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There was an odd thing that kept happening, Wukong noticed, where Macaque would just appear on the mountain. He’d been doing it since the fight with the Lady Bone Demon–never to Water Curtain Cave, of course–and he’d just exist there. Admittedly, Wukong had been wary the first couple of times it’d happened, but it seemed Macaque had no ulterior motive. At least, none that Wukong could figure out.
Every so often, with no warning or pattern, and only if Wukong was on a specific part of the mountain–the place they’d stopped to recover after the Lady Bone Demon fight–Macaque would appear. Sometimes Wukong poked at a fire long into the night, stargazing with no company, and sometimes Macaque’s lithe form would bleed into the clearing from the treeline, wisps of shadows solidifying into a red scarf.
It wasn’t like they were being friendly, Macaque never came without a dry remark or taunt, but they weren’t punching each other, either, which was a huge step forward in their situation. From barely tolerating each other’s presence to sharing the occasional sunset. From a distance, of course, Macaque never got too close. “So, is this what we’re doing now?” Wukong asked absently. “I know we’re being civil for the kid, but…”
Macaque hummed from where he lay on the ground. “I guess so?” Since MK had dragged Macaque kicking and screaming into helping them beat the Lady Bone Demon, the worst Wukong and Macaque did now was argue, but they mostly just talked, and on both accounts, the topics were never anything substantial. “Fighting isn’t nearly as fun with MK giving us sad, puppy dog eyes about it.”
The fighting hadn't ever been fun, MK or no MK, but Wukong wasn’t quite ready to confront that, yet. It felt easier to pretend he enjoyed the ‘frenemy’ thing they had going on. And he did, to some extent, it wasn’t entirely a lie. The banter was probably the most social interaction he got outside of training MK, and it had always been fun to tease Macaque, though the jabs had a bit more bite now than they did.
“You’ve gotten pretty soft for the kid, huh?” Wukong teased, and grinned at the warning scowl he got in return. “Aw, don’t worry, bud! Your secret’s safe with me.” Macaque rolled his eyes and turned over, laying on his side in the grass. “Big ol’ softie,” he taunted.
“Don’t make me come over there, Wukong,” Macaque threatened, though it was completely devoid of any malice, rolling so that he was on his back again and giving Wukong a half-hearted glare. “Seriously, I do not wanna get up.”
Wukong snickered, flopping backwards in the grass and stretching out. “Long day of scheming, Macaque?”
“I do other things, you know,” Macaque countered. “Picked up a couple hobbies over the years. Unlike some people, who spend all their time on a mountain.”
“It’s amazing that you have time for hobbies,” Wukong commented, closing his eyes and settling into the grass, “considering all the time you spend praying on my downfall.”
“Downfall,” Macaque scoffed, “implies that you haven’t already hit rock bottom. At this point, I’m praying on your burial.” Wukong snorted and blindly reached out with a hand to swat at whatever part of Macaque was closest, and he was met with something sharp and small colliding with his knuckles. “Hands to yourself, Great Sage. There’s a lot more pebbles where that came from.”
Hissing in pain, Wukong shook out his hand and tucked it behind his head. “Jerk,” he muttered. “Thought we were being civil.”
“I can be civil and throw rocks at you,” Macaque replied easily. “I’m a great multitasker.”
Wukong grumbled, “Great, big thorn in my side, is what you are.” He watched a few clouds idly cross the sky for a moment before admitting, “Being civil is so boring.” Picking up a rock and tossing it over the cliff’s edge, he asked, “Do you wanna go to the moon, or something?”
There was a moment of silence, then Wukong heard Macaque shift. “Do I what?”
“Well,” Wukong tilted his head back to catch a glimpse of Macaque's confusion, “when me and the kid and his friends were getting the rings, we had to fly up to the moon, so I built this rocket and-”
“Yeah, I heard,” Macaque interrupted.
“Oh,” Wukong blinked at him. “The kid tell you this story already?”
“No, moron,” Macaque said, “I heard. Do you have any idea how loud a rocket is? Could have heard you a thousand miles away without the four extra ears.”
Wukong snorted, “Alright, smartass, I got it.”
“Also, side note,” Macaque continued, “why are you inviting me to the moon?”
