i'm about to fall apart (again, again)

by zaru

Summary:

Sun Wukong woke up with a jolt, the remnants of cracks in the sky and screaming still echoing in his head. He barely had time to sit up before a voice cut through the air, sharp and unrelenting:

“SUN WUKONG.”

He squinted into the light, groaning. “...Ah, hell.”

Hovering above him, Nezha crossed his arms, face unreadable as his spear gleamed in the sunlight.

“We need to talk.”

--

or, after MK dives into the pillar, the cycle resets- and a few people still remember.

Notes:

inspired by "how careless we could be" by Funnybunny_266 !! the concept of how they go back in time is similar, but i'm hoping the rest is different enough :)

also some bits of this may be inspired by the game in stars and time!!

Chapter 1: Chapter 1

MK thought he had made the right decision.

 

He knew what the right choice was— to enter the pillar. It was for the best. It would save everyone, he thought.

 

But he remembered what Nuwa had said to him. That the cycle wouldn’t continue, that she was protecting them. And that— that wasn’t something MK would accept. His family— his friends, everything and everyone he’d ever known would just be gone. He had to go against her.

 

But he couldn’t.

 

Before he could even try to protest, Nuwa had shushed him, gently. She brushed her fingers over his cheek as if to soothe him, her touch both warm and unbearably heavy. 

 

“This is all for the best. This is how I keep them safe.”

 

MK’s hands shot up to grab hers, to push them away, his tears falling faster. “I have to go back,” he choked. “I have to see them—”  

 

“And you will see them again,” Nuwa interrupted quietly. There was something strange in her eyes— not cruelty, but.. inevitability. “Just.. give it time, my dear child.”

 

Her thumb brushed a tear from his cheek. The world behind her began to blur, colors bleeding into each other. MK’s breath hitched. “Wait—” 

 

Her voice was the last thing he heard, gentle and unshakable, even as the light swallowed everything around him.

 

”Wake up, little one.”

 

---

MK shot up with a gasp. He clutched at his chest like a drowning man, trying to breathe. That— no. Was that a dream? That couldn't have been, right, it- he could still feel the power running through his veins, the sheer panic and fear in his mind to save the others-..

 

He blinked, touching his face— feeling the tears that had dripped down from it. "Oh-" he groaned, rubbing his face and looking down.

 

Wait. His friends. His family, were they—? He stumbled out of bed, a broken gasp escaping him. He didn't bother to take off his pajamas, just deciding to rush downstairs his apartment to the noodle shop. Pigsy usually opened the shop early, so that meant he'd be down there, and if he was down there, so was Tang.

 

“Pigsy??” MK cried, nearly tripping down the stairs as he looked around desperately.

 

Pigsy poked his head out from behind the counter, a ladle still in his hand. Alive. He was alive, he was here, and he was okay—

 

“Kid?” Pigsy called, raising a brow, “What’s got you—”

 

He didn’t get to finish. MK practically launched himself across the shop, crashing into him with a hug so tight Pigsy had to take a step back to keep his balance.

 

“Whoa- hey, hey, easy , kid!” Pigsy’s voice was gruff, but his hands automatically came up to steady MK. His ears flicked in faint surprise. “What’s this all about?”

 

MK just swallowed hard, trying to breath, trying not to just break right there in the middle of the shop. “N— nothing,” he sighed, voice muffled, “Just had a weird dream.”

 

Pigsy blinked. “Must’ve been some dream.” He muttered, holding MK a little closer for a moment. He then cleared his throat, looking over MK’s head toward the back door. 

 

From the back room, Tang poked his head in, blinking sleepily and holding a mug of tea. “MK? What are you doing up so early—”

MK turned, and before Tang could even finish his sentence, he was wrapped up in a tight hug, the force nearly making him spill his drink.

 

“O- Oh!” Tang blinked in surprise, “Well! Good morning to you too!” Tang laughed nervously, one hand patting MK’s back while the other awkwardly balanced the mug. “Uh, what’s the occasion?”

 

MK’s grip tightened slightly, his face pressed into Tang’s shoulder, voice muffled, “N— nothing… I-” His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard, trying to hold himself together.

 

Tang froze, glancing at Pigsy over MK’s head. Pigsy’s brows were furrowed, ears flicking in concern, but he didn’t want to intervene — he knew MK probably needed this.

 

Tang moved his hand to gently cup the back of MK’s head, like he had when MK was small and used to fall asleep on his shoulder.

 

“Xiaotian-” Tang began to say, but was cut off as MK finally stepped back slightly, wiping at his face and forcing a crooked, shaky grin. “Just.. had a weird dream,” he muttered, voice trembling.

 

Tang’s eyes softened, but the confusion was still there. “A.. weird dream?” He echoed, furrowing his brow. “Uh.. okay..” he murmured hesitantly, “you sure you’re alright?” He reached out to brush a strand of hair from MK’s hair, but his hand paused in mid air once MK stepped back instead and nodded quickly. 

 

MK didn’t quite meet Tang’s gaze as he said, “Yeah, yeah, just- nothing,” he gave a little half-wave, trying to brush it off like normal. He forced a small smile, but it wavered almost immediately. His fingers fidgeted, twisting the hem of his shirt.

 

Pigsy raised a brow, clearly unconvinced. “..Alright,” he sighed, “Sure. If you say so.” He muttered, crossing his arms.

 

MK then cleared his throat, quickly straightening up and smoothing his hair. “Yeah, okay, um— deliveries!” He chirped, voice a little too bright.

