Chapter Text
Wanna know a fun fact?
Back then. Wukong. The Monkey king used to have loooonnnggg cloudy, curly hair! Messy, long and hard to control...just like him. The hair would reach to his legs. sometimes getting tangled in branches and bushes. And whenever it got wet in water it cover his whole body like a cloak and the curls tighten up making him look like a sheep.
Anytime Wukong would get frustrated he would tug on his hair making it even messier, and Macaque would always tease him about it. But it wouldn't mean he didn't take care of his hair, oh no!
Macaque would braid his hair whenever it got too long or tangled, carefully brushing through the knots with his claws, and Wukong would pretend not to enjoy it—though his tail would always betray him by curling happily around Macaque's wrist as he worked.
Although He would end up messing up his hair again soon after, just to get Macaque's attention. Yeah Macaque would get mad and scold him for it, but Wukong didn’t care—he liked the way Macaque rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath before sighing and starting all over again...he'd love it each day
But. Ever since the journey?
It all went away. He cutted it all off.
Wukong never spoke about why, he saw the way Wukong's hands trembled the first time he reached for scissors, how his reflection in the water seemed to mock him with memories too heavy to carry. The long hair had been another casualty of the journey, another piece of himself he'd carved away to fit their expectations
Hair keeps memories as others say..guess to the king memories weigh too heavy.
_________
Wukong, the monkey king was forced to live with Macaque after the Azure crushed his house and the brotherhood attacked all of em accident..Of course he cared about Macaque, but the time had driven both very far and.. He was too stubborn.
So meanwhile in the night, Macaque stayed up, already clothed in a baggy shirt and pj pants. The Kids(Bai he, Rumble and Savage) were asleep while he was getting some water feeling a bit thirsty.
THUMP!
Macaque's six ears twitched at the sudden noise—something heavy hitting the wooden floorboards upstairs. Rasing a brow. His tail flicked as he set the glass down with deliberate quiet, ears straining to track the shuffling footsteps above. That particular gait—stumbling just slightly when tired—was unmistakable even after all these years. "Really, Wukong? 2AM?" he muttered, claws tapping against the counter as he weighed whether to investigate or let the idiot suffer in peace.
Then again.. Whatever Wukong was doing in his bathroom could be catastrophic. Last time, he'd somehow flooded the entire second floor trying to 'fix' the sink. With a that. He decided to walk up stairs—
Step by step, he climbed. Each step creaked under his weight. His ears twitched at the sound of.. scissors? The moment Macaque's foot hit the top step, hearing a slight 'OW!-' followed by a clatter—he froze
Immediately twisting the bathroom doorknob open "Wukong what in the—" Cut off mid-sentence as he saw golden tufts of fur on the ground and sink while Wukong clutched a bleeding..wait. Blood?
Blood dripped from Wukong's finger..oof..a big cut as well. There was a pair of scissors on the floor now forgotten as he stared at Macaque. and worst of all—the end if his hair was chopped off unevenly. Gods did he look stupid.
Wukong's ears flattened against his head as he instinctively tried to hide the mess behind his back with his uninjured hand, the other still dripping golden blood onto the tiles. His tail lashed once before curling around his leg protectively. "It's—uh—not what it looks like?" he offered weakly, voice hoarse from either sleep or something darker, the bathroom's harsh lighting making the dark circles under his eyes more pronounced than usual. Did he even sleep at all?
His pupils shrank to pinpricks at the sight—not just the blood, but the jagged chunks missing from Wukong’s fur where he’d clearly hacked at it himself. Something primal twisted in his chest seeing those golden strands scattered across the tile like discarded memories. "You—" his voice trailed unexpectedly, tail lashing behind him as he stepped forward, grabbing Wukong’s wrist to inspect the wound. "Are you TRYING to bleed out in my bathroom at 3 AM?"
The words came out sharper than intended, laced with something too raw to name.
"I-- okay look i never ment to-" Wukong tried to tug his hand back but Macaque's grip was firm, his own fingers trembling slightly against the warmth of Macaque's palm. The scent of iron and peaches hung thick between them."It was just a little trim—" He swallowed hard, avoiding Macaque's gaze by staring at the cracked grout between tiles where his blood had pooled in the crevices.