“Because I’m bored,” Wukong groaned. “And there’s a really nice lady named Chang’e up there and she doesn’t get a lot of company.” Giving a flippant wave, he added, “Plus, she’s a chef, so we’d probably get a good meal out of it, and- oh! The best part!” He held up his hands to indicate a vague, small shape. “She’s got these adorable bunny robots that I definitely don’t want to steal-”
“No! I meant-” Macaque paused, taking a slow breath. “I meant, why are you asking specifically me to go to the moon with you in your stupid death rocket? Just ask the kid, I’m sure he’d love to go to the moon with you again.”
Wukong huffed. “First of all, I got us to the moon and back, with absolutely no death. So, I think I’m pretty great at making not-death rockets, actually.” Macaque chuckled. “And, second of all…” and he found that he didn’t have an answer for Macaque’s question. “Huh.”
Macaque made an unsure noise. “Is this a trap?” he asked. “This feels like a trap, you-” There was a sharp inhale. “Were you going to throw me into space or something? Dude-”
“No!” Wukong protested. “Look, you got that sun and moon theme that you like so much, so I thought I’d take you to the actual moon, you stupid… moon warrior, you-” He crossed his arms with a huff. “Ah, whatever.”
A slightly bewildered, “What…” reached Wukong before Macaque let out a startled laugh. “Oh, there’s actually no ulterior motive to this,” he said. “You’re just being nice.”
And that- it didn’t necessarily bother Wukong, but he wasn’t sure how to feel about it, either. Most of their communication relied on barely concealed insults and argumentative banter, not… meaningful offers to visit the moon for a nice dinner.
“Aw, man,” Wukong covered his face with his hands, “that is what that is, isn’t it.”
At that, Macaque outright laughed. Not the mean sort of cackle that Wukong had grown used to, just a genuine laugh–at Wukong’s expense, of course, but still. “Getting soft on me, Wukong?” He hummed in thought. “I mean, I guess I could go to the moon with you, since you’ve so graciously offered. You know, if I have the time.”
That seemed to be as far as Macaque was willing to take the teasing, giving Wukong an out from the conversation. “What do you do in your free time?” he asked. “Still doing plays and stuff?”
“When I get the chance, yeah,” Macaque replied. “Been doing some work with my shadow magic, too. Decided to branch out a little in the last few decades.”
Wukong tipped his head back to look at Macaque. “Where do you perform at? In the city?”
Macaque shrugged. “Sometimes,” he said. “Haven’t done anything recently, though.” He plucked a blade of grass and held it aloft. “It’s been a while since I’ve been on a stage, now that I think about it,” he added, a wistful afterthought.
“How come?” Wukong rolled over and propped himself up on his arms. “What, you suddenly develop stage fright or something?”
For a moment, Macaque didn’t say anything, simply watched as the stripe of green between his claws swayed listlessly in the wind. “Nah,” he said finally, letting the breeze take the grass as his arm dropped to rest on his stomach. “Nothing specific. Just haven’t gotten around to it.”
The statement left Wukong with a choice. He could confront the very obvious lie, which could have potentially drastic consequences, or he could ignore the fact that there was definitely a reason that Macaque hadn’t done any more plays recently. “What was your last performance?” he asked. “Something Shakespeare? I know you were always a fan-”
“Actually,” Macaque interjected, “I don’t think you want the answer to that question.”
“Was it something weird?” Wukong tilted his head curiously. “Like, uh… what’s the one with the donkey?”
“Wukong.”
“‘Midnight Summer’s Dream’, or something,” Wukong continued, letting his chin rest in his hand, observing Macaque as he became increasingly frustrated. It was a fine line between what counted as banter and what would start a fight, and Wukong was rather comfortable in the grass. “Did you have to be the donkey?”
Macaque’s nose scrunched. “Ew.”
“Did you have to kiss the donkey?”
“No!” Macaque exclaimed, sitting up and turning to look at Wukong. “Look, first of all, it’s ‘Midsummer Night's Dream’, and second of all, no.”
Wukong shrugged. “I can keep guessing,” he suggested. “You have been on a moody streak the last few centuries. Was it something murder-y? Like- oh! Like, ‘Macbeth’!” He grinned. “I bet you’d make a pretty good Lady Macbeth.”
“I’d make a fantastic Lady Macbeth,” Macaque corrected, “but, no. That wasn’t it, either.”