 

“Wait, kid—” Pigsy began to protest, holding his hand out, but was interrupted by MK grabbing his bag and helmet from the counter, slinging it over his shoulder with a clumsy motion.

 

“Okay, see you guys later, bye!” MK called, rushing out the door, ignoring the sounds of Pigsy and Tang calling out his name with concern. Once he shut the door behind him, he rushed to a more secluded area so he could breathe.

 

“Okay,” MK whispered to himself, “Okay. Everything’s okay, MK, everything’s.. okay…” he muttered, closing his eyes and covering his face. He leaned against the brick wall of the alley, trying to steady his breathing.

 

Everything was fine.

 

MK was okay.

---

MK wasn’t okay. His head hurt, so did his chest, and every shadow he passed on his delivery route made him flinch like something was going to jump out at him.

 

By the time the sun was dipping lower in the sky, the cart was parked outside the noodle shop again. He hadn’t gone inside yet— he couldn’t bring himself to, not when Pigsy and Tang were probably still worried. He just sighed, burying his face into his hands, trying to remember to act normal.

 

“MK!!”

 

He jolted upright at the sound of Mei’s voice. She came practically barreling down the street, waving both arms like she was a fighter jet.

 

“There you are!” Mei beamed, “C’mon, c’mon, I’ve been waiting forever!” She skidded to a stop in front of him, practically bouncing in place. “Arcade night! You promised! Let’s go kick ass at Monkey Mech!”

 

MK blinked at her, mouth opening, then closing again. She was so.. normal. So loud and bright and Mei. He hadn’t realized how much he needed that until just now.

 

Without warning, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her. Tight.

 

Mei made a startled noise, muffled against his shoulder. Then, in true Mei fashion, she grinned and hugged him back just as tight. She squeezed so hard his ribs ached, but he didn’t care. His breath hitched, eyes burning again, and he buried his face in her shoulder before she could see.

 

Mei blinked when she realized he was silent. A small frown crossed her face, but she didn’t want to press. She pressed her head against his for a moment before squeezing him tighter and stating triumphantly, “C’mon, we’ll be unstoppable at it!” She grinned, “MK and Mei, an unbeatable team, nothing can take us down.” She boasted.

 

MK’s arms trembled where they clung to her. “Yeah,” he said, forcing a grin on his face, “Nothing can take us down.”

 

Mei leaned back finally, hands on his shoulders, grinning at him like the sun itself. “Okay, come on, let’s go! Quick, before all the good machines get taken!”

 

MK forced a small laugh, nodding, allowing her to tug him along. His chest still ached, his head still spun with echoes of screams and fire, but Mei’s hand was warm around his wrist, grounding him.

 

For now— that was enough.

Chapter 2: Chapter 2

Summary:

Sun Wukong wakes up to Nezha yelling at him. Fun times!

Sun Wukong woke up choking.

 

Not on smoke, not on ash, not on the choking heat of a world burning down around him— no, he woke up on grass.

 

Soft. Green. Wet from dew.

 

He froze, his body tensing like a spring. His fingers had clenched at the ground beneath him, digging his claws into the dirt like if he held on hard enough he could keep it from disappearing. But the earth stayed. The grass stayed. The world stayed.

 

Nothing was broken. Nothing was cracking.

 

And that was wrong.

 

His chest heaved. His ears rang. Every nerve screamed at him that he should be choking, that there should be nothing but cracks in the sky, and ruin, and silence— silence, because MK was gone.

 

The thought hit him like a brick. His claws gouged deeper into the grass below. He had seen it— watched as MK threw himself into the pillar, saw the look on his face when he turned back for one last glance, and Wukong could do nothing but watch. He had screamed himself hoarse as the world shattered, and MK was gone.

 

Wukong’s breath broke on a sob before he could swallow it down. He shot up, covering his mouth and squeezing his eyes shut. He dragged a hand through his fur, pulling at it. As if the pain could snap him out of this nightmare. 

 

But it— it wasn’t a nightmare, was it?

 

The air was too crisp. The sun was rising. He could hear his troop, his monkeys, some of his babies chattering in the canopy, their voices bright and alive like the last twenty four hours hadn’t even happened.

 

The world hadn’t ended. It was still here.

 

He could feel it— down in the threads of his magic. Like reality itself had snapped backward, like the universe had yanked itself from the dead and shoved itself back into place.

 

Wukong shook his head violently. No. No, no, no, that wasn’t possible. Only gods like Nüwa, only heavenly law itself , could turn back time on this scale. He wasn’t supposed to remember, no one was supposed to—

 

But he did.

 

He remembered every scream. Every crack of the sky as it fell apart. Every second of watching his kid, his kid die in front of him.

 

And now the universe was… fine.

 

“What the hell,” Wukong muttered, voice breaking into a hysterical laugh. His claws tore at the dirt again, grounding himself, anchoring himself, but it wasn’t enough. “Wha- what the hell just happened,” he repeated, “what the hell—”

 

”SUN WUKONG.”

 

Wukong’s head snapped up, pupils shrinking to pinpricks. His gut twisted hard enough to make him nauseous.

 

Nezha was there. Hovering in the air like divine judgement, fire wheels sparking against the clouds, spear clutched white-knuckle tight in his hand. His face was pale beneath the glow— frantic. With a look in his eyes that almost mirrored Wukong’s own panic.

 

“What—” Nezha’s voice wavered, sharp and high-pitched. “What have you done?”

 

Wukong’s fur bristled. Him? What did he do?? “Me??” He sputtered, laugh coming out jagged, too close to a sob. “You— you think I did this?!” He gestured wildly around them, to the world that wasn’t breaking, to the sunrise that shouldn’t exist. “You think I could just— what— what the hell do you think I am , kiddo??”

