Archive of Our Own

Macaque awakened slowly, making a bleary return into the world. Winds, harsh and cold, were lashing against his body, trying to find a way in through the layers of his clothes and his fur.

Yet, he was warm all over, and more comfortable than he had felt in a long time.

With a soft purr, he tried to bury his face in the source of that warmth, drinking in the bliss of that comfort, his heart giving a flutter as he registered a soothing familiar scent, along with a familiar heartbeat.

Too familiar.

His eyes flew open, and what he saw filled him with horror, his face flushing with anger - and absolutely nothing else.

“Awake already?” Wukong said, staring ahead.

They were on his cloud, with Wukong carrying Macaque in his arms, high up in the darkened skies.

So, of course, the first thing Macaque did was launch himself away from Wukong, falling into the void of night and calling for the shadows to catch him.

It was only then that he remembered.

The clones. His memories. The ritual.

Right. He had given his shadow powers up.

His stomach dropped, much like the rest of him. He could no longer feel the familiar energy coursing through his veins, the company of the one thing he had always been able to count on in his existence.

An existence that would soon meet with the ground if he did nothing.

So he changed his plans and tried to float, to make his body as light as air, but he stayed as heavy as usual: he was exhausted in every way, his body and his lingering, weaker sources of magic crying for respite.

With a sigh, he braced for impact.

But his freefall came to an early end as he landed on something softer than what he had expected. Wukong had caught him, furious as he looked down at him with a frown that accentuated each of his striking features.

“What is wrong with you?!” he yelled.

“Me? What is wrong with you?!” Macaque yelled back, trying to cover up his fluster with annoyance. “Why are you holding me?”

“Because if I didn't you'd go straight through the cloud! You know this, and I didn't see you remove your brain alongside your powers.”

“You're right, but maybe that mishap in the ritual scrambled yours.”

Wukong huffed in annoyance. “Good to see you took the removal well.”

“Whatever.” Macaque grumbled. “Nice show you put on back there, by the way. And I say I'm dramatic...”

His remark was met with silence. But Macaque was done being ignored for the day. Just as done as being cradled in Wukong's arms – if he stayed there for five more seconds, he would combust.

Even if his limbs were as slack as they felt, he tried to squirm around in Wukong's hold. The groan of annoyance his actions rewarded him with gave him a boost of energy, and he almost managed to make it on Wukong's back, before Wukong's tail caught him and he was shoved back into his arms, pressed flush against his chest, held in part by the waist.

Macaque huffed, trying to push himself away, but the hold Wukong had on him was much too strong, like being hugged by a statue.

Wukong, eventually, snapped. “Stop that! You're exhausted.”

“I'm fine, let me go! I'm perfectly capable of holding onto you by myself!”

“As if. You fainted after the ritual.”

Macaque jolted. Of course this was what had happened to lead him to this situation.

But if that was the case, he thought, then did...

“Your ears are still hidden. Nobody saw.” Wukong said as if he had been reading his mind, his words barely audible. “'Knew there was something odd about your glamours for the past week. You tapped into another source of magic, right?”

Maybe it was the fact that Macaque's brain was not working as well as it usually did, but he thought he heard some pride in Wukong's voice. Even so, the simple fact that Wukong had paid enough attention to notice the change at all...

He hated how fond and tingly it made him feel. As if he was still that naïve idiot with a one-sided crush on an even bigger idiot.

He would have liked to think he had dropped the naïvity, at the very least.

“... I did. I switched it out with the earth power from the stones because it felt more stable. Just in case, y'know...”

Wukong hummed. “Yeah, you've always been clever like that.”

Macaque’s mouth went dry, his shock making him go numb. That couldn’t have been a compliment just now, could it?

“Are you really sure the ritual did not scramble your brain?” he asked.

He heard Wukong sigh in disappointment. There were no more words from him, only the sound of the rushing winds, that did not feel as fast as the few times Macaque had travelled like this with Wukong, ages ago.

“Why are you going slower than usual?” he asked.

