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The sun sets in the west, as it does every evening, allowing a pleasant deep blue to envelope the beach, bathing the sand in shimmering moonlight. Everyone had gone inside, the celebration had long since ended, leaving only two figures strewn about the shore.
Sun Wukong lay in his brightly colored beach chair, eyes closed and a small towel resting on his forehead, covering his eyes. To anybody else, he would look as though he was asleep. But Macaque knew better, he could hear the way his breathing caught every few seconds, refusing to even out, and how his heart rate skipped a beat every moment or so, betraying his calm exterior.
Macaque had closed his eyes too, It was not like he could watch Wukong out of the corner of his eye anyway, as the man had placed himself right in Macaque's blindspot. He wasn't sure if that was done on purpose or not, but he didn't mind either way. He could rely on his hearing, he trusted it more than his sight anyway. And so he listened, he focused in on the waves as they brushed lightly against the sand, sweeping away bits and pieces, leaves and shells being washed out like stains in the laundry.
He listened to the faint hustle and bustle of those who were still awake inside as they got themselves ready for bed, and he heard the faint snoring of those who had already given into the gentle pull of rest. He heard the shuffling of the monkey cubs as they squished themselves into small piles of warmth, curling into each other to hold onto that loving huddle of care; he almost felt jealous. The last time he felt something like that must've been ages ago.
It was ages ago, centuries even; with the man next to him nonetheless. But he doesn't want to confront that now, not like this, not when the silence between them is for once not hostile. When the peace echos in every exhale, when the tension doesn't feel as tight.
He shifts, just barely, turning his head in his still-shaded chair to face the one at his side. A mere three feet away. It feels like forever ago that that space would easily have been closed, the void filled with light touches and small smiles that stretched on their faces for hours. He aches for the times when he could look at Wukongs face and not have the wretched face of anger etched into his brain.
It sits angrily in the forefront of his mind as he blinks away the memory. Sun Wukong looks at peace, not asleep but not awake, relaxed; like Macaque wasn't someone capable of hurting him. Like there wasn't this rift that stretched between them like a crater.
Like three feet wasn't so far at all.
Wukong must have sensed the eyes on him because he too shifted. Of course he could tell, always one to ruin the moment. Macaque watched as the man stretched his arms above his head, letting out a small groan; he watched as Wukong plucked the towel away from his eyes and blinked into the moonlight before turning to face the brunette monkey.
Wukong smirked, a smug little thing that bore playful teeth, "What are you staring at? Am I so handsome that you just can't get enough of me?"
Macaque groaned, why can't Wukong take anything seriously, "No." He breathed, turning away, "I just don't like you being there, where I can't keep an eye on you." That wasn't the reason, and they both knew it.
Still, Wukong laughed. A small quiet laugh in the dark, as if the night had muffled them both, turned them into whispering teenagers trying to avoid waking their parents at a sleepover, "Aw, that's a good pun Macaque, you should be a stand-up comedian, you'd get a standing ovation with that one!"
"Har Har," Mac rolled his eyes, glaring at the moon with a small frown, the sky mocked him with its bright lights, and he couldn't help but feel like he was looking in a mirror, "Is everything a joke to you?"
That came out more hostile than he intended.
Wukongs smile dropped, a heavy crease setting between his eyebrows, and with sarcasm soaking his words in annoyance, "Oh, sorry for trying to make light of the situation."
"It's not your situation to make light of."
Sun Wukong scoffed, "Don't you forget, I was there too. I have my regrets."
Macaque wanted to punch him, shove his stupid face into the ground and watch him choke on the sand. What does he even mean by that, I have my regrets. Sure he does; like he even cared after Macaque was gone.
All macaque ever was to him was a stepping stone, another person to leave behind and bury in the dirt, if even that. Macaque can still feel the echos of his flesh rotting. Fur and skin turned to mold as time swept his body into nothing. The ache as the sun beat its rays into his defenseless corpse day after day, animals picking at his bones until all that remained was the skeleton of what he once was. It was like he had died twice.
