Chapter Text
Macaque didn’t believe in accidents. MK’s ability to lift the staff, heaven’s cruelty, Wukong Monkey King sending his staff crashing through the dark-furred monkey's skull. Things had been peaceful since Azure’s defeat, if one ignores the world-ending cracks that riddled the sky.
Flower Fruit Mountain lived and breathed like it always had. Wind pulled gently at the trees, stones warmed under the sun, and at its center was Monkey King, loud, brilliant, and impossible to ignore. Gods, how Macaque wished things were different, but he still couldn’t let go. He still couldn’t forgive the one who sent him to an early grave.
Each day went by, similar to the last on Flower Fruit Mountain. Macaque would wake up, spend the day avoiding various visitors, scavenge for food, then find a place to sleep that somewhat kept him safe from potential deluge.
It was Thursday. Macaque could hear the cracks and clangs that were a telltale sign that MK was on the mountain. It wasn’t a surprise; MK came to spar every Thursday, but for Macaque, it just meant more hiding. That, however, didn’t mean he couldn’t watch. Sinking into his shadows, Macaque quickly found himself observing slightly out of view in the shade of the trees.
The dark-furred simian’s fists clenched as he watched Monkey King dodge kicks and swings from the kid. This wasn’t the Monkey King he knew. It was as if the past had never sharpened his teeth to begin with; MK didn’t even have a scratch. Macaque hated it. He hated it, not because he wanted the kid to get hurt, but rather it was more proof that things could never go back to the way they were. Not that he wanted them to. He didn’t know what he wanted, really.
Macaque sighed long and hard as he crossed his arms. He needed to leave. Watching MK tugged on all of the wrong strings in his heart. The kid reminded him so much of his youth; eating peaches and relaxing till the days end.
He needed to leave now. The fur on Macaque's shoulders spiked as he drew himself from his thoughts, only to see a pair of bright golden eyes staring at him. Shit, go go go go go. A faint smile tugged at the orange-furred simian's lips, but Macaque didn’t stick around to see anything else. His shadows folded around him, and he was gone.
He didn’t really have a destination; he just needed to get away. When the darkness relented, he stood in front of a very large set of doors. A set of doors that Macaque was very familiar with. He frequently visited the mess in which Monkey King called his “Treasury.” Macaque didn’t know why he always found himself there, at least, that’s what he told himself. Deep down, he knew why. So many of the relics and artifacts held memories of the old days. The days before he and his best friend fell apart.
In the vast expanse that is piled high with likely dangerous junk, Macaque sat in a small clearing. He picked up relic after relic, searching his mind for its origin or if he had helped acquire it. Mostly the latter, but he wouldn’t admit that. From old vases to shiny, probably haunted, swords of all kings. Monkey King had it all, except for what he didn’t have.
How much junk is even in here? Macaque let his mind wander as he went through more piles. He could see where MK had tried his best to sort what he could, poor kid. Macaque picked up what looked like a lightly worn leather shoe, tossing it over his shoulder into the “probably just trash” pile. Without looking, he reached forward to grab the next item, a small jar, sealed with wax, full of suspicious orange liquid. Seriously, how does he even live like this? The liquid reminded Macaque of peach juice, if peach juice were oddly sparkly.
The first rule of the treasury: Don’t. Open. Anything. Macaque knew this, but he wasn’t sure if it needed to go in the trash pile or “Danger: DO NOT TOUCH” pile. How did the saying go? Curiosity killed the cat? Good thing I’m a monkey. Macaque broke the wax on the lid and popped it open. Immediately, he was hit with the strong smell of what he recognized as… Peaches? No way that idiot put a jar of peach juice in here. Macaque sat for a second. No, he totally would. The black-furred simian took one last look at the liquid before dipping his pinky finger in. It had definitely been in here for a while. The orange liquid clung to his finger with an uncomfortable level of viscosity.
Hesitating slightly, Macaque opened his mouth and touched his suspicious-liquid-covered finger to his tongue. Not as bad as I thought. He licked the rest off. More like jam than juice. Macaque took another look and dipped his finger in it again before closing the jar, setting it to the side. Wukong Monkey King was always bad about leaving food everywhere.