“I was hoping it would spare me from your whining. Obviously I was mistaken.”

These words had none of the warmth Macaque had felt from Wukong mere moments ago. His tone was as empty as Camel Ridge's wasteland and cold as the air that surrounded them both.

But, most of all, Wukong sounded tired.

A similar, if stronger, exhaustion took over Macaque, and he closed his eyes, more than aware of the weight of Wukong's arms around his body, his presence engulfing him.

He remembered the last time he had been so close to Wukong, holding onto him like this, taking in his warmth, his scent, and his softness. They had just about gotten done with a game of shapeshiftag, Macaque claiming another victory.

But the moment had to be cut short, their new brothers waiting at the table. He had not wanted to make MK and his friends wait any longer, even if he wished they hadn't come. He had tuned out most of the plans about the takeover of the heavens, and had dragged Wukong to hang out under his tree – their tree – just as they did everyday.

It had been perfect, just them, as it was always supposed to be, as Wukong had promised him. Forever.

But there had been odd sounds. Macaque had picked them up, and then...

The city...

The humans...

The noise, the sounds…

The city had been chaotic, loud and strange, not a single corner of silence to be found.

The world had started to spin, and Macaque had slipped through a shadow into an abandoned dojo. The place had not brought him comfort, but a sense of safety had still washed over him.

The comfort had come when Wukong had shown up, bright and warm as the sun. Macaque had clung to him, to his pillar of support. But it had crumbled.

Wukong had said things, horrible things, that Macaque had refused to believe in, until he could not.

Then, Wukong had tried to leave, each step a stab in Macaque's heart as he watched Wukong's retreating back, like he had so many times before.

What had happened next had been a blur of hurt and confusion. He could only remember seeing the staff, and the excruciating pain that had bloomed around his right eye, tearing a scream from his throat. He had thought he was dying. He had known he was dying. He had been prepared for that outcome, had almost counted on it, and yet…

And yet, it had hurt more than he had expected, this final proof that Wukong did not care for him anymore.

He had refused to believe it, fighting to get Wukong back, even as chains kept him from moving, from reaching Wukong. But he had not had to move, Wukong had come to him on his own, he had hugged him, his reassurances melting away the frost of the terror that had gripped Macaque up until then.

Wukong had looked so sad. So weary and regretful. Macaque could not comprehend what Wukong must have lived through, what he himself might have become through centuries he had forgotten, but he could not believe that the love he felt was weak enough to die out so easily.

He had done his best to convey it with the borrowed time he had been allotted. And once the clones had been destroyed…

He had remembered. 

Macaque had remembered. Just now, waking up from what could have been a dream, but were actually memories, some of many he had just recovered.

The past two days were no longer a mystery to him.

He wished they still were. He wished he could forget the proof that Wukong could still be as kind and affectionate to him as he used to be, when he wanted to.

That knowledge made something in Macaque twist and churn painfully with want .

And what a laughably familiar feeling that was. Whether it was back when he had been chasing his revenge, convinced he hated him, or as he threw his self-preservation away for his sake, all Macaque had really done was try and get Wukong to notice him, no matter how, over and over again.

The story of his life, really.

A story that could only have ended as it had: in tragedy. The Great Sage Equal to Heaven had never been one to be ensnared, his heart and mind as vast and free as the sky. Maybe it had been Macaque's mistake to want to keep him for himself, to covet his affection and his attention.

Nobody could hope to take the sun's warmth away from the world at large without consequences. Macaque had paid the price of this very desire, and his tale could easily have become a cautionary one against greed and envy.

But, despite it all? He had learned little from it. The simple fact that he was there in Wukong's arms, and not thousands of miles away, was proof enough.

The only thing he had left to save face with, was the other kind of distance between them. And maybe, if Macaque was a little more honest with himself, he would admit that this fact was not entirely of his own choice, and he would do away with it given the chance.

“... Are you alright?” Wukong asked after having stayed silent thus far, as if he still cared, as if he had carefully contemplated saying the words.

“Why wouldn't I be?”

“You were sniffling in your sleep.”