 

Nezha dropped lower, eyes blazing. “Don’t play dumb! The cycle—” His breath hitched. “The world ended. And then it didn’t, and now—”

 

He cut himself off, sucking in a shuddering breath.

 

“And now we’re here again,” Nezha muttered, almost to himself. His gaze flicked back down to Wukong. “And you remember too.”

 

Wukong sucked in a sharp breath, claws digging into his palms hard enough to draw blood.

 

Because Nezha wasn’t supposed to remember. No one was. Not mortals. Not demons. Not even most gods.

 

But Nezha’s eyes— raw and frantic— proved it.

 

Wukong barked out another laugh, harsher this time, like he wanted to drown everything out. “Great. Perfect. Two of us stuck with this cursed memory. Fantastic.”

 

Nezha narrowed his gaze, grip tightening on his spear. “Don’t make jokes.”

 

“I’m not—” Wukong cut himself off, pressing a hand over his face. His skin felt too tight , like his body couldn’t hold in everything clawing at his insides. He lowered his hand, forcing a shaky grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Listen, kid. Whatever this is? I’ll figure it out.”

 

Nezha’s brows shot up. “You? Alone? Don’t be ridiculous.” He scoffed.

 

But Wukong was already standing, dusting grass and dirt from his fur in sharp, frantic motions. “What do you want me to say, huh?” He snapped, “That we sit around and hope the universe doesn’t— doesn’t implode again? That we wait for the kid to—” His voice cracked, and he snapped his jaw shut before he said more.

 

Nezha’s expression softened, just a bit. “He’s alive, you know. If time has been reset, then he’s alright.”

 

The words made Wukong’s heart lurch painfully in his chest. He knew, of course he did. Logically, if time had reset, MK would still be alive, but he could also feel it, deep in his magic— that the kid was alive again, back where he belonged, like nothing had happened. But that was the problem.

 

“Yeah,” Wukong said, voice hoarse. His smile twisted into something brittle. “That’s why I’m not letting anyone else near this mess.”

 

Nezha’s eyes narrowed. “You’re pushing me out already? You think I’ll just— let you run off and handle this by your self?”

 

“That’s exactly what you’re gonna do,” Wukong snapped, more viciously than he meant to. He ran a hand through his fur again, tugging hard. “Because if I’m wrong— if I can’t fix this— the cycle just starts over. And over. And MK—” his throat closed around the name, and he had to force it out. “MK doesn’t deserve to die again.”

 

Nezha’s jaw clenched. The fire around his wheels crackled, sharp and angry. “You think I’ll just stand by while you—”

 

“YES,” Wukong shouted, fur bristling, eyes wide with raw desperation. His chest heaved, ears ringing. “Yes, because I’ve done this before. I know how to carry something like this, I’ve always carried it— and you—” his voice dropped, ragged, breaking. “You don’t want this weight, kid. Trust me.”

 

Silence stretched.

 

Then Nezha’s spear slammed into the dirt with a crack, fire sparking. “Tough luck,” he growled, “Because I do remember. And I’m not leaving you to drown in this alone.”

 

Wukong’s throat clicked, dry. He blinked once, twice, staring at Nezha like he’d just sprouted a second head.

 

Not leaving me—?

 

He wanted to laugh. Gods, he wanted to laugh until his ribs cracked. Nezha— little godling, half-ally, the brat who had tried to kill him more than once— standing there and saying that?

 

Because it didn't make sense. Nobody stayed. Nobody ever stayed.

 

Tang Sanzang hadn't. Macaque hadn't. The heavens hadn't.

 

Even MK—

 

His chest caved inward. He shoved the thought down like swallowing glass.

 

Nezha's eyes didn't waver. Raw, frantic, steady all at once. "I won't leave you." He repeated.

 

And Wukong's brain snapped in half.

 

Because— he couldn't afford that. He couldn't afford someone else clinging to him, couldn't afford to trust that weight, couldn't— couldn't let anyone close when he already knew how it ended. 

 

His fur bristled, panic leaking into fury. "Don't—" his voice cracked, ugly, raw. "Don't say that. You think you get to just— stand here and tell me you're not leaving?!" He let out a sharp, hysterical laugh, his claws scraping at his scalp. "Kid, everybody leaves. That's the only thing this world does right."

 

He snapped his gaze away, staring down at his trembling hands. He could still feel the blood smeared on his palms, glistening dark and wet. Anchoring. Sickening.

 

“If you’re smart,” Wukong muttered, low, almost broken, “you’ll stay the hell away from me. Before this resets again. Before you’re gone too.”

 

But the silence that followed wasn’t distance. It wasn’t retreat. When he looked up, Nezha was still there. Still hovering. Still burning.

 

Still choosing to stay.

 

Wukong’s breathing wouldn’t steady. His chest kept clenching like it was trying to cave in on itself, dragging his ribs with it. Nezha’s stare, hot and unyielding, only made it worse.

 

He couldn’t— he couldn’t just sit here. Couldn’t waste time trying to explain what couldn’t be explained. Not when— 

 

“MK,” He rasped, voice splitting in the middle. He lurched to his feet, legs wobbling under him. His tail lashed like it had a mind of its own. “If the world’s reset, then he—”

 

Nezha’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “The mortal boy—”

 

“He’s not just—” Wukong snapped, but the words got caught in his throat. He pressed both hands to his face, dragging his claws over his fur. His voice came out hoarse, desperate. “He’s my kid. My kid. And he died. I watched it.”