“Dang it,” Wukong huffed, pushing himself up so that he was sitting, making him face to face with Macaque. Sort of. Face to face, from about five feet away, which was the closest they got when they weren’t fighting. He was surprised to find that bothered him, that he was closest to Macaque when they were at each other’s throats. “Well, I don’t actually know a lot of plays, so I’m out of guesses.”
Macaque chuckled. “You never would have guessed it, anyway,” he said, though it lacked the mocking tone it usually had. “Last thing I performed on stage was a shadow play I wrote myself. Not my best work, but it was alright, I guess. Got the message across.”
“What was it about?” Wukong asked.
And there was a moment, a flash of uncertainty, a furrow in Macaque’s brow, that made Wukong second guess asking. Maybe it was something personal. Maybe Wukong and Macaque weren’t at that point in their… situation, to be asking about personal things. Macaque had always held his performances close to his chest, even back when they were friends.
“It was,” Macaque said slowly, choosing his words carefully, “a story about…” The furrow in Macaque’s brow deepened. “I can’t-”
“You don’t have to,” Wukong interjected quickly. “I mean-” he stammered, because he couldn’t stand to see Macaque uncomfortable, but he couldn’t stand Macaque knowing that, either. “I didn’t realize your little shadow play was so terrible that you couldn’t talk about it.”
It was strange being so close to Macaque again without the blur of fighting, to see every minute expression so clearly, even if Wukong couldn’t quite place them. Something like relief, and a deep-rooted hurt, both there and gone before Macaque’s gaze evened, and with a scoff, he replied, “I’d like to see you write a play,” and they were back to banter. Crisis and conversation avoided, just like that.
“I bet I could.” Wukong wished he still understood Macaque as well as he used to. He could see Macaque’s claws toying with the frayed edge of his scarf, clearly bothered by something. Maybe a thousand years ago or so, he could have identified why, just by the way Macaque’s gaze drifted to the side or the way his tail flicked. “And I bet it’d be way better than yours.”
Another thousand words flashed between Macaque’s eyes and the twitch of his claws. He opened his mouth hesitantly, having a very clear debate with himself before replying, “Well, the kid thought mine was pretty good.” He shrugged. “Came back to see it three times.”
Wukong narrowed his eyes. “Ah,” he said slowly, “I see.” Not a shadow play. The shadow play. The one MK had reluctantly told him about in the back of Sandy’s van. A lesson, he’d said, and not a kind one, either. “You were right. I didn’t like that answer.”
“Told you,” Macaque was pointedly looking anywhere but Wukong. And he was left with another frustrating choice about whether or not he was confronting this. He certainly had a lot of things he wanted to say about the whole mentoring conflict they had going on, and most of those words weren’t very nice. But, then again, Macaque hadn’t been very nice, either.
Macaque knew that, though. There wasn’t a lot that Wukong could say about the situation that Macaque wasn’t already crystal clear about. It was harsh and cruel and unnecessary to teach a lesson that way when MK would have responded so much better to just talking. There was a part of Wukong that was so unbelievably angry, could spout off a hundred colorful phrases about how stupid and irresponsible and awful it was for Macaque to take MK’s friends and use them like puppets for the sake of a lesson.
At the end of the day, though, Macaque wasn’t going to do anything like that again, and they both knew it. Didn’t really seem like a fight worth starting, all things considered.
Besides, there were a lot of things that Macaque could say about Wukong, too, a lot of stupid and irresponsible and truly awful things. Macaque had done Wukong a mercy by never making a comment about his eye, or what had followed after. Of all the ways Macaque could have gotten MK on his side, revealing what’d happened to his face might have been the easiest, and easy to prove, thanks to the scar he kept hidden behind his magic.
And yet, for reasons that Wukong hadn’t figured out for the immortal life of him, Macaque… hadn’t. Despite how much he hated Wukong, Macaque had resorted to trickery and shadow plays to get through to MK, when the truth of what had happened between them might have actually been more efficient in getting the kid to stop trusting him.
If Macaque could watch a sunset with the guy that blinded him, Wukong supposed he could let the shadow play thing slide. He’d have a talk with MK about it some other time to see where the kid stood about the whole thing, since that was the only opinion on the situation that mattered. For the moment, though, Wukong decided he was going to let sleeping dogs lie.