The overlay of the torture he felt, centuries of pain stacking together in hell, his body torn apart as his soul was painstakingly sent through every layer. He wished he had gotten to make peace with that before he was dragged back to life by The Lady Bone Demon, he prays that when he dies again they'll remember his progress and he can fade away in peace.
The silence that once was peaceful had turned into something evil, both men staring as the waves became more violent in the night. A cruel mimicry of their energy, a fire that seemed to never go out.
"Regret, huh?" Macaque spat out; like the words were poison in his wine, stinging in his throat.
Wukong only sighed, refusing to answer with words. He sat up in his beach chair, crossing his legs beneath him and continuing to bore his eyes into the distant horizon.
Macaque followed his movement, too sitting up. He swung his legs off the side, slamming his feet into the sand and gripping the edge of his chair as he stared at the man in front of him.
He could hear his heartbeat rise, only slightly, and his breathing became more labored, but Macaque didn't care, "Regret? Do you regret what you did? or is that just another thing you say and don't mean, Wukong?"
"What the hell is that supposed to mean, Macaque?" Wukong was angry, his tone spun in molten gold, dripping with fury.
Macaque only rolled his eyes, "You know exactly what I mean, King."
Macaque glared up at Wukong, golden eyes flickering with disdain; his eyes daring Wukong to say something else, to make it worse. Wukong took that dare like a baby takes a treat.
Sun Wukong stood up, halfway through a retort, he almost walked away. He almost saved the moment. Unfortunately, the monkey king had never been good at holding his tongue, "It's not all my fault what happened happened. You're just as much to blame as me."
The moon shone a halo-like glow on Wukong's body, reflecting off his hair and shining in his pupils, Macaque stared at him like he was the devil.
Macaque stood up, shoving the chair behind him. It toppled over a few feet away, more force than necessary put into the throw but Mac didn't care. He was more focused on the blinding rage that settled in the forefront of his mind.
"Oh, am I now? Because from what I remember, you were the one to become obsessed with yourself and went off the rails."
Wukong took a menacing step forward, digging his heel in the sand. "Don't bring the past up. You know I-"
Macaque closed the gap, they were toe-to-toe, eye-to-eye, "You what? What do I know about you that you haven't changed? Or lied about?" Macaque jammed an accusatory finger into Wukong's chest, "Is there more you've done? More you're not telling me? You say I know, but I don't! I don't know you! I haven't known you for years."
Wukong shoved him away, claws digging into his shoulders and nearly breaking skin. "You don't know anything." He turned his back.
Macaque stumbled and shoved back, hands splayed over shoulder blades, an action that was once loving turned to an act of retaliation, "I just said that! Don't you listen? God, it's like I'm talking to a wall!"
"Like you know anything about listening, Macaque," a scoff, deep in his throat, sharp like a knife, "You claim to hear all, with your six ears, but when was the last time you listened to me?"
Macaque through his hands in the air, "Oh, for once in your eternal life will you realize it's not all about you? You pushed me away! You're to blame! So stop trying to pin something on me that wasn't my fault! Stop making yourself the good guy, because you're not."
Wukong spun around and punched him.
Macaque held his jaw, only for a moment, taking in the blow. His brows furrowed, a sneer forming on his lips. He punched back, this one sent straight into Wukong's stomach.
Wukong grabbed him by the shoulder and flung him to the left, but Macaque just widened his stance, landing on his feet and jumping back. He clawed across Wukong's chest, the cheesy Hawaiian shirt tearing and a few buttons sent flying through the air like half-alive fireworks.
Wukong growled, "I liked that shirt, y'know?" He pounced, knocking Macaque to the floor and slamming his head into the sand.
"If you think I care about your stupid shirt you're very wrong," Macaque flipped them over, taking his turn to grab at Wukong's shoulders and dig in his claws, not close enough to choke, but enough to break skin and sending streaks of blood dripping into the ivory earth, staining it an ugly crimson.