"A LITTLE? Wukong! Half your hair is gone!" Macaque's ears pinned back as he snatched the scissors from the sink, tossing them clattering into the bathtub. His own pulse roared in his ears—too loud, too fast—and he barely registered the golden glow blooming beneath his fingers where they still gripped Wukong's wrist. The touch-starved moron "You're lucky you didn't take a damn finger off.
He sighed letting go of Wukong's wrist to grab a kit from under the sink, ignoring how his own skin kept tingling where they'd touched. "You're gonna explain why you're butchering yourself at 2 AM while I fix this." His tone left no room for argument, even as his hands trembled slightly while opening the first aid kit.
"I don't need to explain anything." Wukong muttered, but made no move to leave, staring at the tangled golden strands littering the bathroom floor. The scent of peaches and iron hung heavy between them. "Just...got restless. Happens sometimes."
"Oh so you SOMETIMES give yourself a haircut that looks like a lawnmower attack?" Macaque snapped, tail lashing as he soaked a cloth in warm water. The steam curled around his fingers, carrying the faint herbal scent of the mountain remedies he always kept stocked. "Sit your fat butt down before I make you."
And so he did—because despite everything, Wukong still responded to that sharpness in Macaque's voice like it was home. The cold porcelain pressed against his bare calves as he perched on the edge of the tub, staring at the fingerprints Macaque's grip had left on his wrist. The black furred monkey huffed, breath warm against Wukong's ear as he bent to swipe the damp cloth over unevenly hacked strands "You could've woken me. Could've just asked but noooo~! " He said it like an accusation, like a confession
dragging the last words. "Instead of—whatever this is...give me your finger."
hesitating before extending his bleeding index finger, watching as Macaque's claws carefully plucked out embedded strands of golden hair. The sting felt deserved "Didn't wanna disturb your beauty sleep," he quipped weakly, wincing when Macaque pressed too hard. "Ow-"
"Shut up and hold still," Macaque growled, but his touch gentled as he dabbed at the cuts with antiseptic that smelled sharply of mountain herbs. His ears twitched at every tiny hiss Wukong made—memorizing each sound like he used to catalog the cadence of Wukong's laughter centuries ago.
Dang..this cut was deeper than he'd thought. Macaque could practically taste the iron tang of blood in the air—thick and coppery. As it was now washed clean or..well a bit. It was bleeding more. He immediately got another cloth and pressed it down. "Here. Keep pressure on this." Monkey king nodded, though his hands shook slightly as he pressed the cloth to his finger. He looked away, unable to meet Macaque's gaze. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words. Keeping the hand on it no matter what but..eugh it stung.
Macaque's tail flicked impatiently as he watched Wukong's avoidance. "You're an idiot," he told underneath lips rummaging through his pouch for bandages. His claws brushed against an old theater ticket stub—Beetlejuice, matinee showing—but he shoved it aside. Priorities. "Tell me why. Really why."
"...i..i hate it..okay?.." Wukong's voice was barely audible
His fingers froze mid-bandage wrap, ears twitching forward. The admission was so quiet he almost thought he imagined it. The golden monkey's ears flattened as he stared at the clumps of hair on the floor. "It...itches." His voice was barely above a whisper, shoulders hunched. "The scars under the fur. Thought if I cut it shorter..." He trailed off, clearly ashamed of admitting vulnerability after centuries of pretending invincibility. "..it wouldn't bother me so much..it'd.. i-it'd stop reminding me."
Macaque exhaled slowly through his nose, the kind of breath meant to keep himself from saying something he couldn’t take back. His claws tightened around the bandage once—then loosened.
“It was never the hair,” he said finally, voice low. “Was it?.."
Wukong didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. His shoulders curled inward like he was bracing for a hit that never came. Instead, Macaque reached out—not to scold, not to grab—but to tilt Wukong’s chin up with two fingers. Gentle. Infuriatingly gentle. he murmured, softer this time. "You think cutting it off makes it forget?”
Wukong’s jaw trembled* “I just want it to stop crawling under my skin,” he admitted. “Every time I feel it, it’s like—like they’re still there. Like I didn’t make it out."
letting go of Wukong’s chin and instead crouched in front of him, tail curling around Wukong’s ankle without thinking—muscle memory from a time when things were simpler.
“You did make it out,” he said. “You’re here. You’re bleeding on my bathroom tiles and ruining my night.” His voice was gruff, but his claws carefully smoothed the bandage over Wukong’s finger. Shrugging trying to..at least lighten some things up “Not exactly the afterlife."
