, but he most certainly wasn’t complaining.

Wukong trailed kisses from Macaque’s chin along his jawline, and a shudder ran down Macaque’s spine as Wukong’s hot breath tickled his left set of ears, causing them to flutter like a hummingbird’s wings. His face burned with embarrassment at the involuntary reaction, but Wukong didn’t even seem to notice as he moved down to Macaque’s neck, and began to plant kisses all the way down to Macaque’s collarbone.

As the smooches continued, Macaque noticed something he hadn’t earlier. With every kiss—with every gentle touch of Wukong’s lips to his fur and skin, he felt… stronger. His magic, which had withered away to almost nothing due to his declining health from the hanahaki disease, was flickering back to life within his body, bit by bit.

Kiss by kiss.

Macaque’s heart stuttered, and tears filled his eyes as he realized what Wukong was doing.

He was giving Macaque his magic.

He was healing him.

To an outsider’s point of view, it wasn’t much. The magic being given to Macaque was like a few drops of water from a well being given to a thirsty mouse. It was almost nothing to Wukong, yet… it meant the world to Macaque.

A silent tear rolled down Macaque’s cheek, but it went unnoticed by the other monkey, who was focused on showering Macaque with affection that he didn’t feel like he deserved. More tears followed, sliding down the sides of his face and trickling into his ears as Wukong lovingly and willingly gave of his own magic to Macaque, who felt wholly unworthy of such a gift.

Wukong’s hands radiated heat through the fabric of Macaque’s shirt as they rested against his waist, holding and caressing him ever so gently. Macaque could feel Wukong’s breath, warm and damp against his fur as the golden monkey’s lips traveled over his skin, leaving kisses in their wake.

He could hear Wukong’s pulse, strong and rhythmic in the other’s chest; he swore he could hear the very magic in Wukong’s veins, could hear it ringing in his own ears with each bit of magic that Wukong freely shared with him. The magic from each kiss rippled through Macaque’s body like raindrops in a pond, filling his reserves and bringing him back from the brink of death.

Macaque couldn’t hold back the tearful hiccup that left his mouth, and he could feel as Wukong tensed. The golden monkey sat up and looked down at Macaque, his expression worried, and his concern only grew once he saw Macaque’s wet eyes.

Perhaps Macaque should have felt embarrassed for crying, but he honestly didn’t care how he looked at that moment. All he could think about was the demon leaning over him. Sun Wukong. The Monkey King. The Great Sage Equal to Heaven. A being so magnificent and powerful, who could destroy enemies with a mere swing of his legendary staff… who could crush mountains with his bare hands…

An all-powerful, immortal deity, who was holding Macaque as if he were made of the finest, most delicate glass. A god, whose hands had so often been used to kill and destroy the most powerful of monsters—who had ended Macaque’s own life with those same hands, but was now handling him with only the most gentle and tender of touches, as if he was afraid of so much as harming even one strand of Macaque’s silky black fur.

Macaque had once been equal to the legendary Monkey King in power. But after his fall into the Underworld, where his magic and power had been slowly drained away in the forced cycle of reincarnation, he had returned to the mortal realm weak and hungry for mana. And as the hanahaki had consumed his being, both physical and magical, it had made him even weaker. It had taken from him again and again, leaving Macaque powerless and vulnerable—leaving him as close to death as he could get without re-entering the Underworld itself.

And here he was, after it all, stripped bare to his very core. Wukong was truly seeing him at his worst, and yet, for some strange reason… Wukong claimed to love him anyway.

A tear fell from Macaque’s lashes and onto his cheek, and Wukong leaned in and placed a gentle kiss where it had landed. He began to sprinkle Macaque’s face with kisses, his lips soft and warm as they pressed against Macaque’s cheeks, as if he was trying to kiss away each and every tear that fell.

Macaque’s heart felt like it was going to burst out of his chest. This was just too much, and he didn’t understand why. Why was Wukong doing this? Not even a year ago, the golden monkey had stared him down with such hatred and rage after Macaque had deceived MK and taken his powers, but now… Macaque could scarcely believe that those two monkeys were the same person. That the Wukong then was the same one now, who was holding Macaque as if he were a priceless treasure, and giving him such affection without any prompting or reason.

Wukong leaned back once more, his hands coming up from Macaque’s waist to instead cradle his cheeks. The warm glow from his eyes was like sunbeams on a lazy summer afternoon, and his thumbs delicately smoothed loose strands of hair away from Macaque’s cheeks as he smiled lovingly down at him.

“Don’t cry,” Wukong soothed quietly, his soft words making Macaque’s ears flutter. “Please. There’s no need to cry.”

The gentle command only made Macaque weep more as he gazed adoringly up at Wukong, once again wondering why. Macaque had yearned for a moment like this for so long. For his entire life, it felt like. But… why? And how? How, after everything Macaque had done wrong, how could Sun Wukong possibly…

The question tore itself from Macaque’s chest in a broken sob. “How could you love me?”

Wukong was taken aback by the question, but then, on his face grew that same sad smile that he had given Macaque earlier, after Macaque had (somewhat literally) poured his guts out for everyone to see.

“Macaque…” Wukong said softly, leaning down until their foreheads touched. “Liu’er. How could I not love you?”

Macaque couldn’t answer. Even if he could speak through all of the tears, he wouldn’t know what to say. Because there were plenty of reasons for Wukong to hate him. More than could be counted on one hand. Or two. Where should Macaque even start in listing all the reasons why Wukong shouldn’t so much as look his way?

He didn’t deserve Wukong’s love.

“I know that… our friendship didn’t end on good terms,” Wukong admitted quietly. “And I’m sorry. I know that nothing will ever be enough to repay what I took from you—the life that I took from you.” Wukong brushed his thumb under Macaque’s blind eye, wiping away a freshly fallen tear. “But… you were always there for me, Macaque. You cared for me, more than I ever knew. And I never realized until it was far too late. But now that we have this… this second chance, I…”

Wukong took a shaky breath, and it was then Macaque noticed that Wukong was tearing up as well. The Monkey King’s bottom lip trembled as he continued. “I want to start over. I want to do right by you this time, Macaque. And… if you still love me, and I still love you, then…” Wukong smiled weakly, yet warmly. “Well, I suppose that’s a good start.”

A wonderful, warm feeling bubbled up inside Macaque’s chest at Wukong’s words, and it spread all throughout his body, like sunshine warming the cold earth after a long, bitter night. It was hard for him to believe, but somehow, after everything they had been through—after all the hardships and heartache, and hateful words and actions…

Somehow, for some reason that Macaque was yet to understand, Wukong truly, earnestly, did love him, without conditions or guile. And he wanted to try again.

A second chance.

Macaque liked that idea.

Wukong leaned in and placed a soft kiss to the corner of Macaque’s mouth, and in a moment of courage brought on by the adrenaline rushing through his veins, Macaque turned his head, bringing his lips to Wukong’s own. Wukong welcomed the kiss with a pleased purr, and the vibration from his chest ran through Macaque’s whole body, rattling him to his very core.

Macaque had never cared much for the concept of Heaven; to the gods, it was a ritzy neighborhood for the elitest of the elite, from where they could look down on the mortal realm and mock those beneath them. To the mortals, it was an unattainable notion; a place of eternal happiness and love and peace.

To Macaque, this, right here, right now…

This was Heaven.

Wukong pulled away from the kiss, and it was then that Macaque remembered he still needed to breathe. His lungs burned as he sucked in a deep gasp of air, and Wukong gave him a sheepish (yet slightly worried) smile. “I think that’s enough for tonight,” Wukong said gently.

An airy whine slipped past Macaque’s lips before he could stop it, and Wukong giggled at him as Macaque’s face burned as red as a stoplight. “Should I still take the couch?” Wukong asked teasingly.

Macaque just gave him a loving smile and cupped his hand around the back of Wukong’s head, guiding Wukong’s face into the crook of his neck. Wukong responded with a purr and a kiss to Macaque’s neck as he relaxed under his moon’s touch, sinking against Macaque’s body like a warm blanket. Macaque sighed, his heavy eyelids fluttering shut as he drifted off to the feeling of Wukong’s butterfly kisses on his neck.

Yes, this was Macaque’s Heaven.

Macaque didn’t notice when Wukong’s purring had stopped, but he did open his eyes when the other monkey suddenly spoke.

“I heard you, you know.”

“Hmm?” Macaque hummed, trying not to drift off to sleep under the warm, comforting pressure that was Wukong’s body on top of his own.

“Back when I was… possessed,” Wukong continued. “I heard you.”

Oh… yeah, back when… Gods, that felt like it had been so long ago. In his sleepy state, Macaque could barely call the memory to mind. Back during the final fight with Lady Bone Demon, when he had thought Wukong was going to snap his neck, Macaque had tried to confess. Afterwards, he had wondered if Wukong had heard his strangled words, but when nothing had changed in their following interactions, Macaque had let go of that possibility.

But apparently, Wukong had heard him after all.

“… oh,” was all that Macaque could think to say.

“I thought I had misheard you,” Wukong admitted as he rested his cheek against Macaque’s collarbone. “Or that I was just imagining things. Being possessed… it’s weird. It messes with your mind.”

“Yeah,” Macaque muttered, his thoughts going back to his own unpleasant experiences with the Lady Bone Demon. “Tell me about it.”

Silence fell over the two of them for a moment as they just laid there, enjoying each other’s presence. Wukong seemed to be savoring the rise and fall of Macaque’s chest with each breath that his shadow took, if the faint purr that bubbled up from his throat was anything to go by. Macaque started to drift off again, and he didn’t even notice until he was startled awake by Wukong’s voice.

“After you died…” Wukong’s voice became strained. “After I killed you, I… I felt so much regret.”

Wukong’s voice squeaked in his throat, and as the fur on Macaque’s collarbone grew warm and damp, he realized that Wukong was crying. Macaque’s heart ached as he brought his arms up and wrapped them around Wukong, holding the stone monkey close to him as he wept. Wukong nuzzled his face into Macaque’s neck and looped his tail around Macaque’s own as he pulled the shadow monkey into a tight hug, as if he was trying to be as physically close to him as he possibly could.

As if he was afraid to let him go.

So Macaque held him, ignoring the aching pain that Wukong’s hug ignited in his ribcage. Macaque was pretty sure that his ribs would cave in if Wukong hugged him any tighter, but that was okay. Because he knew Wukong. And he knew that, despite their bloody past, Wukong wouldn’t hurt him again.

Wukong wasn’t going to lose him again.

“It was then, after our fight, that I realized I… had feelings for you,” Wukong mumbled into the crook of Macaque’s neck. “My best friend. My moon, who had been there for me through thick and thin, no matter how stupid I was. And I had no one to blame but myself for your death. I’m—” Wukong’s voice cracked, and he whimpered. “I’m so sorry…”

“I know,” Macaque said quietly, and he began to run his fingers through Wukong’s hair. “I know.”

Deep down, Macaque wasn’t sure if he was ready to forgive Wukong for his death, but… he was willing to try. And now they could work through it together.

They would make it through this together.

“I’m sorry,” Wukong said again. “If I hadn’t been so stupid, then… none of this would’ve happened. We wouldn’t have fought, and you wouldn’t have died, a-and—the flowers—” His tail pulled away from Macaque’s and began to twitch anxiously as he tearfully mumbled, “this was all my fault…”

“No,” Macaque assured him softly. “It wasn’t. We both acted foolishly, and we’re both to blame for what happened between us.”

Wukong didn’t respond, instead sniffling as he nuzzled his face into Macaque’s fur. A warm feeling filled Macaque’s chest at the action, and he rested his cheek against the side of Wukong’s head as Wukong snuggled closer to him.

“I was so happy when you came back,” Wukong explained, his voice thick with emotion. “The first time I saw you on Flower Fruit Mountain, all those years after your death…” He chuckled bitterly. “I thought I had been blessed. I thought that, by some strange twist of fate, I had been given a second chance. To make things right with you. But…” Wukong sighed deeply. “You didn’t seem interested in making amends. And that was completely understandable, considering… y’know, everything.”

Despite the somberness of the moment, Macaque chuckled. “I know.”

“… I thought you hated me,” Wukong confessed quietly, his embrace tightening ever so slightly. “That you didn’t want anything to do with me. So… I stayed away, as best I could. But it was hard, seeing you around, and knowing that I would never get to ask for forgiveness. That I would never get a chance to try and make it all better. And then yesterday, when… you said you hated me, well…”

Wukong trailed off, and Macaque wanted to smack himself. He had been trying to distance himself from Wukong ever since he came back from the dead, and apparently Wukong had been trying to do the same. And they had both been miserable because of it.

“Wow.” Macaque chuckled weakly. “We’re stupid, aren’t we?”

Wukong laughed, his breath tickling Macaque’s skin and his voice making his ears flutter. “Yeah. But now we can be stupid together.”

Chapter Text

Macaque awoke feeling more rested than he had in ages. Not only that, but he awoke to sunlight streaming in through the windows. He never slept past dawn, unless he was so exhausted he managed to pass out the night before; the early morning birds were usually far too loud, even with silencing spells, which he hadn’t been able to cast in a while.

Feeling warm and comfortable, Macaque’s eyelids fluttered shut as he breathed a quiet, content sigh. Maybe he could just go back to sleep. It wasn’t like he had any plans for the day…

“How did you sleep?”

Macaque did not yelp, and he refused to admit otherwise. He turned to his right, his heart pounding after having just had the living daylights scared out of him, and saw none other than Sun Wukong lying in bed beside him.

Oh… right.

The Monkey King was lying on his side, just… watching Macaque. And Macaque didn’t know what he was supposed to do or say in return. Honestly, he had kind of figured that the previous night had been a sickness-induced fever dream, or something. Was… was he supposed to say something…?

Wukong spoke first. “Good morning,” he murmured with a soft smile.

Oh. Okay. So he was acting like this was no big deal. Alright, then. Well, Macaque had just woken up, and he wasn’t ready for pleasantries yet.

Wukong looked like he had been awake for a while, though. In fact, Macaque wondered if Wukong had even slept a wink.

“Did you sleep?” Macaque asked him, his voice gravelly from slumber.

Wukong shook his head. “No. I was worried that you might… stop breathing, or something,” he admitted quietly. “So… I stayed awake to keep watch.”

Macaque’s heart ached at the confirmation. “You didn’t have to do that,” he said quietly.

“It’s fine,” Wukong assured him. “I don’t mind. You’re nice to look at.”

It took a moment for the compliment to process in Macaque’s head, but when it did his face instantly flushed bright red with embarrassment. He wasn’t ready for compliments, either. It was too early for all of this.

Wukong sat up and stretched, and the sound of his back popping made Macaque’s ears flick. He then flashed Macaque a quick grin before rolling out of bed and standing up. “Well, come on, then. Time to get up.”

Macaque groaned loudly in protest, and rolled away from the overly active monkey. “Why?”

“Because you’re getting a shower, remember?” Wukong reminded him. “I love you, but you’re gross right now.”

Oh. Frick. He had forgotten about that. Macaque wanted to protest, but he knew he couldn’t put it off any longer. Wukong was right—he smelled terrible, to put it lightly. And he didn’t have a good excuse for not wanting to shower.

Not one that he could tell Wukong, anyway.

Speaking of Wukong, it was clear that he wasn’t going to wait for Macaque to eventually decide to get up. He walked around to Macaque’s side of the bed, and knelt down beside him, meeting the shadow monkey’s gaze with a patient smile.

“Please?” Wukong pleaded softly.

Macaque scowled as he curled in on himself and brought his knees up to his chest, his tail looping around his ankles. No way. He was staying in bed, no matter what Wukong said. And he glared right back at the Monkey King to get his point across.

…

… Dang it. Why was a several thousand year old god of mischief so good at puppy eyes?

Macaque sat up with a disgruntled huff. “Fine.”

Wukong smiled (smugly, in Macaque’s opinion), and held out his hand. “Thank you.”

Macaque rolled his eyes, but still took Wukong’s hand, allowing the other monkey to pull him to his feet. He stumbled once he was upright, but Wukong caught him easily.

“You alright?” Wukong asked him.

“Yes,” Macaque hissed, his face burning with embarrassment. He wasn’t helpless, thank you. So he pulled away from Wukong’s grasp and turned on his heel, his bare feet padding against the floor as he promptly walked out of the bedroom. He needed to shower. Alright. While he did that, Wukong could just… sit around or something. Clearly he didn’t need any sort of entertainment, since he had found it fascinating to just watch Macaque sleep for hours on end.

But then Macaque noticed that there were footsteps following him.

He glanced over his shoulder, and saw Wukong standing right behind him. “Uhh… can I help you?” Macaque asked awkwardly, ignoring the way his heartbeat picked up nervously inside of his chest.

“Nope,” Wukong replied simply as he casually shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m good.”

“… okay,” Macaque said slowly, taking another step towards the bathroom as he tried to appear calm and relaxed; he didn’t need to be rousing Wukong’s suspicion. “Well… I’m gonna shower now, so… you can go… do something, while you wait. I won’t be long.”

Wukong’s easygoing expression cracked instantly, and his tail began to swish anxiously behind him. “Actually…”

No.

“I was planning to go in with you,” Wukong explained, his gaze falling away awkwardly as he reached up and rubbed his neck. “I still want to keep an eye on you until you’re doing a little better—”

“I’m fine.” Macaque replied shortly, cutting him off mid-sentence and leaving no room for argument.

But Wukong argued back anyway. “I want to make sure you don’t fall in the shower, or hurt yourself somehow. My hearing’s not as good as yours, so I wouldn’t know if something was wrong.”

“I’m not a baby, Wukong!” Macaque snapped, and the sharpness of his words caused his sore throat to ache. “I can handle myself!” And he could handle himself. He was a warrior, for Buddha’s sake. He had fought alongside Wukong and their whole band of brothers. He had taken down celestial soldiers with a single strike. He didn’t need a babysitter.

And he didn’t need Wukong seeing what he had done to himself.

Wukong’s expression was annoyingly determined, but Macaque held his ground, his fists clenched tightly by his sides. He just hoped Wukong wouldn’t notice the fact that they were shaking.

“Macaque,” Wukong persisted. “I just think that—”

“NO!” Macaque shouted, his voice cracking as it tore its way out of him. “I want you t-to leave me alo—”

Macaque’s voice caught in his throat, and the coppery taste of blood filled his mouth as he began to cough. Wukong immediately closed the distance between them and began to pat Macaque gently on the back, but it did nothing to soothe the shadow monkey. Instead, he felt like his heart had frozen in his chest, completely petrified with fear as his blood ran cold.

Why was he still coughing? The disease had been cured, hadn’t it? He was sure that it had been, especially considering last night, but he could still feel the terrible aching pain in his lungs, and he gagged as something slimy landed on his tongue. He spat it out into his open hand, and saw that it was a glob of bloody phlegm, with a couple of pink flower petals stuck to it.

Macaque felt like he was either going to be sick or faint, and he wasn’t sure which it would be. Were the flowers still growing inside of him?

Was… was he still going to die?

Wukong grabbed Macaque’s shoulders and carefully guided him down to the floor; Macaque hadn’t even noticed how shaky his legs were. The Monkey King took Macaque’s hand and studied the bloody mucus in his palm, and even though he was obviously trying to appear calm, he wasn’t fooling Macaque. The six-eared monkey could hear Wukong’s elevated heartbeat just fine, and it indicated that the other monkey was just as scared as he was.

Macaque leaned back against the wall and tried to catch his breath as he wondered what he was supposed to do now. If the disease was still in his lungs, then was there anything that he could do? Or was he doomed to his demise after all?

If he was, then he supposed he could be at peace with it now. Even the one night he had spent with Wukong was enough for him. If it truly was his time to go, then his memories of those feather-soft kisses and the warm body against his own would help him make it through the countless tortures awaiting him in the Diyu’s cold, harsh grasp.

And maybe, when Macaque was finally deemed worthy of reincarnation, he would meet Wukong again in his new life. He just hoped that his sun would wait for his return.

Wukong’s lips brushed against Macaque’s cheek, startling him out of his spiraling thoughts. He looked up and saw Wukong smiling at him warmly, and his smile alone was enough to ease the gaping pit of despair in Macaque’s gut.

