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Wukong never really liked theater.
He had nothing against it, honestly! But, the mere thought of sitting still for hours watching a bunch of performers sing and dance, surrounded by a crowd of people he didn't know, screaming and cheering and singing along off-key made him want to rip his hair from his head.
Unfortunately, Wukong has about as much foresight as a goldfish, and when the email for his schedule request form arrived; let's just say that he would rather spend those ten minutes doing something he actually enjoyed.
Like beating the absolute crap out of his little cousin in Mario Kart.
"Suck it, Nezha!"
"Hey! No fair! You skipped a turn!"
"It's called being good at the game!"
And so, he got the update for his junior year classes just like he would any other year, another boring and copy-pasty email from the staff about two weeks before the first day back.
He read it over; once, twice, a third time, and audibly groaned when the realization of how his procrastination had come back to bite him in the ass.
He dragged his spare hand down his face and rolled his eyes, he probably could request to swap out, replace it with an extra study hall or something, but that would require messaging the guidance counselor, setting up a meeting, probably getting ridiculed for not filling out his forms and then adamantly denied as a punishment for his past self's lack of care.
All of which he did not want to deal with.
Why put in all that effort when he could just take the stupid class? It was supposedly an easy A, and what's so bad about analyzing a few plays, or acting out a small scene here and there?
He knew it wasn't a requirement to attend the school's productions for the class, extra credit sure, but not a grade.
Wukong could suck it up and power through for a year, whatever.
-
The first day of school went by in a blur. It had only been a few months but Wukong already forgot how much he hated the loud buzzing conversation of the hallways. It was always so overwhelming. Just unintelligible shouting and dumb small talk that he would participate in if he wasn't so bone-dead exhausted from waking up so early for the first time in what felt like forever.
He didn't let the overwhelming sounds and sleepiness deter him from having a good first day, however. He went to all of his classes, and did the utterly embarring task that is classroom ice-breakers; he even cracked a few jokes, and those in his classes who already knew him laughed at his predictable antics.
Being the class clown had a few perks, at least.
Other than the jarring difference from summer freedom to schooltime containment, he settled back into the routine of popping in his headphones as he made the trek back and forth to each class and blasting music to drown out the noise around him. Plus, of course, the checking and re-checking of his schedule to remind himself of where in the absolute hell his classes were.
He totally, absolutely, did not get lost.
"Wukong, why are you in the study hall room, don't you have history right now?"
Wukong did not regret showing Tang his schedule the second he got it, the younger had always been better at memorization than he had.
Despite its challenges, all of his classes came and went; introducing himself to new people, and greeting old, it all went exactly as any other first day back would be expected to go.
And finally, finally, the last period of the day had come along, and after the pace of what otherwise felt like wading through thick mud, he was so relieved when the bell signifying the beginning of the end rang.
This teacher, of whom he hadn't yet committed the name to memory, had assigned seats; because of course, he did. Plenty of other teachers also had assigned seats, but it always felt a bit off when an elective conformed to the stereotype.
He checked the seating chart hung on the wall, it was right in front of the entrance and thankfully not easy to miss. Wukong really did not want to deal with a teacher angry at him for not sitting at a specified desk of all things, 'cus that'd be a great first impression.
The classroom was sectioned off into two-person desks, neat rows that far contrasted the bright creativity that lined the walls. The boring grey of the school's paint had been plastered over by what could've easily been a hundred posters, and if he had the care to count he didn't doubt that his guess was accurate.
Official play and musical posters stood proudly next to different advertisements for the school's renditions of them, hung side by side like brothers, covering the room in so many colors and words that it almost looked like someone had taken a can of rainbow paint and just went at it.
Tearing his eyes away from the bright decor, he scanned the rows for his table. A last name starting with 'L' always meant he sat right in the middle of the class, which was usually good for him.
Wukong had never been one to enjoy the back of the class, always feeling too far from the action, he felt claustrophobic and alone back there. Sitting in the front had the complete opposite effect, but not for the better; always tending to send spikes of anxiety into his chest, sitting right in the spotlight had his brain tearing into every scenario in which he would get called on and gave the wrong answer.
Wukong blames his third-grade math teacher for that one; she had moved him to the front because he talked too much and subsequently gave him the worst feeling of like he was going to throw up every time she so much as looked at him.
Yeah, sitting in the middle always worked out fine. A nice middle-ground, pun intended.
He didn't giggle to himself at the thought, or maybe he did, who cares?
He strode over to his seat with practiced confidence, music from his class transfer still playing loudly in his headphones. He had stolen one of Tang 's 'peaceful' playlists for the day, knowing that the other had a way better time at organizing the tones of songs than he was.
Wukong took his seat, completely silent other than the screech of the too-short chair as he drug it across the floor and plopped himself down, dropping his bag on the ground next to him with the same elegance as before, not very much.
The class was steadily becoming fuller as his peers found their way in. Wukong isn't ashamed to admit that he was surprised at how many people were entering the classroom. He knew drama was popular be he didn't think it was this popular.
Maybe they also forgot to fill out their schedule request forms, or just wanted an easy class, but based on how some of them waltzed right up to the teacher's desk and greeted the man like an old friend had him rethinking this theory.
