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Maybe this time they could fix things.
This time- did that imply they’d even tried all those other times? Tried like they thought it’d work, tried like anyone believed such deep wounds could be mended?
No, neither had thought themselves healed enough to put weight on old injuries.
Wukong knew he should leave.
Macaque knew he should leave too.
If they both left, they could blame the other for what they’d been planning to do, whoever tapped out first taking the fall for it the next time they picked a fight. That was how it’d gotten to be. They knew each other better than themselves. Mirrors were clearer than imagined ideas of self perceptions.
So Wukong didn’t leave, and neither did Macaque.
When Macaque was silent, Wukong was tempted to fill the air between them, but a knowing glance of disapproval silenced him.
This was Macaque’s place after all. Wukong was there for a night before heading off to his temple. With Flowerfruit Mountain destroyed, he’d salvaged what he could, most of his belongings in boxes crammed around Macaque’s apartment.
Macaque hadn’t directly complained, but Wukong could sense the imposition he felt at his presence, at the literal baggage around them. Why Macaque had even agreed to let him use his space for a bit, he didn’t know. Guilt, he guessed. Wukong had been feeling a lot of that himself since getting out of the scroll.
“I’ll get to the point,” said Wukong, cutting through the heavy silence. “Where am I sleeping tonight? Couch?”
Macaque paused. He always tried to be hard to read, but for once Wukong couldn’t actually read his hesitance. “I didn’t let you come here because I wanted to make you miserable. You can take the bed.”
Wukong raised his eyebrows. “And you?”
“I’ll figure it out.”
Rubbing his face, Wukong sighed. Macaque’s guard was up high. He was playing at being aloof, even when trying to reach out. Coaxing anything genuine out of him was going to feel like getting a skittish animal to cooperate, a game with more patience than Wukong felt he had at the moment.
“Mack, the bed is huge. We can share without a problem. Just for a night.”
Macaque grimaced. “That’s my problem.” He turned away like he was going into the kitchen, his back to Wukong, but Wukong reached for his hand, fingers closing around his wrist.
“Tell me what you want.” Wukong swallowed hard, wondering if he was breaking something again or mending it for once.
He caught Macaque off guard enough for Macaque to stop. He turned to Wukong, facade and voice cracking. “What I’ve always wanted.”
You.
He shouldn’t. Neither of them should want the other. Yet when the rest of the world turned to ash around them, they were still standing. No matter how far apart they tried to run from each other, even long shadows always connected to the source.
Wukong held Macaque’s wrist slightly tighter, affirming the touch. “Then if you decide to come back in there and share with me, I’ll be there.”
Macaque looked away, nodding before easing his hand out of Wukong’s grip.
Every breath Wukong drew felt heavy in his lungs. Now that the world was saved, for the moment, and the celebration was over, the rest was all sinking in. He laid back on Macaque’s bed, hoping if he put himself in a relaxing pose that his nerves might get the message to follow suit. It didn’t work.
There was little use asking what specific memory was bothering Macaque. One, it was obvious, and two, it didn’t matter. Every thread that tied them together always looped back to encompass it all, turning the happiest memories bitter and cursing the worst of them to remain painful all the years later.
It was their entire existence together- an existence which only got longer, with more knots in the timeline.
Macaque came in some time later, perched more than sitting on the edge of the bed, as though he wasn’t sure he was staying. Wukong propped himself up, the two sitting barely a foot apart. Every breath or gentle rustle of sheets seemed too loud, even to Wukong’s ears.
He laid his palm on Macaque’s shoulder, watching as Macaque twitched but ultimately relaxed under his touch. They were unused to this by now, but nothing was unfamiliar, it was all too familiar and distant at once.
“What’re we doing?” asked Macaque, addressing the floor rather than Wukong.
“I don’t know,” admitted Wukong.
Macaque finally seemed to have made up his mind, committing to spending the night next to Wukong. He reclined on the bed properly, facing him. It was Macaque’s turn to reach out. He stroked Wukong’s hair, touch gentle and soothing. His fingertips barely drifted against Wukong’s temples, right at the circlet line.
Wukong flinched.
He knew it was an accident on Macaque’s part, but it didn’t matter.
They both froze.
Perhaps Macaque could have pulled his hand back and that would have been the end of it, but Wukong’s gaze snapped right to Macaque’s weakest spot: his right eye.