Macaque frowned. “I was just cold.”

A pregnant pause.

“Oh. Okay.”

And with that, the rest of the ride back to Flower Fruit Mountain was as quiet and awkward as could be. Even if there were so many things Macaque wanted to say.

Why was it so easy for you to act like you used to?

Could you ever treat me the same way?

Why did you push me away?

Had you really been trying to protect me, back then?

Was that mountain really named after me? 

Were you the one who named it?

Did I really ruin everything between us?

I miss you.

I miss us.

He kept his mouth shut, the thought of asking those questions made him feel weak and exposed. He rested his forehead on Wukong’s shoulder and tried to ignore his scent.

Coward, he thought, as he fell back into a - dreamless - sleep.

*

He was nudged awake. The air was warmer, the wind softer, and sounds he was used to greeted his ears. He knew they had made it back to Flower Fruit Mountain before Wukong had the time to say, “We’re here.”

The ground under him was uneven, but solid. When Macaque pushed himself away from Wukong, he met no resistance. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and saw that they had landed on the beach.

Macaque’s gaze was immediately drawn to the lone tree that stood proudly in front of the gentle waves. He took one step forward, then a second, and only when he staggered did he realize something.

He could no longer see from his right eye. Not that he had been able to ever since the Lady Bone Demon had brought him back, but Macaque had been quick to use his shadow powers to compensate for this inconvenience, his sensitive hearing coming in as a secondary crutch.

It’s fine , he thought. He would just need to adapt again. No problem.

But Wukong catching up to him and standing to his right, there but unseen, made him doubt his stance on that particular situation. However, he showed none of his discomfort, and kept walking ahead.

“I can't believe you actually sleep here,” he heard Wukong say when the tree was only a few more steps away. “It's adorable.”

Macaque turned around, ready to shoot back with whatever would first come to his mind. But then he saw the look on Wukong's face.

This had not been a jab. He was being sincere, not a trace of animosity to be found.

Macaque's heartbeat grew faster. He looked away.

“Yeah, well, it's as far away as I can be from you and your equally smelly cave,” he replied.

He had more than met his quota of vulnerability for the day. Wukong, apparently, had not.

“I'm sorry.”

“What, for stinking up the place? You know this could be fixed if you bathed every now and th-”

“Macaque.” Wukong interrupted him, in that tone of voice that Macaque could not ignore. “I'm sorry.”

Macaque sighed, hoping if he humored him this conversation would come to an end sooner than if he did not.

“Okay. What are you sorry for?”

There were many things Macaque would love to get an apology for, but he did not hold his breath.

“Your powers. Their removal. I know it was upsetting to be kept out of the discussion I had with Nezha, but...” Wukong let out a shaky exhale, his natural confidence was absent. “Look, I... I really, really didn't want to risk it. It was a tough call to make, we had to bring up the past, and you heard how we – I – got emotional. With the state I was in I knew it could happen, and if you'd been there too... It would have been a disaster.”

Macaque had no need to be told what topic could have sent Wukong in the state he had heard him in: a crying, trembling mess. While he had not been able to decipher what had been said, there were few things that could reasonably bring Wukong to that state, fewer still those that might involve Macaque, and if the Third Lotus Prince had been in the know…

There was only one option that could have potentially upset Macaque to the level Wukong had imagined it would have. 

Of course, in the end, Macaque cared less about the day he had died - or of having died at all - than the events that had led to that fatal conclusion. But with how his amnesic self had reacted to the staff, he figured that, for once, he could give Wukong some slack about making that assumption.

What was most curious to him had been to find out that Wukong had been affected by his death. With Wukong's breakdown around Nezha and Macaque finding out the new name of the very location he had died at, these were two reveals that had brought up too many conflicting emotions for him to process. Up until then, he had never seen Wukong show any kind of remorse or regret, or even any sort of acknowledgement about this; there had been no sign of mourning on his part, not like he had for the pilgrims, only coldness and anger.

The same coldness and anger that Wukong had been displaying in the lead-up to the ritual that had removed the powers that had defined Macaque all his life - powers that had changed it. 