One of the said teacher-greeters was apparently his deskmate because as soon as the guy was done saying hello to their instructor he made his way over with an easy smile spread out across his face.
The guy had this swagger about him that made Wukong feel a little- Strange? The confidence this guy held was pouring off in waves, and it had him questioning his own self-extravagance.
He was tall, not extraordinarily so, but taller than Wukong at least, and he had black hair that fell down a little ways past his shoulders in light curls. A small amount of scruff that was typical of a high schooler framed his chin and he was also apparently the type of person who wore sunglasses inside, but those were discarded almost as fast as Wukong noticed them, being swiftly removed to reveal stunning hazel eyes.
Wait.
What?
Wukong did not just think that. Did he?
No, it's fine, general attractiveness and all that, just an observation.
He still looked away and tried to avoid blushing as he forced himself to zone in on his music to avoid continuing to watch the stranger as he stalked closer to Wukong's seat.
Because of course the guy sat next to him.
He rested his head in his hands, hiding his face and pretending like this wasn't embarrassing at all, no he just had a long day and the fluorescents were making his head hurt.
Yup. That's it.
The other teen, undisturbed by Wukong's inner dilemma, took his seat with the same swagger he'd shown all throughout the literal two minutes that Wukong had known of his existence; unlike Wukong, he hung his backpack over the back of his chair and settled into it like it was made for him.
Which it definatley wasn't because school chairs were god awful and Wukong refused to believe that this guy wasn't just putting on a show to look good.
For who he wasn't quite sure, but the point still stands!
Wukong lifted his head from his palms with a quiet sigh, already in the motions of pausing the song that was playing and beginning to remove his headphones to greet the other.
Just because he was embarrassed does not mean he was impolite after all! But the brunette beat him to it.
Turning to him with that same easy grin, showing off sharper than they should be canines, the other spoke in a calm voice, "Hello there, new friend!" He started, the smile near blinding, "It seems we, here, are table mates! I am Macaque Lemur, what'a 'bout you?"
Wukong blinked, this guy, Mac, was just so-
Weird.
Wukong wanted to say something cool, suave, smooth; he wanted to build himself up like he did with literally everybody else in this god-forsaken place.
But all he managed to get out was:
"Im Wukong."
Yup, that you are man, say something else! Be cool!
But no, Macaque had to beat him to it, again.
"Well there, Wukong, it does seem that you and I will be stuck next to each other for the foreseeable future. So let's chat, yeah?"
Wukong nodded, dumbly, like an idiot, and without further hesitation, the taller sprung into conversation like a second nature; one that Wukong could usually match with just as much gusto and ease, but for some reason just couldn't.
So, he settled for listening to the other speak, he had a smooth voice that kinda felt like a blanket, weirdly, but either way, he couldn't tear his eyes away as the other spoke.
He was absolutely enraptured.
The teacher seemed content to let the class mingle on their own, having begun to talk quietly with another random student that he probably already knew from previous plays or whatever, Wukong didn't really care because it meant he got to listen to Macaquetalk about all the plays he had been in.
Wukong Ligero, Macaque Lemur.
Both 'L' names, sat in the middle of the class.
-
Wukong felt like he blinked, and before he could reopen his eyes two weeks had flown by.
In those two weeks, introductions were completed, cliques and dynamics were established and schoolwork was assigned.
He had also managed to get closer to Mac.
The other was very intriguing, interesting to listen to, and made easy conversation. He wasn't stuck up and didn't talk only about himself, but rather actually engaged in conversation that was interesting for both parties; he frequently asked about Wukong and even though the blonde seldom often shared things about himself, he felt like they had somehow told each other an equal amount of information.
Wukong talked about his family because he couldn't help himself; he loved the gaggle of idiots he called his relatives and was never embarrassed to rant about their various antics.
He spoke about how they all attended Nezha's science fair last year, and that no one had ever missed a single elementary recital.
And Mac? Well, Macaque talked about his passion for theater and dramatics.
And passion he had.
The way he spoke with such intensity, pure delight shining in every syllable, it was mesmerizing.
Apparently, the brunette had gotten interested after his second-grade class took a field trip to a local showing of the Lion King, a simple musical, and definitely not as detailed as the Broadway version. But it was enough to get him hooked faster than a starving fish to bait on a line.
He had played the lead in two of last year's three productions, and one of the year previous. Macaque spoke so fondly of these memories and the friends he had made throughout his practice sessions and warm-ups.
He'd become close with the director, a very stoic man that far contrasted his supposed flair and extravagance. But he did not let this friendship taint his roles, never getting cocky and always insisting that someone else would be better suited for certain roles over himself. No matter how much he loved to be on stage performing, he was more than happy to let someone else take the spotlight while he watched from the sidelines.
It was a quality Wukong found endearing, nodding along to the other's words as they worked on the task at hand; a simple analysis of a script, making edits, and changing the story to be more unique.
And Wukong found it all surprisingly fun! He'd never thought a class like this could be so enrapturing!
Maybe it was just Macaque's passion overflowing into him, but Wukong couldn't find it in him to care as the other teen smiled at his ideas for their script and laughed boisterously at his jokes.
It sent spikes of joy straight to his heart, and he quickly found himself looking forward to his last period every day, waiting, watching the clock tick ever closer to the bell, and finally, he would waltz into the brightly decorated classroom and sit at his seat actually excited for the class to come.