“You’re okay,” Wukong assured him gently. “The, uhh… what was it called again?” He thought silently for a few seconds before his eyes lit up. “Oh, yeah! Hanahaki. I bet the hanahaki is probably just working its way out of your system still.”

Though initially doubtful, Macaque realized that Wukong was right. He was still breathing far more easily than before, and physically he felt stronger than he had in a long time. Besides, even though he had purged a garden’s worth of flowers from his body the previous day, it was fairly likely that a few petals had lingered.

And the blood made sense, as well. Since the flowers had sprouted in his body, it must have meant that they had taken root. That, combined with the coughing fits and vomiting caused by his body trying to expel the foreign matter, had done a lot of damage to his respiratory tract.

Despite the way that Wukong’s magic had greatly accelerated his healing, Macaque would probably continue to cough up blood and mucus for a while.

“You’ll be alright, my Moon.” Wukong told him softly as he leaned in and touched their foreheads together. “I’m here now. You’re not alone anymore.”

As Macaque wondered for the umpteenth time since last night just what exactly he had done to deserve having Wukong back in his life, his throat grew tight and his eyes welled with tears, so he just nodded silently. Wukong took his hand and pulled him to his feet, and Macaque allowed himself to be led into the bathroom.

Once Wukong flipped the light on, Macaque was surprised to see that the bathroom had been cleaned. The bathtub had been drained, and every speck of blood had been wiped from the bathroom surfaces. Even the dirty clothes he had left on the floor had been moved to the hamper, and the perfumed smell of air freshener hung in the air.

“I sent a hair clone to clean the bathroom last night,” Wukong explained. “I told it to keep quiet, but even then I’m still surprised you didn’t wake up from the noise.” He leaned over and kissed Macaque on the cheek. “I guess you needed the sleep.”

Macaque smiled tiredly. “Definitely. Thank you.”

Wukong flashed him a quick smile, then turned and closed the bathroom door behind them. He then walked over to the toilet, sat down on the closed lid, and folded his arms, making it clear that he wasn’t leaving anytime soon. And Macaque wasn’t happy about it, but he wasn’t going to ask Wukong to leave now; there was no way the Monkey King would do so after Macaque’s sudden coughing fit in the hallway.

And honestly, Macaque wasn’t sure he wanted to be alone after that. He was still feeling pretty shaken. But with Wukong here now, in the room with him…

There was no way Macaque could hide his scars any longer.

Macaque turned on the sink and rinsed the spittle and blood from his palm, then cupped his hands to catch the running water, before bringing them to his mouth. He swished the water around to get rid of the metallic taste clinging to his teeth and tongue, and then spat it out into the basin as he turned the faucet off.

Okay. Now…

Macaque’s heartbeat was pounding in his ears as he turned his back on Wukong and, with shaking hands, grabbed the cuffs of his hoodie. He slowly slid the garment up over his shoulders, being careful to keep his shirt from riding up, and after a moment’s hesitation he pulled the jacket off and dropped it at his feet.

The bathroom was dead silent, except for Macaque’s shaky, forced breathing as he struggled not to start hyperventilating. He knew he was acting strange, and the fact that Wukong was holding his own breath meant that the other monkey had noticed Macaque’s odd demeanor, and was on edge.

Macaque had been careful to keep Wukong out of his line of sight as he began to undress, but it wasn’t helping—he could still feel the other monkey’s presence, and it was so intimidating to him that he felt like his legs were going to give out.

“Do you need help?” Wukong asked him, his sudden question making Macaque flinch.

“N-no,” Macaque mumbled as he fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. “I…”

Macaque’s ears twitched at the sound of Wukong’s heartbeat quickening, and when Wukong spoke he sounded sheepish. “I-I can look away, i-if you want.”

Macaque appreciated the offer, but… that wasn’t the reason that he was hesitating, either. It wasn’t because of embarrassment—as monkeys, he and Wukong had seen each other naked plenty of times before.

No, the reason he was hesitating was because…

Macaque inhaled, his breath rattling in his chest as he grabbed his shirt and pulled it up over his head. He was hyper aware of the feeling of the fabric as it slid along his fur, leaving his back bare for Wukong to see. Macaque hesitated, his breath catching in his throat, and he struggled to swallow down his fear as he tugged the long sleeves from his arms, revealing the bloody scratches across his wrists.

He gripped his dirty shirt tightly in his hands as he looked down at his bare chest. It looked… better than it had before, but that wasn’t saying much. The blood had dried, and the scratches had scabbed over, leaving his chest looking like the broken earth of an old battlefield. But the scratches were deeper than he had realized, and Macaque’s stomach churned as he noticed a small sliver of white in the center of his chest.

It was bone. His sternum, to be exact. If he had been at full strength, then it would have been far more healed by now, but…

“Macaque?”

His hands trembled as he tried to take a breath, but the air didn’t reach his lungs. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t let Wukong see this. See him like this.

But he had to. There was no turning back now. He had decided last night that he wanted to try. To try to make this… thing that he and Wukong had now work.

And to do that, he had to start with trust.

Macaque could hear as Wukong stood up behind him, and his heart lurched painfully in his chest. Now. It had to be now, or else he wouldn’t have the strength. So Macaque held his breath, and time seemed to slow down as he turned around to face Wukong. He kept his gaze on his feet, though, because he couldn’t bring himself to look Wukong in the eyes. He…

He was afraid of what he might see. The shock. The disgust.

… there was no response from Wukong. No words. And Macaque was far too afraid to look up and see what expression might be on his face. It felt like there was a miniature ocean in his stomach, rolling and churning and making him nauseous. He wrung the shirt in his hands tightly enough that it threatened to tear.

What was Wukong thinking right now? What was he thinking about the pitiful shadow demon standing in front of him? Was he disappointed? Repulsed? Did he think that Macaque was weak?

If he did, then he was right. Macaque was weak. The Monkey King’s warrior had lost his power—his strength. The black-furred celestial monkey, who had once gone toe-to-toe with gods, had been brought to his knees by a lowly disease, and had become so weak that he couldn’t handle the thoughts inside his own head, having resorted to harming his own body just to silence them for a time.

He was pitiful at best.

Wukong spoke then, his voice no more than a hushed whisper. “What happened?”

“… I was upset,” Macaque admitted meekly; he didn’t know what else to say.

“What?” Wukong said incredulously, the sharpness of his voice making Macaque flinch. “You… were upset?”

“I… I couldn’t handle what I was feeling,” Macaque said lamely. “A-after you left. So…” He trailed off and gave a weak shrug. What could he say? How could he possibly explain why he had hurt himself?

A heavy silence fell over the two of them. Without even looking, Macaque could tell that Wukong was upset. Upset at him, most likely, for doing something so stupid. For being so weak, a-and—

Suddenly, Wukong’s hand came into view. Macaque recoiled in alarm as he looked up at Wukong with eyes wide with fear. Wukong pulled back, seemingly startled himself, but then he reached forward again, and Macaque barely held back a flinch as Wukong’s fingers brushed delicately over his bare chest.

Macaque expected his touch to hurt, but Wukong was surprisingly gentle. His fingertips glided gently over the scratches and cuts, taking stock of the damage Macaque had done. Wukong stopped just below Macaque’s sternum, and he sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of the exposed bone.

Hesitantly, Macaque spared a timid glance at Wukong’s face, and saw that the other monkey looked… horrified. Which was surprising to Macaque. He knew that Wukong had seen far worse injuries before. Wukong had had far worse injuries than a mauled chest. Yet for some reason, the Monkey King’s face was pale, with wide eyes and a slack jaw as he stared at the poorly-healed wounds.

What could Macaque even say? What was he supposed to say? How was he supposed to explain why he had done this to himself? Just thinking about it now caused a dark chuckle to bubble up from Macaque’s chest, and Wukong gave him a confused, concerned look.

“Yeah… I was a little out of it after you left,” Macaque explained, his gaze falling away from Wukong out of shame. “I, uhh, tried to claw the flowers out of my chest. Didn’t get very far though, before I blacked out.”

It was then that Macaque realized just how stupid that idea had been, but hey—hindsight was 20/20, and all that. His mental state had… not been great, at that point in time. And not for a long time before that. He had been in a dark place, and before that he had been under an insane amount of stress trying to get away from Lady Bone Demon. And before that, he had been suffering excruciating punishments in the Underworld.

And thousands of years before that, he had been desperately trying to find Wukong and the pilgrims before the first onset of flowers consumed him.

Heck, other than the previous night, when was the last time he had been happy?

Gods, he was a mess.

Wukong’s hand brushed against Macaque’s chest again, and it was then Macaque realized that Wukong’s hand was shaking. Confused, Macaque looked up, and was startled to see that Wukong looked like he was trying not to cry. The golden-furred monkey was biting down on his bottom lip, and his eyes were shiny with tears as he pulled his hand away, letting it fall back to his side.

But why? Why was he crying?

Because he cares about you, you know. Some part of Macaque’s mind—a part that remembered what goodness and kindness were, despite all of the bad he had seen in his many years—gently reminded him. He doesn’t want to see you hurt.

… oh. That… that made sense. If Wukong really loved Macaque like he claimed—and Macaque knew that he did—then…

By hurting himself, Macaque had hurt Wukong, too.

And that realization was like a knife to Macaque’s heart. He didn’t want to hurt Wukong. H-he hadn’t meant to, he just…

“I…” Macaque didn’t know what to say; he felt like he should apologize, but he had no idea how, or where to even start. “I’m—”

But Wukong cut him off. “I’m sorry, Macaque.”

Those three words stunned Macaque into silence. What? What did Wukong have to be sorry for? He hadn’t done this to Macaque. No, Macaque had done this to himself.

It was no one’s fault but his own.

“I didn’t… I didn’t know that you loved me in that way,” Wukong said, his voice shaking. “I never… gods, I never noticed, and… because of that, you…” Wukong blinked, and a lone tear trickled down his cheek as his voice cracked. “This was how you coped with my stupidity.”

“No…” Macaque said weakly. “No, I… I shouldn’t have—”

“I’m sorry,” Wukong said again. “I’m sorry for not noticing sooner, and for making you feel like this was the only way you could deal with your feelings, instead of just… talking to me.”

“No!” Macaque tried to protest. “I-I should have told you years ago. So many years ago. I… I just…” I couldn’t.

Wukong looked like he wanted to argue, but instead he stepped forward, and carefully wrapped his arms around Macaque in a gentle hug. Like he was afraid that he might hurt him. Caught off guard by the sudden embrace, Macaque’s discarded shirt fell from his hands, landing on the floor with a barely audible thud.

“I’m sorry.” Wukong repeated a third time, and there was a finality to his tone that made it clear he was holding his ground on the matter. He was apologizing, whether Macaque liked it or not.

“… I’m sorry, too,” Macaque said quietly. And he decided to let the matter rest for the time being. If they both felt like they were at fault, then… fine.

They could be at fault together. And they could work to forgive, and to make things right.

Together.

After a long moment of silence, Wukong pulled away. His eyes were still wet, but he gave Macaque a warm smile. “Alright. Well, uhh… you should… y’know…” Wukong took a step back and gestured at the shower.

Ah. Yes. Macaque’s face grew warm, his tail curling back and forth as he remembered that he was standing half-naked in his bathroom. He turned away from Wukong with a huff of annoyance as he pulled off his sweatpants and boxers, tossing them into the hamper before he pushed open the shower curtain.

But as Macaque turned to get into the bathtub, he caught a glimpse of Wukong’s expression, and he froze.

That same look of distress was on Wukong’s face once more as he openly stared at the lacerations on Macaque’s thighs. Macaque quickly looked away, his stomach churning with shame and regret as his tail tucked itself timidly between his legs.

But then Wukong spoke, his voice surprisingly lighthearted and relaxed. “So, what’s this we’ve got going on here? A private show?”

Macaque froze, all shame forgotten as he struggled to process the stupidness that had just left Wukong’s mouth. “… what?”

He gave Wukong a bewildered look, but the other monkey just smirked mischievously as he leaned back against the toilet tank. “You gonna dance for me? Do a little pose? I don’t have any money on me, but I can pay a cutie like you back later. If you know what I mean.”

Wukong winked, and it was then that Macaque realized what he was hinting at.

Macaque’s face immediately turned as red as a fire hydrant as he pointed threateningly at Wukong. “I will kill you,” he hissed. “Do you understand me?!”

“Ooh.” Wukong’s cheeky smile only grew wider. “Kinky.”

Macaque grabbed the first throwable thing in his reach—a bottle of mango-scented shampoo—and chucked it at Wukong’s face. Wukong caught the bottle easily and tossed it back to Macaque with a jovial laugh. Macaque fumbled the bottle and nearly dropped it, all six of his ears burning like they were being held over a match as Wukong’s amused giggling rang in his ears.

Macaque glared at Wukong, turned away with an embarrassed growl, and promptly tripped over the side of the tub. He threw his arms out and barely stopped himself from faceplanting into the shower wall, and as Wukong howled with laughter, Macaque wished that he had enough of his magic reserves back to just sink into the shadows and disappear.

But since he didn’t have nearly enough magic for that at the moment, he instead yanked the shower curtain shut, nearly ripping it off of the rod in the process. He could hear Wukong’s poorly-stifled laughter clear as day through the thin fabric, and Macaque had to honestly wonder just what he had done in a past life to deserve this kind of suffering.

Well, actually, he knew what he had done in his past life. And considering how bad it had been, maybe this—right here, right now—wasn’t that bad.

Macaque turned on the shower, not caring to let it heat up first, and as icy cold water poured down from the showerhead, he was relieved to find that the sound of it falling helped to drown out Wukong’s annoying giggling. The coldness also helped to cool the embarrassed blush that was burning bright red on his face.

Macaque was quick to get himself clean; he lathered up his hands with soap and scrubbed it onto his arms, trying to make quick work of it. He wanted this over with as quickly as possible. Because once he was done showering, then Wukong would see that Macaque was doing better, and then maybe he would leave or something, and Macaque would be able to go bury his face in a pillow and scream as he tried to process just what exactly had become of his life in the past twenty-four hours.

As Macaque scrubbed his torso clean (being careful with the cuts on his chest), he could hear Wukong humming. The other monkey was probably trying to ease the awkward tension in the air, but all he was really managing to do was remind Macaque’s frazzled brain that Sun Wukong was in his bathroom, and it was not helping Macaque’s fragile state of mind.

Okay. Okay, he just needed to shower, and get dressed, and ignore Wukong until then.

“So, you need any help in there?” Wukong called over the sound of the water. “Do you want me to join you~?”

Macaque grabbed the bottle of shampoo again and chucked it over the shower rod, hoping that it would strike Wukong on the head with deadly accuracy.

Once he had decided that he was thoroughly clean, Macaque pushed open the shower curtain, and as he walked in front of the mirror he saw that his reflection looked every bit like a drowned cat.

“Oh, good,” Wukong remarked casually, not having moved even once from his seat on the toilet lid. “You don’t look like roadkill anymore.”

Macaque stubbornly ignored him as he turned to the linen closet and pulled out a towel. He quickly rubbed it over his head in a poor attempt of drying his messy mop of hair, and then ran it down his arms. He then began to wipe the water off of his chest, but the towel caught on his scabs, and he hissed in pain as the fibers pulled at the damaged skin. Little red drops beaded up from the cuts as a couple of them opened up again, and Macaque groaned in frustration. Great.

Wukong stood up from his perch and walked over. Macaque rolled his eyes as he wrapped the towel around his waist and glanced at the bathroom counter, wondering if he had some bandages left under the sink or if he had forgotten to restock them. Maybe he could just put some salve and gauze on his chest for the time being.

Wukong came to a stop in front of Macaque, his golden eyes staring critically at the red, freshly oozing scratches on Macaque’s chest.

“I’m fine, Wukong,” Macaque grumbled, not meeting the other’s gaze. “I just need to grab—”

But Wukong wasn’t listening. His left hand came to rest on Macaque’s shoulder as he leaned down, and before Macaque could even ask what he was doing Wukong’s lips were brushing over the wounded, bare, and very sensitive skin of Macaque’s chest.

WHAT.

Macaque tried to shove Wukong away, but the Monkey King caught his wrists with ease and held them. Wukong took a step forward as he placed another kiss to Macaque’s mangled chest, and Macaque stumbled backward, his back slamming into the door of the linen closet with a loud rattle.

Wukong looked up at him, alarmed; he hadn’t let go of Macaque’s wrists yet. “Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah,” Macaque squeaked, his voice catching in his throat. “W-what are you…?”

Wukong simply smiled. “I’m healing you.”

Macaque’s face was burning so horribly hot that he wondered if it would give Wukong a sunburn just from being near him. “I-I don’t—you don’t h-have to—”

“Of course I do,” Wukong interjected smoothly. “Because I love you.”

Okay, yeah, sure. Wukong loved him. But did he have to heal Macaque through kisses? Was that really necessary? Macaque wanted to ask as such, but the words couldn’t make it past the lump in his throat as Wukong gently pinned Macaque’s wrists by his sides and leaned down to kiss his chest once more.

This was it. Forget the hanahaki. Macaque was now going to die from sheer embarrassment, bestowed upon him by the idiot boyfriend known as Sun Wukong. And Wukong didn’t seem the least bit sorry, if the pleased wagging of his tail was anything to go by. Macaque’s own tail had tucked itself shyly between his legs, and had curled around his left ankle tightly enough to cut off the blood rushing through his veins.

Macaque was sure that Wukong could feel the pounding of his heartbeat as his lips pressed against Macaque’s skin. As for Macaque, he could feel the warm, powerful magic flowing through his chest, giving him energy and rapidly healing his wounds. If he looked down, then he was sure that he would see the skin and muscle growing back over his exposed bone, knitting itself back together until there was barely a scar left.

A tremor ran through Macaque’s body, all the way from the top of his head down to the tips of his toes, making the closet door behind him rattle quietly. His knees felt weak, and he had to close his eyes as his vision went blurry and his head spun, or else he was afraid that he was going to collapse. He focused on breathing deeply—in, out, in, out—because if he didn’t then he was sure he was going to pass out.

But with each breath in—with each rise of his chest—he could feel Wukong’s gentle touch, and it made him shiver all over again. He could feel the godly warmth radiating from Wukong’s body, and it made him feel lightheaded and woozy. Macaque felt like if he kept his eyes closed long enough, then he would fall asleep right then and there, enveloped in Wukong’s warm, calming, and safe presence.

Eventually, Wukong’s grip on Macaque’s wrists loosened, and Macaque could feel as Wukong stood up, pulling away from his chest. As Macaque opened his eyes, he was startled by the feeling of Wukong nuzzling his face into the crook of Macaque’s neck. The golden-furred monkey purred as he rested his hand lightly on Macaque’s bare, freshly healed chest, his calloused fingers rough against Macaque’s smooth skin. “There. All better.”

A shaky breath fluttered up from Macaque’s chest, and as Wukong stepped back to look at him, Macaque couldn’t do anything more than just stare back at him and wheeze for air. The flowers weren’t growing in his lungs anymore, but he felt just as breathless as he had been back when they were. Wukong took his breath away just as easily as those peach blossoms had, but the feeling was far more pleasant when he did it.

Wukong leaned in, and Macaque closed his eyes. But instead of a kiss, Wukong leaned his forehead against Macaque’s and sighed. Macaque opened his eyes, and was surprised to find Wukong watching him, his eyes glowing like two miniature suns as they seemed to stare into Macaque’s very soul.

“I love you, Macaque,” Wukong said softly. “And I want you to be well.” His hand slid from Macaque’s chest, falling to his side as he stepped back, his gaze never once leaving Macaque’s own.

“I love you, too,” Macaque replied weakly. But he meant it. Truly, he did.

Wukong blinked, and then a small smile formed on his lips. “Okay. I’ll go grab you some clothes.”

And with that, Wukong left, leaving Macaque standing alone in the bathroom with labored breath and shaky knees, wondering just what had become of his life. But after a few seconds of standing there like a daydreaming schoolgirl, Macaque shook his head. Okay. Time to get dressed. Or… ready, since he didn’t have any clean clothes with him. Wukong hadn’t come back with them yet…

Macaque shook his head again and patted himself sharply on the cheeks. Focus.