“Aw, what's that? You were actually worried about little ol' me? You sure sounded real concerned about what would happen to me today,” he said as he walked past Wukong and toward the tree, using a measured dose of sarcasm. And if his tail brushed up against Wukong's own, it was only to mess with him.

“I was!”

That made Macaque pause, in every way. He frowned, feeling bile in his throat, taken over by a trepidation that was confusingly positive.

Wukong started pacing, his hurried steps raising up sand.

“Do you really think I enjoyed doing any of this? Do you think I wanted this? To put you through that, to take such an important part of you and give it away to the Celestial Realm?”

Macaque crossed his arms and glared at him. “How cute. If that's really how you feel, why did you go for it?”

“Because we had no choice! Stop acting like you don't know that! Heavens, Macaque, in your old dojo, your powers-the chaos, I watched it take you over just like-just like...” Wukong closed his eyes, gritting his teeth as he let out a tense exhale, trying to keep something contained within him. When he next looked at Macaque, his eyes were filled with fear. “I was terrified, Macaque! I almost lost MK, I didn't want to lose you too.”

Macaque took a step back, stumbling and righting himself at the last moment. He had felt more grounded back when he had been falling through the sky.

With the loss of his powers, Wukong acting so strangely, and the recovered memories from his bout of amnesia, there was a feeling of wrongness to the world, short of being off-kilter. It was not too dissimilar from the time he had realized he had come back to life and understood that his deal with the Lady Bone Demon had not been a dream.

And he could not stand it.

“...Why are you telling me all this? Why are you apologizing? Why now?” he demanded, hoping he was successful in hiding his distress. “Why are you suddenly trying to-after everything... After everything, Wukong! Why are you...?”

“Because I needed to talk to you.”

Macaque blinked, having picked up on the familiarity of that sentence. It had been the advice he had tried to give Wukong, about the kid. To have his words thrown back in his face usually made for an unpleasant experience, but this time it left him stunned, and just a little bit flustered.

He wanted to say “Keep your worries for MK, you moron” but all he could do was scoff. Wukong ignored him, and rambled on.

“You were right. Some things, they need to be said. And after what happened today, I know I have to. I’m ready for it. If I don't go through with it tonight, I will just let it fester again, and I can't do that. I can't have that.” A pause. “I just can't.”

“But why?...”

“Because I’m tired.” The waver in Wukong's voice did not go unnoticed. “I'm tired of us fighting. I'm tired of hurting. I'm tired of hurting you.”

Too much. This was too much for Macaque to handle. There was something about Wukong, something about his words, something about the air and everything around, that felt like they were on the verge of a change.

But this same sensation, Macaque had felt it twice recently, though it never had been as potent. First in the Scroll, then in front of the Pillar. Both times had given him a spark of hope that had only fizzled out as nothing substantial had come out of it, the status quo remaining the same.

He did not want to go through this again.

“If you're done making everything about yourself,” he said, trying and failing to put venom in his words, “I'm calling it a night.”

“Macaque!” Wukong said before Macaque could even move. “ Please.”

He looked and sounded so defeated, on the verge of tears. A part of Macaque was getting satisfaction out of it. Another part was experiencing guilt, a sentiment he abhorred.

Ignoring an ugly feeling in his chest that screamed at him that Wukong could not make that kind of demand to him anymore, he gave in to his plea, and made an effort to not antagonize him further.

He still rolled his eyes, if only to give himself the illusion of being in control.

Wukong picked up on the silent truce, relief keeping the tears at bay. He was uncharacteristically gentle and hesitant as he closed the gap between them with careful steps.

He stopped an arm's length away, his eyes scanning Macaque's face for something.

“Do you... Do you remember anything from the past two days?”

“No,” Macaque lied. “I don't.”

Wukong stared at him in silence, then sighed.

“After you snapped out of the chaos' influence, you said something, and it's something I had already been thinking about a lot lately...”

Macaque let him speak, listening in spite of it all, scrambling for anything he might have overshared.