This is how he got here, two weeks into the school year, with the drama teacher, whose name was Dr. Master (he found this fact utterly hilarious), and the man was interrupting their work time to announce the first show of the year.
Romeo and Juliet.
Wukong ignored the way he blushed when Macaque turned to him with wide eyes, grinning like a madman, and expressing how much he loved the play.
Wukong would usually say something along the lines of, "How boring, Shakespeare," or maybe he would groan and roll his eyes with a posh, "Didn't we just learn about this in English class?"
But after seeing the excitement in his friend's eyes, Wukong couldn't help but smile along.
-
Why was he like this?
Wukong had finally worked up the courage to ask for Mac's number, to which the other happily shared, and yet Wukong could not for the life of him figure out what to say.
He'd gotten home, eaten dinner, bid his dad goodnight, and promptly retreated to his room.
Which is what led to this exact moment, having a staring contest with his phone as he sat crosslegged on his bed. Daring it to ring or give him a notification or so something other than sit innocently in front of him
He rested an elbow on his knee and his cheek into his palm, free hand absent-mindedly picking on a loose thread of his comforter.
Why couldn't he just text the guy, it wasn't hard, just type out a simple greeting and hit send. Easy-peasy.
Right?
Wrong!
Wukong groaned and flopped backward into his sheets, staring up at the ceiling and wishing it would collapse in on itself and crush him so he wouldn't have to feel like this.
Like his heart was in his throat and his lungs just couldn't drag in enough air if there were a hundred oxygen cans hooked up to his face.
Another groan of exasperation left his mouth.
Wukong ran a hand through his hair, only to get caught in his headband and then a few knots before giving up and just shoving his face into his hands.
Why was this so stressful? It really shouldn't be, Macaque was his friend. He should so easily be able to text the guy. But no matter how hard he tried to pick up his phone and do it-
He just couldn't.
Why? What is wrong with him?
Macaque was just his friend, they have literally talked for hours in class, so why not now?
He'd listened to Macaque go on and on about theater; they'd gone back and forth about random topics, doing stupid impressions and giving the dumbest accents to the characters in their scripts.
But one text was too much?
Maybe Macaque was too much.
Mac-
Macaque with his long brown hair and matching eyes; Macaque who wore sunglasses indoors because he thought it made him look cooler. Macaque who spoke so expressively that Wukong was sure that if the world was falling apart around them he wouldn't be able to stop listening until both his ears had been blown off.
Macaque who- Macaque who made him feel like-
Like this.
Like someone who couldn't send a simple text.
Holy crap.
Holy shit.
Wukong sat up from his bed and grabbed his phone from its position by his feet, uncaring if he got slightly tangled in his blankets in the mess of it all.
He swiftly opened his messages, pulling up the only contact who would have any idea on how to help him navigate through whatever the hell he was feeling.
How did u know u were gay?
Sent 7:22 PM
And not even a minute later.
Read 7:23 PM
Tang didn't even give him the dignity of a text back, instead going straight to option two: A phone call.
Which was fair, because this was really out of the blue; well, it was for Wukong, at least.
He answered.
"Wukong?"
"I know dude, I know."
A pause. Trace amounts of static filled the line, some light shuffling breaking through.
"I'm gonna get straight to the point, you're serious about this?"
Wukong sucked in a breath, part of him wanted to make a "Straight? What do you mean straight?" joke, but even he, in his infinite wisdom of how to ruin a moment with a pun, realized that this was not the time; the hand not holding his phone to his ear went right back to picking at his poor, falling apart blanket in his sudden overwhelming nervousness.
"Yeah."
Wukong heard the other sigh before continuing.
"Okay, well. How do I put this?" Another long pause, "I just kinda figured it out because some kid was talking about girls and I just didn't feel the same. There wasn't much else to it besides that."
"Okay."
"Wukong, why?"
Wukong didn't really know what to say, he knew liked girls. A short-lived ex and a plethora of crushes proved that, but a dude had never really caught his eye until-
"I think I like my classmate, man."
"Oh my goodness, Wukong."
And before Wukong could introject, Tang continued.
"Who?"
He stared at the wall, analyzing the chipped paint for a moment or two, trying to calm himself before he responded.
"This guy in my drama class, his name's Macaque Lemur. We sit next to each other because of our last names and we just started talking the first day and I-" Another breath caught in his chest, and he had to force himself to exhale- "I don't know."
"Okay, Macaque Lemur? Like the guy that played the lead in the last two plays?"
Huh- Wukong had forgotten that Tang actually enjoyed attending the school plays.
"Yeah."
"Well, at least he's attractive, I don't think I could handle it if my best friend had a crush on someone ugly."
"Tang!"
"Sorry, wrong time; but still!"
With the adrenaline of his realization coming to a close, Wukong blinked and wondered how in the hell had this gone over so smoothly.
"So, you're not surprised?"
"What? About you liking a guy? No, not at all."
Alright, that was a little offensive.
"Dude!"
Tang scoffed so loudly he heard it twice over as it echoed through the call, "You can't just willingly become obsessed with Mean Girls and simultaneously be straight, Wukong."
"It's a good movie! And I still like girls, man!"