Taking a deep breath, Macaque stood up straight and walked over to the sink, where he looked in the mirror and took in his reflection. His cheeks were still pink, as if he had a light sunburn, but that wasn’t what he was concerned about at the moment; the blush would fade on its own. His eye, however…

His right eye was clouded over and dull, like it had always been since his death. And the scars around it were just as ugly as always. That was one injury that the Lady Bone Demon’s magic hadn’t been able to fix. He was fine with it, though—he kind of had to be, since it wasn’t like there was anything he could do to fix it. And he had grown used to the lack of sight on his right side.

But that didn’t mean he wanted others to know about his visual impairment. Of course, the rest of the group had all seen him without his glamour the day before, but… he didn’t want them staring at him. Not anymore than necessary. He didn’t want them gawking at his scars, or asking questions that he was not comfortable answering.

So, summoning what little magic he could spare, Macaque swiped his hand over his blind eye, and glamoured it so that it looked normal. Clear and alive, and brilliant gold, just like his other eye.

But the glamour only remained in place for a split second before flickering away.

Macaque’s heart sank. He knew he didn’t have much magic at the moment; it was thanks to Wukong that he had any magic left at all (and he was endlessly grateful for it). And he knew that he shouldn’t be wasting the little power that he had with something as vain as this, but… he didn’t want the others to see him like this. He didn’t want them to see the scars on his face, or his silly, lotus petal-shaped ears that fluttered like dragonfly wings and gave away his emotions far too easily.

He didn’t want them to—

“Hey.”

Macaque flinched, and looked up to see Wukong standing in the doorway. He had a set of folded clothes in his arms, and an easygoing smile on his face, but it fell away instantly when he saw Macaque.

“What’s wrong?”

“Wha—nothing’s wrong,” Macaque lied, his gaze falling away from Wukong’s. “W-why would you think that—”

“Your ears. They give you away.”

… damn it.

Wukong walked over to him and set the clothes down on the counter, and then turned to Macaque. He reached up and ran his thumb along Macaque’s lower left ear, making the appendage flutter and twitch against Macaque’s will. Macaque looked away as his face grew warm with embarrassment. Stupid things…

Wukong smiled. “I’ve missed your ears.”

… what?

Wukong turned to leave, but then he paused. “Oh, and don’t worry about the scars on your legs.” He told Macaque with a glance over his shoulder, followed by a wink. “I’ll take care of those tonight.”

And with that, Wukong left, leaving his shadow warrior speechless and blushing like a bride on their wedding day.

Chapter Text

Macaque was grateful for the privacy he was granted while he got dressed. Wukong had gone downstairs, and Macaque could hear him messing around in the kitchen, likely looking for something to eat. Which meant that Macaque would have to go shopping.

He groaned as he grabbed the pants Wukong had brought him—a pair of dark gray sweatpants—and pulled them on over his boxers. It was going to be a long day, wasn’t it? He doubted that Wukong would let him go to the grocery store alone, and he knew that taking the Monkey King out in public was likely going to be a laborious task all on its own. And then Wukong had said that… later tonight, he would…

Macaque’s face burned as he shook his head fervently to clear the dirty thoughts from his mind. Nope! Nope. He wasn’t thinking about that right now. He was going to get dressed. Yes. He was going to…

He snatched the folded shirt from the bathroom counter, and he recognized it immediately. It was a well-worn band T-shirt that he had bought ages ago from a secondhand shop. He had no idea what band it was, and the printed logo had faded significantly with time. He had just thought that the shirt looked cool, and it was what he had been able to afford at the time.

But it was short-sleeved.

Macaque looked down at his forearms. Though they were clean, the scratches were still glaringly obvious on his skin. They stood out sharply in the midst of his black fur, and the T-shirt would do nothing to hide them.

An uncomfortable feeling lodged itself deep in Macaque’s gut, sitting there like a heavy stone. Okay. He… would just grab a different shirt, then.

So Macaque left the bathroom, the T-shirt gripped tightly in his hands, and returned to his bedroom. He walked past the bed on his way to the dresser, but paused when his phone buzzed and caught his attention. He had left it on the nightstand, and hadn’t checked it in a few days. Honestly, he was surprised it still had any battery left.

Macaque picked up the device and turned it on, and saw that he had a couple of texts from MK. Apparently, the kid and his friends were coming over with breakfast. Great.

(And although the idea of company did make Macaque’s stomach churn with unease, he was surprised to find that he also felt a little… happy? How strange.)

He would definitely need to wear a long-sleeved shirt, in that case.

But then, Macaque noticed other messages, from a new contact. One that he certainly hadn’t created.

Your One True Love <3: hey plum. i stole your phone while you were in the bathroom ;)

Your One True Love <3: now i can text you and tell you how cute you are whenever i want >:3

Oh, gods. He used frickin’ emoticons. What time period was Wukong living in, the early 2000s?

Was it too late for Macaque to stop loving him?

But as Macaque rolled his eyes and looked at the next message, his annoyance at the Monkey King’s antics was quickly forgotten.

Your One True Love <3: i love you. and i’m glad i got to wake up by your side today.

Your One True Love <3:well i didn’t sleep but you know what i mean

Your One True Love <3: love you <3<3<3

Your One True Love <3: <3<3<3<3<3<3 (there’s one for each of your ears. which i also love <3)

A strangely giddy feeling filled Macaque’s chest as he read over the disgustingly sappy texts, and it made his heart swell and his face feel tingly with warmth. His ears fluttered against his will as he stuffed his phone into his pocket with an annoyed huff. Seriously. Was Wukong trying to embarrass him?

Well, whatever. Right now, he needed to finish getting dressed. But instead of digging through the dresser like he had initially planned, Macaque just… stood there, staring at the T-shirt in his hands.

For a brief second, Macaque considered applying a glamour to his forearms, but he dismissed the idea just as quickly. He definitely didn’t have the magic for that right now; he hadn’t even been able to hide his blind eye, which was usually the easiest glamour for him to apply. He supposed that he could just grab a different shirt, like he had decided to do in the first place, but then Wukong would ask him why he hadn’t worn the shirt he had picked out for him, and…

And… why didn’t Macaque just… ask Wukong to heal the wounds? He was sure the other monkey wouldn’t mind; he’d had no problem healing Macaque’s chest without being asked, and giving him magic the night before.

But for some reason, Macaque was… afraid. He had allowed Wukong to see his self-inflicted scars, but… bringing them up, and asking for help…

It made him feel weak.

… but maybe that was okay. Maybe… it was okay to be weak once in a while. The idea made him instinctively want to recoil in disgust, but at the same time… he was tired of trying to stay strong. He was tired of having to hold himself up, and pull himself up by his own bootstraps every day. He was tired of fighting to survive on his own, and putting on a strong face because he knew that if he fell, there would be no one to catch him and build him back up.

But that wasn’t the case anymore, was it?

Now… now he had Wukong. And he didn’t have to fight alone anymore. He didn’t have to stay strong for fear of not being able to pick up the pieces if he broke down. He didn’t have to hide his pain, or his fear, or his weakness anymore.

Relationships were built on trust. And an important part of that trust was knowing that one could be vulnerable with their significant other.

So, maybe, just this once, he could allow himself to be weak.

Macaque needed to have faith that he could be vulnerable around Wukong, without judgment or ridicule. That he could show his weaknesses and his hurts, and that Wukong would help him through them with tender love and care.

And maybe, somehow, he could help Wukong in return.

So Macaque took a deep breath to calm himself, and pulled on the T-shirt. He ignored the anxious rise of his heartbeat as he clenched his fists and shuffled out of the bedroom. He was almost silent as he made his way down the hall, and then down the stairs, his tail dragging behind him. He treaded quietly across the training room, and he could hear Wukong on the other side of the wall, the golden monkey’s footsteps padding across the tiled floor as he moved around.

The floor creaked under Macaque’s feet as he turned the corner into the kitchen, and he found Wukong standing at the kitchen sink, staring down at his phone.

“Hey,” Wukong greeted without looking up. “MK texted me and said the group is coming over with breakfast, so I was just tidying up down here. There was broken glass in the sink. Do you know why, or…?”

At Macaque’s lack of response, Wukong turned and looked at him. And what he saw was the black-furred monkey standing there timidly, his tail between his legs and his gaze fixed on the floor at his feet.

Wukong put his phone in his pocket and came over to where Macaque stood. “What’s wrong?”

Macaque hesitated for a couple of seconds before silently holding out his hands, palms up so that Wukong could see the poorly-healed scratches on his wrists. Wukong’s expression fell, and Macaque looked away, his heart heavy with shame. By the look on the Monkey King’s face, it was clear he had forgotten about the injuries on Macaque’s arms.

But Wukong still delicately took Macaque’s hands in his own, and with extreme gentleness he placed a soft kiss to both of Macaque’s wrists. The transfer of magic was immediate, zinging across Macaque’s skin as the scratches faded away before his very eyes. He moved to pull away, but Wukong held fast, his grip tightening just slightly on Macaque’s hands. But not enough to hurt.

And next thing Macaque knew, Wukong had pulled him into a hug. The Monkey King’s arms wrapped around Macaque’s waist, holding him close as Wukong rested his chin on Macaque’s shoulder. “Don’t do that again,” Wukong pleaded weakly, the air from his words making Macaque’s ears flutter. “Please. Don’t hurt yourself again.”

Macaque couldn’t bring himself to speak, because he didn’t know what to say. A simple “okay” felt hollow—empty of promise or assurance. So, instead of saying anything at all, he just stood there, and allowed Wukong to hold him.

And he stayed like that until he heard noises outside. A vehicle pulled to a stop outside his house, its engine sputtering before it was promptly switched off. There were muffled voices, and as the people got out of the car Macaque realized that it was MK and the others.

Macaque moved to pull away from Wukong’s hug, but the Monkey King didn’t let go of him. He seemed intent on staying right there, with Macaque held safely in his arms, where nothing and no one could hurt him. Not under the Monkey King’s watch.

Footsteps walked up the short flight of steps outside, and then there was knocking. MK was at the front door.

“Wukong,” Macaque said gently, trying to pull away once more. “They’re here.”

Wukong made no move to let him go, and Macaque began to wonder if he was trapped, but then Wukong released him. The golden-furred monkey stepped back with a weary sigh, but he still managed to give Macaque a warm, loving smile. “Okay. Let’s go greet them, then.”

The front door flew open just as Macaque rounded the corner, and MK walked inside, holding a basket with a big purple bow on the handle that was filled to the brim with… what looked like an assortment of over-the-counter medication.

“Macaque!” MK shouted joyfully upon seeing said monkey. “You’re alive!”

“Yeah,” Macaque chuckled softly at the kid’s eagerness. “I guess I am.”

Behind MK stood Pigsy and Tang, and past them Macaque saw a large, pig-themed food truck parked in front of his house. He caught a glimpse of Sandy, who was opening the back of the truck, and saw Mei helping Bai He out of the passenger’s seat.

Wow, the whole gang really had come to visit, huh? But before Macaque could make a comment, MK shoved the decorated basket into his arms. “Here! I made this for you!”

“Uhh… thank you?” Macaque said slowly, confused as he stared at the… offering. “But… what is this?”

“It’s a gift basket!” MK cheerfully explained, and he pointed at each of the objects inside of said basket in turn. “There’s a get-well-soon card that I drew, and cough syrup, and three different flavors of cough drops!”

Wukong leaned over Macaque’s shoulder as he took in the medicated goodies. He hummed thoughtfully, but Macaque could hear the mischievous undertone in his voice. “Ooh, those’ll come in handy after tonight,” Wukong remarked with a teasing smirk sent Macaque’s way.

Macaque’s face immediately flushed as red as a beet at those words, and he turned and slapped Wukong’s shoulder hard enough to make his own hand sting.

Wukong laughed playfully. “Hey!”

Pigsy, who was far less amused, stepped forward and smacked Wukong upside the head.

Wukong was far more annoyed by that hit, and he turned to glare at the pig demon. “Hey!”

MK, who was far too innocent for his own good, blinked stupidly at the interaction. “Huh?”

Tang patted MK on the shoulder, turning him away from the fight that was about to break out between the kid’s dad and mentor. “It’s nothing. Say, do you wanna help Pigsy make the food?”

MK nodded excitedly. “Yeah!” And with that, he turned on his heel and bounded out of the house, going back to the food truck.

An awkward silence fell over the little group, with Wukong and Pigsy glaring at each other, and Macaque and Tang standing silently off to the side. It was then that Macaque noticed Tang had a small, covered bowl tucked under his arm, and when the two of them made eye contact the human stepped forward and held it out to him.

“Here!” Tang said, setting the bowl on top of the gift basket in Macaque’s hands. “I made you some congee.”

“Oh…” Through the plastic wrap on top of the bowl, Macaque could see what looked like gray, inedible sludge. But he still managed to give Tang a forced smile. “Thank you.”

Pigsy huffed, turning away from an indignant Monkey King as he came over and elbowed Tang playfully. “He says he cooked it to a mush because he was worried about it scratching your throat. Personally, I think he’s just a bad cook.”

Tang gasped shrilly as he turned to the pig demon with a look of deep chagrin. “Pigsy!”

Pigsy snorted and walked away without a word, heading back outside to the food truck. Macaque took the moment of silence to set the basket on the bar counter, being careful to set the bowl of mush off to the side where it would hopefully be forgotten. He appreciated Tang’s gift, of course, but… he wasn’t going to eat it.

Two sets of footsteps crossed through the doorway, and as Macaque turned to see who it was he was caught off guard by a hug. Bai He squeezed Macaque tightly as she hid her face in his shirt, and Macaque’s heart warmed as he gently returned the embrace.

“Hey, kid,” he greeted softly.

The girl didn’t respond, and after a long moment of silence she pulled away. Her eyes were shiny with tears, but she still gave Macaque a bright smile.

Mei, who had entered with the little girl, gently took her hand and led her away. “Come on, let’s go sit down.”

Bai He was reluctant to go, but she did, giving Macaque another smile and a little wave as she and Mei went to the living room (also known as the training room, but “living room” sounded nicer at the moment). Macaque watched her go, before turning back to the front door just as MK returned, carrying a large wok and a tall metal pot.

“Y’know, you should be better about remembering to lock your front door,” MK suggested helpfully as he walked by and set the dishes down on the counter. “What if, like, a burglar came in or something?”

“Ehh.” Macaque shrugged. “I could handle it if anyone was stupid enough to break in.”

Wukong side-eyed him and gave a doubtful hum. “Are you sure about that?”

Macaque turned to Wukong, his eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Excuse me?”

“Well, I’m just saying,” Wukong began carefully as he watched Macaque’s hackles rise. “In your current state—”

“Alright, alright,” Pigsy grumbled as he walked inside, carrying a crate in his arms that was brimming with cooking ingredients—Macaque could see a loaf of bread, a carton of eggs, and a bottle of cooking oil inside the box. Pigsy shoved past the little trio and made his way into the kitchen. “Save the lovers’ quarrel for later.”

Macaque sputtered indignantly—lovers’ quarrel? But as he opened his mouth to loudly proclaim that that was not what was going on here, he was distracted by Sandy walking inside, carrying two large boxes stacked on top of each other.

“Howdy, Mister Maquack!” Sandy greeted cheerfully, and Mo meowed in greeting from atop the giant’s shoulder. “Where do you want all these groceries?”

Wait a minute.

Macaque stared at the boxes in Sandy’s arms; that was way too much food just for them to make breakfast. And groceries? He hadn’t—h-he didn’t—

Bewildered, Macaque turned to Pigsy, who had set to work washing the wok in the sink. “That’s too much food.”

“No, it’s not,” Pigsy said shortly, without so much as sparing him a glance. “It’s for you.”

“I-I don’t need—” Macaque began to protest, but he was cut off by a loud snort from the pig demon.

“Oh, cut the bullcrap, Macaque!” Pigsy snapped, startling the shadow monkey into stunned silence. He turned to Macaque, his hands on his hips like an angry mother as he proceeded to chew the several-thousand-year-old monkey out. “I checked your kitchen cupboards last night when I went to get you some water. They’re practically empty! And I looked in your fridge, and it’s just about the same! Your milk expired a month ago, by the way.”

Macaque didn’t know what to say, but even if he had, he didn’t get a chance to speak as Pigsy yanked open one of the kitchen cupboards and pulled out a small package of ramen noodles. It wasn’t even one of the nicer styrofoam noodle cups with freeze-dried vegetables. No, it was just a square of dry-ass noodles, wrapped in plastic. And Pigsy waved it in Macaque’s face like a P.I. with photographic proof of a torrid love affair.

“What are these?!” Pigsy demanded, but it must have been a rhetorical question as he didn’t even give Macaque a chance to answer. “Packaged, pre-processed, machine-made ramen noodles?” He walked over and dropped the block onto the kitchen counter with a dull thunk. “How dare you?!”

Macaque could feel the eyes of everyone else in the room watching him, and even though it was extremely mortifying, he glanced at the others for help. But none of them seemed willing to draw the pig demon’s ire onto themselves, as they all quickly looked away upon making eye-contact. Tang, MK, Sandy. Even Wukong stepped back with a helpless shrug.

Wow. What a winner.

At a loss for words, Macaque turned back to Pigsy, who had a glare fiery enough to melt steel. “I-I can’t afford to eat from your restaurant all the time—” Macaque stuttered, but Pigsy cut him off once more.

“Just say something, then!” Pigsy shouted incredulously, and he leaned over the counter as he pointed a threatening finger at Macaque. “I’m not letting any one of yous go hungry on my watch!”

The pig’s booming voice echoed through the resounding silence of the kitchen, and Macaque was sure that Bai He and Mei had heard his little tirade just as clearly all the way in the living room. Everyone had heard, and those in the room with him were all watching him with varying looks of sympathy and secondhand embarrassment.

Macaque was sure that his entire face was flushed as red as his face marking as his gaze fell to the kitchen counter, his tail between his legs as he meekly squeaked out: “… okay.”

Pigsy snorted again, but this time it seemed to be a sound of approval he stretched his arm across the counter and patted Macaque on the shoulder. “Good.” He turned away then, all righteous anger forgotten as he returned to the kitchen sink. “MK! Bring me the box of vegetables, and get some rice cooking!”

“Sir, yes, sir!” MK replied dutifully, and he leapt over the kitchen counter to go perform his duties. Sheesh. What a showoff.

Tang took the single seat at Macaque’s tiny kitchen table, mentioning casually how he would be happy to be the taste-tester, and Pigsy snapped back at him, something about how, “freeloaders don’t get free samples!”

And just like that, the attention was off of Macaque. Well, mostly. As Macaque breathed a quiet sigh of relief, the embarrassed blush slowly beginning to fade from his cheeks, Sandy came over to him.

“How are you feeling?” Sandy asked him. “Your nose looks like it’s all better.”

Wait, really?

Surprised, Macaque reached up and gingerly touched his nose, only to find that Sandy was right. His nose had gone back down to its normal size, and it didn’t hurt in the slightest. Wukong must have healed it last night, when…

Macaque’s blush returned in full force as he spared Wukong a shy glance. The golden monkey, who was still standing beside him, seemed to know exactly what Macaque was thinking about, and he gave him a toothy grin that made the shadow’s ears flutter. Macaque looked away quickly, his cheeks burning anew. Stupid ears… stupid glamour…

“I-I’m fine,” Macaque finally managed to reply. “Thank you.”

Sandy gave him a bright smile and a gentle pat on the shoulder, and it was then that Pigsy spoke up again.

“You guys, go sit down. MK and I will bring out the food when it’s ready.”

Macaque didn’t have to be told twice. He wanted to get as far away from Pigsy as possible, lest the pig demon find another reason to scold him to shame. So he turned and left the room, with Wukong trailing close behind him—he could hear the monkey’s soft footsteps following after him, and the sound prompted a warm, fluttery feeling in his chest. A feeling far more pleasant and welcome than the pain his disease had brought.