“I really want to try. To fix this, between us,” Wukong said, illustrating his point by taking Macaque's wrist, who was surprised he did not feel the urge to slap his hand away.

Wukong continued. “I didn't believe it at first, what you told me, but I had time to reflect as we flew back home and... I know you want that too. You also want to go back to the way we were, to move on from whatever we've become.”

Something clicked in Macaque's mind, and the world made a little bit more sense, as did Wukong's strange behavior. In a way, it was almost funny how long it had taken Wukong to get to the same page: all Macaque had been trying to achieve over a thousand years ago was freeing him from the Journey in hopes they could mend their tattered bond.

Well. That had been the original plan. Even he could admit he had lost the plot along the way.

He had lost a lot of things...

“You know what I want, huh?” he said, “What makes you so sure?”

“You reached for me.”

Macaque's heart skipped a beat.

“You reached first,” is what he said as a retort, but was it even a retort? That meaningful gesture, this acknowledgement even as Macaque had been ready to greet the end of the world on the sidelines, it had been exactly what he had been yearning for, now and centuries ago.

“And this is me, reaching out again,” Wukong said, casually, as if this declaration did not have the power to tip Macaque's world off its axis.

It left him speechless, and he gaped at Wukong for a few seconds too long, because on top of everything, that idiot was smiling at him.

And it was not just a smile, but a grin. With no falsehoods, no mockery.

What struck him the most was the unapologetic warmth of that smile, something that had been missing from the few sincere ones he had gotten out of Wukong thus far. It was exactly the way he used to look at Macaque, way, way back then. His light was sent his way once more, with nothing dimming it.

Macaque wasn't sure he could reflect it back.

“Come oooon...” Wukong said with a lilt, letting go of Macaque's wrist to cross his arms behind his back, an expectant stare sent his way, the smile not leaving his face for one second.

It was as if all of Macaque's reservations had melted like snow under the sun, and he was more than willing to agree. But though a willing mind allowed for impossible things to happen, it did not make reaching for them any easier.

“I think you're a bit too optimistic... to put it gently,” Macaque said, walking the last few steps to the tree and leaning with his back against it. “I don't know if you've noticed, but we're a mess: it would take some serious work. It'd be easier if we could start over.”

It was already a miracle that they had grown to tolerate each other's presence again, thanks in no small part to MK. Doing what Wukong was proposing, going from the ability to work together for the kid's sake while maintaining a relationship that was neutral at best, to some kind of genuine friendship again? It would be easier to try and fill up the sea with rocks and twigs.

Macaque tensed up when he noticed a look on Wukong's face that he knew too well, preparing himself for any upcoming tomfoolery, surprised that this skill of his was still honed.

With yet another grin – a bit lopsided this time - and an outstretched hand, Wukong greeted him.

“Hello! I am the Monkey King! Who are you?”

Macaque's mind blanked out for a minute. Then he laughed. An incredulous laugh.

Was Wukong for real?

But... maybe...

“I'm Macaque. The Six-Eared Macaque's my... full name.”

“Whoa, do you really have six ears?”

“That’s-” Macaque started. But the way that Wukong looked was so earnest, so youthful, even as the life he lived shone through his eyes, it made for a contrast that was hard to bear. For one, rare time, Macaque broke character, letting out an empty laugh. “This is pathetic...”

“Hah, yeah it is,” Wukong sighed, joining Macaque under the tree - to his left, thankfully - his back sliding down against the trunk until he was sitting on the ground. 

He started tracing lines in the sand with his tail and a stick he had grabbed, while clouds drifted into the dark skies above and the tranquil waves lapped on the shore.

“We can't start over,” Wukong said, “We can't just ignore all that happened between us. The things we did... If we don't, we won't learn from our mistakes, and those are mistakes I refuse to make again.”

He continued. “Things can never be exactly the same as they were, but they don’t have to be. They could even be better, if we try.”

The pure determination in his words gave Macaque more hope than he thought he was still able to feel.

“You... You really want to go through with this?”