A wave crashed over them, they were too close to the shore. Water washed over Wukongs face, Macaque held him under. Wukong couldn't drown, they both knew that, but Macaque found peace in the idea.
The water fizzed as the tide pulled back, Wukong shoved Mac away and moved to dry the salty water from his eyes, but Macaque kicked him while he was down, a sharp blow to the ribs, taking his frustration and turning it into something real, something physical. It was only fair.
Wukong rolled away, anger forming deeper in his gut. The sand prickled at his knees, saltwater stinging in his wounds. He dusted off his hands and shot back with another punch, but Macaque dodged.
They fought like this for another few minutes, but it felt like longer. Insults and heavy breathing filled the void. They could've easily destroyed the beach, toppled trees and burnt the sand to glass. But, somehow, it was nonverbally decided that they would fight this fight the good old-fashioned way, fist to face.
It wasn't until they were both bloody and bruised that the final blow was dealt, though this one wasn't a punch or a kick.
"Why couldn't you have taken both my eyes so I would never have to see you again?"
"Well, why do you think I killed you?"
Macaque gasped; somehow, this hurt more than the punches, this felt like heartbreak, it felt like betrayal. And he knew those feelings well.
"What?"
But Macaque was already deep into his head, a memory, one he tried so hard to suppress, to never think about again. Still, it haunts him, every hour of every day, it haunts him like a ghost. It follows him around like a creak in the floorboards or a scream from the basement.
The sky was dark, but it wasn't night. Colors flashed back and forth across the horizon, they blacked out the sun, turning the usual bright blue into a murky grey.
Macaque could hear the scream as it rang in his ears; he couldn't tell if it was echoes from the past or premonitions of the future. But the sound only spurred him on.
That voice was one he knew well. A deep growl stretched between strained vocal cords as they called out for something. Help? Mercy? He wasn't sure yet; still, the voice was one he recognized; it was his own.
Maybe that's why he lost, he already knew the outcome. Even subconsciously, when he didn't want to admit it, he knew the truth. Macaque was going to die today, and there was nothing he could do about it.
Still, he fought. He fought until he was battered and bruised; blood dripped onto the ground like water from a spout.
Macaque thinks that if Sun Wukong was the rain; then he'd be the dirt. Turned to murk and mud in his presence, forever beneath him, forever his second. Macaque will never be more important than anything, hell always be second place.
The fight goes on.
Macaque tried to dodge, he really did. But something distracted him. A shout. Past, present, or future; it doesn't matter. All it took was that moment of lost focus, of blindness, and suddenly he couldn't see in his right eye.
A large gash stretched across his eyelid, and he heard the scream again. It was his own, this time he knew it was real. Not a prediction, or an echo, but a shout of pain, of anger, of betrayal.
Yet, he continues to slash as his best friend, his enemy. Who knew the terms could become synonymous? They trade punches; evenly matched. But Macaque was at a disadvantage, and that's all it took for Wukong to take the final blow.
He had come in from behind; on his right, of course. Macaque knew the sound of the staff cutting through the air like you know an old friend. It had haunted him, since the moment he learned of his ability to hear the future. This specific noise; the swish of a blade, the warcry that accompanied it. Macaque had known this sound since what felt like birth; this was the sound of his death.
In that moment, he was almost grateful to have lost vision on that side, at least he'd never see the staff as it bashed into his skull.
Wukong stood, Macaque was snapped out of his daze by Wukong taking a single, shaky step forward and smearing a fist across his face, smudging the blood that dribbled from his mouth, "Why do you think I killed you? Just because you tried to kill Tang Sanzang? No. It was so I'd never have to see you again."
Macaque took a step backward; horrified.
Deep down he thinks he knew that. That Sun Wukong could've gone an eternity of never seeing his face again. Still, hearing it out loud stings. It stings like lightning, or a stab wound. It tears a hole in his heart; reminds him of a piece of himself he's sworn he'd forgotten.
