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Macaque is always hungry after battle. Not immediately after; when the adrenalin is still trembling through his veins like a marching band. But in the next handful of days, he starved like a hatchling waiting for its mother to return to the nest.
It presents more so now then it did even a year ago, now that he has a stable home, something akin to a family. People he holds close, people he holds dear. His soft heart under its hardened shell, with cracks along its surface, but not broken as it once was.
Starved in the sense that he knows what it is like to be to be full, warmth swirling in his stomach, Pigsey’s cooking is now a familiar comfort in his life. Not every day, he does not spend every waking moment with them, but enough for the closeness to be comfortable, to be expected.
No longer do they flinch when he appears in the room. Instead he is greeted with smiles and half hugs, ushering him into a seat where a steaming bowl is placed in front of him and peace flutters through the air despite the tempest of the raging reality outside.
And now, in the nights following their latest battle, where MK saved them all from total annihilation, Macaque is once again veered by this very hunger.
The kind of hunger that can only be solved by sneaking into the kitchen in the middle of the night and raiding the fridge for leftovers. Slipping through the shadows is his speciality, of course it is, still his heart hammers in the dark at the thought of waking his friends with any minute noise. Macaque is careful in his steps; slow, practiced, precision carries him to his destination.
The refrigerator clicks open with a sound that seems amplified in the silence surrounding it, the soft light illuminating the area in a cold glow.
Macaque stands there, a little ashamed that it's resorted to this, but partially uncaring because this is his home now, in a way. A hundred times over he's been reassured that he can take what he likes, that he belongs, that he will not be shrouded or shoved out again.
He's earned his place, gained their trust, and in return they've woven their way into his shredded heart and sewn the pieces back together. Taken his darkened humour and sarcasm in stride, laughed at his jokes, defended him in battle, and respected his advice.
Macaque is not a stranger in this home, and he has a right to the cheese in the bottom drawer.
The package fits neatly in his palm as he quietly shuts the fridge, admiring his prize as the light around him fizzles out behind the closed doors and leaves him once again cloaked in the mild moonlight shining through the window.
A familiar, calming, stream of light that flows through the room like a river runs true. A creature of the night and a midnight snack, a match made in heaven.
“Hungry?”
The voice shocks Macaque so bad he nearly drops his cheese before he’s even opened it.
“Wukong!” The whispered shout cuts the previously peaceful silence like a knife through warm butter. Sharp, yet saccharine, and despite his surprise a small smile tugs at the corner of his lip as he turns to face his… Not quite a friend, but something close to that.
Wukong was leaning against the opposite counter top, pajamas looking like he'd walked straight out of a cartoon, the only thing that would paint the picture perfectly is a nightcap and a handheld candle. It was surprisingly sneaky how he'd ended up behind Macaque without a peep. The kind of steps that can only be perfected with practice.
The kind of trick Wukong used to pull when they were young.
Nostalgia tickled at the back of Macaque’s mind, but not more than the mild, joking irritation that came out instead.
“You nearly made me drop my food.”
Wukong snorted, rolling eyes and crossing his arms as he leaned harder against the counter, “Did I now? So much for the big and mighty Six-Eared Macaque, can't even hear lil’ ole me tip-toeing past you.”
“I was-” a pause and a sigh, slight blush blooming under his fur, “-distracted.”
“I'll say.”
Macaque stepped forward, brushing past and lightly shoving Wukong aside to reach into the drawer at his hip for a knife.
“Woah! I was joking!” Wukong pokes, hands raised in surrender and moving an additional step back, “There's no need for violence, Macaque.”
“I just need it to cut my cheese”
“Hah! Cut the cheese, that's funny, you should be a comedian.”
Macaque lets out another disappointed sigh, knife in hand as he reached for a small cutting board, “I’ll kill you.”
“You just said you wouldn't!”
“No, I said I needed a knife to cut my cheese, not that I wasn't going to kill you.”
Wukong laughed again, his smile wide with glee, “Heh, you said cut that cheese again.”
“There is no-” a slice, “-Way of stopping this then besides just shutting up, is there?”
“Afraid not, buttercup.”
Macaque rolls his eyes one more time as begrudging amusement swirls in his gut.
He nods, a hum leaving his lips as continues to slice up his snack. When he's done, he sets his now prepared food on a plate and gently places his cutting board and knife in the sink to avoid the clang of it hitting the edge if he is too rough.
He'll wash the dishes later, when he's finished eating.
He turns again to face his companion, plate in one hand and a single slice in the other. Before he even takes a bite himself, Macaque reaches forward, presenting the snack in the dark. A peace offering, a gift, a stepping stone.
Wukong’s smile from before hadn't left his face, but in the evening glow it had turned fond, soft in the moonlight. This picnic in the kitchen was the perfect remedy to the hunger that Macaque knows Wukong suffers from too.
“For me?”
“I'm not a monster,” Macaque waves the piece in the air, “Just take it before I take it back.”
Impossibly, Wukong’s smile softens further as he reaches forward and plucks the offering from his hand. In the moonlight, the same simple strand that had been shining through the window the whole night, sparkled against something on Wukong's wrist.
A small, achingly familiar, golden bracelet, that sat innocently on his arm. As if the mere memory of it hadn't just shattered Macaque’s world view.
Distantly, as if out of his body looking on from somewhere else, Macaque realizes Wukong’s hand is still raised in a cheers, so he reaches for his own slice and knocks it against the other. Muscle memory from another time kicking in as the floodgates of past dinners and lunches and teas together flicker though his mind.
A present, a good luck charm, shared on a night just like this, what felt like lifetimes ago.
Macaque shakes himself from his stupor, “You still have that?”
Wukong is already chewing his piece at that point, but he glances at his wrist all the same. He swallows, “Yeah, I uh-” he twirls his hand in the moon's glow, “-I don't think I ever took it off, even after… Y'know.”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah.”
The comfortable air shifted into something slightly sour at the bad reminder of their twisted and intertwined pasts. How they've hurt one another, how they'd loved each other before that.
“Well,” Macaque grabs another slice of cheese and holds it out, “To newer, new beginnings.”
Wukong giggles, turning away for a moment before turning back and accepting the gift. He holds it up, “To newer, new beginnings.”
It's silly, their routine, how easily the light between them can spark again. How the sparks can turn into a blaze, whether that blaze turns into a harmful storm or a simmering steam depends entirely on perspective.
This time, it's a victory, it's a kitchen, with their friends spread throughout the other rooms. It's the world waking to another sunrise, and it's them sitting an inch or two closer to one another on the couch.
It's a bracelet, golden in the sun, silver in the moonlight.