“Yeah. I want to put in the work, and the time.” Wukong's eyes left the crude drawings he had started to make in the sand, and plunged into Macaque's. “... Do you?”

I would do anything, Macaque thought. I have done anything.

He let himself slide down to the ground as well, looking up at the leaves of the tree. He knew he was fully awake this time, but this felt too good to be anything else but a dream.

“I do want to,” he said, choosing to be honest with them both, even wary as he was of doing so. “I want us to try and fix as much as we can, but...”

“But?...”

Macaque sighed. “Here's this for a start: do you really trust me?”

He needed to hear it again. To confirm it had not been a fluke, that he really had been included in that show of trust that had him fall back into old habits at the drop of a hat.

“I... yes? More than... before, obviously.” Wukong said, scratching the back of his neck. He stopped the motion and took a few glances at Macaque. “... What about you?”

Macaque wanted to say yes.

He found he couldn't.

“I don’t know. But I guess I also trust you a bit more than before? And maybe...”

He trailed off, and caught the soft resigned sigh Wukong let out. But he did not say anything, so Macaque kept talking.

“There is something I'm sure of. And I think I have to make it clear, if we're really doing this.”

“What is it?”

“I can't forgive you.” Macaque said, pushing down the distressing recollection of fateful confrontations and heartbreak. “I don't know if I ever will.”

Wukong nodded. “Me neither.”

Their words should have been harsh and cold, laced with contempt, but they weren't. Instead they were as neutral as the touch of the air in the absence of wind, and heavy with an inescapable truth.

It made Macaque smile. At least, for this, they were able to meet in the middle without a hitch. A promising start.

“We've both done a lot of things wrong, huh?” he said.

“Yeah...”

“Especially you.”

“Yeah, no,” Wukong said, stretching like the lazy bum he was. “You did way more.”

“Hohohoho, come on now...”

They fell into yet another argument, but under the veil of aggression - both of them much too sensitive to stay impassible to each other's insults - there was an undercurrent of playfulness, much like the banter they used to partake in during otherwise uneventful days.

Leaning into that playfulness, Macaque realized, was easier than he had thought possible. The harshness remained, remnants of the hatred he had harbored still going strong, but it stayed in its lane.

As their jabs grew more creative, it took more and more time for either of them to come up with a retort. They unknowingly turned their argument into a game, building upon the previous insults much like when taking turns to thread verses into a full poem. Unfortunately for Macaque, he was the one who became stuck when his turn next came, his mind drawing a blank.

It took a decent amount of time for him to find a clever rebuke, but when he unleashed it, there was no response.

“Wukong?” he asked, turning around to find that said monkey had his eyes closed, soft breaths escaping from his lips.

Macaque frowned.

“Wukong, don't you dare be asleep.”

Without his shadow powers, there was no way he would be able to toss Wukong into a portal across the mountain. Which was a problem, as he had been feeling the exhaustion catch up to him once more, had absolutely no desire to fall asleep elsewhere than on his tree, and carried as strong a distaste at the idea of sleeping in Wukong's proximity.

For the time being, at least.

He used his tail to swat Wukong's face, to find he was thankfully still responsive. He knew how deep Wukong could get into slumber when he let himself be, and how hard it was to drag him back from such depths.

Macaque tried to get him to open his eyes with admittedly soft – if mischievous – methods, but when they all failed, he lost his patience.

He grabbed Wukong's hand, and opened his mouth wide. Without remorse, he put his all into this single strike.

Even as his teeth were planted firmly in the skin, he managed to say, “Wake up you son of a-”

Wukong yelped, flailing his hand about, Macaque groaning in pain as the freed limb struck him right in the face.

Out of the corner of his good eye, as he was rubbing at his sore muzzle, he saw Wukong glaring at him, stuck somewhere between anger and astonishment, with a hint of nostalgia.

“You bit me!”

Macaque shrugged. “Yeah. Speaking of, first rule of our new foundation: you give me my space when I ask you to. And I want my space. Now.”

“... Wasn't that already a rule?”