It reminds him of the part of him that still loves Sun Wukong.
And that sickens him.
It sinks in his stomach like a rock to water, captures his lungs like prisoners of war. He can't breathe, he can't think. He wants to go home, but he has none.
He used to think Wukong was his home, a distant forever ago he wished he could forget.
He takes another step backward, nearly tripping on a rock. His head aches, and his chest spasms. But neither of those are a result of his wounds.
Wukong doesn't follow as he turns and sinks into the shadow behind him.
-
"So that's it, huh? You're just gonna leave? Run away like you always do, right Macaque?"
Wukong's cries go unanswered.
"Oh come on! Come back and finish this fight!" Silence echoes in the absence, "Fuck."
Wukong blinks, he digs his claws into his knees; hunched over in the blood-soaked sand. Grit sits heavy under his nails; dried crimson crusting on his skin.
He falls forward; sinking into the earth. He hides his face in his hands as he begins to shake, ragged breaths rattling his form. He mutters another curse under his breath, but his voice cracks and whittles away in the wind.
He whispers apologies, swears up to every god he can think of. He cries, he screams. He's deafening, he's inaudible. He's too much, he's nothing at all.
He's broken a million promises in his past; he’ll break a million more. But regret swarms in his heart, it fills the chasm in his chest with brick and mortar, stiffening his breath like cement.
Sun Wukong prays to every god he's ever worshiped, every god he's ever denounced. He bows his head in the sand, the tides rise higher and wash over him but he doesn't care. He continues to sob into the night, screaming into the thin air around him.
It's a miracle that no one in the house awoke, or maybe it wasn't. Maybe Wukong truly was silent, maybe he didn't make a sound.
It would be preferable; then Macaque wouldn't be able to hear his pathetic apologies.
-
He hears every word.
Macaque hears every single pathetic cry Wukong screams to the void. He listens as the monkey begs for forgiveness from gods that have never listened; begs for forgiveness from him.
An apology he can't bear to accept, not again.
Macaque stays in between the shadows of reality for a while after the fight. Barely phasing in and out to catch glimpses of his friend's conversations. They say they are worried for him, that his disappearance was strange.
He listens to Wukong dismiss their fear like nothing, lying through his teeth. It was what he was best at after all; making up stories to paint him as the good guy. Never once does the king mention his faults.
It made Macaque sick.
He doesn't stray from the mountain, however. He doesn't abandon his friends. He doesn't give up that easily. He was better than his past, he was better than him. So he keeps close, close enough to jump in if something were to go awry, close enough to protect.
Close enough to hear the whispered apologies at night. Close enough to hear the mumbled prayers and silent tears.
He watches in the shadows of the candlelight of Sun Wukongs room. Flickering in and out with the dim light of the small flame. He watches Wukong shed his facade of carefree ignorance and slip into a strange numb. A lull, lacking life, lacking energy.
Macaque would pity the man if he cared. But it hurt too much to care, so he didn't. He only watched and listened.
One day, he isn't quite sure how long since he wasn't counting, Wukong says something different. The apology seems less than empty, the words strike more than they had been. Catching his attention from the midpoint of neither here nor there.
"I lied Mihou."
Wukong hadn't said his name in centuries. Macaque's eye peeked open, staring from the shadows like a predator, stalking like a hunt.
"I lied. I didn't- I didn't mean what I said. It-" A pause, Sun Wukong placed his head in his hands, "I didn't k- I didn't do it on purpose. I didn't want to lose you. Not forever, not like this."
Macaque stayed silent, shifting around the room to sit in Wukongs shadow, right in front of the man.
"I was so angry! I didn't want to hurt you I swear- I just. I took it too far, like I always fucking do and you were another casualty and I'm sorry."
More silence. Minutes passed, Sun Moved to sit on the floor, bowing his head to his feet. They would be eye to eye now, if Wukong could see him that was.
