#that's why it ended up such a long post. sorry about that | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

inkjam-moon · 2 days ago

Text

Red Sky - Part One

Summary: After the death of your uncle, you make friends with his estranged roommate, a handsome young man, around your age that disappears for days at a time. When you find out something you're not supposed to, you learn exactly why the locals aren't particularly welcoming towards him. You want to help Jeongguk, but will he trust you enough to let you in?

Pairing: Siren!Jeongguk x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Smut, Angst

Word Count: 18k (I have nothing to say...)

TW: Sexually explicit content, mentions of suicide/death, physical altercation, drowning mentions, near death experience, drinking, verbal altercation, panic attack

A/N: tumblr literally won't let me post this in one part it's so long so part 2 will be up immediately!

"Red sky at night, sailor's delight. Red sky in the morning, sailor's warning..."

It’s overcast and misty where the boat finally stops. The late winter sun has just started to sink below the horizon, not that you can tell with all the clouds, but they are a slightly darker shade of grey. You wake yourself, stretching after the long trip from Busan, and grab your things, thanking the captain as you step onto the creaking wood of the old dock. The pungent smells of salt and low tide immediately assault your nose, your raincoat doing little to keep the relentless mist off your face, but you tug it closer nonetheless. You pull the paper out of your pocket and double check the hastily scribbled address that’s starting to smear. Honestly, you don’t even know if you’re in the right place.

You look to your left and see nothing but the ocean, as far as the horizon. You can’t help but stare out at the crashing white foam of the waves, wondering how you ended up here on this miserable island. Well, you know how you ended up here, but you begin to think about what life choices you could’ve made to bring you to this point.

When you say island, you don’t mean a tropical paradise with palm trees and coconuts everywhere. You mean the North Pacific; a small fishing village off the coast of Korea that means little to the world. Honestly, if it sank into the sea one day, you don’t think anyone would mind too terribly.

You scan the surroundings to your right and see a row of dismal buildings. You tuck into the closest one that you can enter, jumping when the door slams shut behind you, causing everyone in the place to look up at you.

You seem to be in some sort of a bar, a small number of people scattered at tables, having probably just got back from being out at sea; a hot bowl of some sort of stew, and a beer in front of each of them. You walk up to the counter where a man stands on the opposite side, cleaning a glass.

“Excuse me?”

The man, older, rather large, and a bit scary looking, turns to you. “Yeah?”

“Uh-um, sorry to bother you, I was wondering if you knew this address?” You hold the paper out to him.

He takes it from your hand and squints at it for a moment before looking up at you in surprise. “Hogeun’s place, huh?” He questions, his voice thick with the island’s harsh satoori.

“Yes, I’m here to collect his things.” You explain. “I’m his niece.”

"Y/N?"

"Um, yes?" Does this man know you?

"Wow, I can't believe it’s you. You're all grown up now.” He laughs. “Last time I saw you was maybe 20 years ago."

"We’ve met?"

He nods. "You don't remember?"

"No." You shake your head.

"You were pretty young, maybe four or five? But I guess when your mom stopped coming around you did too. I'm Donghyun." He reaches his hand across the counter and you shake it. "I was friends with your uncle, so if you need anything let me know, yeah?"

You nod. "Thank you. Um, his house is...?"

"Right, sorry." He hands you back the piece of paper. "Follow the road east to the cliffs. When you get to the fork go right and follow that to the lighthouse. His place is the only one down there.”

“Thank you.” You nod politely as you take your leave, thanking him once more as you head out the door.

As you step outside, pulling your coat tighter around you, you look around to see there’s only one road in this town, so you set off to follow in the opposite direction of the setting sun, but just as you step off the curb, a voice startles you, making you jump as you nearly miss your step.

“Hey there missy!” An old man you hadn’t noticed before is sitting in a chair next to the door of the bar. He seems to revel in the fact that he scared you. “Not often do we get travelers here. What brings you to Gageodo?”

“I’m here to settle my uncle’s estate.”

“You Hogeun’s niece, eh?” He raises an eyebrow. You only nod, not sure how much information you want to give to him. “Old Hogeun kept some strange company. Some a them is monsters out there in the sea.” He points out toward the ocean. “You best read up on how to deal with ‘em.”

“Um, right.” You nod again before trying to turn away, but the old man stops you with a yell.

“You best heed my words! They can be dangerous!”

“Are you saying there’s… mermaids? In the ocean here?” You scoff.

“I didn’t say it…” He looks around to make sure no one else is listening before whispering. “But I ain’t denying it either.”

“Right. I have to go.” You turn and head toward the road, ignoring the man as he continues calling to you, hurrying yourself along until you’re out of earshot.

