Chapter Text
Living was such an unforgiving lot to bear. It was the burden to be, and to take and to consume. You had to live or you died, and Macaque was unwilling to die a second time. But to live, you had to do all the things a body needed to survive, then maybe you’d have the opportunity to indulge a little.
Since waking up, every day had been another test of his survival. Macaque was willing to get his hands dirty, more so after having them bloodied enough to run as red as his mask. But he wasn’t as strong as he used to be, nor was he as knowledgeable. He was weak, he was weary, and worst, he was always left wanting.
Wanting may have been the worst of it, because if he wanted something but couldn’t get it, he was miserable. He tried not to want things, but that was better said than done.
He wanted to live. He sort of got that back. He wanted to be happy. Ha! Fat chance of that. He wanted to be left alone.
And once, he may have believed that he had finally obtained that self-inflicted solitude. That the world had decided to leave him to his lot and let him succumb to his isolation in peace.
And then he just had to go and make friends.
His phone chimed again. Not with an alarm he defiantly didn’t set (it was his do-nothing day after all) but with the all too familiar ding of a text message. He shouldn’t even be getting messages from anyone. It was senseless, since he rarely answered them.
Then again, he was finding out more and more each day how senseless Wukong’s little protegee was.
With far more effort than it should have taken, Macaque blindly patted his paw around the nightstand he knew was within reach, all while having his face stuffed against his pillow as if unconscious him was trying to suffocate him. Would have been in character for him, honestly.
He finds the phone, heart jumping when he feels it fall before just managing to catch it on the charging cord it was plugged into. Rolling onto his side less numb side, he snaps it off the cord and puts it at an off angle so his face doesn’t get blasted with artificial light at the ungodly hour of- 3:37? Huh.
Still, it was the principal of being disturbed that had him pissy, so pissy he would stay. And hot. Gods, he felt so hot and sweaty. The gross kind that made his fur all matted and a pain to groom. Had his air conditioning broken down again? That would be his luck.
He taps on the app, and surprise surprise, it’s MK’s face that greets him with a few notifications. The picture does make him laugh. He’d made a point that, if he was to have a phone with any contacts, they’d all have the profile faces of their holders be captured on camera in the midst of one of Macaque’s infamous ‘jump scares’. MK’s had the kid mid-trip, where he’d been oh-so sneakily delivering one of Pigsy’s noodles without him ordering any of them. There was even a glimpse of his own door in the frame.
He scrolls to the kids line, past the older ones where the kids friend Mei had been blasting him with puppy pics, and where their other friend Sandy had sent a recipe for a tea.
Rubbing tiredly at his eyes, Macaque scans the updated screen.
Misery Kid
Heya Mac Attack!!!
Haven’t seen you in FOREVER ( ╥ω╥ )
Text me back ASAP
It’s important
Yeah, sure, Macaque thinks mockingly. Bet it’s real urgent.
Still, Macaque is trying to be better about all the weird friendship stuff the kid keeps pushing on him. And it must be working, if Macaque’s first and only thought isn’t to leave the number on read and leave it at that.
He knows the kid has been through a lot (there’s a reason his number is titled ‘Misery Kid’). And while he could admit to at least himself that Wukong isn’t a terrible mentor, he knows if the kid needs something from him, whatever it is, it has to mean something. As thick-headed as he seems to his mentor, MK isn’t dumb. He wouldn’t ask for help if he didn’t need it.
So, Macaque texts back.
What do you need.
And before Macaque can even get himself to roll over on his stiff back, his phone is ringing with a call. What, was the kid just waiting for him? Maybe it is urgent. If it’s another world ending apocalypse, he thinks he’d rather stay in bed for it.
Macaque grabs blindly at the phone, but when he raises it to his ear, he finds his arm oddly shaky. The angle is already awkward with how he’s lying, but there’s an unexpected ache to his muscles that makes the simple action far more exhausting than he can deal with. Macaque groans, tapping at the screen with his knuckle (gotta mind the claws) to have it set to speaker, and letting the phone fall to his side on the bed.
Before he can say anything, MK’s tinny voice tears through the quiet of his room. “Thanks for answering back!”
For some reason, it’s loud. Loud loud. Like, louder than MK has any right to be without being in punching distance to quiet it. His ears pin back flat in response, and it’s only when he goes to muffle them with his hands does he find to his surprise that there’s not two, but six of them out. Unglamoured, and terribly sensitive without their usual seal in place.
He doesn’t get to dwell on that as the kid just keeps going. “I was hoping I could get your help on something, but I know you’re a bit of a grumpy monkey in the mornings. And afternoon. Just- all the time, but that’s fine! Just happy that you messaged me back this time. Honestly, I wasn’t even sure if-”
“MK.” The hiss of his name has the kid quietening, giving Macaque the change to let his ears adjust to just… everything. He can hear the honk of car horns, the tread of tires, the hum of machinery, the shift of leaves, the beat of wings, and just. Yeah. It was a lot.
His own heartbeat, which he’d use to steady himself any other time, was thumping far faster than it should. It’s like it was trying to work himself up for something, but for what? There wasn’t anyone to fight, no one to run from. It was just Macaque, at least physically.
Maybe he was just nervous? Anxious? Afraid? But why? What was wrong with him?
“Macaque?” MK’s voice was soft, a mere whisper on the line, but it was just tolerable enough a volume that Macaque could handle it.
“Yeah, kid just- just keep your voice like that. S’loud.” It was more than loud. It was grating. It was like all the sounds had manifested as claws raking over his skin, sensation insane to his body that hummed with this sudden, all-consuming want he couldn’t even try to name.
What was wrong with him?