A weak huff of a laugh slipped out of Wukong before he could stop it. It died quickly, but it was something. Macaque stood and grabbed a comb from the drawer—old, worn, one of the few things that had survived everything. He hesitated, then gestured with it.
“Turn around."
Wukong blinked. “What?”
"I’m not letting you walk around looking like you lost a fight with a hedge,” The Macaque already stepping closer. “And although I would leave you like this if I wanted too."
"Pft..wooow..how great."
"Hah!..but, m'too tired to even want too."
Wukong turned, slow and unsure. Macaque worked carefully, combing through what remained of the uneven curls, pausing whenever Wukong tensed—waiting until his breathing evened out again. For a while, neither of them spoke. The bathroom light hummed. The house slept. Somewhere down the hall, one of the kids shifted in their sleep, bed creaking faintly. The comb rasped through uneven tufts—slow, methodic. Macaque worked like a soldier disarming a bomb in a cartoon—one wrong move and everything would explode.
“You know,” Macaque muttered, “back then? When your hair got like this? You always pretended you didn’t care.” Wukong swallowed. “I did care.”
“I know,” Macaque said quietly. “That’s why you kept letting me fix it.” The comb snagged slightly. Wukong flinched—but Macaque immediately stopped, fingers warm against his scalp.
“Hey,” he said. “I’ve got you. I’m not pulling.” Wukong’s eyes burned. He nodded once. "..Hair keeps memories, sure. But so do hands. And voices. And the way someone stays—even at 3 AM, even when you’re bleeding and ashamed and a mess..And tomorrow,” he added, “we’ll get you something for the scars. Proper stuff. Not scissors."
"..okay.."
Wukong exhaled shakily, shoulders sagging under Macaque’s careful hands. The comb resumed its work—gentler now, smoothing over the uneven edges. “you know..I Thought you’d be mad,” he admitted. Chuckling awkwardly. Not that he didn't enjoy this it just felt ..Werid..not..bad but he was quite unsure himself
His chest felt tight and redness on the sage's cheeks drew in feeling Macaque's thumb brushing the nape of Wukong’s neck—an old reassurance from centuries past. “I *am* mad,” he muttered, but the words lacked heat. “Mad you didn’t just *ask*” The comb dragged gently through the remaining curls, slow and careful. Wukong’s shoulders stayed tense—too tense—but instead of words, a small sound slipped out of him. Barely louder than the hum of the light.
“…rrhk.”
He froze immediately, ears flattening in embarrassment like he’d been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. Macaque paused. Didn’t comment. Didn’t tease.
He just adjusted his grip and continued, slower this time, claws scraping just there where Wukong liked it—because of course he remembered. Another sound followed. Softer. Almost…content.
“…hrrm.”
Wukong clenched his jaw, tail twitching like it was betraying state secrets. He stared at the floor tiles as if they’d personally wronged him, clearly doing everything in his power not to unravel.The comb snagged just a little.
“…chk—”
“Easy,” Macaque murmured immediately, fingers steadying his head before the flinch could fully form. “I’ve got it.” That did it. Wukong’s shoulders dropped a fraction. Just enough. The sounds kept coming—quiet, involuntary little chuffs and rumbles caught in his chest. Not loud enough to be obvious. Not small enough to be nothing.
Macaque’s ears twitched, sharp and attentive. He pretended very hard not to notice. “Y’know,” he said casually “if you’re gonna make those noises, at least commit. Makes it easier to tell when I’m doing it right.”
“…mrrh,” Wukong replied automatically. Not even noticing the nosies coming out his throat, Snickering from the six eared monkey. The great sage immediately stiffened.
“…I didn’t— *aheam* to uh...that..wasn’t..me"
"Uh-huh,” Macaque said, entirely too smug as he kept brushing. “Sure you didn’t.” His claws lingered at the nape of Wukong’s neck—that spot that always made him melt. Wukong huffed quietly through his nose, face burning—but he didn’t pull away. Didn’t stop the soft, rhythmic little sounds sneaking out of him either.
After finally being finished. Macaque stepped back admiring his work, huh. Guess he didn't really lose his skills much! Wukong a once-over like he was checking his work on an old repair job. Satisfied enough, he clicked his tongue and turned toward the mess. Golden fur clung to the tiles, the sink, the edge of the tub—too much of it. Macaque set the scissors down harder. Sighing quietly. Wukong slid off the stool slowly, bare feet padding against the cold floor
“…I’ll get it,” he said, voice quiet.
