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The spacecraft was more than halfway built, the parasite that had taken over Míhóu’s corpse had kept its promise of getting Wukong a way off the icy planet. There was a strange sincerity to Míhǒu after Wukong had promised them they could come along as well, as if walls the alien had always had were suddenly torn down, heart, (mind? soul?), made bare for Wukong to hold and look through.
At times, Wukong would catch the flicker of uncertainty behind their eyes, knowing now that was the constant battle of many selves within one self, struggling with choices and emotions. Wukong isn't entirely sure what he did to shift Míhǒu's opinion on him from viewing Wukong as another potential host or meal to a companion, but despite the circumstances, he finds himself attached too.
A lot of Míhǒu reminds him of Míhóu before their fallout. A lot remains as Míhǒu clearly is, alien.
Still, in terms of horror movie plots, Wukong’s turned out alright so far.
They had taken a much needed break from building, Wukong was tired from lugging around clumps of metal and wires, and even though the half built ship provided shelter, the cold of the ice planet still seeped in. Only Míhǒu was unbothered by the cold, they had forcefully shifted their body temperature to push out heat like a furnace… A feature Wukong made good use of during their break.
Burrowed in several alien pelts, cold hands digging into Míhǒu's sides as he sought out warmth, Wukong let out a few content purrs and chirps. Míhǒu tried to mimic the sounds, the chirps coming out jagged and wrong even to their own ears. They eventually settled for just letting their body pulse out waves of warmth in tandem with Wukong’s purrs.
Wukong nuzzled against their neck, with a happy hum. The mimicked hum was discordant and cut off quickly once they noticed. Wukong tilted his head a bit to look at them.
"When you try to copy me, the sounds are always a little off."
Míhǒu frowned slightly, their ears moved oddly. "Sound is weird in this body, they're too strong and we can't copy them right."
They seemed especially bothered by this, which Wukong understood. For an alien species who's main form of survival was through adaptation and mimicry, to make less than perfect copies was the equivalent of starving to death on this frigid planet.
"Right," he muttered, shifting to look at Míhóu's ears for a moment before meeting Míhǒu's gaze. "It's Míhóu's ears making the sounds stronger, I think he said they echoed?"
Wukong wishes he had asked Míhóu, he wishes he had pestered him endlessly, not just about his ears but about everything, every thought or feeling or idea, all of it gone now, dead in the cold.
Not even Míhóu's ghost was left behind to haunt him.
Míhǒu moved their head, a strange tilt that should have left an uncomfortable crick. "Sounds do echo… We get nauseous sometimes."
The mention of nausea brings to mind a memory of his and Míhóu's younger days, he remembers laughing at how easy it was for Míhóu to get dizzy and puke.
…He feels a little bad about that now.
…Still, he can't recall how Míhóu got over it… If his friend ever got over it.
Wukong poked at Míhǒu's neck, trying to distract himself. "Stop doing that, necks shouldn't bend like that."
Míhǒu obliged, shifting their neck back into place before laying fully back in the rugs, heat still wafting off them like they were Wukong’s personal heater. "You don't know how the host got around that, do you?"
The intentional omission of Míhóu's name used to anger him, but Wukong just takes it in stride at this point, having already figured out it's due to struggling with tones rather than any real malice… Míhǒu at times struggled with Wukong’s name too which was… Kind of cute.
It wasn’t until just now that Wukong realised it wasn’t really something humorous, not when it was likely causing some sort of distress for Míhǒu, whose instincts demanded perfect mimicry.
"I never asked him," Wukong admitted, avoiding mentioning the fact that he used to tease Míhóu endlessly over it. "Any memories that help?"
Míhǒu chewed on the inside of their cheek, a very Míhóu gesture, though Wukong moved to tap against their cheek to stop them or else they would chew a hole straight through… Something they had already managed twice. "Nothing about dealing with the echoes… A lot of memories of dizzy spells."
The contemplative gaze tells Wukong that Míhǒu's looked through memories of Wukong’s teasing. He buries his face against their chest with a groan. Míhǒu chuckles, the sound a warm vibration along their chest.
"We'll figure it out," Míhǒu says after a few moments of quiet, when the warmth has started to drive Wukong into a half-dozing state. "...Your spaceship won't be ready for a while."
Wukong lets out a sleepy hum, his voice teasing, "You're not sabotaging it again to keep me here longer, right?"
A huff followed by an almost exasperated sounding ticking sound, some strange back-of-the-throat clicking Wukong has only now begun to decipher. "I wouldn't need to sabotage it to keep you here… It seems all I have to do is turn into a miniature sun."