As Macaque entered the living room, he saw that Bai He was sitting on the left side of the couch, and that Mei was dangerously invested in his weapons rack on the far side of the training area. But he didn’t really care; as long as she didn’t break anything or hurt anyone, it was fine. The girl owned an ancient, wickedly sharp sword, herself. Surely she knew how to be safe around weapons.

But Macaque watched in silent disbelief as Mei attempted to balance a guandao on the tip of her nose, and he realized with dismay that she was just as stupid as the Monkie Kid himself. Welp, he didn’t care. He didn’t care! If she cut off a limb, then that was her own dang fault. Not his.

Bai He looked up as Macaque entered the room, and her face immediately lit up. She patted the couch cushion next to her, inviting Macaque to sit down. Macaque hesitated, surprised by the girl’s warmness, but he sat down next to her, feeling rather tense as he did so. Wukong sat down on Macaque’s right—his blind side. Normally, Macaque didn’t like having anyone sit where he couldn’t see them, but… this was okay.

He felt safe.

Bai He leaned against Macaque’s shoulder, startling the shadow monkey. But she didn’t even seem to notice his flinch as she looked up at him with big, questioning eyes. “How are you feeling?”

“Uhh… I… I’m good,” Macaque replied unsurely. Was this how… friends hung out? “How… are you?”

“Better,” Bai He replied. “I don’t need my cane as much anymore.”

Macaque nodded. “Good. That’s good.”

Silence fell over the two of them, and Macaque wondered if that was the end of their short conversation. But as Sandy entered the room, with Mo on his shoulder, Bai He spoke again.

“You scared me yesterday.”

Macaque… didn’t know how to respond to that. He watched as Sandy sat down cross-legged on the floor in front of the couch, giving the trio a warm smile as Mo hopped down from his shoulder into his lap. Macaque hadn’t really thought about what it must have been like, when the others had found him unconscious yesterday. For Bai He, a young human girl, to walk in on what must have looked like a corpse…

Scared was probably an understatement.

“… I’m sorry,” Macaque mumbled, unable to meet Bai He’s gaze. The words didn’t feel like they were enough, but… he didn’t know what else he could offer in apology.

“It’s okay,” Bai He said lightly. “I’m glad you’re doing better now.”

Sandy nodded happily in agreement. “Me too.”

And that was just… confusing to him. Why? Macaque wasn’t complaining, but he just didn’t understand why these two cared about him so much. Them, and the others… even Pigsy seemed to care, in some strange, grumpy way. And he just didn’t know why.

“Why do you… like me?” Macaque asked the little girl beside him.

Wukong snorted. “That’s a weird question.”

Bai He looked up at Macaque, and she smiled. “Because you’re nice,” she answered simply.

Well, that simply wasn’t true. But Macaque wasn’t going to argue with her; the little girl had already suffered more than enough because of him. So he just stared at his hands. “… huh.”

Suddenly, something brushed against Macaque’s right cheek, and he flinched badly enough that the couch creaked underneath him. But after a second, he realized that it was just Wukong kissing him, and he breathed a weak sigh of relief. Maybe… maybe he shouldn’t have let anyone sit on his blind side. He should have sat on the right side of the couch.

Wukong leaned into Macaque’s view and smiled warmly. “Yeah. You are nice.”

“Uh-huh!” Sandy agreed. “And I think you’re pretty kind, too!”

Macaque’s face grew hot, but as he opened his mouth to argue—he was not nice, he was not kind, and he was most certainly not wonderful—he heard footsteps. He looked up just as MK entered the room, carrying a steaming mug. The kid came over to the couch, and held the cup out to Macaque. It was filled to the brim with warm, translucent, light brown liquid that smelled tangy and fermented, and Macaque could see chunks of tofu and sliced seaweed floating inside of it.

“Pigsy made you some soup,” MK explained cheerfully.

“Oh…” Surprised, Macaque took the mug. “Uhh, thank you. I-I mean, tell him thank you. For me.”

MK nodded. “Sure thing! And the rest of the soup is in the fridge.”

The rest?

But MK turned and skipped away before Macaque could question him, returning to the kitchen. Macaque watched him go, and suddenly, there was a loud crash from the other side of the room. Alarmed, Macaque looked over and saw that Mei had knocked over his weapons rack. Great.

The girl gave him a sheepish smile. “Uhh, whoops! Sorry! I-I’ll clean it up!”

“Don’t worry!” Sandy said as he leapt to his feet, making sure to set Mo gently down on the floor. “I’ll help!”

And so Sandy left, the floorboards creaking loudly under his feet as he went over to help Mei clean up the mess. Mo, now suddenly on his own, watched Sandy go with a puzzled meow.

Bai He leaned down and patted her legs, beckoning the feline to come to her. “Here, kitty!”

The blue-furred cat gave a happy chirp and trotted over to the couch. He hopped up into Bai He’s lap and stretched, his front paws coming to rest on Macaque’s leg as he settled down and got comfortable. He looked up at Macaque expectantly, and Macaque rolled his eyes as he reached down and scratched Mo between the ears. Spoiled cat.

Wukong huffed indignantly. “Sheesh. Never thought I’d be jealous of a cat,” he muttered under his breath.

Macaque looked at Wukong, and he couldn’t tell if the other monkey was being legitimately serious or not. So he elbowed him in the side for good measure, and laughed. “You’re ridiculous.”

Mo chirped at Wukong, as if in agreement.

Wukong scowled at the cat, as if he was personally offended by whatever the feline may have said. “Why, you little—”

But he was cut off by Tang’s voice, echoing loudly from the kitchen. “HEY EVERYONE! FOOD’S DONE!”

“TANG!” Pigsy hollered in return, making Macaque wince from the volume. “DON’T JUST YELL! I CAN DO THAT!”

Before anyone could get up, MK ran into the room, carrying three bowls—two in his hands, and one balanced precariously on top of his head. He handed two of them off to Sandy and Mei (who had fixed the weapons rack and were in the process of putting all the weaponry back on it), and kept the third for himself as he plopped down on the floor next to them and promptly began to dig in.

Tang came into the room next, carrying two bowls. He handed one of them to Bai He, and Macaque saw that it was filled with freshly-made fried rice, along with a couple of soft-boiled eggs. The sight alone was enough to make his stomach ache sharply with hunger, and the smell was even worse; the rich aroma of fried vegetables and soy sauce made his mouth water, and he looked away, focusing on his own mug of soup. It smelled good, too, but… gods, when was the last time he had been able to eat solid food? He had been living off of broth and tea for weeks.

Pigsy was the last to come into the room, also carrying three bowls—two in his hands, and one nestled carefully in the crook of his arm. He handed one to Wukong with a gruff, “here ya go,” and then…

And then he held one out to Macaque. It was overflowing with warm, steaming, glistening fried rice, all mixed together with peas and diced carrots and bean sprouts. There were also two soft-boiled eggs nestled on top, both sliced in half, revealing their gooey, golden-yellow yolks. The smell made Macaque’s eyes water, and as he took the bowl with his free hand his stomach growled loudly like an angry lion.

Macaque’s face flushed red with embarrassment, but Pigsy just scoffed. “Hmph. That’s what I thought.” He pulled a set of chopsticks from his back pocket and set them down on the rim of Macaque’s bowl with a stern order: “Eat. And drink your soup, too. It’s good for you.”

Macaque definitely didn’t need to be told twice. He almost forwent the chopsticks completely, content and shoving his face into the food like a dog with kibble, but he still had some small shred of decency, even after everything. He wasn’t a caveman.

His stomach protested noisily as he carefully set the mug of soup down on the floor by his feet, and then picked up the chopsticks.

Food! Now! His gut demanded.

Macaque scooped up a bite of rice between his chopsticks, and was polite as could be as he brought it to his mouth. It didn’t matter how hungry he was, he was dignified. And he was going to act like it. He had embarrassed himself enough as it was, and he wasn’t going to give the others any more reason to—

But when the food touched his tongue, all thoughts of decency and common sense went out the window. The taste was heavenly. Like the ambrosia spoken of in Greek myth. Like pure sunshine and happiness had been injected directly into his veins. And Macaque didn’t care how he looked as he leaned over and began to ravenously shovel food into his mouth.

“Woah!” Tang chuckled nervously. “Slow down! You’re gonna choke!”

If Macaque had had the self-restraint to pause for a second, he would have told the man: “Frick you.”

But he didn’t, and chose instead to inhale the food like a vacuum cleaner. Gods, it was amazing. How did Pigsy make it taste so good? He had to learn the pig’s recipe. Or just make some more money so he could live off of Pigsy’s Noodles instead of his own mediocre cooking. Maybe he could go rob a bank for the necessary funds.

Mo had climbed up onto the back of the couch, and he stepped onto Macaque’s shoulder, leaning down with a soft meow as he begged for just a morsel of the monkey’s meal.

Get your own, buster. Macaque thought to himself. And he would have told the cat as much if he wasn’t so focused on stuffing his gob. The eggs were already gone, as well as most of the fried rice, and Macaque used his chopsticks to scrape down the sides of the bowl for good measure, lapping up the bits of rice and carrot that remained.

“Careful, Mo,” Wukong joked. “He might eat you, too.”

Bai He, who was far more kind and giving then Macaque, took a piece of soft-boiled egg from her own bowl and held it out to the cat. “Here you go, kitty.”

Mo meowed loudly as he leapt down from Macaque’s shoulder and onto the couch cushion beside him. Bai He giggled as the cat’s whiskers tickled her fingers as he lapped up the proffered treat.

Once Macaque’s brain had finally registered that his own bowl was completely empty, he paused, chopsticks still clasped tightly in his hand as he wondered what to do next. He glanced over at Wukong, and saw that the other monkey’s bowl was still half-full.

But before he could decide whether he should steal it or not, Wukong reached down with his tail and snagged the mug of soup from the floor. He held it out to Macaque, a few drops of the broth splashing over the sides of the cup. “Here, you rabid animal. Don’t touch my food.”

Macaque snatched the mug from Wukong’s grasp, and he gulped down half of it in one go. The soup was still wonderfully warm, and as it washed down Macaque’s throat he took the opportunity to lean back against the couch and breathe a deep sigh of contentment. He hadn’t felt this good in ages. Warm, bathed, dressed in clean clothes, and full of delicious food.

And surrounded by friends.

Macaque clasped the mug in his hands, enjoying the warmth it offered as he took in the scene in front of him. Mei, Sandy, and MK were all sitting together on the far side of the room, clearly having a good time as they laughed and joked amongst themselves. Pigsy and Tang were sitting against the wall to the left of the couch, with Pigsy defending his own bowl of food as Tang tried to steal from it. Bai He was sitting at Macaque’s left side, with Mo perched on the armrest beside her as she sneakily gave him another piece of egg.

And Sun Wukong was on his right. Macaque turned to look at the other monkey, and saw that Wukong was already staring at him, a soft, warm smile on his lips as he gazed contently at his shadow. His moon.

His love.

When they made eye contact, Wukong’s smile grew, his eyes lighting up as he reached over with his tail and looped it around Macaque’s own. Macaque’s ears fluttered at the touch, but this time… he didn’t mind letting the others see.

Until MK spoke up, anyway.

“Why do your ears do that?” The kid asked from his spot on the floor, his mouth full of partially-chewed fried rice.

“MK!” Pigsy barked. “No talking with your mouth full!”

MK noisily swallowed the food down, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and then asked again. “Why do your ears do that?”

Macaque frowned as he set his mug back down on the floor. He didn’t know how to respond to that, but he didn’t even get a chance to try as MK asked another question.

“And also, why do you hide them? What’s that all about?”

Macaque’s gaze fell to his feet, his face growing warm as he automatically covered his ears with his hands; doing so was a learned reaction on his part, enforced on himself after ceaseless mocking from the other demons of Flower Fruit Mountain. He remembered how relieved he had been when he had first figured out how to apply a glamour over them, and how the spell had become second nature to him over time.

It had been years—a whole lifetime or more—since Macaque had last lived on Flower Fruit Mountain, but the habit of glamouring his ears had stuck with him.

Wukong’s tail gently tugged on Macaque’s, reminding the shadow monkey that he was still there. Macaque fidgeted with the tips of his ears as he gave MK a mumbled response. “They look weird. And I don’t like when people stare at them.”

“But why?” Bai He asked, sounding confused. “They’re so pretty.”

Macaque’s face instantly flushed as red as a stoplight at the compliment, and he could feel his ears wiggling indignantly under his fingers.

“See?” Wukong said, as if Bai He had just proved him right. “It’s not just me that thinks that! You’re beautiful.”

Stop. Macaque’s brain couldn’t take any more compliments. The warmth from his blush felt like it was spreading across his entire body, making his skin hot and tingly, and leaving him feeling like he was about to combust, right then and there, leaving nothing more than a pile of ashes on his couch.

“Yeesh,” Tang mumbled quietly.

“They’re hopeless,” Pigsy grumbled under his breath in agreement.

Yep. This was it. Macaque was going to melt into a puddle of monkey-scented embarrassment. He was going to have to be scrubbed out of the couch cushions like an old stain. His ears were fluttering so much under his hands that he wondered if he would take flight were he to uncover them.

And Wukong seemed intent on finding out. He reached over and took Macaque’s hands in his own, gently pulling them away from Macaque’s ears. But then, he didn’t let go. Instead, he brought Macaque’s hands to his lips, and softly kissed his knuckles, his gaze never once leaving Macaque’s own.

A loud wolf-whistle cut through the air, courtesy of Mei, but to Macaque’s surprise he didn’t spontaneously combust right then and there. Instead, his body seemingly moving of its own volition, he gave Wukong a smile. A wobbly, toothy, stupidly happy smile, the likes of which hadn’t graced his face in a thousand years or more. Macaque felt like he was about to cry, but it wasn’t out of sadness or anger.

No, these… these were tears of joy. Which wasn’t an emotion that Macaque was sure he had ever had. Not this strongly, anyway. Long ago, he had thought he would be more than happy and content to spend his whole life on Flower Fruit Mountain, just him and Wukong, playing and eating and sleeping the day away together. And maybe he would have been happy with that.

But this, right here and now… with not only Wukong by his side, but a whole handful of people that cared about him … that he considered as his friends…

Well, Macaque didn’t think he could be happier.

“Do you wear earrings?” Bai He asked suddenly, breaking Macaque out of whatever sappy spell he had been put under.

“Uhh… no.” Macaque said slowly as he struggled to process the question; his mind felt like it was full of love-smitten butterflies rather than actual thoughts. “I’ve never worn them.”

“Hmm.” Bai He pulled out her phone and began to tap on its screen. “We’ll need to get you some, then. I wonder what they have online.”

“Huh?” Bewildered and caught completely off guard, Macaque shook his head slowly. “No, t-that’s fine, I don’t—”

“HEY!” Mei shouted from across the room, cutting him off. “DID I HEAR THAT WE’RE GIVING MACAQUE A MAKEOVER?”

“No,” Macaque hissed, but there was no real venom in his voice. “You’re not—”

“Yep!” Bai He and Sandy said in unison.

Really? Even Sandy had betrayed him? Wow.

Mei leapt up and pulled out her phone, already tapping away on it as she skipped over. “I want in!”

Macaque turned to Wukong for help, but to his shock and dismay, Wukong was giggling. He had a hand clamped over his mouth, but it did nothing to muffle the sound of complete and utter betrayal coming from behind his teeth.

“You are not helping!” Macaque shouted indignantly at his sorry excuse for a boyfriend.

Wukong only laughed even louder at his boyfriend’s distress, so Macaque sat back and folded his arms with a scowl, his tail lashing grumpily against the couch as Bai He and Mei began to discuss how exactly they planned to turn Macaque into their new fashion doll. But if Macaque was being honest, he wasn’t actually that upset about it.

Macaque flinched at the feeling of Wukong leaning into his side—he really wasn’t used to letting anyone sit in his blind spot—and his heart practically melted as Wukong nuzzled his face into Macaque’s neck with a purr. The soft vibration seemed to wash away Macaque’s stress like an ocean tide, replacing it all with a warm, calming sensation, and Macaque closed his eyes with a content sigh.

He never would’ve imagined that he would end up like this. And he never would’ve thought that he was good enough to deserve this—any of this. He wasn’t. But for some reason, Sandy and Bai He, and MK and Wukong seemed set on proving him wrong, time and time again. Even the others—Mei, Tang, and Pigsy—seemed to have welcomed him into their little friend group, and were there to support him, even in his weakest moments.

For reasons that Macaque didn’t understand, they all… cared about him. And although it had been hard for him to believe at first… he did now. He was cared for. He was loved.

And truly, he couldn’t be happier.

Chapter Text

Everyone left after the pleasant breakfast, but not before MK made sure to let Macaque know that he had told Red Son about Macaque’s condition.

Sheesh. Everybody had to know, huh?

Apparently, the fire demon had promised to stop by sometime and bring over a bottle of his (in)famous “fire cider,” to help Macaque with any lingering congestion. Macaque was afraid of the concoction by its name alone. But still he was polite, and he asked MK to thank Red Son for his thoughtfulness (neither of them needed to know that Macaque planned to chuck the gift in the trash promptly upon receiving it).

Once the others had all finally left (with many farewells and promises to visit again soon), the two celestial monkeys decided to spend the day indoors. It wasn’t like Macaque still had to go shopping today—or anytime soon, for that matter—thanks to Pigsy’s kindness, charity, and stubborn pigheadedness. Though, Macaque had to wonder if maybe that third part just came with being a pig demon.

And so, the hours passed. Wukong cleaned the house (with plenty of protest on Macaque’s part), while Macaque rested—Monkey King’s orders, and all that. Once the dojo was more or less spotless, the two monkeys settled down on Macaque’s worn-out couch to watch something on his beat-up box TV.

“What movies do you have?” Wukong asked as he dug through Macaque’s prized DVD collection. “Got any of the Monkey Cop series?”

“Of course not,” Macaque replied with a scoff. “I have taste, after all.”

“Hey!”

After quite a bit of bickering, the two finally settled on watching a musical. Specifically, The Phantom of The Opera. It was one of Macaque’s favorites. Wukong hadn’t been excited about the choice, but Macaque being oh so sick and weak and helpless had certainly helped in swaying the Monkey King’s vote.

And if Macaque had played up his illness a bit, well, Wukong certainly didn’t need to know.

Wukong fell asleep not even ten minutes into the movie. Macaque doubted that he had even tried to stay awake. But at least he didn’t snore. If he had, then Macaque might’ve smothered him. Instead, Macaque allowed the Monkey King to doze, sprawled out on the couch like a drunken college student after a night out on the town.

And if Macaque decided to use Wukong’s chest as a pillow, well, then that was Wukong’s own darn fault for falling asleep so quickly. With his right set of ears laying flat against Wukong’s ribs, Macaque could hear his heartbeat perfectly. It was sort of like a metronome, and with each beat, Macaque felt just a little bit more at ease.

Here, in Macaque’s home, with a movie playing in the background while he stole snuggles from his new (and long-yearned-for) significant other…

Well, Macaque couldn’t think of a better place to be.

Despite The Phantom of The Opera being one of the greatest musicals of all time (in Macaque’s opinion, anyway), the theater-loving monkey fell asleep before the end of the first act. Though honestly, he wasn’t surprised; he really needed the rest.

When Macaque awoke, he found himself in the exact position he had fallen asleep in: curled up against Wukong, with his head resting on the other monkey’s chest. As for Wukong, he was already awake, and scrolling on his phone. It was clear that he had stayed as still as possible to keep from waking Macaque up, and that kind gesture made Macaque feel all warm and squishy inside. Ick.

Wukong smiled once he noticed that Macaque was awake. “Hey. The movie ended a couple of hours ago, but I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Oh…” Macaque sat up and stretched, his tense, aching shoulders popping as he rolled them out. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s fine,” Wukong assured him as he sat up straight and put his phone in his pocket. “I ordered some takeout for dinner.”

Macaque frowned. “There’s plenty in the kitchen to cook with.” And there really was. Macaque probably wouldn’t have to go shopping again for at least a few weeks.

“Yeah, but I’m lazy.” Wukong replied simply with a helpless shrug.