 

His chest hitched again, but he shoved it down, forcing his legs to move. Forward. He had to see. Had to know. If this was some cruel trick of the heavens, if it was a mirage, if he touched MK and his hand went right through him—

 

The thought nearly buckled him, but his body didn’t stop. He stumbled through the grass, half-snarling, half-praying. “If he’s here— I need to find him, I need—”

 

And of course, Nezha’s wheels hissed as they descended, matching his pace, cutting off his retreat. “You don’t get to run off like that.”

 

“Watch me,” Wukong hissed. His fur was bristeling so violently he looked twice his size. “You want answers? Then you can chase me all you like, but don’t think for a second I’m stopping before I see him alive.”

 

For the first time, Nezha faltered. His grip on the spear loosened, just slightly. His mouth pressed tight, but he didn’t argue.

 

And somehow, that was worse. That silence, that pity, that understanding.

 

Wukong’s chest shook with another broken laugh. “Fine. Tag along if you want. But I swear on every god that’s ever cursed my name— if he’s not there—”

 

His voice collapsed, crumbling into nothing. His throat locked around it.

 

He didn’t finish the thought.

 

He just kept moving, faster now, toward the only thing that mattered.

Chapter 3: Chapter 3

Summary:

MK finds comfort in a particular monkey.

MK couldn’t shake it.

 

Even after hugging Pigsy so tight his ribs nearly cracked, after clinging to Tang like he was ten again, after Mei’s sunshine-laugh nearly drowned out horrible feelings in his chest.. the ache was still there.

 

Monkey King wasn’t here.

 

He tried not to think about it, but the name slipped through anyway, sharp and desperate: Sun Wukong.

 

MK sat on the curb outside the arcade while Mei went to grab snacks. Every laugh Mei threw over her shoulder felt like it came from underwater, muffled and distant.

 

“C’mon, MK! You’re gonna miss the opening round!” Mei’s voice carried, warm and bright as ever.

 

He forced a smile, nodding quickly. “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming!”

 

But his legs wouldn’t move. His chest felt too heavy, like if he stood up he’d just collapse again.

 

The dream— no, not a dream, he knew it wasn’t— kept replaying in his head. Nuwa’s hand on his cheek, her voice soft, almost kind, telling him this was “for the best.” He hated it. Hated that part of him that almost believed her.

 

Because wasn’t this what he wanted? His family safe, Mei safe, Pigsy and Tang alive and cooking noodles like nothing ever happened? (When would Sandy come back?)

 

MK sucked in a shaky breath, curling forward and gripping his hair. The shadows at the end of the street stretched long, like claws reaching for him. He flinched, jerking his head up, half-expecting to see fire or monsters clawing out of the dark. Nothing. Just the hum of neon signs and Mei’s muffled voice calling his name again.

 

MK pressed his fists against his chest, right where it hurt most. “Monkey King?” he whispered, as if he’d answer. His throat burned. “I can’t do this without you.”

 

But no one answered. Just the distant rumble of cars and the sound of Mei’s sneakers squeaking as she ran back toward him.

 

 

---

 

 

The room felt too quiet after Mei left. She’d smiled and waved like everything was normal— but MK saw the way her eyes lingered a little too long on him, the hesitation in her steps before she finally let him close the door.

 

Now it was just him. Him and the dark.

 

He sat on the edge of his bed, helmet abandoned on the desk, hands twisting in his lap. His legs bounced restlessly, chest tight with all the words he hadn’t said. The world was here, Mei was here,  but his brain wouldn’t stop screaming that none of it should exist. That he shouldn’t exist.

 

MK buried his face in his hands. His breath hitched, shoulders shaking. 

 

The shadows shifted.

 

MK’s head snapped up, heart beginning to hammer. The corner of the room ripped with.. something familiar. A tall, sharp silhouette peeling itself away from the wall. Two glowing eyes blinked into existence, cutting through the dark.

 

“..Macaque?” MK whispered, voice breaking.

 

The shadow’s smirk flickered faint, half-hearted, but it was him. 

 

“Hey bud,” Macaque said quietly, voice softer than MK remembered. “Looks like the world’s still kickin’. Wild, huh?”

 

MK didn’t answer. His eyes burned, and he launched forward so fast it nearly knocked them both over, arms wrapping around Macaque’s middle with a desperation that stole his breath. His grip tightened, tighter, tighter, like if he let go Macaque would vanish all over again.

 

“Whoa, whoa, kid— slow down!” Macaque wheezed, one hand instinctively bracing his ribs, the other already clutching the back of MK’s shirt. “You’re— ngh— crushing me here—”

 

But he didn’t let go.

 

If anything, he pulled MK in tighter, burying his face in the kid’s hair. His chest ached where MK clung, but gods, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

 

“You remember,” MK whispered, voice cracking against Macaque’s shoulder.

 

“Yeah— yeah, kiddo, I do,” Macaque murmured. His smirk was gone now, replaced with something raw. His hand smoothed down MK’s back. “I remember.”

 

MK’s sob tore out of him before he could stop it. He shook, clutching tighter, words tumbling out half-broken: “I don’t— I don’t get it— I saw it, I— I was gone, I know I was— and now I’m here and everything’s back and it’s all wrong— it’s all—”

 

“Shh. Breathe, MK,” Macaque whispered, pressing his cheek against the top of his head. “I’ve got you. You’re okay. You’re here.”

 

MK clung harder, knuckles white in Macaque’s scarf. His heart was still racing, still panicked, but the weight of Macaque’s arms around him— warm and safe— grounded him in a way nothing else had.