“…Should I call back later?” And oh, why does that make Macaque feels so guilty? There’s a whine building up in him like bile, but he swallows it back. His throat hurts at the denial, painfully parched, scratchy and sore, yet there’s too much saliva in his mouth, all sticky and tasteless. It makes saying the words he wants to say all the harder.
Licking dry lips, he croaks back, “No, kid, it’s fine. Tell me ‘bout it.”
“Um, okay. So, like, it’s kind of embarrassing, to be honest.”
Macaque thinks, thoughts swirling in a drain of information that tries to escape him. “Didn’t your dad give you the talk?”
“Ohmygodnopleaseshutup,” MK rushes, breathless with his defense. Macaque understood none of it, but got the sentiment that it wasn’t the case. Taking a deep, desperate breath, MK says more slowly, “It’s not that, it’s- you know about my monkey form, right?”
Macaque nods dazedly. Then, realizing how utterly stupid he looked doing that on a call, he says, “Yeah. Whada ‘bout it?”
“Well…” Another deep breath, like he’s trying to build up his courage. “I’ve been having these… feelings.”
“Feelings…”
“Yeah. It’s- look, can you just come help me later? Like at the dojo? Doing this on call is weird. Pigsy is like, right next door and- ugh, this sucks.”
“Life sucks,” is Macaque’s immediate response, because that’s just the sort of head space he’s in. But sensing that’s not what the cub- kid, what the kid needs right now is some good ol’ mentor mentoring. “Look, I’ll see about helping, but I’m gonna need more than ‘a feeling’ here.”
There’s a pause, a long one, and Macaque wonders if MK hung up on him. He goes to grab at his phone to see, but the kids nervous tone stops him. “I want something, and I don’t know what.”
Well, that’s… unhelpful.
“You want something. But you don’t know what?”
There’s a pause, and Macaque wonders if the kid is nodding too as he’s quick to sputter out a, “Yeah.”
Okay. “Okay. Well, that’s vague as fuck. Wanna try again?”
More sputtering. If Macaque wasn’t whatever the fuck he’s feeling now, he’d revel in the misery kids misery. And yet, it just makes him more anxious. Or maybe he’s just hungry? When was the last time he ate? At the thought, his insides tense, hot and hollow. Too long, probably.
“It’s like I’m hungry,” is the kids’ explanation which, what a coincidence. “And hot. I’m so sweaty man, and my monkey form won’t go away and-”
“Wait, stop.” Macaque takes a second to think, and he goes to sit up- which fails. He stays down. “Okay, come over later and I’ll check you out, ‘kay?” The kid chirps an agreement, and before he can hang up Macaque thinks to ask, “But why can’t you ask Wukong anyway? Y’know he’s a monkey too, right?”
“Yeah but- I did, sorta, but he says he’s busy with stuff and I don’t wanna bother him with my problems.”
“Oh, but it’s fine to bother me?” There’s a whiney sound at the other end, and the weird twinge of guilt makes itself known again, twisting his guts up. Gods, he really needs a pain killer. “It’s fine, just- gimme an hour.” He goes to sit up again, and finds himself punched out of a breath when he falls back. “Make it two.”
“Okay!” Before Macaque can hiss at the kid to quiet the fuck down there’s a beep, which must mean the call hung up. With no further voices in his ears (still six out and open) he lets the muted quiet of his room envelop him. There’s about a thousand and one thoughts working their way through him, like all the little, listless sounds that stream in on all sides, past every barrier he has. The filters on him feel thinned, but with a little water and a while lot of coffee, he thinks he’ll manage it before the kid stops by.
Finally, Macaque sits up, and he stays up, not without his claw clinging into his sheets to stay upright. He feels floaty, dazed in a way that’s just after drunk and edging on hungover. His insides twist and turn, empty and with this innate want to be filled with something, anything. His body feels chilled with sweat yet hot with blood, boiling from the inside out.
It’s not not like how he’d felt after his batched resurrection, when his body was still too clammy to be healthy, his breath misty and dry, and this powerful and persistent want overtaking him like some possession just under the skin. But that can’t be it, it can’t. The witch is dead and gone, he knows it. Feels it in the absence of her fingers sunken into his soul.
Well, it doesn’t matter what it is, because he’ll just get over it. Just like he always does.
He works himself up, toes and fingers flexing, limbs bending, boy warming with wakefulness. He slogs off the bed, drifting to the kitchen as his mind drifts with MK’s ‘situation’ as it were.
Let’s see: over-heating, check. Unusual hunger, check. Loss of control of one’s magic, check. Weird and unexplained cravings on a physical and psychological level, check. There’s a clear pattern, but his heads too stuffed up with some morning sickness (i.e. sick of the morning) to work it out right away.
Macaque fumbles his way to the kitchen, nearly bodying the fridge. It’s a cheap thing, dented and dirtied but in fine enough condition to keep things cold. He opens it, looking for what to eat, and ends up with his head stuck fully in the nice and cool conditioning before he realizes he forgot what he was doing.
Oh yeah. The kid. What was wrong with the kid?
Well, he’s a human, or at least he was. Or maybe never was? His whole origin is frustrating. Regardless, he’s defiantly a monkey now, like him and Wukong. So what had either of them had that would have been like what the kid is going through now- oh dear gods he knows exactly what’s wrong.
Macaque bangs his head on the fridges front, not as hungry anymore.
It would explain everything! The overheating, the cravings, the magic issues, even the vague sense of ‘want’ that’s plaguing him. And if he’s just now developing his monkey traits, then he’d have surely developed this too.
He’s in heat. It makes perfect sense.
But wow, poor kid. Macaque winces in sympathy for when he has to tell him what’s wrong, and knowing he’ll then have to explain in awful, terrible detail how to deal with it, winces in sympathy for himself. But still, his heart goes out for MK, knowing first-hand how damning and demanding the season for them can be.
Thank gods Macaque doesn’t have to deal with those anymore.