“Second rule: you actually respect the first rule.”

“Ah,” Wukong said, and had the decency to look embarrassed. “That one's... new.”

He added, “My turn, then. Third rule: no arguing just to get a rise out of each other.”

The pointed stare he gave Macaque was louder than any words he could have used. 

Macaque shrugged. “Fine. Whatever.”

Wukong smiled, smugness fueling it. He got up, walking a few steps before he brushed off the sand from his hair, standing far enough that none of the grains fell back onto Macaque.

That sweet attention went straight to Macaque's heart, the love he felt giving a shy wave as proof of life, contained as it had ever been.

“I'm tired too, you know,” Macaque said, as he recalled Wukong's earlier words, feeling that different type of fatigue deep in his core. “Sometimes, all I want is to come home.”

“You already are, though?”

Macaque resisted the urge to curl up on himself. Of course, more than a millenium had passed, and the Great Sage had not yet figured out what Macaque had meant – always meant – by that.

At least, as it turned out, he was willing to try and find out.

“... Macaque?” Wukong asked again. “I genuinely want to know, what kind of other home do you have? You already mentioned it back when we battled all those centuries ago... and when I asked, you said I took it from you?...”

“You really still don't get it,” Macaque said with a wry grin, standing up and dusting himself off to climb the tree and lie in his preferred spot.

“Huh? Macaque, c'mon, don't be like that!” Wukong whined, “At least give me a hint! How am I supposed to figure it out when you're so vague? Being cryptic doesn't make you cool, you know!”

“I beg to differ. But...” He sighed. “Fine.”

Macaque looked at Wukong, fully aware of the softness that must have been showing on his face.

“My home. It's not a place.” He raised an eyebrow in challenge. “S'that enough of a hint for you, Riddle King?”

Using that old, ridiculous nickname hit the mark: Wukong opened his mouth in surprise, blinking in rapid succession. It left Macaque enough time to fully settle in on the trunk, and he could hear some monkeys making their approach in the trees bordering the beach.

He could also pick up on Wukong's soft mumbles as he mused aloud, and pictured him looking down at the ground with a focused frown, a sight that Macaque had always gushed over in secret.

He was almost tempted to move away from his comfortable position to actually take it in.

“Not a place?” Wukong eventually said, some frustration seeping into his confusion. “What sort of a home do you have if it’s not a place? What do you... Macaque?”

Biting back a smile, Macaque regulated his breathing instead of saying anything.

He heard Wukong huff. “Oh, sure, pretend you're asleep. Typical.”

Macaque heard his steps on the sand. He felt him hovering, close enough to touch. Macaque longed for it, but Wukong took a step back, his voice barely above a whisper.

“... Good night.”

The surrounding monkeys took it as their sign, and rushed on the beach to climb the tree and rest upon it – and Macaque, who made no move of protest in a bid to keep up the act.

With a soft laugh, Wukong left the ground to land on his cloud.

Macaque was missing him before he even took off.

“Is there anything Wukong could do that would break his hold over you?”

Curse that overgrown chicken. First, for their existence. Second, for their uncanny and unfortunately persistent ability to infect Macaque's mind with their stinking words.

Because that was the thing, wasn't it? Was there anything in this world that would free Macaque from Wukong's pull?

He would like to think there was, if only for his sanity, but if the maelstrom of a mess that was their shared history had not managed to strike a clean cut in their bond, was there ever hope for it?

Had Macaque even been hoping for it?

Oh, who am I kidding, Macaque thought.

The mere fact he was ready to try and genuinely reconnect after a half-baked talk was telling enough: he was doomed. But, really, if the sun wanted to shine its light down on him once again, what else could he do but accept it?

However, if he was doing this, if he really was going to try and make a serious attempt at crossing that bridge they had agreed to build across that last bit of distance between them, he refused to let Wukong get the upper hand.

The offer the blue guy – Sandy – had made him before the ritual would give Macaque an advantage, he would bet on it.

He only needed to take it.

And, who knew? Maybe this therapy thing wouldn't be so bad.