"Yes, it is a good movie, and girls are fine, I guess," Wukong thinks he can audibly hear how hard Tang cringes at the mere thought of liking a girl like that; he had to suppress a giggle- "Now, onto the important matters, tell me about him! Gimmie all the drama, pun intended."
Wukong groaned, "That was bad, I thought I'd taught you better."
"Oh hush, now spill."
Wukong smiled, and he still ignored the blush that rose to his cheeks as he began to talk about his new favorite brunette.
-
In the end, it was Macaque who texted first.
Hey dude it's Mac, I'm gonna audition for the show and I was wondering if you wanted to join crew
If you don't that's fine I just thought it'd be cool
And you get volunteer hours so there is a motive!
6:14 AM
Wukong didn't read it until he was already on his way to first period, but he can't deny the way his heart skipped a beat at the messages.
He smiled dumbly at his phone, almost running into someone's back as he walked through the halls. Wukong quickly apologized to the guy, someone he vaguely recognized from biology the year prior, before continuing on his path to class.
He pondered the offer for a moment; Wukong wasn't in any clubs, and despite his quote-on-quote popularity he hardly hung out with anyone outside of school, so he certainly had the time.
Although he really had no idea how to be a part of a stage crew, he wasn't necessarily handy so it's not like he'd be able to help build sets. But that job was usually assigned to the carpentry kids for extra credit, so maybe he didn't have to worry about that part.
Then, as he walked past the computer room, an idea struck him. Wukong was fairly good with technology, always having a knack for video games and programming and the like. Perhaps tech crew was where he could sign up for; I mean, how hard could it be to point a light and adjust the mics and music?
So, that's what he told Mac, after a few moments of trying to figure out how to respond without sounding too enthusiastic. He liked the other, but he didn't want to seem desperate. Wukong had to keep up his cool and confident exterior, although most of that had been washed away every time he so much as looked at Mac; there was no way the brunette hadn't noticed the way Wukong listened to him talk so differently than he did others.
Wukong chose to ignore this fact.
Aside from the morning's mini-heart attack, the rest of the day went as planned. He went to all of his classes, ate lunch, got assigned way too much homework, and just like every other day it ended in the theater class.
He arrived first, like always, Macaque's previous class was across the school so it was almost impossible for him to ever get there before Wukong. Honestly, he was kind of grateful for that, it gave Wukong a few minutes to compose himself before his friend got there.
And with his recent realization of his feelings, he definitely needed it.
In the time between sitting at his desk and the ringing of the bell, Wukong must've zoned out, because as soon as vision blurred in thought he was snapping back out of it at the call of his name.
"My good friend Wukong!" Macaque had started, his voice already dipping into one of the characters from their script project, the 'Red King' as it were, "I hear that thou are going to be joining me in the performance?"
Wukong couldn't help himself, tacking on his own stupid accent, dubbed respectfully, 'The Hand', "Yes, my Liege."
Wukong almost melted from the way Macaque smiled at him.
"Excellent! We shall begin preparations immediately; it shall be glorious!" Macaque laughed, loud and echoing; the rest of the class didn't even bat an eye, already used to the way Macaque threw his dramatic energy into almost every word that left his lips.
But Wukong? Wukong laughed along.
-
When Dr. Master had presented the sign-up sheets for the crew a few weeks later, Wukong was the first to sign his name.
Macaque had been cast as the lead, Romeo; Wukong was not surprised and actually thought it was quite fitting considering how he felt. But, he tried not to think too hard about it, not wanting to ruin the friendship that had developed between them.
At this point, they texted so frequently that he had begun getting into trouble in the classes with stricter teachers, them always on his back and instructing him to put his phone away while they taught. It was honestly kind of funny in hindsight.
The rehearsals had started the Wednesday after casting had been announced, Wukong wished he could pocket the way Mac's excited voice had practically sung with joy when he had called to share the news and keep it forever, but tech and crew didn't need to be a part of them until the scripts were memorized.
Which they now were. Wukong was a little nervous to show up; he and a few other students had been chosen to control the tech booth and he had never done something like this before. He honestly had forgotten he hated doing things for the first time.
Wukong was in charge of the spotlights, it being one of the easier jobs and typical for beginners. He would learn how to control the other things, like microphones and music, in case of an emergency; but, his main instructions were to keep the lights on the main characters and dim them out when necessary. It was simple enough for him to pick up and he was pretty much a master almost instantaneously.
Wukong was sure that the only reason he was even assigned the role was because of Macaque's vouch for him, but that didn't bother him too much; not with how easy it was to do
Early on in learning what each button does, Wukong decides that this is the most focused he's been all school year, maybe even in his whole life. Soaking up every word the director was telling him, following every instruction to a tee. He hardly even paid attention to the show, just trying to make sure everything was done right.
The way Macaque had beamed at him when they were done, loudly exclaiming that the lighting had been perfect, made it all worth it in the end.
Wukong was giddy, the praise going straight to his head and sending an overflowing wave of confidence flowing through him. Enough confidence to make his next words slide out like butter.
"Are you doing anything tonight?"
He had asked it while Macaque was packing up his stuff, Wukong had been leaning in the doorway, watching with a small smile tugging at his lips. After realizing what he said, however, he stiffened against the doorframe; already almost regretting asking.