Although he was a little annoyed with Wukong’s flippancy, Macaque had to agree—he was feeling pretty lazy, too. “What did you order?” He asked as he stood up and stretched again, popping his back for good measure. Couches were not made for sleeping.

“Italian,” Wukong answered as he followed Macaque’s example and got up as well. “I thought it sounded good. Now, come on.” Wukong turned away and walked into the kitchen, clearly expecting Macaque to follow him. “We’re not eating on the couch like a couple of bums. We’re having a date night.”

There was an audible record scratch in Macaque’s mind. “A what.”

“You heard me,” Wukong said smugly, and when Macaque made his way into the kitchen he found Wukong digging through the cupboards. “Where is your fanciest dishware? We’re making the most of this.”

“I don’t have fancy dishware, Wukong,” Macaque groaned. He was already feeling tired again, even though he had woken up from his nap not five minutes ago. He took the singular chair at the tiny kitchen table and watched as Wukong raided his cabinets and drawers for suitable dinnerware. “All I own is either from secondhand shops or dumpsters.”

And really, it was more or less true. He always bought the nicest clothes he could afford, but all of his furniture was either obtained from cheap deals he managed to score, or “liberated” from dumpsters and junkyards, after which they would be well-cleaned before being repurposed in his home. The fanciest dishes he owned were a couple of crystal wine glasses that he liked to use every now and then, when he was relaxing in his armchair with a good book. He didn’t have the funds for much else.

Wukong seemed surprised by that answer, and he turned to Macaque with a look of shock. “Really?”

“Yep.”

Wukong frowned, obviously concerned. “Do you… I dunno, need… money, or something?”

A surprised laugh bubbled up from Macaque’s mouth, catching him so off guard that he coughed. “N-no,” he answered, giving the Monkey King an appreciative smile nonetheless. “I’m good. I can take care of myself.”

Wukong scoffed incredulously. “Oh, really? Because I remember you telling Pigsy that you couldn’t afford food earlier.”

Oh. Yeah. He had admitted that, hadn’t he? Whoops. “Look, that… that doesn’t…” Macaque sighed, hoping that Wukong couldn’t see the faint blush of embarrassment dusting his cheeks from the other side of the room. “I’m fine, thank you.”

“Hmm.” Clearly, Wukong didn’t believe him. “How do you take care of yourself, then?” He asked as he returned to searching the cupboards. “You don’t have a job that I know of, so how do you make money? You steal it?”

“What? No!” Macaque protested. He was slightly offended at the accusation, even though he knew he shouldn’t be; he had stolen plenty of things in his lifetimes. But that was a habit that he was trying to break. Partly because it was bad, but mostly because law enforcement was much better at finding thieves than it used to be, and it wasn’t like he could just kill anyone that came after him. Macaque knew from personal experience that murder did not fix one’s problems. Honestly, stealing was just becoming more trouble than it was worth. So he didn’t do it anymore. Not much.

“Hey, I’m not judging,” Wukong reassured him as he stepped back from the cabinets with a small stack of plates in his hands, which he proceeded to set on the counter before continuing his search. “I’ve stolen plenty of stuff in my life.”

“I write, I’ll have you know.” Macaque said indignantly, and he folded his arms with an annoyed huff.

Now, that answer caught Wukong’s attention. “Oh?” The golden-furred monkey had found the wine glasses, and he brought them back over to the table. He then plucked a hair from his head and blew on it, turning it into a simple wooden chair, and sat down across from Macaque, clearly intrigued. “What do you write?”

Oh. Well, uhh… frick. Macaque hadn’t thought Wukong would want to know any more than that. Honestly, he would be surprised if Wukong could even read.

Okay, that was rude. You know he can read. He silently scolded himself. Be nice.

Macaque tapped his fingers against the tabletop, carefully looking everywhere but at Wukong’s face as he tried to act casual. “Y’know… plays, and scripts… books, sometimes, but, uhh… yeah….”

He trailed off, hoping that Wukong wouldn’t push any further. Macaque felt a little silly talking about it. Honestly, he would have been far more interested in pursuing his passion—acting—but that wasn’t a feasible career option for him. Not with all the fights and trouble that he often got into. He wasn’t very good at sticking to schedules, to put it lightly. And after the Lady Bone Demon’s puppet had shown up at his shadowplay performance and kidnapped him, well… Macaque had decided to lay low for a bit.

So he had started writing books. Short stories. Mostly romance, since that was what sold. It didn’t pay much, but it was an easy enough job once he got the hang of switching from script writing to story writing, and it had a practically nonexistent schedule. All he had to do was make sure he wrote enough to meet his deadlines. And, last but not least, he had been smart enough to use a pen name to save himself from embarrassment and blackmail, so really, it was all good.

Or it had been, until he had stupidly outed himself to Wukong without thinking. But maybe, for once in his very long life, Wukong would take a hint and let the subject go.

“Books? Ooh! Have you published any? Can I read one?”

But of course not. Wukong couldn’t take a hint, even if it was written on his forehead in permanent marker.

Macaque clenched his fists under the table, trying not to show the fact that he felt ready to fight or flee, but he was sure that his tail would give him away with the way that it was flicking nervously behind him. “Uhh… well…”

Thankfully, the gods seemed to be smiling down on him. Actually, scratch that; Macaque hated most of those heavenly pricks. Maybe fate—no, definitely not. He’d had enough of fate for a long time, thanks to Lady Bone Demon. Whatever. The doorbell rang before Macaque managed to come up with some sad excuse for an answer, and Wukong instantly leapt up from his seat.

“Oh! Food’s here!” Wukong announced cheerfully.

Macaque placed his hand on the table to steady himself as he began to stand up, but to his surprise Wukong took his hand and kissed it gently. “You stay right here,” Wukong ordered softly, giving Macaque a smile that could melt even the coldest of hearts. “Remember. I’m treating you tonight.”

And with that, Wukong left the kitchen.

Macaque sat in his seat, blushing for what was likely the thousandth time that day as he waited for Wukong to return with their dinner. Was Wukong sure that he didn’t need help? Because Macaque would be happy to help him carry the food back to the kitchen. Wukong didn’t need to be treating him, as the golden-furred monkey had put it.

But… it was a nice gesture, Macaque had to admit. Honestly, it was really sweet of Wukong to be putting this much effort into a meal, even if Macaque personally thought that it was a bit silly…

Macaque realized then that he was absently twirling a lock of his hair around his finger, and he smacked his own hand before sitting on it for good measure. Stupid. Don’t be ridiculous.

Instead of sitting there and daydreaming like a lovestruck sap, Macaque listened in on Wukong’s conversation with the food delivery person.

“Thanks! And uhh…” A faint jingling sound hit Macaque’s ears—it sounded like Wukong was digging through his pockets. “Here you go! Keep the change.”

The delivery person—young, from the sound of their voice—seemed to be rather surprised. “Sir, t-this is triple the cost of your order—”

“Okay, thank you, byyeee!”

The front door clicked shut, and a few seconds later Wukong appeared on the other side of the kitchen counter, holding a couple of plastic bags. He sat them down on the kitchen counter and then walked around to the other side, humming happily to himself as he got to work. Macaque watched as Wukong pulled styrofoam food containers out of the bags and began to dish them out onto plates, and he wondered if he should offer to help. That was way too much for Wukong to carry over to the table. Macaque should probably—

But nope. It looked like Wukong had it covered. With what was a rather impressive and slightly nerve-wracking display of acrobatics, Wukong waltzed over to the table with four plates—one in each hand, and two balanced on his forearms—all piled high with steaming, piping-hot food, and a bottle of wine, held loosely by his tail.

Macaque could practically hear the imminent shattering of dishes on his kitchen floor, and he held out his hands in an offer to ease Wukong’s burden. “Here, let me help.”

“Nope!” Wukong said proudly. “Just sit back and relax. I’ve got this.”

Macaque watched somewhat anxiously as Wukong managed to place the dishes down on the table one by one, and he sat the last plate in front of Macaque with a polite bow. “Dinner is served.”

It took every ounce of willpower that Macaque had not to roll his eyes at Wukong’s dramatics, but he somehow managed it, and as he looked at the small feast set out before him his mouth watered. The smells were foreign to him, but they were wonderful nonetheless. “What is all this?” He asked wondrously.

Wukong sat down across from Macaque and grabbed the bottle of wine hanging from his tail, popping the cork off with a lazy flick of his finger. He filled the glasses about halfway with the pale, golden-colored drink, and then sat the bottle down on the table before pointing at Macaque’s dish. “I got you some mushroom risotto,” Wukong answered helpfully. “Because it looks soft and mushy. Like rice.”

“That’s because it is rice, Wukong.” Macaque deadpanned.

“Really?” Wukong looked surprised. “Huh! That’s cool.”

Macaque resisted the urge to facepalm, but only just. Seriously… “Did you even look at what you were ordering?”

“Of course I did!” Wukong retorted indignantly, but then he cleared his throat and smiled, acting as calm and collected as ever as he took his glass and leaned back in his chair, swirling his drink like he was a professional sommelier or something. “And I’ll have you know that I picked out an excellent white wine to accompany our meal tonight.”

“Uh huh.” Macaque wasn’t able to hold back the eyeroll that time, but it was accompanied by a soft smile. Wukong was an idiot, but he was a cute one. And that made it okay. Somewhat.

“Anyway, I got myself some spinach tortellini, and I got some garlic knots for us to share.” Wukong continued as he pointed at said dishes, and then at the third dish, which held what looked like spaghetti, minus the tomato sauce. “But I also got an extra side of, uhh…” Wukong pulled the receipt from his pocket and squinted at the tiny print, like an old man reading a newspaper. “Cacio… e… pepe…? Y’know, in case you’re still hungry.” He stuffed the receipt back into his pocket. “It looked safe.”

“Safe?” Macaque repeated, confused.

“Yeah, like…” Wukong waved a hand towards Macaque, as if trying to gesture to what he meant. “Because your throat is still healing and stuff. The food looked soft enough that it shouldn’t hurt you. I think.”

Macaque scoffed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m protective,” Wukong corrected him. “There’s a difference.”

“Overly protective,” Macaque countered teasingly.

Wukong shrugged and took a sip of his drink, not caring to deny the accusation. He then set his glass back down on the table, and plucked a hair from his head. Before Macaque could ask him what he was doing, Wukong blew on the hair, turning it into a tapered candle, complete with a little stand, and set it down on the center of the table.

“Oh, gods,” Macaque groaned as he realized what Wukong was doing. “You are not lighting that.”

“Hmm?” Wukong hummed.

“I don’t need my house smelling like burnt monkey fur,” Macaque drawled. No, thank you.

“Aww, but the ambiance!” Wukong whined, giving Macaque his very best sad puppy impression. “I need to set the mood, Macaque!”

Macaque couldn’t help the chuckle that bubbled past his lips, and Wukong’s pleading look increased tenfold. “No, no,” Macaque said with a wave of his hand. “Absolutely not.”

“But Macaque…!”

Despite Wukong’s begging and almost irresistible puppy-dog eyes, Macaque shook his head with finality. “No.”

Wukong’s expression fell into a full-on pout, to which Macaque responded with a warm smile. “You’ve done more than enough,” he assured Wukong softly. “Thank you.”

Wukong blinked, as if he was surprised by the sudden gratitude, before smiling stupidly and raising his glass into the air. “Well, as they say in Italy, bon appétit!”

“That’s French, you dumbass.”

The meal was pleasantly wonderful, to say the absolute least. It wasn’t Pigsy’s cooking, but it was still pretty darn good, and Macaque managed to be only slightly less ravenous with his food this time around. Wukong didn’t seem to be grossed out, though. He just gazed adoringly at the shadow monkey across from him, seemingly more content with watching Macaque eat than actually eating his own food. He kept Macaque’s wine glass topped off (which Macaque thought was rather unnecessary), and the two of them shared in some quiet, simple, yet pleasant conversation.

And it was nice.

But there was a question that had been lingering on Macaque’s mind. He just… didn’t know how to bring it up. Maybe he should just let it go—it wasn’t a big deal, anyway, he could just… deal with it later. He didn’t want to mess up whatever was going on right now, because whatever it was… it was nice.

However, Wukong could tell that something was amiss. Macaque could see it in the way Wukong’s shoulders had tensed, and his tail had stilled. He was staring at Macaque with his golden eyes, as if trying to see right into him—into his deepest, darkest thoughts, where Wukong could then find whatever was wrong and make it right. And Macaque couldn’t hide it, even if he tried.

Wukong had always been able to see right through him, with or without those silly Eyes of Truth.

“What’s wrong?” Wukong asked him quietly.

“Nothing,” Macaque mumbled, dragging his fork along the edge of his bowl. “It’s just…”

Wukong waited patiently for him to continue.

Macaque sighed. “What… what happens now?” He asked timidly.

Wukong frowned, clearly confused by the question. And Macaque didn’t blame him for being confused; it wasn’t like Macaque was making any sense.

Macaque dropped his fork on his plate and instead grabbed his wine glass, leaning back in his seat as he took a sip of the drink and savored its crisp, fruity flavor and flowery aroma. He had already downed at least two glasses by this point, and he was feeling like he could definitely go for another. Being drunk made difficult conversations easier.

“Macaque?”

Alright. That’s enough stalling. Macaque put his glass back on the table, and folded his arms over his chest, trying not to fidget under Wukong’s worried gaze. He could hear his own pulse beginning to rise as he swallowed down the lump of nerves in his throat and asked:

“What happens now… between us? This…” Macaque gestured to himself and Wukong. “What are we going to do about this?”

“… I’m not sure I follow,” Wukong said slowly.

Despite his nerves, Macaque chuckled. Alcohol always made him a little more relaxed. “Where do we want this… thing between us, this… relationship to go?”

Relationship. That was one way to put it. Since it had only been a day since the two of them had confessed their feelings, did this even count as a relationship yet? Did it have the right to be called such a thing? To be referred to by such a significant term? It felt… strange, to refer to it as such.

Wukong was quiet as he mulled over Macaque’s question. Macaque picked disinterestedly at the bits of food on his plate, trying to squish down the anxiety bubbling up in his stomach as he waited for an answer. Was this even a thing that people asked in normal relationships? Macaque wouldn’t know. He had never been in a relationship, other than… whatever this one was. Sure, the idea of falling for someone else had crossed his mind here and there, but… even after all the fighting, and his death, and his long-held resentment, Macaque had just never felt the way he did about Wukong with anyone else.

Though now he was wondering if it would have been a good idea to have at least gotten some dating practice.

“Well…” Wukong cleared his throat, breaking the awkward silence. “Personally, I would like for this to be more than just a… a fling, or a short term thing, y’know?”

Macaque felt the same way. “Definitely. I couldn’t agree more.”

“Okay. Well…” Wukong tapped his fingers against the table in a rhythmic pattern. Macaque’s ears flicked at the sound of his claws clicking against the wood, but Wukong didn’t even seem to notice. “I mean, yeah, I… guess we need to work this out, huh?” The Monkey King mumbled, almost like he was talking to himself. “Like… are we going to start living together? Or something?”

Oh. Macaque hadn’t even thought about that possibility. How would that even begin to work out?

Wukong seemed to read his mind. “You’re welcome to move back to Flower Fruit Mountain, obviously.” He offered with a warm smile. “There’s plenty of room, and I’m sure the troop would be happy to see you. Those of them that, uh, still remember you, that is.”

“No.” Macaque said immediately, startling himself just as much as Wukong. And he scrambled to explain himself as Wukong’s hopeful expression fell. “I-I mean—look, I just… I need alone time.” His gaze fell to his plate, and after a few tense seconds he idly began to trail his finger along its edge, struggling to voice his thoughts. “I love you, Wukong, but… I like having my own place. I like the freedom that comes with it. I like that I can come home and take a break from things if I need to. When I need to. I love you, but…” I can’t go back to that.

And he couldn’t. He couldn’t go back to spending his every waking moment on that cursed island paradise, with nothing to do but lounge around and eat fruit and wait for Wukong to come home. He couldn’t go back to that place, where he had witnessed the deaths of hundreds of his friends and family by the hands of angry, vengeful gods.

He couldn’t go back to a home where he had felt so unwelcome for so long. It didn’t feel like home to him anymore, anyway.

Despite his attempt at softening his rejection, Macaque still expected Wukong to be upset. But to his surprise, the golden-furred monkey just nodded in understanding. “Of course,” he said gently. “But I want to see you more. I…” Wukong swallowed, and then reached forward and grabbed Macaque’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze as he gazed earnestly at the other monkey. “I’ve really missed you, Mac.”

“I’ve missed you, too,” Macaque admitted softly, a pleasant and warm feeling spreading through his chest as his ears fluttered at the simple, yet sweet nickname.

“And I want to make sure you’re doing okay,” Wukong continued, and his grip on Macaque’s hand tightened just slightly as he whispered: “I don’t… I don’t want you hurting yourself again.”

“… okay,” Macaque muttered quietly. “You’re welcome to come visit me whenever you’d like.” Umm, actually… “Well, uhh, most of the time, that is. As long as it’s not every day, I… I guess.”

To Macaque’s surprise, Wukong frowned. “Well, why can’t you come visit me?” He whined petulantly. “Why do I have to come all the way over here?”

Macaque rolled his eyes—albeit goodnaturedly—and smirked at the sulky monkey across from him. “You think I wanna stay in your little… bachelor pad?” Macaque scoffed, and wiggled his fingers for emphasis before picking up his wine glass. “I don’t think so.”

Macaque took a long, dramatic sip from his glass as Wukong pouted indignantly. “Well, if my house is a bachelor pad, then what’s this?” The Monkey King countered snarkily, gesturing to the house around them. “A bachelor mansion?”

Macaque nearly choked on his drink, and together the two monkeys devolved into mischievous, alcohol-induced giggling. Gods, it wasn’t even funny. But Macaque couldn’t stop the laughter bubbling out of his mouth, and just looking at the cackling monkey across the table from him made Macaque lose any sort of self-restraint he had managed to secure.

Though this was the only date Macaque had ever been on, he was fairly certain it would remain his favorite for a long time to come.

As their laughter died down, and the wine bottle was drained to its last drop, a comfortable silence fell over the two celestial monkeys. They were happy to sit there, saying no words, and just enjoying the pleasure of each other’s company. Macaque, feeling warm and full of both food and love, was content to fall asleep right there at the kitchen table. It wouldn’t be the first time he had done so.

But then Wukong spoke. “Y’know, Mac, I was actually wondering about something.”

“Oh…?” Macaque slowly rolled his empty wine glass along its base with the tip of his finger, hoping that it wouldn’t fall over. “Do tell.”

“Well… I’ve been thinking…” Wukong started slowly. Hesitantly.

“That’s dangerous,” Macaque quipped.

“Shush!” Wukong chuckled. “No, it’s nothing really, but I was wondering if I… if I could give you money.”

“… what?” The tipsy feeling buzzing through Macaque’s body left him almost instantly, and he sat up as he looked at Wukong with a mixture of confusion and alarm.

“Not like, y’know, as a handout!” Wukong said quickly when he saw Macaque’s reaction. “Just… money that should be yours.”

… well, that explained just about nothing.

“Like…” Wukong groaned and dragged his hand down his face, before taking a deep breath and starting over. “There’s a lot of Monkey King-themed stuff out there on the market, y’know?”

“… yes?” Macaque replied hesitantly. Where was Wukong going with this?

“Okay. Well, it’s not just the Monkey King that’s popular. The other pilgrims, and especially my so-called foes…” Wukong gave Macaque a meaningful look. “There’s merchandise for them as well.”

“W-what… what are you saying?” Macaque questioned bewilderedly. He was feeling more lost than ever, and he wondered if the alcohol was to blame, or if Wukong was just terrible at explaining his thoughts.

“I have the rights, and royalties, and all that legal stuff for anything pertaining to me, or any demons featured in Journey to The West that weren’t interested in keeping them for themselves.” Wukong revealed. “It was something that my lawyer team set up a while ago. And I have your copyright. The license for anything Six-Eared Macaque related, I have.”

Wait. Wait, wait, wait. He had a copyright? There… was stuff made about him? Like… like what? Macaque hadn’t really heard anything about himself when he came back from the dead, so he had figured that… he had been forgotten.