That did not, however, stop him from being angry about it. “Don’t,” Wukong said through a set jaw and clenched fists, “do that. Again.”
Macaque blinked at him owlishly. “I… well, I didn’t plan on it.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You know, kinda thought there was gonna be more to that.”
Wukong made a face. “I mean, I’m not happy about it,” he emphasized. “But if I say something, then you’re gonna say something, and it’s just gonna- it’ll be this whole thing, and I don’t feel like fighting.”
“Oh,” Macaque shifted, “uh- good. I didn’t really feel like fighting, either.”
There was a silence between them, both of their gazes trained on the sunset. “Wasn’t that-” Wukong cleared his throat, “that play was a few days before the Lady Bone Demon attack, right?”
“Mm-hm,” Macaque hummed.
“Is that why you haven’t-”
“Why are you so invested in this?” Macaque asked, glancing up at Wukong with a furrowed brow. “You’ve never been this interested in my performances.”
“I’m not invested,” Wukong rubbed his arm awkwardly, “I’m just, you know. I’m making conversation.”
Macaque huffed and looked away. “Make different conversation.”
Wukong leaned forward a bit, trying to catch Macaque’s gaze. “Okay, come on. Don’t do the weird moody thing.” Macaque rolled his eyes. “Come on,” Wukong wheedled, “Macaque. C’mon. Quit makin’ the grumpy face.”
“I’m not making a face.” Macaque’s shoulder hunched, his face ducking further out of sight. “That’s just my face.”
“No, it’s not!” Wukong insisted. “I know what your normal grumpy face looks like, and that,” he gestured vaguely at Macaque’s expression, “isn’t it. You’re doing that thing where you get weird and pouty and-”
Macaque whirled on him, eyes wide in disbelief. “Pouty?”
“And!” Wukong continued, “You get all, like, squinty, and you won’t look at anyone, and-” He barely had time to register Macaque’s hand moving before something hit him between the eyes. “Hey!” Wukong furiously scrubbed at his forehead. “Quit throwing rocks at me!”
“Quit being dumb,” Macaque replied. “Don’t ask me any more weird questions, and I’ll keep my rocks to myself.”
“I wouldn’t have to ask questions if you’d tell me why you’re being pouty,” Wukong countered. “I just asked about your stupid play, and now you’re…” he trailed off upon seeing Macaque’s expression falter. “What?” he asked. “You’re making a different face now.” It felt like meeting Macaque all over again, sometimes. Every twitch and expression felt so familiar in some ways and so foreign in most others.
Macaque sighed. “It’s not about-” a frown tugged at the corner of his mouth, his eyes narrowing at the setting sun like it’d offended him personally. “It’s not about the play, Wukong, just- don’t worry about it.”
It was a clear dismissal, but Macaque was still pouty, and Wukong was still curious. “Is it about the Lady Bone Demon?” he asked, because it was the only other thing he could remember saying that might have caused this, and the glare he received almost made him regret asking.
And maybe he should have left it alone, but Wukong hated the brick wall that he and Macaque kept running into. Every time they approached something resembling a conversation, there was an unwillingness to press. Any misstep in the conversation could start a fight, or worse. But their situation couldn’t progress, either. Not until they could do more than banter at each other.
Wukong supposed that raised the question about whether or not they both wanted the situation to progress. He was sure Macaque wouldn’t be seeking him out if there wasn’t some desire to reconcile, but Macaque was always a lot more reserved than Wukong was. Reconcile required vulnerability, and that wasn’t something the shadow was very good at. Never had been, and the last thousand years or so certainly wouldn’t have helped.
“I’ll talk about her if you will,” Wukong said quickly, before Macaque could find something scathing to say. “Because I- I’d have a lot of choice words for that demon if she was still alive. I dunno if you’ve ever had a conversation with her, but she was so creepy. Like, I’ve fought a lot of demons, but she was-” he shuddered, “the worst.”
Macaque nodded slowly. “Yeah, we had a few… chats.” If Wukong hadn’t been looking directly at Macaque, he might have missed the way claws twitched and dug into the dry mountain soil. “Definitely the worst.”
“I know, right?” Wukong leaned back on his hands. “Like, what was with the creepy whispering thing, huh?”