He was going to take it back, but Macaque beat him to it.
"Nope, why?"
Shoot. Well, no backing down now. Wukong squared his shoulders, trying to look casual and failing miserably; he hoped the brunette wouldn't notice.
"Well-" good start, keep going- "I was wondering if you wanted to come over, to like hang out or whatever."
Macaque was silent for a moment, but Wukong continued to talk before the taller could interrupt again.
"Or not. 'Just an idea, man."
Wukong watched as Macaque finished shoving his stuff in his bag, standing up and turning to face him.
Hazel met amber, and Macaque smiled.
"I would love to, my dude!"
Wukong smiled too, before quickly excusing himself to the bathroom to anxiously text Tang about what had just happened.
-
Wukong would've laughed at Tang's mixed response of keyboard smash and questions if not for his racing heart. He was in the big stall of the only nice-ish bathroom in the school, the one on the side of the auditorium and the one used mainly by guests; desperately trying to calm himself down by staring at his face in the mirror.
He looked back at his phone screen, opting instead of giving his friend all the details now, promising Tang that he'd fill him in when the night was over. Wukong didn't have the time to waste, so he splashed himself with a bit of water and took a deep breath.
He wasn't sure if it would be enough, but it had to do for now.
The blonde made his way back down the hallway and to the backstage area, where he found Macaque completely finished packing and on the phone. He watched Macaque wrap up the call and then shove his phone into his back pocket before swinging his bag over his shoulder and turning to face him.
Macaque jumped so high at the sight of him, Wukong couldn't help but laugh. He doubled over with it, giggles shaking him to the core as he rested his hands on bent knees.
"Dude!" Macaque said, now also giggling, "You scared the absolute, ever-loving heck out of me!"
Wukong doesn't recall ever laughing this hard before in his life, it was so stupid, and this really wasn't all that funny. But here he was, keeled over and red-faced, barely able to breathe through his loud cackling.
"Oh my god," he tried, wiping a tear from his eye and giggling again, "I'm gonna throw up."
Wukong smiled at the way Macaque ran a hand through his hair (When had he taken it down?) and sighed with such drama laced into it he couldn't help but give another weak chuckle in response.
"It's not that funny, man!"
"You're right, it's not, but that only makes it worse!"
Wukong stood, leaning against the wall and placing a hand on his stomach, trying to make the sudden cramping there go away. Macaque just walked past him with a roll of his eyes and Wukong quickly moved to follow, falling into step with the other like a lost chimp; which was a really funny visual considering it was Macaque who had a last name related to mokey-liked-ness.
Macaque nudged into them as they walked, then spoke with a tone that was so obviously trying to hide his grin, "I just called my mom. Told her I didn't need a ride home and was staying with a friend."
Wukong almost tripped. He didn't, thank goodness, but it was close. So this was real, it was happening. Okay, be cool.
"Nice, so it's a slumber party then?"
Perfect, casual; he didn't even stutter!
He sent a quick thank you to whatever higher power was out there that his dad never minded his habit of bringing over friends for sleepovers, and had long since gotten used to being a host house with every time Tang showed up at the door with a bag and a grin.
Macaque had hummed in response, nodding along to his question.
"Epic-" Okay, a little too casual, chill out Wukong, make a joke or something! "Well, my liege, I will bring your grace to our humble chariot; it is waiting for you in the ancient lands of School Parkinglotia!"
Yup, that's fine, fall into the King and his Hand bit.
Macaque picked up what he was putting down like it was second nature, throwing on the accent of the character like a warm blanket, "Of course, Hand. Lead the way!"
And so Wukong did, desperately trying to ignore the blush that rose to his face when the taller grabbed his hand to keep up the joke.
Never had he been more grateful to be at school after hours, they were alone and no one else was around to see his face turn a furious shade of red.
He didn't notice Mac's sharp-toothed grin at the reaction before the taller was lacing their fingers together properly and continuing the walk to his car.
The drive home was normal, well as normal as it could be with his heart caught in his throat the way it was. There was a silence between them, but it wasn't awkward, just peaceful. The radio played faintly from the car speakers, but it was hardly loud enough to understand the lyrics. It was late, nearing sunset; the lighting cast a pretty pinkish-gold glow around them. Wukong felt like he was in paradise.
But then, just like that, it was over and he was pulling into the driveway of his house and hopping out of his car to run around the side and open the door for Macaque with a silly bow and an offer of his hand.
"My King."
Macaque barked out a laugh, grabbing his hand in turn and stepping out of the vehicle with so much grace Wukong almost believed he was real royalty.
Maybe he was just biased, who knows?
"Why, thank you, Sir Wukong."
Wukong grinned and stood up straight, before breaking the handhold and popping the trunk to grab their bookbags. He threw his over his shoulder with a huff and swiftly tossed Mac's over; the other caught it easily.
Together, they made their way up the driveway and to the front door. Wukong went to unlock it, only struggling with his keys for a few seconds before his attempts were successful.
Wukong opened the door and kicked off his shoes in the entryway, he heard Macaque follow suit behind him.
He turned and shimmied past, locking the door, and then tossed his keys in the bin nearby.
"Dad!" He called out into the house, "I'm home! And I brought a friend!"