But now, Wukong was claiming that…

“There’s merchandise of you, Macaque.” Wukong told him excitedly. “It’s not as much as there is for me, obviously, but there’s still figurines and posters and collectable stuff. And you’re in a couple of shows, too. The character depictions aren’t very accurate, in my opinion, but it’s still your name. And your copyright, y’know? And all those mentions, and merch and stuff, bring in money.” Wukong reached across the table and grabbed Macaque’s hands, squeezing them tight as he smiled adoringly at him. “And I want to sign those all over to you.”

“I… Wukong, I…” Macaque silently cursed himself for drinking so much earlier. It had made him relaxed, at first; it had loosened his lips and freed his tongue, and allowed him to speak words that needed to be said. But now, the alcohol weighed heavily on his lips, making them slow and numb, and his tongue felt heavy and awkward in his mouth. And the warm buzzing sensation flooding his body, that had made him feel comfy and peaceful at first, now made him feel sluggish and confused.

Why… why was Wukong doing this? Why was he being so… nice? Why…?

“Like, any episode you’re featured in, you would earn royalties from that!” Wukong gushed excitedly, beaming eagerly at Macaque. “I’ll have my lawyers calculate how much that’s been over the years, and then I can pay you back any past dues.”

“Wukong…” Macaque cleared his throat. “You don’t have to do that, really…”

“You’re right,” Wukong said softly. “I don’t have to. But I want to.”

… has he always been like this? Macaque wondered to himself. Had Wukong always been this… this giving? This kind?

A younger, more innocent part of Macaque said yes—yes, Sun Wukong had always been this wonderful. But another war-hardened, broken-trusted side of him disagreed. Macaque didn’t know which part of him was right; he didn’t know which side to trust.

But right here and now, he could tell for himself that Wukong was being genuine. And even after all the hardship and heartache, Macaque was happy to have fallen in love with Wukong, and even happier that Wukong loved him in return.

“… thank you.” Macaque whispered at last. And he was grateful that Wukong hadn’t lit that stupid candle, because it meant that Macaque was free to lean across the tabletop and kiss his silly excuse for a boyfriend.

After dinner—sorry, their date night—the two monkeys cleaned up the kitchen, and then retired to the bedroom. Macaque, for one, was ready to wind down and go to sleep. A day of lounging around his house, napping like a spoiled cat, and eating rich, carb-filled food had left him tired and eager to sleep once more.

But Wukong had other plans.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am! One hundred percent.”

“Wukong… you’re going to kill me a second time. From embarrassment.”

How had Macaque forgotten? Earlier that morning, Wukong had promised to heal the rest of Macaque’s self-inflicted wounds later that evening. But the problem for Macaque was that the only wounds left were on his thighs.

And Wukong was insisting on healing them with kisses.

No matter how much Macaque protested—“Isn’t there another way to do this? Are kisses really necessary? Can’t we just leave the cuts alone?”—Wukong was stubbornly resolute in his decision. He was performing healing smooches, and he was healing Macaque whether said shadow monkey liked it or not.

So several unsuccessful arguments later found Macaque lying on his bed in one of his (clean) hoodies and a pair of gym shorts that he owned for whenever he felt like doing yoga. But it seemed his yoga sessions had done him no good, as right now Macaque was as taut as a drawn bowstring, his heart pounding in his ears as he struggled to keep his breathing steady. He was fine. This was fine. Wukong was just healing him. That was it.

Wukong knelt down between Macaque’s legs, and the dark-furred monkey’s heart leapt into his throat. THIS WAS FINE.

Wukong placed his hands on Macaque’s thighs, but he paused when Macaque flinched as if he had been zapped. “You okay?” Wukong asked, a tinge of concern in his tone.

“Y-yep!” Macaque squeaked as he pulled his hood up over his head and cinched it shut, to hide the fact that his blush was as cherry-red as his face mark. “All good!” Just get it over with, please and thank you!

He could tell that Wukong didn’t believe him, but the golden monkey dropped it for the time being, choosing instead to return to the task at hand. Wukong’s claws gently pushed up the right pant leg of Macaque’s shorts, revealing some of his remaining self-inflicted scars.

Macaque squeezed his eyes shut with a quiet hiss, his chest tight as he struggled once again to keep his breathing even. He stubbornly ignored Sun Wukong as the other monkey’s warm, calloused hands brushed against his smooth skin and silky fur. In. Out. In. Out. In—

Wukong leaned down, surprisingly gentle as he placed a soft kiss to one of the several scars decorating Macaque’s upper leg. He was as careful as could be, not wanting to cause the other monkey any sort of pain or discomfort.

Apparently, the feeling wasn’t mutual on Macaque’s end. At least, not according to the swift, impetuous kick that he immediately delivered to Wukong’s ribs in response.

The air was completely knocked from Wukong’s lungs in a harsh wheeze, and he fell onto his side, curling his arms around his stomach as he gurgled in pain. Macaque jolted up into a seated position, his face burning as bright and hot as an emergency flare as he tore the hood from his head and clapped his hands over his mouth with a horrified gasp. “I’m sorry!”

Wukong merely groaned painfully in response.

“I’m sorry!” Macaque said again, his hands flitting anxiously over Wukong as the other monkey struggled to catch his breath. “I-I didn’t mean to—”

Wukong finally managed to suck in a deep gasp of air, and Macaque was stunned into silence as the Monkey King… laughed. Despite having been kicked in the gut with the force of a full-grown horse, Wukong cackled as he sat up. Macaque leaned back, confused and honestly wondering if he had somehow broken the Monkey King.

“Oh! So that’s how it’s gonna be, huh?” Wukong asked, a mischievous tone ringing clearly in his voice as his tail wagged excitedly behind him, like that of a panther ready to strike.

“W-what?” Macaque asked bewilderedly. “What are you talking about?”

Wukong leaned over Macaque, pushing him back down onto the mattress as he rested his fingertips lightly against the sides of Macaque’s abdomen. “You started this,” Wukong informed him solemnly, sounding every bit like a judge sentencing Macaque to punishment. “Not me.”

… okay. Clearly, the kick had knocked something loose in Wukong’s brain, because he wasn’t making any sense. “What—”

But Macaque’s question was cut short by Wukong, who promptly dug his fingers into Macaque’s sides and began to tickle him.

“Hey!” Macaque yelped, caught off guard by the unprompted (in his opinion) attack. He tried to squirm away, but Wukong held fast, moving so that Macaque was pinned between his legs. Macaque couldn’t stop the involuntary giggling that forced its way up from his stomach, but he wasn’t happy so much as completely and utterly bewildered. What was going on? Okay, sure, healing kisses were a thing, but what was this supposed to be? Healing tickles?

They didn’t feel like they were healing him. In fact, all they were really doing was making him squirm and giggle like a little kid, and Macaque was honestly wondering if that was Wukong’s plan: to torture Macaque under the pretense of “healing tickles”, as revenge for kicking him—on accident, might he add! Accident!

Macaque’s stomach muscles felt like they were spasming under Wukong’s touch, and he gasped for air in between bursts of laughter. He couldn’t breathe! And Wukong wasn’t letting up. His fingers made their way up from Macaque’s sides to his armpits, and Macaque shrieked. The sound of his own voice rang painfully in his six ears, and it seemed to have caught Wukong off guard as well, as the golden-furred monkey leaned back with a look of surprise.

And Macaque took the split second of reprieve to escape. He sunk into the shadows on the mattress below him, and landed on his couch downstairs. Macaque coughed and gasped for air like he had just surfaced from a surprise dip in the ocean, but his moment of rest was cut short as his ears caught the sound of Wukong moving around upstairs. He could hear the creaking of the mattress as Wukong leapt from it, and the thudding of footsteps coming quickly down the hallway.

Frick.

Macaque barely had time to roll off of his couch as Wukong leapt over the second-story railing and landed on the cushions where Macaque had just been. The look in the Monkey King’s eyes was playful, but almost predatorial as he grinned ferally at the shadow monkey, and a shudder of fear ran down Macaque’s spine as he clambered to his feet.

“Stay still!” Wukong cackled as he lunged, his fingers just barely brushing the tip of Macaque’s tail as the shadow monkey leapt out of his way. “I’m trying to help you!”

“You’re insane!” Macaque shouted back at him, but there was no anger in his tone. In fact, he was struggling not to laugh as he narrowly eluded Wukong’s attempts at grabbing him. “How are tickles supposed to help me?!”

Oops. He shouldn’t have said that. By taking the time to question Wukong’s strange methods, Macaque hadn’t been paying complete attention to his surroundings, and he had backed himself into the corner of the training room. Wukong was blocking his escape now, but if Macaque acted quickly he could duck under Wukong’s arm and scurry off before he was caught.

Dropping down onto all fours, Macaque darted to Wukong’s right like a cornered mouse narrowly escaping a hungry cat.

But no, no, Wukong was far too close. He stepped into Macaque’s path, and as Wukong’s arms closed in, Macaque instinctively formed a shadow-portal beneath himself and dropped in. It was a last ditch effort to escape, and Macaque instantly knew that it was futile as he felt Wukong grab his ankle and yank him back into the training room.

The portal closed, and Macaque fell to the floor, too out of breath to fight back as Wukong playfully pinned him down. “Oh, the tickles aren’t supposed to help you,” Wukong explained helpfully, and he planted a kiss on Macaque’s left thigh.

Macaque didn’t even feel embarrassed by the situation anymore; he hardly even noticed the faint buzzing of magic as one of his scars was instantly healed. He was more focused on catching his breath as he stared into Wukong’s wild, mischievous eyes.

Wukong leaned back, his hand sliding down until it latched around Macaque’s ankle. “No, the tickles won’t help you,” he said again, his smile turning straight up diabolical as he grabbed Macaque’s foot with his other hand. “They’re just making this more fun for me.”

And with that horrible revelation, Wukong maliciously began to tickle the bottom of Macaque’s foot. Macaque shrieked and kicked like a horse, fighting to free himself, and as soon as he managed to break from Wukong’s grasp he quickly scampered away.

Wukong immediately gave chase, and Macaque, thinking fast, pushed over his weapons rack. Sandy and Mei’s hard work was destroyed in an instant, all for the sake of blocking Wukong’s path and giving Macaque a few extra seconds to escape.

And escape he did. Macaque managed to sink into the shadows, and close the portal behind him just before Wukong reached it. Now floating in the pitch-black weightlessness of the shadow realm, Macaque giggled hysterically to himself. It was like he could still feel Wukong’s fingers kneading his skin, eliciting laughter and giddiness and a warm, buzzing feeling that thrummed all throughout Macaque’s body and made him feel alive.

From his secret hiding place, Macaque could see Wukong prowling the training room, his golden eyes darting across every shadowed surface and his fingers outstretched and ready to attack. But Macaque wasn’t going to keep running from him. He was a warrior, for Buddha’s sake.

Now, he was going on the offensive.

It took at least a minute of waiting deep within the darkness for Macaque’s laughter to finally subside—he couldn’t risk giving himself away, after all. But once it had, he exited the shadow realm through Wukong’s very own shadow. The Monkey King’s back was turned; he hadn’t yet noticed Macaque’s silent return. And Macaque was going to use the brief window of opportunity to his advantage.

Wukong thought he could get away with this? With tickling Macaque to the point of tears? Well, he was sorely mistaken. And Macaque was going to pay the tickling back tenfold.

But to his dismay, Macaque’s efforts were all for not, because the second his fingers brushed against Wukong’s hoodie, the golden monkey whirled around and wrapped his arms around Macaque like a vise.

Abort! Macaque’s mind shouted frantically. Abort, abort, abort!

But Macaque couldn’t. He couldn’t flee. And instead of even trying to fight, Macaque’s knees went weak, and he sank against Wukong’s chest as he burst into drunken giggles once more. Wukong leaned down and hooked his arm around the back of Macaque’s legs, scooping up the shadow monkey like he weighed nothing, and when Wukong saw just how purple Macaque’s face had become, he began to laugh as well.

“Oh, my gods!” Wukong chuckled mirthfully. “Were you always this ticklish?”

It wasn’t like Macaque could answer him, even if he wanted to. He was still desperately trying to breathe between each laugh, and he was pretty sure he had started to cry, as well. He could feel a tear or two running down his cheeks as he threw his head back and cackled like a witch, his voice shrill and hysterical.

Wukong hoisted Macaque’s leg up onto his shoulder, and managed to place a couple of kisses to the monkey’s left thigh. But then Macaque noticed the look of gears churning behind Wukong’s eyes, and Wukong didn’t even hesitate before planting a third kiss to Macaque’s leg. But this time, he blew a raspberry against Macaque’s skin for good measure.

Macaque’s blood-curdling scream echoed through the rafters, accompanied by Wukong’s hyena-like cackling.

Macaque didn’t know how long his and Wukong’s… battle went on for, but by the end of it they were both back in Macaque’s bedroom, absolutely exhausted. Macaque was splayed on his back, wheezing for air. Everything hurt; he had been laughing for so hard and for so long it felt like his ribs were about to cave in.

But it was worth it. He hadn’t had this much fun in years. Centuries, even. He felt like he had gone back in time, to the early days of his existence. If he closed his eyes, then he could imagine that he was back on Flower Fruit Mountain, with Wukong lying by his side under one of the plentiful fruit trees. The two of them had laughed and played until they were both left breathless, and now they would rest as the moon rose into the inky sky, cooling their sweaty skin and lulling them into peaceful slumber.

Wukong was equally out of breath as he laid beside Macaque, but he managed to sit up and lean over to look at Macaque’s legs. If Wukong was going to start tickling him again, then Macaque couldn’t even do anything to stop him; he was completely out of energy by this point.

But no. Instead, Wukong ran his hand gently over Macaque’s skin, and after a few seconds of careful inspection he flopped back onto the bed with a smile. “There,” he whispered breathlessly to the monkey lying beside him. “All gone.”

And it was then that Macaque realized Wukong had been checking Macaque’s legs for any lingering scars.

Though Macaque’s heart was still pounding with adrenaline, a warm, fluttery feeling bubbled up inside of it at Wukong’s kindness—his wonderfulness—and Macaque gave the monkey next to him a toothy, yet adoring smile. He leaned in and rested his forehead against Wukong’s, and quietly whispered:

“Thank you.”

The next morning was bright and warm, and Wukong had somehow convinced Macaque to get up and go outside with him for some fresh air.

“Come on!” Wukong pestered him. “Let’s go!”

“Okay, okay,” Macaque grumbled. “Just let me lock the door first.”

Wukong scoffed, but it was good-natured. “Oh, so you lock the door now? Taking MK’s advice, huh?”

“Yeah. I do.” Macaque answered shortly as he turned the lock and stuffed his keys back in his pocket. “Maybe I should go back inside and lock you out.”

“Hey!” Wukong whined like an unhappy toddler. But Macaque didn’t care; he was far more focused on the somewhat familiar footsteps he heard coming up the sidewalk, and he turned to see an old lady shuffling towards him. She had short, curly black hair that had turned mostly gray, and glasses with lenses so thick they put Tang’s to shame. She was shorter than him, too, coming only to his shoulder when she stood up straight.

“Good morning, Mrs. Zhang,” Macaque greeted politely. Mrs. Zhang was his neighbor. Sort of. She lived in the apartment complex behind Macaque’s house (or bachelor mansion, as Wukong had lovingly referred to it as the night before).

Macaque had never bothered to get to know anyone that lived around him (he automatically knew more about most people’s personal lives than he would ever care to know, thanks to his hyper-sensitive hearing). But Mrs. Zhang had gone out of her way to greet him every time they crossed paths, asking him about his day and his “job.” She even left treats on his doorstep sometimes, like homemade bread and jam. She was a lovely old woman, and Macaque always found their interactions pleasant.

“Hello, Macaque!” She greeted him with a toothy smile and a wave. “I hope you’re feeling better. You had quite the nasty cough!”

Macaque nodded “Yes, I’m alright now. Oh! And if you wouldn’t mind waiting a moment, I could run inside and grab your thermos.”

Yep, that was right. Mrs. Zhang had left him a thermos of gunpowder tea on his doorstep a few weeks ago, with a note telling him to drink it and get better soon. It hadn’t been anywhere near as good as one of Sandy’s brews (though Macaque most certainly wasn’t going to tell Mrs. Zhang that), but he had deeply appreciated the gesture nonetheless. He had just been a little too under-the-weather to get around to returning her thermos, and had honestly kind of forgotten about it as the weeks had passed. Whoops.

Mrs. Zhang shook her head and gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “No, no. It’s alright. I got that on sale! You keep it.” And before Macaque could give his thanks, Mrs. Zhang pointed a gnarled finger at Wukong. “Who’s this?”

“Oh… this is…” Macaque glanced over his shoulder at the golden monkey, who looked surprised by the fact that Macaque actually knew anyone. “My… good friend.” That was an appropriate response, right? He wasn’t sure what else to refer to Wukong as, since honestly, “boyfriend” felt like a bit of an understatement at this point. But “lover” was definitely too much. Maybe. His mate, perhaps? But that was a term used most commonly in demon relationships. Did humans know what mates were?

“Oh, good friend, hmm?” Mrs. Zhang nodded sagely, but there was a mischievous twinkle in her eyes that immediately made Macaque feel uneasy and on edge. “Is he the one I heard giving you a good time last night?”

Mrs. Zhang winked, and Macaque stumbled back like he had been shot. As for Wukong, he began to shriek with laughter, and sounded every bit like a banshee. Oh, gods. OH, GODS. FRICK. NO. WHAT—T-THAT WASN’T—

Mrs. Zhang reached up and patted Macaque on the cheek with her wrinkly old lady hand. “I’m glad you’re doing better, dear,” she said gently, as if she hadn’t just embarrassed him more terribly than he had ever been before. “But might I suggest some soundproofing in the future? You can hang rugs on the walls. It’s very effective!”

Wukong was still shrieking, and Macaque wanted to strangle him. But even more so, he wanted to melt into the shadows and never resurface. However, all he managed to do was give Mrs. Zhang a meek nod, his face burning as red as a perfectly ripe tomato.

She smiled and patted his cheek once more for good measure. “Good boy.”

Mrs. Zhang turned and began to walk back the way she came, and Macaque watched her go, silently praying that they would never cross paths again. Who cared if she was a nice old woman who brought him food and told him cute stories about the bugs in her garden? He hoped he would never see her face again, because every time he did he would remember this exact, terrible, terrible moment.

But right before she turned the corner, Mrs. Zhang turned back and waved to Macaque. “I’LL BRING YOU SOME CHICKEN SOUP TONIGHT!” She shouted to him, even though he could hear her just fine if she just whispered (not that she knew that, though). “WHAT DOES YOUR BOYFRIEND LIKE? I’LL BRING HIM SOMETHING, TOO!”

“SOUP’S FINE!” Wukong called back, and ooh, Macaque wanted to slap him right across the face. “THANK YOU, MRS. ZHANG!”

“YOU’RE WELCOME, SWEETIE! YOU’RE VERY NICE! VERY HANDSOME, TOO! I LIKE YOU!” Mrs. Zhang waved at them once more. “GOODBYE!”

Stop it, please. PLEASE. This was more than enough torture for all the wrongs Macaque had committed in his life. He would never do wrong again. He would join a monastery! Just please—

Mrs. Zhang finally turned the corner, leaving Macaque’s sight, and the monkey’s immediate response was to open a shadow-portal underneath his feet and sink in. He didn’t know where it was leading to, but he didn’t care. He just needed to go—he needed out of here.

But Wukong quickly grabbed him by the back of his jacket, and lifted him up like a kitten by its scruff, pulling him back out of the shadow realm. “Nope. You’re not getting away that easily.”

Dang it!

Wukong placed him back on his feet, and Macaque immediately turned and buried his face in Wukong’s hoodie, his ears fluttering so quickly that they sounded like a little swarm of buzzing bees. Wukong chuckled at his lover’s misery, and wrapped his arms around him in a snug embrace.

“So,” Wukong mumbled, just loud enough that Macaque could hear. “Do you wanna let Mrs. Zhang know you’re gonna have another good time tonight?”

Macaque squeaked and slapped Wukong on the bicep. “Stop!”