Macaque would’ve normally bared his fangs in response. The charge in the air between them could’ve sparked and dissolved the tentative peace into a fight like any other day. Both had a knife to the other’s throat in that held moment. It’s been said that love is trusting someone to not destroy you even when they know exactly how, yet hadn’t they both tried that, and one of them succeeded? Didn’t they both kick low while the other was down?
What love could possibly be left? Was a determined weed worth being nurtured?
He expected aggressive defense.
Instead, Macaque’s expression was startlingly vulnerable. His eyes were wide and he seemed to look like the Macaque Wukong had caught glimpses of centuries ago- honest and scared.
Wukong’s mouth went dry, watching as Macaque suddenly blinked a few times, breathing ragged. Macaque’s hand dropped from Wukong’s hair. Wukong got the immediate impression that he was about to lose Macaque if he didn’t act. “Hey-” His hand found Macaque’s side, guiding him closer, if he wished.
Macaque’s eyes were wet but he didn’t let himself cry. “Don’t say anything you don’t mean,” he rasped.
Nothing needed to be said.
Wukong brought Macaque into his arms, holding him close to himself. Macaque trembled, clinging to Wukong the second he was allowed to. Wukong tried to calm his own breathing, willing himself to not give into the tightness in his throat.
Whatever willpower Macaque had been drawing on to keep his mask in place was thoroughly gone. There was no warning before he gripped Wukong tightly and buried his face against Wukong’s shoulder.
Macaque screamed in anguish.
Wukong’s fur stood on end and his heart skipped a beat. Macaque didn’t let go. The rough cry turned to sobs that shook Macaque’s entire body, no quieter or less ugly than the scream had been. There was still no need for words as Macaque cried, Wukong both perpetrator and comforter, enemy and confidant.
The only one who understood.
“I’m sorry.”
His own tone sounded small and strained to him, but genuine enough for Macaque to seem to accept it, letting Wukong hold him as he rode the emotional storm out. It took an uncomfortably long time, but there was something newly resolved between them when it ended.
Macaque pulled back with a final sniff and seemed surprised anew at Wukong’s face, where silent tears had fallen from his eyes.
It took strength to not look away, for Wukong to let Macaque see his own mask taken off. “I’ve always had a heart. You know that.”
“I know.” They were both quiet, unsure what to do with all of the shards of the past in their hands. “I’m sorry too. For all of it.” Macaque wiped his eyes on his sleeve. “I didn’t even tell MK what happened. I don’t even know which of us I’m covering for at this point, but the scroll didn’t show it, so I didn’t say it. I didn’t want to turn him against either of us or ruin whatever good came out of us finding you.” He laughed humorlessly. “Seems that’s what I do now, going in after you, still holding secrets that burn me.”
Wukong wasn’t sure if the undiluted sorrow or the old bitterness Macaque had found the strength to mix into it hurt more to hear. He held Macaque again, this time just around the waist, both of them facing the window and looking at the city lights from outside. “We can’t take any of it back. I don’t want to hurt you ever again, but I know me, I know if even though we don’t physically fight, we’re going to hurt each other again somehow. It could be tomorrow or a century from now.”
Macaque took his time replying. He leaned on Wukong, head on his shoulder, also wrapping his arm around Wukong’s waist. “I think that’s how it is with everyone, Wukong. We’re just exceptionally bad at this.”
“Heh. Yeah.”
Silence was a blessing then, one they basked in for a while.
Exhaustion eventually made Wukong’s body feel heavy. He laid back, settling in to sleep. Macaque curled up mostly on top of him, head resting on Wukong’s chest. It’d be easy to pull him into a kiss, one he knew Macaque would receive and reciprocate, but it wasn’t the time for that.
Not yet. Maybe not for a long while yet.
All Wukong needed was to hold Macaque again and enjoy his comforting weight and warmth. At least here, between waking and sleeping, wordless and reduced down to the creatures that they were, they both got what they needed from each other.
Macaque dozed with his cheek against Wukong’s collarbone, head tucked against Wukong’s neck, one arm around him and his other hand off to the side on the bed.
Wukong carefully slid his palm under Macaque's free hand, lacing their fingers together with a gentle squeeze. He affectionately nuzzled the top of Macaque’s hair, murmuring, “I don’t know what I’m doing, but I’ll do it with you.”
They were still holding hands when they woke up, which was a start.