 

For the first time since waking up, MK let himself believe it.

 

He was here.

 

Macaque held him. One arm looped tight around MK’s shoulders, one hand absently running through his hair in slow, grounding strokes. The kid’s heartbeat thudded against his chest, sharp and fast, each sob rattling through his shirt.

 

And Macaque let himself stay there. Quiet.

 

Too quiet.

 

Because behind his own calm mask— behind the steadying touch— his own thoughts were spiraling.

 

This isn’t right.

The kid died. I watched him die. I felt the world fall apart. I felt it end.

 

But here they were. 

 

Reset. Reset like none of it happened.

 

He remembered the weight of stone pressing down. The white glare of the pillar swallowing MK whole. The silence after. Gods, that silence.

 

And now the mountain was standing. The stars were back. The kid was warm and alive in his arms.

 

What does that mean? For him? For me? For Wukong, for— for all of us?

 

His hand slowed in MK’s hair, movements growing absent. His eyes unfocused, gaze drifting  toward the window where the night pressed in. A loop. A cycle. He could feel it, even if he couldn’t put words to it.

 

He wasn’t sure if it was real. If he was real.

 

And the weight of that silence must’ve been too much, because MK suddenly broke. 

 

“I don’t get it!” MK’s voice cracked, ragged against Macaque’s shirt. His fists bunched tighter in the fabric, knuckles white. “I don’t get it! Why do we remember? Why— why me , why you?!”

 

His words tumbled faster, frantic, desperate to fill the silence.

 

“Is everyone else just— just living like normal while we’re— stuck here—?! Are they all just— pieces, and we’re— I don’t—” His breath hitched, voice breaking into a sob. “I don’t get it.”

 

Macaque blinked, jolted back to himself, realizing too late he’d been drifting. He tightened his hold before MK could slip into full panic. Gods, MK was just like Wukong. Ouch.

 

“Hey— hey, breathe, kid. Look at me.” His voice was low, steady, even as his own pulse jumped.

 

But MK just shook his head, clinging tighter, words spilling too fast, too sharp.

 

“Nuwa said it was protection— she said it was keeping everyone safe — but if it’s just— if it’s just restarting then none of it— none of it’s real! It’s all— it’s all fake, it’s— it’s—”

 

Macaque shut his eyes, forehead pressing against MK’s hair, forcing his own breathing to slow. He didn’t have answers. He didn’t have a way to fix this.

 

But he could hold the kid.

 

And he did.

 

“I don’t know, bud,” Macaque finally murmured, voice so soft it barely carried. “I don’t know what this means. But I know you’re real. You’re here. That’s enough for right now.”

 

Macaque held MK tighter, jaw clenched as MK closed his eyes and leaned further into him. His mind wouldn’t stop.

 

That scream.

 

He’d heard it. Wukong’s voice tearing out across the battlefield, raw and guttural in a way he hadn’t heard in centuries. Not in a fight, not in rage— no, that was the scream of someone breaking. He could still hear it ringing in his ears, like it had burrowed into his skull.

 

Macaque shut his eyes, throat tight.

 

If he remembered- if Wukong remembered, then—

 

Then what?

 

His mind churned. Too fast. 

 

Wukong had seen MK vanish. He’d felt the world collapse just the same. If Wukong had remembered.. what was he going to do now? Run? Fight? Tear the sky down brick by brick until someone gave him answers?

 

And what about the others? Mei, Pigsy, Tang, Sandy— they’d wake up tomorrow like nothing happened, wouldn’t they? Living in the clean, smooth reset timeline. NEver knowing how close it all came to ending.

 

Ignorance as mercy.

 

Macaque’s grip on MK tightened unconsciously.

 

Why us?

 

Was it punishment? A cruel trick of the universe? Or—

 

No. Think like survival. Think like a fight. If the board reset, and they’re still on it, then they’re the players. The ones who have to move the pieces differently this time.

 

His chest burned. His thoughts clawed at him, sharp-edged, relentless.

 

It means something. It has to. Otherwise.. otherwise that scream, that loss, it was all just— noise.

 

He couldn’t let it be noise.

 

Macaque exhaled, low and steady, forcing himself back into the room, into the warmth of MK pressed against him. The kid was still shaking, still rambling against his chest, too fast to catch all of it.

 

So Macaque pressed his own chin lightly to the crown of MK’s head, closing his eyes, and murmuring— half to ground the kid, half to ground himself— “..we’ll figure it out. Okay? Doesn’t matter how many times it resets. We’ll find the edge of this thing. We’ll crack it open.”

 

His hand smoothed over MK’s back, careful, gentle.

 

“That’s what I do, kid. I survive. And if you’re with me? You will too.”

 

MK hiccupped against his chest, shoulders still tight. He clutched at Macaque's fur, fingers trembling. His breaths came ragged, uneven. But Macaque's hand kept rubbing slow circles between his shoulders, solid and patient.

 

One circle. Two. Three.

 

And slowly— so slowly— the frantic edge bled out of him. The panic gave way to exhaustion. His words came less often, less desperate. Eventually he just pressed his face harder into Macaque’s chest, as if hiding there could make the fear go away.

 

“..You promise?” His voice was small, muffled. Fragile in a way that made Macaque’s chest ache.

 

Macaque shut his eyes, tightening his hold like the answer was already carved into his bones.

 

“Yeah, bud. I promise.” His voice was muffled against MK’s hair.

 

There was no flourish to it, no clever twist of words. Just quiet certainty, the kind that made MK’s body finally start to loosen, like his lungs would finally work again.