His dad, who had been in his bedroom, stepped out and brushed his hands together. Wukong's father was a stocky man, rather tall and a bit on the bigger side; which made him perfect for hugging. He had yet to change out of his work clothes, a nice button down, and some slacks, but greeted them nonetheless.
"Well, hello there!"
"This-" Wukong clapped a hand on his friend's shoulder- "Is Mac, the guy that convinced me to sign up for theater crew."
Macaque gave a little wave, all the confidence he held previously washing away like sand to the tide, instead replaced by stiff respectfulness, "Hello, Mr. Ligero. You have a lovely home."
"Oh, no need for formalities, kid. Just call me Zhu."
Macaque nodded, some of the tension leaving his shoulders; Wukong squeezed the one he was still holding to offer some comfort before leading them both forward and out of the entry hall.
Zhu held out a hand and Macaque shook it with a smile.
Wukong's dad turned to face him, "Since I knew we were both getting home late, I was just going to order pizza for dinner. You boys got any objections to that?"
Both of them shook their heads.
"Yeah, figured as much, teenagers never give up on an opportunity for pizza," Zhu laughed and swiped a hand down his face and laughed, "God, I remember on the nights that we would order pizza back home, your uncles and I would get so heated over who got the last slice."
Wukong snorted, "Didn't Uncle Sandy punch Uncle Mo one time? I vaguely remember a story like that."
"Yeah, that was a fun night; although I hardly remember it since I was like six."
Macaque turned to face Wukong, "Does your family have a lot of stories like this?"
"You wouldn't believe the half of it."
Two hours later, the pizza had arrived and been eaten, Wukong had bid goodnight to his father, and the spare mattress that they just kept under Wukong's bed had been tugged out and made.
He and his dad stopped putting it back in the garage after Wukong had gotten tired of dragging it back and forth every month.
So there the two boys sat, chatting while sitting on Wukong's floor and using the mattress as a backrest instead of just sitting on it like normal people. Neither had changed out of their school clothes yet, opting instead to lounge about in jeans and jackets.
"So," Wukong started, "What's with the sunglasses, I hardly see you without 'em?"
Said sunglasses had been put away before rehearsals had started, never needing to be put back on with the sun already setting by the time they left the school. The shades lay forgotten in the front pocket of Ren's backpack.
Macaque thought for a moment, before deepening his voice, "The eyes are the window to one's soul, to hide them is to protect it. To not?" Macaque turned to him and lunged, "Is to allow it to be stolen!"
Wukong barely held back a scream, jumping backward a nudge before the reaction quickly turned from shock to laughter as he realized what had happened.
"Dude, don't do that!"
Macaque sat back on his knees, brushing his hair out of his eyes and grinning like a madman, "Consider it payback for earlier!"
Wukong gasped, "What a grudge to hold, man! God, you got me good with that one."
The brunette crossed his arms, upturning his chin and shutting his eyes in solidarity, "A great man forgives, but does not forget, laddie!"
Wukong poked the others side, sending him seizing away with a splutter and a shout of betrayal.
He only waved the other off with a smirk, "So, since you're not wearing them now, have I stolen your soul?"
Wukong watched the taller's eyes widen in thought, Macaque brought a hand up and stroked his chin in contemplation, "I guess it does; in that case, your wish is my command."
Wukong laughed, and at this angle, he could see the faint traces of makeup on Mac's face. A curiosity suddenly struck him.
"What's with the makeup?" The question wasn't meant to be condescending or mean, and honestly, it slipped past his lips without him really realizing it.
Macaque blinked at him after a moment, "Is that your wish, for me to share my secrets of glamour and disguise?"
Okay, Wukong could play along with this, "Yes, that is my wish."
Macaque dropped the act, flopping backward to where he was now half on the mattress and half on the floor, he waved his hands through the air as he spoke, "It's just to make my face a bit more visible to the audience. Accentuating the features makes it a whole heck of a lot easier for the people in the back."
Wukong hummed along with the other's words, and Macaque continued.
"Since dress rehearsal is starting next week, the makeup department wanted to get a headstart to practice so they wouldn't accidentally make a mess of the costumes."
"Ah, I see," Wukong scrubbed his hands on his jeans, why were they suddenly so sweaty? "Do, you wear makeup outside of theater?"
Macaque hummed, "Sometimes, I want to get better but hardly have time to practice. It's more of a side hobby than anything else, for me."
"Do ya' wanna try it on me?"
Why did he say that? Why did he say that?
Macaque sat up and stared at him for a moment, "You sure? I don't have much on me, but I think I have some spare mascara and eye shadow somewhere in that mess-" He made an offhanded gesture in the vague direction of their bags- "I could try it if you're serious."
Wukong swallowed around his nervousness, "Yeah, why not; go at it, make me pretty."
Macaque laughed and shuffled over to his bag, unzipping it and digging around for something, "But you already are pretty!"
Wukong didn't have the time to process what the brunette had said before Macaque was shouting in triumph and pulling out a small cosmetics case. The taller scooted across the floor back to his original spot before undoing the latch and pulling out a small palette of eyeshadow, a mixture of earthy greens, bright red, and a few neutral colors, as well as a bottle of mascara.