And Wukong laughed.

Chapter Text

Several weeks had passed since anyone had last seen Macaque, when MK finally came to visit. He hadn’t heard from the monkey since the get-together at Pigsy’s about a month ago, and honestly, MK was pretty worried. Despite Macaque’s weird “grumpy loner” thing he had going on, MK still cared about him. They all did. Well, except for Pigsy, maybe. And Tang—the scholar seemed to be afraid of the shadow monkey, from what MK had seen. Though, maybe that was just Tang being Tang—he had always been sort of skittish. But anyway.

When MK had mentioned his plans during one of the group’s hangouts, Mei had offered to go with him. She wanted to see Macaque’s “gamer pad,” as she called it. And Bai He wanted to go, as well. She didn’t give a reason, but she didn’t need to—everyone knew how fond she was of Macaque. She had mentioned many a time during her recovery how she believed that Macaque had saved her life. And MK was happy that he wasn’t the only one in the group who thought Macaque wasn’t all that bad—maybe, with time, the others would befriend him, too.

And last, but not least, Sandy had volunteered to go as well. It hadn’t been a question; the water demon had just stood up and said he would be joining them. MK had actually been a little surprised by Sandy’s forwardness, but he had no reason to protest; the more people that cared about Macaque, the better. Maybe then the silly monkey would finally see that others did like him, despite how he so pessimistically believed otherwise.

So anyway, on that warm, sunny day, MK set off with his little posse of friends to check on Macaque. Pigsy had sent him with a bowl of noodles and extra broth, as a peace offering or something. MK hadn’t bothered to question it—he was just happy he didn’t have to spend his own money to give Macaque a meal this time around. He would be sure to mention it had been a gift from Pigsy, though. Maybe that would help Macaque see that they all cared about him in their own ways. Heck, maybe it would convince Macaque to visit a little more often.

MK would like that. He would like that a lot.

When they arrived at Macaque’s home, Mei was quick to give her opinion: “Yeesh. This place looks creepy. And abandoned. You sure anyone lives here, MK?”

“Uh, yeah!” MK retorted indignantly. “This is Macaque’s place. He used to train me here, before I… learned he was just using me to get Monkey King’s powers.” He paused then, chuckling nervously as Mei gave him an unimpressed glare. “Anyway, I’ve visited a few times since, and he totally lives here! He’s got a kitchen and a couch and a TV and everything. Totally lives here.”

“Well, should we knock on the door, then?” Bai He suggested helpfully from her perch atop Sandy’s shoulder. “I wanna say hi. Not just stand outside.”

“Oh. Yeah.” MK nodded thoughtfully. “We should definitely do that.”

So with the bag from Pigsy’s Noodles hanging from one hand, MK reached out and knocked on the front door with the other. His knuckles rapped loudly against its surface, and after a few taps he took a step back.

And waited.

Macaque hadn’t been good at answering his door lately, so MK wasn’t surprised when a couple of minutes passed without an answer from the other side. He stepped forward, ready to knock again, but faltered as Mei groaned loudly.

“Can’t we just open the door and drop the food off inside?” The dragon girl whined. “This place gives me the creeps, and not even the good ones. Besides, what if he’s not even home?!”

“I-I dunno,” MK mumbled, feeling rather uncertain of himself as his gaze landed on the doorknob. “I used to do that, but then Macaque started locking the door, so…”

If Macaque wasn’t answering, then he probably didn’t want to be bothered right now. Which meant that MK really should just drop the food off on the doorstep and leave him alone. But… MK was worried, dang it. He hadn’t seen Macaque in weeks, which normally wouldn’t be that unusual or concerning, but… the monkey had seemed really sick the last few times MK saw him. Macaque had denied it, but it was obvious in his sunken cheeks and the dark shadows under his eyes. Not to mention the cough; MK’s stomach churned every time he heard the wet, ragged hacking noise burst from Macaque’s mouth. There was no way Macaque was fine, no matter what he claimed. Sure, MK wasn’t a doctor, but even he knew that healthy people didn’t sound like that.

Surely Macaque would understand that MK was just checking on him. Besides, the monkey usually wasn’t too upset when MK visited, especially when MK brought him food. And MK wouldn’t stay too long, if Macaque didn’t want him around. He just…

He just needed to make sure that everything was okay.

Steeling himself, MK reached out, grabbed the doorknob, and turned it.

And it gave way without any resistance.

Alarm bells instantly began ringing in MK’s mind like a fire alarm. Macaque didn’t leave the door unlocked anymore. He hadn’t for weeks.

MK tried to reason calmly with himself: maybe Macaque had just forgotten to lock the door the last time he closed it. Yeah. That must’ve been it. Maybe the shadow monkey had… had a visitor, or something. MK knew that Macaque didn’t have many friends, but maybe… he had ordered food, or someone had dropped something off for him. After all, not that long ago MK had asked Monkey King to…

Monkey King! That was right! MK had sent Monkey King to drop off some food for Macaque a couple of weeks ago. He… well, he hadn’t heard much back from Monkey King since then, except for a text canceling their last couple of training sessions. When MK had asked why, Monkey King had simply texted back that he wasn’t feeling up to it. Which was odd, especially for the Monkey King, of all people.

Maybe Monkey King had caught whatever illness Macaque had. MK certainly hoped that wasn’t the case; he didn’t need to be dealing with two mopey monkeys.

Anyway, that… that must’ve been why the door was unlocked. When Monkey King had visited, Macaque must have forgotten to lock the door behind him. MK would have to scold Macaque for not being more careful, but he supposed he couldn’t blame the monkey too much—it was easy to forget things like that when you were sick.

The door creaked loudly as MK pushed it open, and the noise echoed through the empty entryway in front of him. It was dark, but when MK stepped inside to reach for the lightswitch, he immediately recoiled as a disgustingly putrid scent hit his nostrils.

“Oh, gods!” Mei shouted behind him; MK looked over his shoulder and saw that she had pulled the neckline of her shirt over her nose, and he could practically see the tears in her eyes. “What is that smell?”

MK had no idea what the odor was, but to say it was revolting would be a grave understatement. It smelled like something had curled up in the dumpster behind Pigsy’s restaurant and died.

It smelled like something was rotting.

The fetid stench permeated the still air, and only grew stronger as MK walked into the kitchen. There, he saw that the wooden floor was stained with a dark, tarry substance. What… is that?

The ever-optimistic part of MK’s mind spoke up then. Maybe it’s, uhh, soup! Maybe… maybe Macaque was cooking, and he spilled something. Yeah, that’s probably it.

But for some reason, deep down… MK knew that wasn’t the case. He just… he could just tell that something was wrong. It hung over him, like a chill in the air on a cold winter’s morning.

So he crouched down beside the puddle, and hesitantly touched it with his finger. It had long since dried, but was ever so slightly tacky against his skin. There were little flecks of light brown in the mess; they looked like… flower petals. Dried flower petals, sort of like the flowers that Sandy would sun-dry to make his teas.

Confused, MK pulled his hand back and brought it up to his face. The mysterious substance had stuck to his fingertips, and up close MK could see that it was a dark red. He gave a cautious sniff, and a coppery, acrid smell burned at his nostrils.

It was blood.

MK jumped up and stumbled back in horror. He bumped into Mei, who caught him before he could fall. MK’s heart was pounding against his ribcage like a trapped rabbit, and he turned to the dragon girl with wide eyes.

“MK?” Mei said worriedly. “What’s wrong?”

“T-That’s—Mei, that’s—” The words were swarming around MK’s mind like a hive of bees, and he struggled to make them leave his mouth in a coherent sentence. Blood, that’s BLOOD, oh my gods that’s—

“MK?” Sandy sounded worried as he set Bai He down on the floor and handed her her crutch. “Take a deep breath, alright?”

“Where’s Macaque?!” MK finally managed to blurt out. He shot out his hand and latched onto the sleeve of Mei’s jacket, his fingernails digging into the fabric. “Mei, have you seen him?!”

“What? I dunno where he is!” Mei exclaimed. “I just followed you inside!”

“We need to find him!” MK felt like he was on the edge of hysterics. “Now!” Because what if Macaque was hurt? What if he had been attacked, or what if his illness had gotten worse? The blood on the floor was old—how long had it been since it was spilt? Was Macaque okay? Or what if… what if he was—

Sandy stepped in then, and he gently pried MK’s hand from Mei’s arm. “Alright, let’s all calm down,” he said peacefully, with a pointed look towards MK. “You kids stay here, and I’ll go take a look around the place.”

No. No, that—MK couldn’t stay back. He couldn’t just stand there and wait, when Macaque could be gravely injured.

Or worse.

MK wrenched his hand from Sandy’s grasp, ignoring the others shouting after him as he turned and ran out of the kitchen. The rancid odor hanging in the air only grew stronger as MK entered the training room, and his gaze immediately landed on a figure lying at the foot of the stairs.

“Macaque!”

MK nearly tripped over his own feet in his haste to cross the room, and he fell to his knees just inches from where Macaque was laying. The monkey was on his side, facing away from MK. Had he fallen down the stairs? Was he unconscious? What if he—

As if the whirlwind of thoughts racing through MK’s mind wasn’t enough, the smell had also gotten so much worse; it was enough to make him nauseous, and MK barely managed to hold in a gag as he reached out and grabbed Macaque’s upper arm.

It was cold. Surprisingly so. The movement startled a couple of flies that MK hadn’t noticed, and they buzzed angrily as they flew around him in circles, like teeny tiny vultures. How… how long had Macaque been lying there? How long had he been unconscious? Did they need to call an ambulance, or—

But when MK rolled Macaque onto his back, he was greeted by a strangely… horrific sight. The monkey’s face was… covered in flowers. Thousands of little pink petals had engulfed his face, spilling from his mouth and nose and seemingly sprouting from his right eye socket. The few patches of skin that MK could clearly see—on Macaque’s ears and hands—were pallid and dull.

He… he didn’t understand. What was this? Where had the flowers come from? There was no way Macaque could breathe with all those flowers blocking his airway, so with a shaking hand, MK tried to brush the petals away.

But they didn’t budge. And it was then MK realized that, somehow… the flowers were growing out of Macaque’s body.

It was like a bolt of ice-cold lightning had suddenly struck MK, shooting down his spine and all the way to the tips of his fingers and toes. He could feel his every hair stand on end, and it felt like electricity was crawling under his skin. The air left his lungs in a rattle of fear, and he forgot how to breathe it back in.

No. No, no, no, no no no no—he can’t be, t-there’s no way h-he’s dea—

A large hand grabbed MK by the arm and dragged him backwards, pulling him away from Macaque and his own spiraling thoughts. He was hauled to his feet and forcefully turned around to face Sandy, who planted his hands firmly on MK’s shoulders.

“MK! Just breathe, okay?” Sandy ordered him, but the words… they weren’t processing in MK’s mind. It felt like his head was on a swivel, and MK couldn’t control himself as he slowly turned, looking over his shoulder at… at Mac—

But Sandy’s big blue hand gently cupped MK’s cheek and turned him away from the morbid sight. “Don’t… don’t look, little guy.” Sandy told him, and the giant’s voice shook just slightly. Like he was trying not to cry. “You don’t need to see that.”

Sandy’s hand, which was gripping MK’s shoulder tightly, was the only thing keeping MK from collapsing at that moment. He felt like he couldn’t breathe; like each breath that he managed to take in just flowed uselessly into his lungs and then straight back out, leaving him empty and struggling for air. His heart was beating so frantically, so strongly, that he could feel it pulsing in his fingertips.

He felt like he needed to run. Where, he didn’t know, but he needed to run. He needed to get his feet under him, and get them moving. He needed them to carry him far away from here, and to keep going until he couldn’t feel anymore. Until he had forgotten what was left behind, until he couldn’t remember the awful sight he had seen. The nightmarish image that was now permanently imprinted in his mind, that he could see as clear as day every time he blinked. He needed to run, and run, and keep running, until he couldn’t see it anymore.

But he couldn’t move. MK could only stand there, trembling so terribly that if he somehow managed to take even one step, then he would surely collapse. No, he could only stand there, not even three feet from the nauseating smell and flies and withering flower petals that would surely haunt his nightmares for years to come.

Mei rounded the corner, and MK could only watch as she walked up to him and Sandy, a look of confusion on her face. He watched as her gaze drifted past him, landing on the… the body behind him. The corpse on the hardwood floor behind him. He saw how her eyes went wide with shock, and her face paled. She took a step back, then looked at MK and Sandy, and asked in a voice far too weak and faint for her usual demeanor:

“Is he… dead?”

And silence followed. She was the first to say the word aloud—that cursed word. Dead. Macaque was… dead.

MK swayed dangerously on his feet, and Sandy was quick to steady him before he could fall. MK looked up at the water demon, waiting for him to answer, because MK certainly couldn’t. He didn’t remember how to speak, or walk, or…

But Sandy wasn’t willing to say it, either. No one wanted to confirm what they all already knew. So instead, Sandy sighed, and it was the most sorrowful sigh MK had ever heard. He could practically hear the tears that Sandy was barely holding back, in an attempt to appear strong for the two children in front of him. “I’ll… take care of it,” Sandy said at last, his voice gravelly and strained. “You two, go outside and wait for me. Keep an eye on—”

But he was cut off by a shrill, terrified scream.

Bai He.

They had all forgotten about the little human girl. And there she was now, standing on the other side of the couch, her gray eyes locked onto the body on the floor. It took MK a moment to realize that she was hyperventilating, and he knew that… that someone needed to do something to help her, but… he couldn’t move. He couldn’t…

Mei was the first to react. She turned and bolted towards Bai He like a cheetah, snatching the girl up in her arms and darting out of the room before she could see any more of the horror that was Macaque’s decaying corpse. Bai He’s crutch clattered to the floor, forgotten in Mei’s rush. MK watched it fall, as if in slow motion, but the sound of its metal frame striking the floorboards fell on deaf ears.

Normally, MK would have jumped up and been ready for action—ready to protect, ready to defend, ready to help in any way that he could—but he hadn’t even flinched at Bai He’s scream. He felt like he was frozen in place—like his blood had turned to ice and hardened his body from the inside out, turning him into nothing more than a dazed, unfeeling statue.

It was… strange. He had never felt like this before. He…

He didn’t think that he liked it.

Sandy squeezed MK’s shoulder, and MK blinked slowly, before finally managing to lift his head and look up at the giant. Sandy’s mouth was moving—that meant he was speaking, right? MK could faintly hear the water demon’s voice: “Go join the girls outside. I’ll call Pigsy and ask him to pick you guys up.”

But MK couldn’t obey; he couldn’t nod, or move his feet, or walk himself out of the room. He could only stand there and stare at Sandy, afraid that if he moved, or spoke, or so much as breathed, that this… this would all become real. Because it didn’t feel real just yet.

And MK wanted to keep it that way.

Something in Sandy’s eyes changed—he looked sadder, yet… understanding. Empathetic, perhaps? And he sighed. Gently, Sandy placed his hands on MK’s shoulders and guided him over to the wall on the other side of the couch. He helped him sit down on the floor, crouching down as he asked MK if he would be okay on his own for a minute while Sandy made a call.

MK didn’t answer. He didn’t even nod. From there, he couldn’t see Macaque. He couldn’t see his decomposing body sprawled out on the floor, where he must have fallen. Where he must have laid for days, with no one coming to find him, or help him, o-or…

Sandy stood and turned away, and MK watched as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. The blue giant tapped on his screen, and then put the phone to his ear.

“Pigsy, I need you to come and get the kids. M-Macaque, he’s—”

There was something near the doorway that caught MK’s eye, and when he looked over he saw that it was a familiar plastic bag.

Oh, the noodles. MK must have dropped them when he ran into the training room. When… when he saw…

The broth was beginning to soak into the floorboards. And the noodles had probably gone cold. But the flies didn’t care. They were buzzing happily around the forgotten food container, uncaring of the life-changing events that had taken place in that very room. They were greedy little things that were content to feast on whatever food they could find, whether it be stale noodles or rotting flesh. They didn’t understand the loss that MK felt. They didn’t have feelings.

… MK wished that he didn’t have feelings, either.

MK didn’t know how much time had passed, but eventually Tang and Pigsy arrived. Sandy had carried him outside and set him on the doorstep beside Bai He (who was still inconsolable), and MK had proceeded to just… sit there, feeling incredibly numb. He was surprised that he hadn’t cried yet.

Did… did that mean that he was a bad person? Did that mean that he didn’t care? No, no. He cared for Macaque—of course he did. Probably more than anyone else in the group.

So… where were the tears? Where was the sorrow? Why did he feel so… empty inside?

A vehicle pulled up in front of the building, drawing MK out of his trance. It was Pigsy’s food truck. He watched as said pig demon climbed out of the driver’s seat, with Tang following close behind him. The two newcomers made their way over to the little ragtag group of broken children, their own expressions ones of poorly masked grief.

“How… how are you kids doing?” Pigsy asked gruffly.

Mei, who was leaning against the old brick facade of the building, looked away with a shrug. Bai He was still sobbing too much to answer. And MK… well, he felt like he couldn’t speak. It was like his lips were glued together, or perhaps like they were made of stone. They refused to move and allow his voice to slip past.

He didn’t know what he would say, anyway. What was there to say? How was he doing…? Not good. That much he knew for certain. And Bai He and Mei didn’t seem to be doing any better.

Pigsy sighed heavily. “Alright.” He leaned down and took Bai He’s hands, carefully pulling her to her feet. “C’mon, girly. Up you go. Tang, you got her?”

Tang nodded and grabbed Bai He’s crutch from where it was resting against the stairs (Sandy had brought it out for her). He held it out to the girl, but she shook her head, still hiccuping between each heartbroken sob. Even though she couldn’t speak, it was obvious what she was trying to say: she didn’t want to go.

MK didn’t want to go, either. He… he couldn’t just leave him. He couldn’t just… go, and leave Macaque behind. He couldn’t leave him alone.

Though, MK supposed it was too late for that now. He had left Macaque alone for weeks, at the monkey’s request, and now…

The damage was done.

“Mei, can you help them to the car?” Pigsy asked the dragon girl.

Mei hesitated for a couple of seconds, before nodding uncertainly. She stood up and walked over, taking the crutch from Tang and tucking it under her arm. Together, she and Tang took Bai He by the arms, and walked her over to the food truck.

MK watched them go, and he was somewhat surprised to notice just how… bright it was outside. The sun was shining, and the weather was warm and breezy; he could hear children a street over, shouting and shrieking with laughter as they played.

But… why was it still sunny outside? Why was the weather still bright and warm, as if today was a good day? Why did it feel as if the world just… didn’t care?

MK wanted to get up and scream at those kids to stop it—stop playing, stop laughing, stop being happy. Because there was no reason to be happy on this awful day. Didn’t they know what had happened? No, of course they didn’t, but couldn’t they feel the gloom hanging overhead? MK certainly could. It was like a cloud of darkness looming over him—one that he would never be able to shake.

And it wasn’t affecting just him. He could tell that it was hanging over the others, too. With Bai He it was obvious, but Mei… she wasn’t crying, but MK had never seen her so quiet—so distant and withdrawn. Sandy and Pigsy were obviously affected, as well. Even Tang, everyone’s favorite chatterbox, was unusually silent.

MK watched as Tang and Mei helped Bai He up into the passenger’s seat of the truck, and Mei sat beside her as Tang shut the door. The scholar then walked around to the front of the vehicle, and gave Pigsy a solemn nod: the three of them were ready to go.

That left MK and Pigsy, alone on the doorstep.

“C’mon, kid.” Pigsy coaxed gently as he extended his hand out MK. “Let’s go home.”

… why? What was the point? Going home wouldn’t fix anything. But sitting here wouldn’t fix anything, either. No matter what MK did, no matter how hard he tried… he couldn’t fix anything. Nothing would bring Macaque back to life. All they could do now was… plan his funeral. MK wondered if he would even be able to convince Monkey King to show up.

Wait.

Monkey King.

MK ignored Pigsy’s outstretched hand, and instead pulled his phone out of his pocket.

“Kid?” Pigsy questioned. “What’re you—”

“Monkey King,” MK mumbled numbly. “He…”

He needs to know.