 

Macaque felt him sag, bit by bit, until his weight was heavy and warm and real in his arms.

 

“Rest, kid,” Macaque whispered. “We’ll figure this out.”

Chapter 4: Tang

Summary:

Tang knows something's up.

Notes:

waow two chapters back to back,,

Tang’s morning usually started slow. Tea, a stretch, maybe a page or two of a dusty old scroll if he could get away with it before Pigsy noticed he was lazing about. But that morning, before he’d even finished half his tea, he heard it—

 

The crash of feet on the stairs.

 

MK’s voice, cracking sharp with something Tang didn’t hear often— panic.

 

“Pigsy??”

 

Tang blinked, frozen halfway to another sip. Pigsy peeked his head out from the counter, confused. “Kid?”

 

Then MK slammed into him with a hug.

 

Tang’s heart squeezed in his chest. MK wasn’t usually one to hold back affection, but this— this wasn’t casual. This was desperate. His eyes flicked to Pigsy, and Pigsy was already frowning, ears twitching in unease. 

 

And then MK turned, and Tang nearly dropped his mug when he suddenly caught up in the same suffocating hug.

 

“Oh!” he gasped, startled, “Well— good morning to you too!” He forced a nervous laugh, hand patting MK’s back while the other tried not to spill tea all over them both.

 

But MK didn’t laugh. He didn’t even smile.

 

He was trembling. Tang felt it, clear as day, in the way MK’s hand clenched the back of his shirt, in the way his breath hitched against Tang’s shoulder.

 

The smile Tang gave this time was a softer one, thin with worry. He shifted, setting his tea aside and cupping the back of his head like he used to when MK was little.

 

“Xiaotian…” he started, but then MK pulled back too fast, wiping at his face, trying to play it off.

 

“Just— had a weird dream,” MK muttered, voice shaking in a way that made Tang’s stomach knot.

 

He and Pigsy exchanged a look. Pigsy’s frown deepened, but he didn’t press. Tang, though— Tang wanted to. His scholar’s brain turned over every possibility: nightmare, sure, but what kind of dream leaves someone this rattled?

 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Tang asked, cautious. He reached up, brushing at a stray lock of MK’s hair, but MK stepped away before he could.

 

And that hurt more than Tang wanted to admit.

 

Because Tang remembered the boy who used to fall asleep in his lap surrounded by books. He remembered the kid who would reach for his hand when he was scared of thunderstorms. MK had always been his , in some quiet way— his kid, his baby.

 

But now MK wasn’t meeting his eyes. He was smiling too hard, too bright, like he was trying to convince himself more than anyone else.

 

Tang’s chest squeezed again.

 

And then— before Tang could find the right words— MK bolted. 

 

“Deliveries!” he chirped, too loud, too forced, snatching his bag and helmet like he hadn’t just shaken Tang’s entire morning.

 

“Kid, wait—” Pigsy tried, but the door slammed shut behind him, cutting off the protest.

 

The noodle shop fell quiet. Tang stood frozen for a beat, staring at the door. He could still feel the ghost of MK’s trembling weight against him.

 

“..I think there’s something he isn’t telling us,” Tang murmured under his breath, mostly to himself.

 

Pigsy grunted, folding his arms, worry on his face.

 

All Tang could think about was the look in MK’s eyes— haunted, fragile, like he’d seen something terrible and was too afraid to say out loud.

 

---

Tang sat at the counter long after MK had left, tea cold in his hands, his mind refusing to settle.

 

Pigsy had gone back into the kitchen, muttering about “reckless kids” and “bad dreams”, but Tang.. Tang wasn’t so sure.

 

MK’s hug hadn’t felt like some bad dream. It felt desperate. Like someone clinging to a life raft in stormy seas. Tang knew that kind of grip. He’d seen it in temples, in history, in old paintings of survivors clutching what they could not lose.

 

And then there were his eyes— red-rimmed, exhausted, terrified.

 

Tang hummed to himself, trying to chase the thought away, but his scholar’s brain refused to let it go. “Dreams,” he muttered, rubbing his chin. “But dreams aren’t usually that visceral… not unless they’re visions, omens, or—” He stopped himself, biting his lip. 

 

It wasn’t impossible.

 

He’d read stories of mortals reliving cycles. Of heroes caught in samsara, lives looping again and again until they achieved enlightenment. He remembered tales of monkey demons who cheated heaven itself, of gods and immortals bounded by the Wheel of Fate.

 

But MK wasn’t an immortal, was he? He was— his kid. Just his kid.

 

His kid who loved noodles, and the Monkey King, and video games.

 

Tang sighed, pressing his hand over his eyes. Still…

 

His mind itched. When Pigsy wasn’t looking, he slipped away to his books. He pulled down dusty scrolls, texts about the Great Sage Equal to Heaven, old myths about demons and reincarnation, folktales about time twisting in on itself. He read about illusions, about the Buddha’s palm, about heavenly decrees.

 

None of it fit. None of it gave him a neat little explanation for why MK’s shoulders had been trembling or why his voice had cracked like he was trying not to sob in broad daylight.

 

And still, Tang couldn’t shake the image of his boy’s face when he said “Just a weird dream.”

 

He closed the book with a heavy sigh, fingers lingering on the yellowed pages.

 

“Dreams..” he murmured.

 

For the first time in a long while, Tang wished he believed a little harder in omens.

 

---

The noodle shop had long since gone quiet. Even the city outside had lulled into that rare late-night hush. Pigsy was sprawled across their bed, snoring gently, his tusks rising and falling with each breath.