Macaque moved to sit crosslegged in front of him, and Wukong shifted to mirror the other. He locked his hands together in his lap to avoid picking at the threads of his pants, blush already stinging his cheeks as the other scooted ever closer, until their knees were budding up next to each other and touching.
Macaque popped open the lid of the eyeshadow palette, scooping up the brush and dragging it across one of the darker shades of green.
He held it up between them, "To match your jacket."
Wukong could only nod.
Macaque leaned forward and lightly used his free hand to cup Wukong's face before instructing him to close his eyes. Wukong was thankful that he didn't have to watch the way he knew that Macaque would stick his tongue out in concentration, or scan his face with those deep brown eyes. Wukong thinks he would die if he had to see it.
Instead, he listened to the heartbeat pounding in his ears and the sound of Macaque's breathing, he didn't even flinch as the wand dragged over his eyelid a few times, pausing to presumably get more pigment before swiping over the other. Wukong had to remind himself to breathe halfway through the process to avoid passing out.
Then, Macaque told him to open his eyes, and he did. The other was so close. He would've gasped if he wasn't distracted by the sudden appearance of the mascara stick in his face and Wukong flinched, blinking, not used to having something so close to his open eye.
But Macaque held his face steady, stroking a thumb across his cheek in a way that was probably trying and calm him but instead only served to make it worse.
But Wukong managed to pull himself together enough to allow Macaque to apply the mascara, after a few accidents ending with some stray black dots on his eyelids, mucking up the green color there, and some giggling.
When Macaque was finished, he didn't let go of Wukong's face; he just stared. They were so close, and the silence around them was deafening.
Wukong almost, almost, leaned forward and closed the gap, but he couldn't. He didn't even know if Macaque liked guys, and there was not an ounce of courage left in him; Macaque released his chin a few seconds later, so it was fine.
They stayed like that for a few moments, silently looking at each other while sitting face to face on the floor. Wukong wanted to curl up into a ball and shrivel away into nothing.
Mac, like always, was the one to break the silence, turning away and chuckling to himself.
Wukong blinked himself out of his stupor at the sound, "What is it?" Nervousness crept into his words, fearing that the other was laughing at him for some reason. Again, Wukong found his heart beating out of his chest.
"I just realized that I haven't got any pajamas, or clothes for tomorrow, dude!" A stupid, lazy grin was splayed out on his face.
"You can just borrow mine?" Wukong offered, trying desperately to expel the anxiety worming its way around his gut.
"Seriously?"
"Yeah, I mean I invited you over, it's the least I can do!"
Not long after that, they had showered, separately of course, and lay down in their separate beds, dressed in simple basketball shorts and t-shirts. Drifting off to meet surprisingly similar dreams about a Hogwarts-themed castle with a red-tinted ruler, but they wouldn't need to share that.
Wukong didn't even try to hide his smile when the next day Macaque walked into class wearing his hoodie.
-
Time flew by faster than the months of summer, and it was now the night of the first show.
Early November, not yet time for it to start snowing but it was coming close. Wukong had memorized every one of his cues, he had his headphones on, connected to the audio being controlled by another student, ready to listen for every sound to lead him to where to point the lights.
His hands splayed over the keyboard that controlled the spotlights, a second one connected to the stage lights sat on the left of the first. He had managed to stamp down the second that each key needed to be pressed and when to let go into his brain.
He'd already wished Macaque good luck, telling him to break a leg because that was apparently expected; he thought it was a little morbid but whatever.
He'd seen every dress rehearsal, theoretically, he'd memorized the entire show. Wukong knew exactly what was going to happen, down to the word. He had the script open next to him on the desk, a million and a half notes scrawled on the pages. Highlighter marks sectioning off when to do what. He had been right about how this was the most dedicated he'd ever been to any project in his life.
Not that he needed the notes, not really, but he kept them open anyway; this was no time to get wrapped up in his ego. He wasn't doing this for himself, this was for Mac.
Because of course, it was. Wukong's crush had only gotten worse in the weeks since the sleepover of 'almost kissing,' as it was dubbed by Tang the day after when Wukong had told him, and Wukong had long since given up on trying to reign it in.
He checked the time on the clock in front of him, one minute to curtain call.
His right hand moved unconsciously, shifting to hover over the lever that controlled the overhead lights. At thirty seconds he slowly lowered it, and as expected, music welled up from the speakers; echoing in the auditorium as the audience slowly silenced their pre-show chatter.
The narrator began to speak, Wukong heard it double over, in both his headphones and in the room around him, but he had long since gotten used to that effect. His left hand shifted to the key for the stage lights.
Stage right, Juliet, on. It showed her in her bedroom.
Stage left, Romeo, on. He was in his.
The narrator kept going, giving the pair's backstory. Telling the long tale of their family's feud. Wukong never liked Romeo and Juliet when it was taught in English class, it made him sad; two lovers, unable to love each other in life, so they had to settle for death.
The tragedy was never really his style.
Another cue, top lights shined down on a new character that had walked onto the stage.
He still found the story sad, but now for a different reason. As he watched the show for what might've been the millionth time, he found himself falling in love too; only to have it ripped from him again and again.
Macaque looked gorgeous on stage, his makeup shimmering perfectly in the light, hair tied back into a loose ponytail at the nape of his neck, dressed in old-fashioned clothes, and speaking with such certainty in his words that Wukong was shocked that the stage around them didn't morph into the real tower in which it took place.
