Work Text:
“What are you thinking?” Macaque would always ask.
Whenever he caught him alone with his thoughts, whenever the feeling of doubt started gnawing him inside out, Macaque would immediately turn his head. Like a newly developed sixth sense, an instinct made for him and him alone.
It made his heart full, his stomach filling with butterflies for reasons he did not know but welcomed it nonetheless.
He would sometimes describe this feeling as beautiful; beautiful because of the way it would leave him in awe, even turning his head to appreciate life itself. Sometimes, he describes this feeling as simply being happy; happy because of the many reasons his mind could think of. How Macaque would run his fingers through tousled fur as light as a feather, how Macaque would listen closely for all the tales he has to share and remember every single detail, how Macaque would be the only one able to see through the usual smile and laughter he gave.
It was amazing how Macaque was easily able to read through him as if he was made of glass. His entire being, like a scroll found in the middle of an old library, left alone for none to open but one.
Whenever Macaque would ask, it was always just the two of them. No brotherhood, no celestial realm. Always under the moonlight, near the shore, a place of comfort and quiet and peace with the waves accompanying the silence.
It was almost like routine, an unspoken pattern that weaved beautifully between them.
Wukong would always find himself appreciating it.
They would sit on the sand, cross-legged while relaxing under the moon. Macaque would place his hand on his knee, a wordless offer for Wukong to take.
Of course, he would, always. Taking it without a second wasted, their hands perfectly fit as if it was the missing piece of the puzzle. He would never deny Macaque as it would be against the will of his heart.
His heart which had been offered to the moon a long time ago.
Then Wukong would start speaking, telling him the woes that echoed in the deepest depths of his mind. He wouldn’t notice how much time he took, but he would always finish when the moon was at its peak. He would feel the weight he carried off his shoulders lift so little, how a thumb he knew so well would rub comfort against his palm. He would then look at Macaque sheepishly, trying to laugh off whatever he said as if it was nothing but dust in the wind, trying to convince Macaque to do the same.
But Macaque wouldn’t do that, who was he trying to fool?
Macaque would look at him as if he was the world, as if Wukong himself was the one who littered the stars in the sky. If Wukong wasn’t seven times immortal now, he knew he would simply drown under those beautiful mauve eyes, let him be lost if he stared any longer. Then Macaque would pull him closer by the hand, to which he still tightly held onto it and never letting go. He would realize an arm had enclosed around him, feeling and embracing the warm comfort it gives against the cold breeze of the night.
Macaque would then whisper next to his ear his reassurance, his solace, the words Wukong needed to hear and he would listen and listen and listen until… he didn’t know.
He held onto Macaque’s words like they were his lifeline, almost laughing to himself out of relief because Macaque always knew what to say. How the heavy burden he carried being the hope of his brotherhood became fragments that were crushed one by one, until it was nothing but for the wind to blow away.
They would stay at the beach until dawn breaks the horizon, until they were found by their friends sleeping in each other’s hold.
It was a beautiful pattern, carefully made by the two. Wukong could only admire it for so long. But to finish a pattern, the thread must be woven on both sides.
Wukong would always find him by the cliffside where the moon was, watching and seeking the constellations that were unending and countless. He would notice the prettiest of six lotus-shaped petals that were his ears revealed only to him and him alone. It twitched at the sound as Wukong stepped on a dried leaf but he didn’t turn around.
His tail swayed with the wind, a silent invitation that Wukong understood the most.
Then he would sit down behind him, waiting in silence, counting the stars above their heads as much as he could, until he felt fur brushing against his. Without turning his head and with the guidance of his peripheral vision, he would see how their tails entwined and tried so hard to calm the beating of his heart.
Macaque would lean on him, Wukong brought his knees to his chest to keep him from falling over. Then Wukong would ask, “What are you thinking?”
But he didn’t, because Macaque spoke first.
As if the pattern broke, it was as if predestined. Even the most talented seamstress can make mistakes.
“Hey… Wukong,” Macaque began and the air changed immediately at a pace even he couldn't see. He brought his hands together, suddenly feeling cold though his body could withstand any. He waited for Macaque to continue, “can you promise me something?”
There was something that lingered, thick and heavy. Something he couldn’t name but he went on as he looked at Macaque, “Yeah?”
Silence, suffocating silence. He started to fidget around his fingers.
“If I’m gone, you’ll still talk to me, okay?” A faraway look came into those mauve eyes. It was distant, unreachable even for the Great Sage.
“That’s silly.” He denied, “Why would you go? We’re sticking to this together!” You won’t go anywhere, right?
Macaque didn’t answer.
For the first time in his life, Wukong felt dread. This has got to be some kind of prank, the brotherhood were even in on this. Just to see his reaction, right? Maybe if Wukong indulged in it more, Macaque would laugh, he would say his face looks stupid and Wukong would laugh too because this is nothing more than just an unfunny joke set up for him.
He tried to smile, painfully plastering it on his face, “How would I talk to you if you were gone?”
“The moon.”
He laughed at that, “Alright.”
It was the same night on the same cliffside. With the same moon and the same stars hanging on the same sky. The familiar suffocating silence never left since that day.
Wukong sat alone, watching and seeking the moon above.
He never came back to this place until now, couldn’t handle the pain it caused, the grief it placed, and the loss he had. He’s made too many mistakes, a lifetime’s worth. Keeping everything to himself was like cracked glass holding water, while the moon was pressure.
Wukong tried to remember what he said as everything began to blur. It was as clear as day in his mind, he regretted the laugh he let out back then.
He looked at the moon, parting his lips to let out a shaky breath. He presents him that strained smile he feels like he’s doing every now and then. How sad.
Wukong began, his voice close to faltering, but he continued, “Hey, bud… How have you been?”