 

Tang was.. not asleep.

 

His little bedside lamp glowed a warm amber, casting a pool of light over his growing fortress of books. Myths of immortality, Buddhist scripture, obscure folk tales, annotated history of the Great Sage himself. They were stacked on his nightstand, one already open in his lap.

 

Tang’s eyes burned, but he couldn’t put them down. His pen hovered over a notebook he kept tucked under his pillow for “inspiration”. It was now filling with cramped, messy notes:

 

• MK’s dream?
• Reincarnation cycle?? Samsara??
• Possible divine interference?
• Mentioned nothing about what he saw → hiding something?? protecting us??

 

He chewed his pen cap, mind buzzing. The more he read, the less sense it made. None of these myths lined up neatly. It was all fragments, scattered puzzle pieces that didn’t fit.

 

A low grunt broke his concentration. “Tang,” Pigsy mumbled, voice thick with sleep. It had that low bass that drove Tang crazy. One of his eyes cracked open, catching the glow of Tang’s lamp. “You’re doin’ it again.”

 

Tang froze like a kid caught sneaking sweets. “Doing what?”

 

“Reading yourself into a spiral.” Pigsy rolled onto his back, rubbing his snout. “C’mon, it’s two in the morning. Whatever it is, it’ll still be there tomorrow.”

 

Tang hesitated, clutching the book tighter to his chest. “But what if it’s not?” he whispered.

 

Pigsy’s ear flicked. “..What?”

 

“What if something’s wrong with Xiaotian?” Tang’s voice cracked slightly. He set the book aside, fiddling with his sleeves. “Pigsy, he looked— he looked like he’d lived through something horrible. I’ve read about survivors holding on like that. He wasn’t just scared of a bad dream, he was..” his throat bobbed. “It looked like he was grieving.”

 

Pigsy went quiet.

 

Tang ran a hand through his hair, tugging nervously at the ends. “And I don’t know what to do with that. So I read. Because maybe if I look hard enough, I’ll find something that makes sense.”

 

Pigsy let out a long sigh and sat up, rubbing Tang’s back with one broad hand. “You’re overthinkin’, bookworm. But… I get it. You’re worried.”

 

Tang leaned into his touch, exhaustion creeping into his bones but his mind still spinning. His notebook lay open on the nightstand, a half-scribbled line trailing off where he’d lost his train of thought.

 

Pigsy tugged him closer until Tang was tucked against his side. “Sleep first. We’ll figure the rest out in the morning. Kid’s tough. And he’s got us. That’s what matters.”

 

Tang swallowed hard, eyes darting back to his pile of books. He reached out like he wanted to grab one more— but Pigsy’s arm anchored him back in place.

 

For once, Tang let himself be held. The lamp still glowed beside him, words and theories scattered in messy ink. The black haired man shifted in Pigsy’s arms, pressing a small kiss to his head. “..Thank you.” He muttered quietly.

 

Pigsy hummed in response, closing his eyes. “Go to sleep, scholar.”

 

Tang knew he wouldn’t stop worrying. But at least, for tonight, he wouldn’t be worrying alone.

Chapter 5: Mei / MK

Summary:

Mei can't shake something wrong.

MK feels horrible.

Notes:

don't you guys love the sibling besties

Mei wasn’t an idiot.

 

She knew MK was off.

 

He laughed at her jokes— too loud, too late.  He hugged her— too tight, too long. He stared off at nothing like the shadows on the wall were whispering things only he could hear.

 

At first, she thought maybe he was just tired. Work? Delivery stress?? She could handle any of that. But this was different.

 

This was wrong.

 

“C’mon, MK!” Mei shouted over the arcade noise, grinning wide, controller already in hand. “You’re not seriously gonna let me sweep the leaderboard solo, right?”

 

MK grinned. That bright, sunshine smile she knew better than her own reflection. “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming!”

 

Except he didn’t move. He stayed slouched on the curb outside the neon-lit arcade, eyes distant, like he hadn’t heard her at all.

 

Mei’s grin faltered. She jogged back to him, sneakers squeaking on the tile. “Hellooo? Earth to MK? The tournament’s starting, man! Do I have to drag you in there?”

 

He blinked, startled, like she’d just pulled him out of deep water. “Oh- sorry, Mei!” He laughed, voice too high pitched. “Just zoned out is all.”

 

Zoned out. Right. Mei bit the inside of her cheek, furrowing her brow. She wanted to push, wanted to grab his shoulders and shake him until he stopped looking like someone had stolen the ground from underneath him. But his smile was still plastered on, stretched too tight, and—

 

She didn’t. Not yet.

 

__

Later, back at her place, Mei sprawled on her bean bag chair while MK half-dozed on the couch. She kept her eyes on her phone, thumbs scrolling mindlessly. She was too focused on MK, and every few seconds, she’d glance up.

 

He wasn’t asleep. Not really. His shoulders were tense, fists curled tight like he was bracing for something. Like if he let go for even a second, he’d just… vanish.

 

Mei’s chest tightened.

 

This wasn’t her MK. Or— no, it was him. But it was like he’d put on some.. mask she didn’t recognize. A smile too bright, a laugh too sharp, covering something he didn’t want her to see.

 

And she hated it.

 

She hated that he didn’t feel safe enough to tell her. She hated that he thought he had to carry whatever this was by himself. MK told her everything.

 

Finally, she tossed her phone aside with a sigh and pushed herself up. “Okay, spill,” she said, hands on her hips.

 

MK cracked one eye open. “..Spill what?” His voice was scratchy, uneven.