With a tired groan, Macaque’s head tipped back. “And the destiny talk? I swear it was every third word out of her mouth.”
“Oh, don’t even get me started!” Wukong said. “She was like that the first time around, too. Right up until she got sealed away. And she didn’t learn a damn thing, either, because she came back with the exact same shtick. Easily the most stubborn demon I’ve ever met.”
“Really?” Macaque raised an eyebrow. “That’s some pretty high praise coming from you.” He laced his fingers together and stretched his arms above his head. “Didn’t think there was anything in all the realms that could out-stubborn the Monkey King.”
Wukong snickered. “Well, not anymore.”
Macaque leaned into his stretch until he fell unceremoniously into the grass. “Yeah,” he agreed, closing his eyes against the last few dying rays of sunlight, “thanks to our student and his friends.”
“My student,” Wukong corrected. “And, yeah, the kid did really good.” He allowed his gaze to linger on Macaque for a moment, the way he hadn’t let it in what felt like forever. Macaque looked different without the shadows and too-sharp smiles, washed in fiery sunset colors and a gentle breeze ruffling his scarf, a little more like the Macaque that he used to know.
It occurred to Wukong that he missed this–had been missing this. And he always knew, in a distant sort of way, that he missed Macaque. It was an old, bone-deep ache that Wukong had never quite gotten rid of, but managed to bury under just enough resentment that he could ignore it. Now, though, without the fighting to keep the ache at bay, he was at a loss.
“The kid ever visit you?” he asked. “Not for training, I mean, just- you know, because he’s a good kid, and that seems like something he’d do.”
“Sorta?” Macaque answered. “He makes the occasional noodle delivery, but he doesn’t, like, hang around.” Amber eyes cracked a bit, practically glowing slits in the sunset. “Don’t blame him, though. I gave him a hard time while you guys were on your little journey. And before the journey.” His nose scrunched. “I’ve kinda been an asshole since I met him, actually.”
Wukong chuckled. “Yeah, kinda.” He scratched his cheek absently. “Thinking about it, I was kind of a jerk before, too. Not as bad as you, obviously, but still.” And he had been, however unintentional it was. He was a terrible teacher, and he put MK in danger, and his rash decisions had nearly gotten the world destroyed. “And you were right, you know,” Wukong added.
“Usually am,” Macaque replied. “But, uh… about what, specifically?”
“I made things worse for MK.” Wukong fidgeted with his hands. “Worse for everyone, really. Mei took off with the Samadhi Fire, then I went and pretty much handed myself over to the Lady Bone Demon.” He laughed awkwardly. “I mean, you nailed it, right? It’s like you can hear into the future or something.”
“Or something,” Macaque’s eyes closed again. “Or maybe it’s just pattern recognition.” Something in Wukong curled into a ball at that, recoiling from harshness, the realization that he’d changed so little from the impulsive creature that had been chained under a mountain. “But,” Macaque continued, “you’re trying. I think the kid knows that.” He shrugged. “Tryin’ a lot harder than me, anyway. Sort of gave up on that whole ‘good guy’ thing a while back.”
Having expected Macaque to gloat or hurl an insult or two, Wukong was surprised at the response. “Really? The guy who single-handedly saved the Monkey King’s protege?”
Macaque snorted. “Okay, that- that’s stretching it a little bit.” He waved a hand flippantly. “I don’t think portaling MK away from danger counts as saving him if the danger ended up finding him again.”
“And the little girl you saved,” Wukong added.
“Again,” Macaque debated, “not sure if that counts as saving. Letting go of you and the girl gave the Lady Bone Demon more power to fuel the mech.”
Wukong heaved an exasperated sigh. “The kid was right, you’re trying way too hard to do the bad guy act.” He raised an eyebrow at the resting shadow. “But you’re saving small children from demons and portaling students away from their possessed mentors, which means you’re basically a hero.”
“Neither one of those things make me a hero,” Macaque scoffed. “It just makes me… not a monster. Which isn’t the same thing.”
“Nah, you’re just a big ol’ softie,” Wukong sang. “The Six-Eared Macaque, the world’s squishiest celestial primate!”
Macaque groaned and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Sun Wukong,” he retorted, “the world’s hardest head.”
