Chapter Text
There's ten of them, maybe twelve, white, whisker hairs sticking out against pink fur. It's such a small observation, it shouldn't matter. He doesn't even mean to look for them-
But if it doesn't matter, why does it make him feel sick?
He fiddles with his chopsticks before snapping them apart. He's no connoisseur of food, but the difference between Pigsy's Noodles and his own always pales in comparison. Warm savory broth; the perfect noodle to soup ratio-Always there for him in long winters, and after school hunger pains.
Even now, when the cuts and bruises ache from battling 'dark and evil' forces.
It was a constant.
He takes a generous bite, scarfing it down just so it could fill that agonizing gap between his chest. Don't think.
It tastes like home.
("Your a growing boy, so eat up.")
He wonders how long he'll have this.
Mr.Tang doesn't eat as much as he used to. Pigsy even has a permanent wrinkle in the middle of his forehead, from the amount of times Tang's rejected Seconds. No one declines seconds. Never Tang.
Mk asked once. Why he wasn't eating. The problem wasn't the ingredients, the recipe was as stubborn as Pigsy was.
("Change it? You gotta be out of your mind!")
So it had to be, it had to be…
"My sensitive taste buds have-" Mr.Tang searches for an answer, clutching his mug with shaky hands," -become more sophisticated with age, that's all."
Pigsy, scoffs from in the kitchen.
"Just," He starts, before he places his mug down," Don't worry about me, okay Mk?"
All he does is worry. Fret and hen about worrying. Like a worry wart! He's probably going to get warts. And then die from worrying. Like a worrier.
"Hey, get out of your head." Tang says, poking Mk on the forehead.
"I can't fit in there?" He replies by second nature. Wait-shoot-thats not what-
Tang laughs, and his wrinkles tug tightly at the corners, and a part of Mk feels like crying.
(He doesn't, not until later when rain falls on two graves. Mei and Sandy are at his side, Monkey king on the horizon. All they have is eachother now.)
They all get older, time passes, and for a moment-
It's great. Good. Really, really, good.
He has his own show now-well, Monkey kid does. And its just as corny as everyone expects. The huddle on the to-small couch together and binge the entire season, flinging popcorn at one another-laughing, full belly chortling-
("Okay, for one, I did not say that-"
" I don't sound like that…hey, guys, guys-I don't sound like that right?"
"Aw yeah! Mk on the scene boyyy!")
If he squints hard enough and pretends its not there, the grey streaks fade into younger skins. And that achy-breaky feeling devouring him from the inside out takes a a long vacation to repression town.
"C'mon kid! What are you standing around for?"
There is a spot fit just for him, snug between everyone else. A little Mk shaped dent in the couch. He doesn't think how one day it will be empty. How one day, everyone would be gone. And if they came back they wouldn't even remember him-
He smiles; just for today.
Death happens all too soon, too close, to raw.
It will get better, Monkey king tells him; he is a liar.