Wukong reached over to lightly smack the back of Míhǒu's head. "Did you come like this or did you get it from Míhóu?"
They grin wide, mouth full of teeth, before they lean down to nuzzle against Wukong's head, leaving behind Míhóu's scent with the action. Wukong can't help but compare it to a wolf licking a rabbit.
What a menace.
"Wouldn't you like to know."
…What an absolute menace.
They laugh at Wukong’s expression, nuzzling more, tail twisting into happy loops that clash with Wukong’s instincts, but that his mind has already gotten used to not automatically placing them under threat.
A part of him does hate how fast he got used this, his chest aches when his mind whispers about him forgetting Míhóu too quickly, abandoning his friend in more ways than one. He's not going to forget Míhóu, he knows, but his mind taunts him with that possibility, with the fear that all that made Míhóu Míhóu will be left behind in the ice. Forgotten lightyears from home.
There is no body to bury, no soul to put to rest. Míhóu's body lays against him right now, nuzzling and letting out warmth and happy clicks and though Wukong’s mind relaxes, this isn't Míhóu.
Míhǒu will never be Míhóu, even if someday they figure out how to mimic him perfectly. Wukong knows it chafes at them that they haven’t managed that identical copy, can see it in the way they practice expressions on every shiny surface they come across, the way their ears flick in irritation when their sounds don't come out perfect even after multiple tries. They will eventually jump that final hurdle, but they won't be Míhóu.
Wukong will continue to call them Míhǒu, even long after their mind manages to learn the distinction in tones, even after Wukong writes both names down side by side and they puzzle over the differences.
Wukong has grown attached to Míhǒu, but he won't forget Míhóu. He promises himself that. He promises Míhóu that.
"...you're thinking to hard, I can hear gears turning," Míhǒu muttered, lifting their head a bit to look at Wukong. "Wukong… Sleep."
Sleep called to Wukong like a siren, surrounded as he was by warmth and the familiar scent of his old friend, the only thing that kept him aware was the slightly off voice. Míhǒu's voice. Not Míhóu's.
"...stop playing pretend, Míhǒu. It doesn't matter if you switch to I if your tone's still off."
A lazy grin, all teeth. "We weren't doing anything."
Sneaky bastard. They were going to be the death of him.
Wukong wasn’t really sure about what went on in Míhǒu's head. From what they explained, it was something like a collective, multiple voices all having a say. While the majority seemed to have gotten attached to Wukong, willing to build him a new spaceship and no longer seeing him as a food source, Wukong knew the majority could easily flip.
He had seen Míhǒu stall more than once, split down the middle between options to the point of distress— "think of it like many voices pulling on one side while just as many are pulling at the other. You would split down the middle."
And sometimes they had to pick an in-between option, but life was rarely that black and white.
"What if it's between leaving something alive or killing it? Are we supposed to only half kill it? No, that's a future revenge attack waiting to happen," Míhǒu had told him when Wukong had seen them ponder over two different spices before dumping both into the pot. Wukong's tongue had suffered through that entire meal…
The point was, Wukong knew that Míhǒu's opinion about him could easily switch, he could go from companion to meal in seconds, all it would take was the collective switch of opinion, something which happened regularly and that Míhǒu complained was even worse now in Míhóu's body. ("This stupid brain!")
(That did leave Wukong wondering if Míhóu had struggled with shifts in opinions. There's a lot he's left wondering now, but he doesn’t have a way to ask anymore.)
So Wukong knows the alien wearing Míhóu's corpse— who's happily nuzzling him— could easily decide he was their next meal. It seemed inevitable. He was sure it would happen, maybe not right now or today or this week but eventually.
But.
Wukong was also attached.
He scratched behind Míhǒu's ears, causing them to let out several long clicks. The alien equivalent for purring.
Wukong was trapped. Not just in this icy hellscape, but here, with them and whatever mess of a friendship this was. Whatever mess of a relationship this was. Wukong couldn't picture himself leaving, not when he had already reached the point where instead of letting go, he wanted to dig his claws in harder until he couldn't be taken out.
They were a mess that would only end in grief. Wukong’s life had decided to play out the script of a horror movie and he knew he wouldn't be alive by the time the credits rolled.
It was inevitable.
Arms wrapped around Míhǒu, pulling them closer, breathing in Míhóu's scent but hearing Míhǒu's happy clicks. He lets his eyes drift shut, succumbing to the urge to sleep.
Míhóu had died on the ice and Wukong knew a part of him would die too.
Míhǒu had taken his first breaths on the ice and Wukong hoped a part of himself would get to live too.
Somehow.