Wukong began to pick at the floorboards, shifting in his spot, unable to settle, "I don't even know if you can hear me. Frankly, I don't know if I even want you to hear me. I just wish I could tell you to your face." Wukong shifted again, staring blankly at the wall where his shadow flickered with the candlelight. He didn't know Macaque was there, he couldn't, but it almost felt like a sign.
"I left your body for so long." Wukong starts, sucking in a breath, "I was so ashamed, so hurt by your- By you being gone that I just left you! How could I do that? The others, on the journey, they tried to convince me to bring you home, to give you a proper burial but I shoved them aside. I-" Another deep breath, Wukong wiped a tear, "Gods, I just left you to rot! What is wrong with me? I murdered you and I couldn't even have the strength to take you home? To our home?"
Macaque only stared in shock at the confession, but he didn't interrupt.
"I regret that the most I think, it hurt you more. I made you suffer so much more with one single decision."
Wukong was right, hell is a lot harder when you're not even at rest.
"I went back. I don't know if you know that, but I went back. It took me so long- too long. It took me too long but I did. I went back to where the weeds had claimed your bones and I took you home." Wukong was sobbing now, barely taking a breath between his words, "I couldn't even carry you right! You were falling apart in my arms! Unrecognizable! It was my fault! Fuck, it was all my fault!"
"I get it Mihou! It's my fault! I'm sorry! Everything between us; I pushed you away, I betrayed you, I killed you! All you ever did was try and bring us together, try and save me but I didn't let you! You were right and I was wrong and I am sorry!"
The crackling of the flame continued, unbothered by the king's outburst. When fire and flame meet they only grow, and Sun Wukong kept going.
"I buried you. I visited every day; for a while at least. I thought- I wanted to make up for all the years you were alone out there. I came every morning, I spoke to you every night. I wish you could've heard me then."
Macaque does too.
"One day I just- I let you go? I let you move on; I tried to forget again. Maybe if I stopped bothering you you could rest? I don't know what I was thinking- and then you came back! And I lost it; I lost you all over again and I couldn't handle it," the floorboard snapped. "Fuck. You know I'm not good with words. But I messed it up, and I'm sorry."
A flicker, Macaque stepped forward, "I know. I believe you."
-
Weeks passed on the island, no more conflict, no more fighting. Sun Wukong continued to train his protege, Macaque continued to step in when he wished. But they moved on.
Slowly, things returned to a relative calm; they began to trust that the war was over, at least for now, and that they could relax.
That's how the pair find themselves now, back on the beach, gazing out at the setting sun. Quiet chittering could be heard as the monkey cubs set themselves up for bed, and gentle conversation echoed from the buildings nearby.
It was an echo of that night, almost identical. Birds chirping above, waves crashing below. The sky was a shimmering deep blue, with hints of pink and yellow on the horizon, dashing the scenery in a pleasant glow.
This time, however, it's Sun Wukong who rolls over in his beach chair, staring at the monkey across from him. Quietly, like any louder would break the trance, he whispered, "I don't know if we're meant for a happy ending Mihou."
Macaque's eyes stayed closed, but his ears flicked in the direction of Wukongs voice, he hummed, "Maybe not, but are you happy now?"
Wukong glanced away, blinking at the still-warm sand. He thought of his kid, Mk who was working so hard, who he was so proud of. He thought of Pigsy and Tang and Sandy and Mei, unexpected friends, echos of his past life; yet people he is glad to have found again. He looks back up at Macaque, and their slowly rekindling friendship, maybe even more if he's lucky. He wants to earn that right again; he wants back what he had. But he has to work for it, and he knows that, so he will.
He will put in the effort, he will put in the time. Wukong will gain back the right to those three little words if it's the last thing he does. That he will swear to every god there is.
"Yeah," he says instead, simple and straight to the point, "I am happy now."
Macaque smiles into the night, still refusing to open his eyes, "Then maybe that's enough."
Wukong couldn't agree more.