“Uh-huh,” with Macaque’s eyes covered, Wukong slyly reached for a small pebble, “is this the part where you ramble on about how hard-headed and stubborn I am?”
“I mean, I feel like we already did this,” Macaque said, “but, yeah. You’re pretty damn stubborn when you wanna be.” Wukong took the opportunity to lob the small rock at Macaque’s hands, revenge for his earlier antics. Then Macaque moved his hands, “Actually, I think arrogant might be-”
Wukong’s heart rocketed to his throat, hardly breathing the syllable, “Wait-” before Macaque was suddenly crying out. “Macaque!”
He knew, logically, that the rock couldn’t have hurt that much. Macaque wasn’t made of stone, but he was tougher than he looked–had to be, to keep up with Wukong in the early days–but Wukong also knew it wasn’t really about how hard he’d been hit, it was about the where.
Macaque shot up from where he’d been laying in the grass, scrabbling for purchase and stumbling to his feet. With no sunlight to cast shadows, every inch of darkness within five feet of Macaque was reacting, streaks of ink black and glowing purple swirling in anxious circles.
Shadow magic was finicky, especially when Macaque was feeling nervous or flighty, and he looked ready to portal away at any moment. Wukong stood, taking a hesitant step in Macaque’s direction. “Macaque, I didn’t-”
“I’m fine,” Macaque interrupted, the words sharp and jagged. “Wukong, just-” With the hand not pressed to his eye, he made a frantic gesture to keep Wukong at bay, “just stay over there.”
But Wukong had never been a very good listener, and took another careful forward, hands raised so that they were in Macaque’s line of sight. “Look, I swear I didn’t mean to!” he quickly explained, desperately hoping Macaque would hear him out before making a portal to escape. “I was just trying to- I mean, you were throwing pebbles at me earlier, and I thought- I didn’t think you’d move your hand!”
“Wukong, stop,” Macaque snapped. “Stop getting closer, can you just- just quiet, please, I-”
“Oh!” Wukong took a breath. “Oh. Okay, I’ll just,” he took a step back, “be quiet. Over here.”
Macaque gave a jerky nod, hand still pressed to his eye as he turned away from Wukong. He probably looked a like an idiot standing and staring, but he couldn’t help but watch Macaque anxiously, shifting his weight from one leg to the other as the warrior stepped away. He could handle giving Macaque space if he had to, but he couldn’t watch Macaque leave again, not like this, not this angry, not when Wukong couldn’t do anything to stop him.
After a couple seconds of ragged breathing, Macaque straightened, his hands coming to rest on hips. “Man,” he chuckled, finally turning enough so that he could give Wukong a crooked smile, “remind me to not throw stuff at you anymore.”
“Macaque-”
“Wukong,” Macaque interjected, “seriously, it’s not a big deal.” He kicked at the offending pebble. “You think that thing is gonna scare me off? I’ve fought you, Wukong. You. And you think a rock is gonna be the thing that sends me running?”
“Well, I-” Wukong faltered. “Well, no. Probably not.” he shrugged helplessly. “But you, like, yelled. And it freaked me out.”
Macaque tilted his head. “It caught me off guard, dude, I wasn’t dying. I’m sure you and the kid have done something during training that freaked you out for a second.”
And Wukong almost protested out of habit. He was the great and powerful Monkey King, and he wasn’t allowed to be freaked out or scared. But, “When Spider Queen was in town,” it felt weird saying her name, knowing her fate, “there was a second, when MK and I were flying into the city?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “The kid got freaked out by some spiders and he, uh… jumped on my head.”
It felt silly, saying it out loud, but in the moment it had been a lot less fun. Of course, his young successor hadn’t meant to do it, just being a scared kid and clinging to whatever was closest, but feeling MK’s arms around his head had blinded him with terror for just a brief moment before he’d regained his composure.
“His arms were kinda,” he cleared his throat, “you know, squeezing pretty tight. I threw him onto a roof.” Wukong laughed it off as best he could, but he doubted it sounded very convincing. “I know it sounds pretty weird, but-”
“Caught you off guard, huh,” Macaque said.
“I guess.” Wukong sighed. “Look, I just- I know things are different now, and it’s all… really weird, so I was worried that you’d-” His hand trailed up to his forearm, grasping his sleeve anxiously. “I just didn’t want you to walk away angry again.” He quickly added, “I mean, we’re supposed to be civil for the kid, right?”