Wukong heard the profession of love for Juliet and wished it was his name in the other's mouth instead.
Lights cut out, and another scene changed, shuffling on stage as props were moved around; Romeo found Juliet dead in the cathedral, surrounded by a thousand wax candles.
Wukong knew they were fake, but somehow the way the fire shined in Macaque's eyes made him believe for a second that the whole building would catch flame and burn to ash around them; Juliet dies, and so would the audience, watching with bated breath even though they knew what would happen.
Romeo stabs himself.
Wukong dims the stage lights, he knows what's really happening; Macaque's just changing his shirt to one covered in faux blood. But when he presses the key to switch the lights back on, he could see real agony on the other’s face, a fake knife buried in his stomach as he collapses on the bed next to Juliet's body.
He watches as Romeo plants a final kiss on her lips before too falling still, succumbing to the blood loss.
He watches Macaque kiss someone else, and although he knows that it isn't real, he can't hold back the tears that spring to his eyes. One of them dripped down to his chin, leaving a salty trail on his face and smudging the mascara that he had stole from Macaque and had begun practicing on himself.
Juliet's eyes blink open, Wukong wipes his eyes and shifts the light to focus on her slowly waking form. He flicks another switch, and the candles surrounding them burn brighter before dimming again, flaring up to mimic her excitement before falling to show her sorrow.
Wukong never noticed how important symbolism was until he was the one orchestrating it.
Juliet gives herself a matching stab wound, rests her head on Romeo's chest, and follows him into the afterlife. Wukong dims the lights again, the show has its final scenes and comes to a close.
The show felt so different like this, live, the cheers of the crowd weren't overwhelming like he'd expected; it was like a blanket with the way it rang throughout the whole theatre, ringing in his ears and forcing him to smile through his tears.
It was exhilarating. The rest of the time there went by in a blur, one moment he was being congratulated on his lighting techniques by the rest of the tech crew and the next he was standing outside of the dressing rooms, waiting.
He wasn't really sure for what, but it was late, and he was tired, and he hadn't really thought any of this through. Hell, he still had on the headphones from the tech booth.
And then a body slammed into him.
"Wukong!"
He was snapped out of his dazed state by a familiar voice.
"Maqacue!" And although Macaque was taller, Wukong was strong; he scooped the other into a hug and twirled him in the air for a moment, "You did so good!"
Macaque flashed that same, sparkling grin his way and Wukong couldn't do anything but smile in return.
"No need for flattery, if anything I should be complimenting you!" Mac's hands were now resting on his shoulders, and Wukong had yet to remove his arms from where they were clasped together around the taller's waist.
They must've looked crazy, chest to chest in a random hall outside the dressing rooms, Macaque still in his bloodstained shirt and stage makeup, Wukong in the all-black attire of stage crew, sporting headphones that were hanging half off his head and smudged mascara on his cheeks.
Macaque peered down at Wukong's face, "Did you-" he paused, using one hand to gesture wildly at Wukong's tight expression- "Cry?"
As quickly and gracefully as he could, Wukong unwound a hand from around Macaque to scrub furiously at the skin around his eyes, which just made the makeup there worse.
"No! You just-" Wukong laughed, knocking his forehead against the other's shoulder- "You're a good actor, alright? I was very convinced."
He didn't mention what the tears were really for.
Macaque used a free hand to grip Wukong's chin in between his thumb and index finger, smiling that devilish smile that had Wukong tripping over his words, "You're adorable."
They were close again, just like that night.
Amber eyes met Hazel.
But here's what was different from what went down at the sleepover. This time, Wukong did lean forward.
He connected their lips, it was short, chaste; but it was enough. Wukong pulled back, blinking in shock at his own actions, an apology ready to go on his tongue.
But the hand on his chin pulled him back in, and this time he simply closed his eyes and just-
Melted.
-
Wukong was now sitting back on the floor where it all started, the same floor Tang had come out to him on all those years ago, in the same room where he had realized he had a horrid crush on his classmate, sitting in the same position he was when he and Macaque had almost kissed.
The thing about it though, was that this time he and Macaque were dating, how crazy was that to say, and Wukong was sitting cross-legged behind the brunette and was lazily braiding the other's hair.
It had grown out a bit longer since they'd first met, and it had quickly become Wukong's favorite thing; just to relax and mess with the other's hair while they chatted about this and that.
He mentally sent a thank you to Tang for forcing him to braid his hair when they had been kids; as much as he dreaded it then, the information was so useful now.
It was calming, and Wukong loved it.
Macaque had taken up doing Wukong's makeup whenever they had the free time. He'd been trying a bunch of new techniques, and while Wukong was a bit apprehensive about some of them, he mostly let the other do as he pleased.
It was nearing Christmas time, the beginning of December had been a week ago, and the time passed by sluggishly as faint music played from a speaker nearby.
The setup for the sleepover hadn't changed. And when questioned about it, Wukong's dad had very stubbornly explained, "If you guys were gonna do it, you'd find a way even if I built a wall between you. Just be safe about it".
They'd both cringed and simultaneously agreed that that would not be happening for a while.
The night was calm.
Wukong was happy.
He will never, ever, hate on assigned seating again, not if it gave him this.