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The quiet hum of the television filled the air, its glow casting soft shadows across the dimly lit room. Wukong lounged on the couch, his tail flicking lazily as he watched some inane human drama. One leg was draped over the armrest, his posture as relaxed as ever, but there was a tension in the air. He felt it even before the soft creak of the door hinges broke the stillness.
Macaque stood at the doorway, silent and watchful. His dark form was illuminated by the flickering light, his six ears twitching slightly as he took in the scene. His golden eyes, once warm and filled with admiration, now gleamed with something far more complex—a mix of hunger, resentment, and a devotion he couldn’t quite shake off.
Wukong didn’t look at him right away. He let the moment stretch, relishing the weight of Macaque’s presence. It was a strange comfort, this dance they’d been performing for centuries.
Finally, Wukong’s gaze flicked toward the door. He smiled, lazy and sharp. “You’re hovering,” he said, his voice light but pointed.
Macaque stepped into the room, his movements deliberate and silent. His hands flexed at his sides, claws glinting for a moment before disappearing into fists. “You called for me,” he said, his tone clipped but calm.
“I did,” Wukong replied, sitting up and patting the space beside him on the couch. “Come. Sit.”
Macaque didn’t move right away. He tilted his head, studying Wukong with a predator’s patience. “What do you want, Sun Wukong?” he asked, his voice low, almost a growl.
Wukong raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “What I always want, Macaque,” he said, leaning back with a smirk. “For you to behave. To stay. To be…” He paused, letting the word hang in the air before finishing it with a playful twist, “…obedient.”
Macaque’s lips twitched into a sneer, but he stepped forward, closing the distance. “Obedient,” he echoed, his voice dripping with mockery. “Is that what you call it? All these years, and you still treat me like some dog.”
Wukong’s smirk softened into something almost melancholic. He reached out, his hand hovering near Macaque’s arm. “You chose this,” he said, his voice quieter now. “You could’ve left.”
“And you could’ve stayed,” Macaque shot back, his voice rising. The hunger in his eyes flared for a moment, and his claws extended again, but he didn’t strike. Not yet.
The room fell into silence. The only sound was the faint buzz of the television and the rhythmic ticking of a clock somewhere in the distance.
Wukong sighed and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I know,” he said, almost too softly for Macaque to hear. He glanced up, his amber eyes meeting Macaque’s golden ones. “I didn't pay enough attention.”. Another pause as he speaks again,"It was wrong of me."
Macaque froze, his body rigid as the words sank in. Wukong rarely admitted fault, and hearing it now felt like a slap and a balm all at once. His claws retracted, and his fists unclenched, but his jaw tightened.
“Is that what you wanted to say?” Macaque asked, his voice raw, stripped of its earlier bravado.
Wukong shook his head and gestured to his arm, rolling up the sleeve to reveal fresh, undisturbed, golden skin. “Take what you came for,” he said, his tone resigned but not unkind. “You’re not just some dog to me, Macaque. But if this is the only way you’ll stay…”
Macaque hesitated, his gaze flickering between Wukong’s face and the offered limb. The hunger clawed at him, but so did something deeper—something that had festered for centuries. Slowly, he stepped closer, lowering himself onto the couch beside Wukong.
His hand hovered over Wukong’s arm, trembling. “You don’t get to fix this with scraps,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
“I’m not trying to fix anything,” Wukong replied, leaning back and closing his eyes. “I’m just… here. With you.”
The room fell silent again, and for the first time in centuries, it didn’t feel suffocating.
Macaque lowered his head, his lips brushing against Wukong’s skin, but he didn’t bite. Not yet.
Maybe not tonight.