Gaze softening slightly, Macaque huffed out a laugh. “Ah, come on, Wukong. You know I never really leave, right?”
Wukong gave a doubtful hum, “Sometimes you do.”
“Yeah, sometimes I do.” Macaque crossed his arms. “And sometimes you’re loud and stubborn and throw rocks at my face.”
“You,” Wukong protested, “threw way more rocks than I did, in my defense.”
“My point is,” Macaque continued, “everything’s weird now, but it doesn’t have to be… bad weird, I guess. We’re trying.” He took a step forward, “Look, as long as you don’t hurt me on purpose, I’m not going anywhere.” Wukong recoiled slightly as Macaque offered a hand. “Deal?”
Wukong reached out a tentative hand. “Okay,” he said quietly, like he might still scare Macaque off by being too loud, too eager to agree. “Deal.”
A cool palm pressed against Wukong’s. “Look at you,” Macaque taunted, though thin, clawed fingers gave Wukong’s calloused knuckles a reassuring sort of squeeze, “Sun Wukong, making deals with the devil. What would your master say?”
And what would the monk say, if he could see Wukong reconciling with Macaque? “Probably something about forgiveness.” He wondered if his old companion would be proud of the amends he was making. Wukong liked to think he probably would be, or maybe just happy that Wukong wasn’t clinging to anger and hatred. “Uh- does this mean we’re gonna stop fighting?”
“I mean, we’re definitely fighting less,” Macaque said. “But I don’t think that guarantees that we won’t ever fight. We may be civil, but that doesn’t mean I like you.”
“Well, obviously,” Wukong agreed. “I don’t like you either, but-”
“Civil,” Macaque nodded. “Yeah. For the kid.” He glanced down. “So… you gonna let go of my hand or what?”
Wukong blinked. “Huh?”
Macaque jostled their still-intertwined hands. “You’re holding me hostage here, Wukong.”
“Oh! Right,” Wukong was thankful the embarrassed flush crawling up his neck and face wasn’t visible through his fur. “Well, maybe this is all part of my master plan.”
“Oh, yeah?” Macaque asked coyly. “And what master plan is that, oh, wise Great Sage?”
“My plan,” Wukong said, with a confidence that was quickly failing him, “to… uh-” Without giving it much thought, Wukong dropped to the ground, tugging Macaque off balance. An action that he’d perhaps regret, but he was willing to take that risk in order to avoid the awkwardness he’d created.
Macaque tumbled to the grass with a surprised shout, Wukong letting go of his arm and rolling away before the warrior could swat at him. “You!” Macaque exclaimed, claws swiping at the edge of Wukong’s cape. “Are so stupid, it’s physically painful.” He scowled as Wukong doubled over laughing. “You know what? I don’t want to go to the moon with you anymore, I’ve decided.”
“No!” Wukong rolled over and reached a futile hand to his grumpy companion. “No, come on, you gotta come to the moon.”
“No, I don’t.” Macaque settled into the grass, staring at the star-filled sky and pointedly avoiding Wukong. “Gonna build my own rocket and throw you out of it.”
“You’re no fun,” Wukong flopped on the ground–side by side with his shadow, and five feet from him, close from a distance–and went back to lounging comfortably and watching the steadily rising moon. “Well, we can just lay here and stare at the moon, then. Since you wanna be so boring.”
Macaque hummed. “Fine by me,” he replied. “I only come for the view, anyway.”
Wukong glanced over to Macaque, whose gaze stayed fixed on the sky, eyes half-lidded and the closest to relaxed that Wukong had seen in centuries. Part of him wanted to be closer, wanted to tear himself away, and he wished he had the words to describe how that worked or what that meant. Macaque would probably have the words, but Wukong doubted that he’d be willing to provide them, trapped behind clenched teeth and walls of distrust that they’d hardly put a scratch in.
“Yeah,” Wukong replied, turning away from Macaque and closing his eyes against the soft light of the moon, basking in the sounds of the mountain’s nightlife. He was willing to wait however long he needed to for their words to come to them, at whatever distance he had to wait, as long as Macaque was never so far away that Wukong could not reach him again. “The view.”