 

“Don’t play dumb,” Mei crossed the room and dropped onto the couch beside him, arms folded. “You’ve been acting like someone kicked a puppy in front of you. You hug me like I’m gonna disappear, and then you stare into space like you’re gonna disappear. It’s freaking me out, dude.”

 

MK sat up too fast, waving his hands like she’d set off a fire alarm. “No, no, I’m fine!” MK protested, “Just— bad dreams, y’know? No big deal!”

 

Mei’s heart squeezed. His hands were trembling. That couldn’t have been just because of some stupid dream. She grabbed them before he could hide it. 

 

“MK,” she said quietly, catching his eyes. “Dude. You can’t lie to me. You’re scaring me, okay?”

 

MK’s breath hitched. For a second, it looked like his mask had cracked— the smile slipping, shoulders curling in like he wanted to fold himself out of existence.

 

Then he whispered, “I’m fine.” Too fast. Too fragile.

 

Mei tightened her grip on his hands. “You-” she sucked in a breath, letting it out with a heavy sigh. She swallowed. “You don’t have to tell me yet. But I’m not going anywhere. Got it? You’re stuck with me, Xiaotian.”

 

His throat bobbed. He didn’t answer, just squeezed her hands back like she was the only thing keeping him tethered.

__

Later that night, Mei lay in bed with the glow of her phone lighting her face. Her thumb hovered over their chat. She sent him stupid, silly videos she found while scrolling— some things about silly animals, some about Journey to The West— then hit send with a flourish. She hesitated before quickly typing out something else.

 

meimei: justincase ur awaek and sad

 

She then set her phone on the pillow beside her. The screen lit up with Read. No reply.

 

Mei rolled onto her side, pulling her blanket up to her chin, staring at that little word until her eyes blurred.

 

MK was slipping. She could feel it.

 

But she wouldn’t let go.

__

MK lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. His room was dark except for the faint neon glow sneaking in through the blinds. Macaque had already left, something about ‘finding that stupid monkey’. He should’ve been asleep hours ago.

 

But then, his phone buzzed. He rolled over, face half-buried in the pillow, and grabbed it.

 

xiaojiao-jie 🐉: [video] caption: “when sun wukong hears someone call him a ‘supporting character’”.

 

It was a dumb clip— someone had edited a monkey throwing hands at a zoo with over-the-top boss music.

 

MK’s lips twitched. Almost a smile.

 

Another buzz.

 

xiaojiao-jie 🐉: [video of a cat knocking over a bowl]

you when you tried helping out in the kitchen LOL

 

MK’s chest tightened. He stifled a laugh into his pillow. It hurt. It always hurt.

 

Buzz.

 

xiaojiao-jie 🐉:
okok that was the last one i promise
justincase ur awaek and sad

 

MK froze. His thumb hovered over the keyboard.

 

He wanted to say thank you. He wanted to say I’m not okay, but this helped. He wanted to tell her everything: Nuwa’s hand, the pillar, the silence after, the reset, Macaque’s arms around him, the way the world felt wrong each time he blinked.

 

MK’s thumb hovered.

Just one word. Hey.  That’s all he needed to type. Mei would pick it up from there— she always did. She’d laugh at him for being awake at 2AM, send him a dozen more dumb memes, maybe get a real laugh out of him.

 

His chest ached. His thumb tapped the screen.

 

MK: hey

 

He stared at it. Three letters glowing up at him. Too small. Too casual. Too fake.

 

He deleted it.

 

His fingers flew again, unthinking.

 

MK: thanks. i needed that

 

His throat tightened. Because it was true, because he had needed it, the way her laugh tugged at the knot in his chest, even if just a little.

 

But if he sent that, she’d ask. She’d want to know why. Why did he need it, why did he sound so tired in the texts he hadn’t even sent yet, why did his voice crack when they spoke today?

 

And he couldn’t. He couldn’t say “because I died, Mei. Because I left you and Pigsy and Tang and Sandy behind to burn, and it all reset, and now we’re here like it never happened.”

 

He deleted it.

 

His fingers hovered. He typed again.

 

MK: can’t sleep lol

 

That one sat there the longest. Because it was true enough. Safe enough.

 

But he could already picture Mei’s reply. A bunch of question marks. Then: ”why not?? what’s up??” 

 

And then what? Did he say nightmares? That was true. Did he say I keep seeing the end of the world when I close my eyes? That was truer.

 

His hands shook. He deleted it.

 

New draft.

 

MK: miss you

 

His chest clenched. Hard. Because gods, he did. He missed Mei with a weight that made him feel like he was going to snap in half. Not her presence— she was still here, still herself, still shining. He missed the ease. The way he used to sit beside her and laugh without the guilt bleeding in at the edges.

 

If he sent this, she’d call. Or show up at his window with chips and soda and that determined look in her eye. She’d see him. And then he’d break.

 

He deleted it.

 

He typed and erased a dozen more starts. ”you okay?” — too obvious. “u up?” — too dumb. “can i tell you something crazy?” — too dangerous.

 

Every draft looked like a trap. His phone screen blurred again, his reflection swimming through the glass. He could see how red his eyes were, how exhausted he looked. His thumb hovered one last time, aching, before he locked the screen.

 

MK buried the phone under the pillow. “Sorry, Mei.” he whispered into the dark. His voice cracked, small and fragile.

 

The phone buzzed again under the pillow. Mei’s laugh in text form, a dozen dragon emojis, something dumb and bright and safe.

 

MK curled in tighter, muffling his face, and let himself shake.

 

He never sent anything back.

Notes:

please comment i love reading them <3