MK felt like he was on autopilot as he watched his fingers move across his phone screen. He tapped on Monkey King’s contact, and then hit the call button before he fully realized what he was doing.

Okay. He could do this.

MK took a shaky breath, and lifted the phone to his ear. As he listened to it ring, he sort of hoped that Monkey King wouldn’t pick up. Because then MK wouldn’t have to share the awful news. He wouldn’t have to give voice to the terrible truth; he wouldn’t have to give it life—give it form. Give it power.

Right here, right now, in this strange sort of limbo—this calm before the storm—MK could just exist.

But then there was a click. “Hey, bud! What’s up?”

… and MK finally broke.

The sound that left MK’s mouth wasn’t a word; instead, it was closer to the cry of a dying animal. A raw, broken wail tore itself out of his chest, bringing with it the tears he had thought himself too stoic and unfeeling to have. Fresh, hot tears rolled down MK’s cheeks as he curled in on himself, feeling every bit like the weight of the world had suddenly decided to crush him into nothing but dust.

“Kid,” Pigsy said gently, holding out his hand. “Gimme the phone. I’ll tell him.”

MK shook his head vehemently, his free hand coming up to pull at his hair. No, no! He had to do this, he had to. He just needed to… to get it together, MK! Pull yourself together!

Over the sound of his own cries, MK could just barely hear Monkey King on the other end of the line; he sounded alarmed. “Kid? MK?! What’s wrong? Where are you?”

Just do it! Tell him!

Instead, MK screamed. The sound was anguished and broken, perfectly reflecting MK’s current state of being, and as it trailed off he felt bile take its place in his throat. He was crying so hard, he was going to throw up.

Pigsy knelt down beside MK and pulled him into a hug, just like he had always done, ever since MK was little. He tucked MK’s head into the crook of his neck, and rested his bristly chin in MK’s messy brown hair. When MK had been just a child, he had had nightmares. He’d had scraped knees, and stuffy noses, and bad days. And Pigsy’s warm, enveloping hugs had always been just the thing to make all of it right. To make things okay again.

But it was doing nothing for him now.

MK hardly even noticed as Tang took the phone from his hand and walked away, bringing it to his ear as he took upon himself the burden of telling Wukong what they had all lost. Pigsy’s embrace grew tighter, and a hysterical sob bubbled out of MK’s mouth as he hid his face in Pigsy’s greasy, old, button-up shirt.

“Hey, you’re okay,” Pigsy whispered softly as he rubbed small circles into MK’s shoulder. “Just breathe, sweet pea. I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

No, he wasn’t! He wasn’t okay, and he wouldn’t be ever again!

“I know it hurts,” Pigsy told him. “And it’s gonna hurt for a long time. Longer than you think it should. But you’ll be okay. Just give it time. We’ll all be okay.”

But… what about Macaque? Macaque wasn’t okay. He hadn’t been okay. He had been alone. Alone, with nobody there to care for him, or give him hugs, or whisper sweet nothings and assurances in his ears until he was okay again. He had been alone w-when—

The sun was still shining. The birds were still chirping. But the kids on the next street over had gone quiet, likely confused and afraid of the animalistic scream they had no doubt heard. But they didn’t know what was going on—what tragedy had taken place. And they would forget all about the strange noise by the end of the day, never knowing why it had happened.

It was a warm and sunny day, with chirping birds fluttering along in the cool breeze, as MK broke down in his father’s arms.

The funeral was held on Flower Fruit Mountain. The location had been Monkey King’s decision; he had said that, although Macaque hadn’t lived on the island in a very long time, it was still his home. After all, Macaque had been his. His subject. His friend. His warrior.

His moonlight.

And what kind of king would Sun Wukong be if he didn’t welcome his warrior home?

There wasn’t much of a service to be given. No one knew what to say. No one knew what had happened. One day, Macaque had been there, and the next… he hadn’t. It had been clear to all of them that Macaque was sick with something, but they had never learned what.

And now it was too late. The only one of them that might have known anything was Sandy, but he hadn’t spoken a word since the day they found Macaque’s body. It was clear that he hadn’t slept, either. The bags under his red-rimmed eyes were prominent on his blue face, and he looked… smaller than he had before. It was like he was trying to curl in on himself; trying to hide away from the world. Trying to hide from those around him. He looked…

He looked guilty. And it looked like his guilt was eating him alive. But no one knew why he would possibly be guilty of anything, because he wouldn’t say a word. No one could get him to speak; not Pigsy, nor Tang. Not MK, Mei, or Bai He. Not even Mo. He was just… silent. It was like his voice had been taken from him, along with any semblance of the joy or peace he had once had. The gentle blue giant was now only a shell of the friend they had all once known.

And nobody knew why.

But in the end, few words were said. Only MK and Wukong spoke. MK told them all that, despite Macaque’s initial malice and deceitful ways, he had turned out to be a true friend in the end, and a hero in their time of need.

“I only wish that…” MK choked, and tears filled his eyes, his voice cracking as he struggled to speak. “I wish that he had trusted us. And I hope… I hope that… he saw us as his friends, too. Because he was our friend.”

Wukong’s words had been colder. More formal.

The Monkey King stood before them like an army general, his posture stiff and his hands clasped firmly behind his back. “Macaque… Liu’er Mihou… was not a bad person.” He stated matter-of-factly. “He never was. He had a difficult life, most of which was caused by my own doing. I… I was not the king that he needed. The friend that he needed me to be. And I regret that deeply.” His gaze fell to the ground, and his voice grew just a bit quieter, as if he was speaking to himself. “I will regret that for the rest of my life.”

Monkey King was quiet for a long moment—so long, that the others began to wonder if he was finished. But then he took a deep breath, and continued.

“I hoped that… despite our past, we could make amends. Of course, I… had no right to expect that. And I don’t blame him for wanting nothing to do with me.” Wukong’s tail curled timidly around his right calf, but he didn’t seem to notice. “I… don’t have much to say. Honestly, I’m not sure he’d even want me here, speaking at his… his…”

Wukong shook his head, cleared his throat, and tried again. “Macaque. If you could hear me right now, then I… I would tell you that I… I’m sorry. For… everything. I…”

Whatever Wukong meant to say, it seemed that he couldn’t find the words. He stood there, his mouth agape, as if waiting for the words to pour from his lips.

But there was only silence.

Wukong closed his eyes, took a deep, shaking breath, and exhaled. His voice was strained and on the verge of cracking as he spoke again. “… I’m sorry.”

And with that, he stepped aside. There was nothing more to be said.

There was no viewing held, either. They had all already seen the current state of Macaque’s body, and… none of them wanted to see it again. So the body had been wrapped in red silk. The same color as Macaque’s familiar threadbare scarf. The same color as his beautiful face marking.

Wukong wished he could see that face again—just once more. But… the flowers that now marred Macaque’s corpse were unnerving, to say the least. The delicate little pale-pink peach blossoms, which normally might have added beauty to a person’s look, had burst through the shadow monkey’s cold, unfeeling skin, spreading over his face and down his neck, across his chest and all the way down to the backs of his hands. It was as if they had sprouted from his very pores, their roots drinking straight from the blood in his veins.

And no one wished to see that. Especially not the children, who had been the first witnesses to such a gruesome sight. Thus, the body had been wrapped in pure, unmarred, carmine-red silk, that was smooth to the touch, and worth far more than anyone would care to admit. It was the least that could be done for the fallen warrior.

So with no viewing held, and a weak eulogy given, it was time for the burial.

Wukong dug the grave by himself. Sandy had quietly offered to help—MK, too. Even Pigsy had extended his aid in the menial task. But Wukong had stubbornly refused them all. He alone had clawed away the dirt with his bare hands, until a decently-sized recess had been made in the earth, in a quiet grove high up on Mount Huaguo and far away from the Water Curtain Cave. MK had had to stop Wukong before the hole was too deep. The Monkey King hadn’t even seemed to notice when his task was done, his once brilliantly golden eyes now dull and glazed over as he shoveled away the dirt, handful by handful.

Once the grave was dug, Wukong gathered Macaque in his arms. The shadow monkey was limp and cold—lifeless under the silken layers of shimmering red cloth. Wukong held him as if he was made of glass—as if the slightest mistake would cause Macaque to shatter and crumble to dust in Wukong’s grasp. He had already caused Macaque so much pain and suffering at his hands; he couldn’t bear to let that happen anymore, even in death.

So slowly, and ever so carefully, Wukong took one trembling step, and then another. His boots crunched through the upturned earth, giving sound to the otherwise silent clearing. The body in his arms seemed to grow heavier with every step, and although Wukong’s strength was legendary, this… this felt like too much for him to bear.

And yet he persevered. Because that was all he could do. He couldn’t stop this; despite all his strength and power, Sun Wukong had never learned how to turn back time. So all he could do now was walk, putting one foot in front of the other, and carry Macaque to his final resting place.

No one noticed the trembling of Wukong’s hands under the weight of the body they carried, nor the way that his bottom lip quivered as he bowed his head, his shoulders sagging as if the weight of the world was resting upon them. And he wouldn’t let them see. They didn’t get to see Sun Wukong crack and break, because if he did, then he knew that no one would be able to put him back together.

No. He couldn’t break down now, because this…

This was his burden to bear.

Now standing at the foot of the open grave, Wukong hesitated for a split second before leaping down into it. The hole was snug, the earthen walls far too close for Wukong’s liking. Flashbacks flickered in his mind of his time spent trapped under the Five Phases Mountain. He could practically feel the rock and dirt pressing down on him, burying him alive.

But he shook his head. This wasn’t about him. He would just have to grit his teeth and bear through the discomfort because this… this was for Macaque. He was doing this for Macaque.

So as gently as he could, Wukong laid the cold, silk-swaddled body of his dearest friend down inside the grave.

… and he struggled to let go. His hands clung to the red fabric, not wanting to let go. Because once he let go, that was it. They would seal the grave up, and then… then he wouldn’t get to see him anymore.

He wouldn’t get to see Macaque anymore. He wouldn’t get to see his face, or his silky black fur, glistening in the sun’s rays. He wouldn’t get to hold his hands, and feel the calluses on his fingers and palms, caused by a lifetime of fighting and struggle. He wouldn’t get to touch his smooth, once warm skin, or run his fingers through his fur, relishing in the softness of it.

So he wanted to stay here. Right here.

But he knew that he couldn’t. With his task done, it was now time to leave. But…

Wukong couldn’t bring himself to climb back out of the grave. He couldn’t… just leave Macaque there, he…

Just… bury him too, please. Bury the two of them together, side by side, so that neither of them would be alone anymore. Let the flowers consume what remained of Macaque’s body, and then let them spread to Wukong’s. Let them claim his flesh, just as they had his shadow’s, and let them feast until there was nothing left of him. No more pain, no more hurt. No more longing or heartbreak.

Please.

But then MK spoke. “Monkey King?”

And Wukong knew that it was time to go. It was time for him to leave the grave, and leave Macaque behind, because there was nothing more that could be done. There was nothing left between them. This…

This was the end of their journey together. And no matter how much Wukong wanted to, he couldn’t stay there, down in that dark hole in the ground, because he couldn’t die. He would never be able to join Macaque. Never again be able to stand by his side.

Not even in death. Curse his damned immortalities.

Taking a deep breath to steel himself, Wukong turned and climbed out of the grave. He clambered out of that hole in the ground, and it felt every bit like he was leaving his soul behind. Maybe because he was.

After all, what better word could be used to describe his black-furred other half?

The moment Wukong’s feet hit the earth, it took everything that he had not to start running. He wanted to run far, far away, from this nightmare of a place. He wanted to leave Flower Fruit Mountain behind, because how would he possibly be able to think, or function, or even sleep at night on the island, knowing that his faithful warrior had finally returned home, only to rot away in a hole in the ground?

How would he ever be able to bear it?

Wukong’s hands shook terribly as he knelt down and scooped a handful of loose dirt into his palms. He held his cupped hands out over the grave, but when he looked down, and saw the red-wrapped body lying inside, he…

He couldn’t do it. His hands refused to move, refused to release the dirt and let it fall, refused to bury his friend yet again. He… he couldn’t—

MK appeared at Wukong’s side. And he knelt down, took the Monkey King by the wrists, and gently pulled his hands apart. The dirt fell from Wukong’s unwilling fingers, raining down into the hole where it proceeded to land on the body, sullying the pure red silk with which it was wrapped.

Wukong barely managed to keep himself from screaming. No! No, you can’t, please! Don’t bury him! PLEASE! Instead, he sucked in a rattling gasp, and he could feel as his strength left him all at once. Wukong caught himself on his hands, just barely managing to keep himself from completely collapsing. It felt like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the clearing, leaving him on his hands and knees, gasping quietly for air. He couldn’t do this. Not on his own. He couldn’t, he…

I can’t.

MK reached into the loose dirt, grabbed a fistful of the dark soil, and tossed it into the grave. Wukong watched the bits of dirt sprinkle down, and it felt like little pieces of his heart were falling with it, down into the grave, where they would be buried alongside his beloved friend.

If this was how they were going to fill the grave, then it was going to take all day, if not all night. Just dropping the dirt in, handful by meager handful. Wukong didn’t really mind, though. After all, this… this was the last moment he and Macaque would get to spend together.

And he had to savor every second of it.

Sandy knelt down on Wukong’s other side, and he was silent as he scooped a huge mound of dirt up in his giant hands and poured it into the grave. Ah. With Sandy’s help, this… this painstaking process would go by a lot more quickly. Wukong knew that he should be grateful, but instead, he wanted to fight back. He wanted to shout at Sandy to get away—at all of them to leave. Leave him to his misery. He would do this. He alone would bear this burden.

But he knew that he couldn’t do that. He wasn’t Macaque’s friend anymore. He didn’t deserve to be here. If anything, it should be the others filling the grave, not him. They were Macaque’s friends, in the end.

He wasn’t.

Together, the little group worked by hand, filling the grave and burying the remains of their shadowy friend. Everyone helped. Even Bai He; Mei knelt by her side and gave her dirt to toss in, since Bai He wasn’t able to lean down and grab it herself. MK, Sandy, Mei, Bai He, Pigsy and Tang; they all worked to fill the grave. Wukong managed to toss in a few more handfuls, but by the end he was just kneeling there, watching as his old friend was buried before his very eyes.

Once the dirt was all placed back into the grave, and the body completely buried, Wukong set a small slab of stone at its head, upon which they placed incense and fresh fruit—mainly peaches and plums and apricots; whatever was growing on the mountain at that time of year. It wasn’t the best it could have been, but… it was what they could manage. And Wukong would be sure to tend to the grave daily. He would make sure that it was given a proper headstone, with a proper table upon which to set offerings. He would tend to the plants that would undoubtedly begin to grow over the grave, and he would pluck away any weeds, allowing only the most lovely of vegetation to grow. Jasmine, aster, and maybe camellias…

Wukong would keep watch over his fallen warrior, until the day that the stars fell from the sky and the sun refused to rise. He would keep watch until the end of the world—until there was nothing left in existence except for him, Macaque’s remains, and the grave.

It was his burden to bear. And his alone.

Tang knelt at the foot of the grave, and offered a prayer. They all stood around him in reverent silence as he prayed for Macaque to find peace in the afterlife, and to move on swiftly towards reincarnation. But Wukong knew that wouldn’t be the case. Macaque… had a lot to answer for in the Underworld. And Wukong was sure that Macaque’s punishment for breaking out of the Underworld wouldn’t be kind. The Ten Kings did not take kindly to rulebreakers; Wukong knew that from personal experience.

If Wukong could, he would take it all away. He would take each and every one of Macaque’s punishments upon himself, and bear each torturous moment with a smile, if only to give Macaque even just a brief respite from his eternal prison sentence. Because Macaque didn’t deserve this. After all the pain and suffering he had been through, all Macaque deserved now was to be happy.

But Wukong couldn’t even give him that.

As Tang prayed, Wukong realized that the scene before him right now was… hauntingly familiar. He was worried that if he so much as blinked, he would be back on his pilgrim journey, all those thousands of years ago. Instead of Tang kneeling at the grave, he would see Tripitaka. Instead of Pigsy and Sandy and Mei standing to his left, he would see his old brothers: Zhu Bajie, Sha Wujing, and Ao Lie. He would feel the golden fillet resting snugly against his brow, just a few words away from causing him excruciating, unbearable pain.

But then there was a tearful sniffle to his right, and a trembling hand latched onto his sleeve.

MK.

Wukong’s successor leaned over and rested his head on the Monkey King’s shoulder, his tears quickly soaking into the fabric of Wukong’s shirt.

Right, he… Wukong wasn’t there anymore. That was the past. Now he was in the present, once again standing over the grave of the only person he had ever managed to truly love.

Because the Monkey King was a selfish being by nature. At the beginning of his far too long life, he had only cared for those that he felt were his, or that offered some kind of use to him. Macaque, as one of his faithful subjects, and a powerful celestial being, had fit into both of those categories.

But Macaque had also been more than that.

He had been Wukong’s friend. His one and only true friend, who had never tried to use him or turn on him, like the other Sages had. But Wukong hadn’t seen that—hadn’t noticed that Macaque had been all that he ever needed.

Not until it was far too late. Not until his hands had been irreparably stained by Macaque’s blood. Even long after the carmine liquid had been completely washed from his flesh, Wukong could still feel it there, coating his fingers and pooling in his palms. He could feel it even now, permanently marking him not only as a murderer, but as a traitor. A selfish bastard of an ape, who allowed his anger to control him one too many times, and take from him his most prized possession.

It had been a soul-crushing experience to bury Macaque the first time, all those thousands of years ago. But having to bury him twice… now that was a special kind of Hell, meant solely for Sun Wukong.

And the cherry on top was the fact that now, he would never get to tell Macaque how he truly felt. After everything they had been through, after how much he had changed—had grown as a person—he would never get a second chance. He would be left alone, with only his unrequited love, left to rot and fester inside of him.

And he fully deserved it.

As the hours passed, the others left one by one. Bai He was the first to go—she had to get back home to her family. Sandy carried her down the mountain, and he didn’t return.

Tang left next. And then Mei. Pigsy stayed a while longer, but eventually he left as well. But not before giving MK a pat on the shoulder, and saying that they would all be waiting for him on Sandy’s boat.

And at last, as the sun began to set in the west, turning the ocean into a myriad of gold, red, purple, and blue waves, MK gave his farewell. He whispered a broken goodbye to the Monkey King, and walked away.

Leaving Wukong all alone, with nothing but the damning reminder of all his mistakes and long lost chances.

The sun sank below the horizon, and the moon slowly rose above the island’s highest peaks. And Wukong didn’t move a muscle. He stood there, keeping silent vigil over the dead. If someone were to walk by and see the sight, they might think he was a statue. A statue of a forlorn and broken king, forever mourning the loss of his beloved, and doomed to watch over them until the end of time.

But no one saw him. No one came to the burial site. Not even his curious monkey subjects dared to come close. So he was left alone, to stand watch as the stars flickered to life in the night sky, and all the world fell into slumber.

Hours passed. And it was the dead of night, with shadows blanketing the land, and stars twinkling high above in the dark aether, when the tears finally began to fall. They rolled silently down Wukong’s cheeks, and dripped from his quivering chin onto the dark soil at his feet. Once the first few drops slipped past his cold, stoic mask, others quickly followed. Like a surprise rain in early spring, the tears poured from his eyes. Wukong couldn’t keep them at bay any longer, no matter how hard he tried.

There was no one to see, and no one to hear as a broken cry hiccuped from Wukong’s lips. Others followed, all disjointed and ugly and broken, just like him. His cries went unnoticed and uncared for in the silence. There was no one left to hear him.

And there was no one left to hear as his breath caught in his throat, and he began to cough. There was no one there to witness as he brought his hand to his mouth, and no one to see the small little thing that fell from his lips into the palm of his hand.

Wukong pulled his hand away, and was bewildered to see a small sliver of pink resting in his palm. A flower petal. Small, but with color more vibrant than that of a peach blossom. Wukong brought it to his nose and gave a cautious sniff, and although the smell was faint, he recognized it immediately:

Plum blossoms.