That evening, Macaque perched himself on a tree branch, high above Monkey King’s house. Relaxing into the crook between the branch and the trunk, he pulled the jar out of his pocket. No scavenging for me tonight. Macaque smiled to himself as he used a spoon—that he had stolen from Monkey king—to dip out a large heap of the orange, peach-flavored substance. It was good. So good that Macaque ate the whole thing. Definitely peach jam. He closed his eyes with a satisfied stomach and a warm feeling in his chest. One night without hunger.
It was warm, too warm. Scratch that, it was hot. Macaque woke from his slumber, covered in sweat and a pool of heat building from his stomach into his chest. What’s happening?! He sat up, bringing upon himself a wave of heat and nausea. It’s the jam, isn’t it? Macaque rubbed his fingers along his brow. The delectable treat was the only thing he had eaten. This is what I get for a sliver of bliss? He shook himself before climbing out of the tree. Macaque stumbled as his feet hit the ground, but his discomfort clouded his mind too much for him to think about it. He trekked clumsily through the thick foliage around Monkey King’s house, eventually reaching the waterfall curtain.
With slow, shaky hands, Macaque removed his shirt, ignoring how his fur pulled in some places. He would have taken off the rest of his clothes, but there wasn’t enough privacy for his liking. The dark-furred simian stepped carefully under the relentless water, relaxing as the cold washed over him, darkening his fur further, letting his glamour slip away. Macaque was so relieved, he no longer cared that his pants were soaked through.
“Macaque?” A painfully familiar voice called from behind him. Fuck, not now, please not now. Every muscle in Macaque’s body went rigid. Please, just go away. He opened his mouth to talk, but no words came out. His throat was too dry anyway. What do I do?
“What are you doing out here? I knew you were here, I just didn’t think you were here,” Wukong’s voice was as sharp as ever.
“Did you always feel the need to interrupt everything?” Macaque sighed in return, continuing to keep his back turned. He could feel Monkey King’s eyes piercing into his back. The cold water was no longer a comfort; it just reminded him how exposed he was. No glamour, no protection, just himself.
Monkey King paused, long and unbearable. “I was just curious who was lurking around my house. If I knew it was you, I wouldn’t have bothered.”
“Then don’t,” Macaque snapped, regretting his response. He hadn’t meant to be so sharp, he rarely did.
Silence followed, more suffocating than before. It nearly felt endless.
“You seem more tense than usual, what’s got your fur all ruffled?” He could hear Wukong Monkey King sit down in the nearby grass.
No, go away! “It’s nothing.” Macaque’s voice was quieter than before. “I just needed to clear my head, preferably in peace.” Wait, Wukong? I stopped calling him that centuries ago. At the end of his thought, the heat flared. Macaque had almost forgotten about it with the now freezing water splashing around him. It crept through his chest and up into his cheeks.
He could hear Monkey King shift behind him, along with footsteps that grew closer every second. Macaque knew something was wrong when the world softened around the edges. The heat that was burning in his chest made him feel as though the gods had decided to replace his lungs with the sun and replace his ribs with bad decisions. All of this tripled as Monkey King Wukong peeked around his shoulder, meeting his eyes through the wet spray of the waterfall.
“Are you sure? I’ve never seen you this flust-” Wukong stopped in his tracks when he saw Macaque's face, when he looked into equally golden eyes.
Macaque’s heart fluttered at the sudden eye contact, the heat in his gut curling and crawling its way into his throat, coating his tongue. Any thought he had melted away as he took in every gold, shimmery fleck in Wukong’s irises.
“Wukong?” Macaque breathed, forgetting why he was there in the first place. Before he could stop himself, Macaque had his arms wrapped around the lighter-furred simian, pulling him through the sheet of water and into the pool beyond. He took distant delight in the way Wukong spluttered under his drenched fur, but the haze stopped any taunts or jabs as they normally would.
Water dripped into his mouth as Macaque laughed freely. Wukong had barely recovered, and yet he was still fixing Macaque with a worried look as he coughed up water. Parts of him wanted to leave this behind and forget about it by morning, yet he didn’t.
“Macaque, bud, are you feeling alright? You seem a little… loopy,” Wukong spoke as if one wrong word might send Macaque running like a hysterical animal. What is happening?