“No,” Macaque replied immediately, already grabbing a dustpan. “just stay." Wukong hesitated—then obeyed, perching awkwardly sat back down. His tail curled in on itself, restless, as he watched Macaque sweep up the discarded curls. Each soft scrape of hair against plastic made something twist in his chest.
the sharp sound of the broom bristles scraping the floor somehow more deafening than any of their previous arguments. The bathroom, once cluttered with pieces of Wukong’s pride, now felt almost too quiet—like the absence of those golden strands meant something that neither of them were quite ready to face.
Wukong watched from the edge of the tub. He felt embarrassed—trapped in a way that had nothing to do with cages and everything to do with the raw ache in his chest. Rather awkwardly, he picked at the scab forming on his arm."Didn’t think you’d—” he stopped, biting his tongue before he could finish. "Didn’t think you’d care anymore." His shoulders stiffened slightly at that, grip tightening on the broom handle before he forced himself to relax. “Yeah, well. Guess neither of us are great at thinking things through."
When the floor was finally clean and the sink wiped down, Macaque dumped the hair into the trash without ceremony. No lingering. No looking back. The bathroom, once cluttered with pieces of Wukong’s pride, now felt almost too quiet—like the absence of those golden strands meant something that neither of them were quite ready to face.
Silence settled again.
Finally, Wukong shifted his weight, cleared his throat. "...Hey, Mac?." His voice was quieter than usual, more uncertain. He avoided looking directly at the mess Macaque was cleaning up. Before standing up rubbing at the back of his neck.
Macaque didn't look up, but his ears twitched at the sound of his voice. He just kept sweeping, each motion more deliberate than the last. "I... uh." *Wukong paused, then took a deep breath like he was steeling himself for something painful. He wanted to apologize. Stars He really did but it felt like his throat was closing up at some chance he got. He looked away, thinking it'd probably be easier. And yet it felt harder.* "..Sorry.."
The apology hung between them, awkward but sincere. Wukong’s hands flexed at his sides, looking like he didn’t know what to do with them. His tail curled anxiously around his leg again, betraying his nervousness. Wukong swallowed. Flattened—not in fear, just humility.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “For the noise. The blood. The—” He gestured vaguely toward the bathroom. “All of it.”
Macaque’s tail twitched—once, twice—before he sighed, tossing the last of the hair clippings into the trash with more force than necessary. He still didn’t look at Wukong, but his shoulders slumped slightly, tension bleeding out. His voice was gruff but not angry. Just tired. Too tired for another fight. “You don't have to apologize for... any of it,” The warrior muttered, though his voice still held a hint of that old edge. Looking back with a sigh, looking at the mess on the floor, then at Wukong's tired face, "next time, you’re ‘restless,’ you wake me up. You don’t butcher yourself like an idiot.
That earned a weak, crooked smile from Wukong. Guess he..well.. somewhat got away with it. “Yeah,” he mumbled, rubbing at his bandaged fingers, “But you’d just—you’d just yell at me.” His ears flicked back, half-joking, half-bracing for the inevitable retort.
A quiet huff escaped Macaque—half a laugh, half a sigh. With that, Macaque finally gathered the rest of the hair into the dustpan and tossed it into the trash. It was done. The damage was... cleaned up, for now. But the weight of the unspoken words still pressed on both of them. Wukong glanced toward the downstairs living room, the couch "I’ll... sleep on the couch," he muttered, voice low. He looked back at Macaque one last time, like he was waiting for something, some sign of approval or acceptance.
a small nod. And nothing else, “Yeah, whatever, There’s a blanket on the back. Don’t bleed on it. Don’t sleep on your hand, And if it starts bleeding again, wake me up.”
Wukong blinked, then huffed a tiny laugh under his breath.
“…Thanks."
The golden monkey turned and walked out of the bathroom. tail dragging, shoulders slumped in that way that meant the bravado was officially gone., leaving Macaque alone to finish his work. watched until he disappeared, then turned back to the bathroom.
He wiped the counter. Mopped the floor. Rinsed the sink until no gold remained. With that, Macaque finally gathered the rest of the hair into the dustpan and tossed it into the trash. It was done. The damage was... cleaned up, for now. But the weight of the unspoken words still pressed on both of them.