It’s about twenty minutes before you reach the eastern cliffs, finally seeing your uncle’s home emerge from the shadows of the heavy forest that covers the island. You recognize it from the picture he sent you. With the ocean to the front, and the forest to the back, the house sits modestly between them with the old rundown lighthouse in the distance. A grand view for a one story uh... house? Can you even call it a house? It looks more like a shack. You sigh and dig the spare key out of your pocket, walking up to the door and unlocking it, letting yourself in.

You fumble for a light switch, but can’t seem to find one so you turn on the flashlight on your phone to aid you. When you find the switch, you flick it on and the whole place seems to whirr to life.

You have to admit, it’s bigger on the inside, sparse, but somehow cozy. There’s hardly any furniture; a table, and two old wooden chairs, a small, very worn couch in front of a large television, which is probably the newest thing in here, but that’s it for this room. You take your time exploring the rest of the house; two bedrooms, one bathroom, a decent kitchen, and a creepy basement.

In a normal house, you’d expect to see pictures hanging, things on the walls, little adornments that make a house a home, but this… this is just a house. It isn’t until you nearly trip over a dresser drawer that you find a picture inside. It’s in a simple dark green frame with a stand on the back of it, and when you look on top of the dresser, you can see the square where it once stood, the only spot not covered in dust, but what gets you is that it’s not a picture of his late wife, or friends, it’s a picture of your mom, his sister, leaning over your much younger uncle as he holds an even younger tiny baby you. She must’ve sent it to him before the fight they had. It warms your heart that he kept the picture after all these years.

You were very close to your uncle. Back when you were little, he got into a fight with your mother, his older sister by about twenty years, that alienated him from the rest of the family and cut off any contact you had with him. When you got older, you took matters into your own hands and contacted him. The two of you became close as you kept him updated on the rest of your family. You’d always get a card on your birthday from him with some money in it; the older you were the more money you’d receive, he even sent you a spare key to his house, asking you to come visit; unfortunately, you never had the chance. That’s why you were the one that got called out here when he passed away; your number was the only one they could find.

You place the picture frame back up on the dresser where it belongs, wondering why he put it away. Maybe he was afraid your mother would be the one to empty his place? You shrug, and walk into the spare bedroom, lifting your suitcase on the bed to unpack it, knowing you’ll be here at least a week to sort through his things.

You head to the kitchen, deciding to start sorting tomorrow as you open the fridge to see what kind of food there might be. You’re disappointed as you only see a few wilting vegetables, some eggs, an assortment of sauces and pastes, and a few other scattered foods in take-out containers that have probably been in here longer than you want to think about. There’s also an entire case of beer, and half a container of orange juice. You’ll have to go get some groceries tomorrow.

Your stomach rumbles as you crack open a beer, taking a swig as you search the pantries for anything edible. Instant oatmeal. Well, it’s better than nothing. You grab a packet and toss it into a bowl, adding hot water from the kettle and waiting for it to set. When it’s ready, you grab it and your beer and head over to the couch, turning on the tv to find something to waste the time.

It isn’t long after you eat that you find yourself dozing on the couch, the trip here from home having taken its toll on you. You turn the tv off, placing your dishes in the sink before locking the front door and then heading into the guest room. You put on your pajamas and climb under the sheets, the bed squeaking as you get comfortable, and then quickly drifting off into sleep.

You’re startled awake by a loud banging noise, trying to wake yourself up enough to get your bearings before you realize it’s coming from the living room. Did someone break in? You check your phone to see it’s about three in the morning. What on earth? You slip a sweatshirt over your pajamas and grab the baseball bat from the corner of the room you stashed earlier before very quietly opening the door to the room to investigate. You don’t see anything, but you still hear the banging. You walk further into the living room to hear someone knocking rapidly on the front door. You’ve only met two people, who could be bothering you at this ungodly hour? The banging continues until you hear a voice above it.

“Hyung! Hyung let me in, please!”

You stand in front of the door, slightly terrified. Should you answer it?

“Hogeun hyung, please!”

At the mention of your uncle’s name, you lean the bat against the wall, step forward and unlock the door, opening it to see something you never thought you’d see. In front of you stands a soaking wet young man with dark hair that just barely covers his wide eyes. He looks like a stunned deer as he takes you in just as you do him, searching for something, his breathing ragged as if he ran here.

“Can I help you?” You ask.

“Are you…? Are you Y/N?”

You look at him surprised as your name leaves his lips. You’re starting to get tired of people knowing you before you know them. “Um, yes?”

“W-where’s Hogeun?”

You look at him, confused. Does he not know? “He’s not here. He’s-”

“Oh, can I come in?”

“I-”

“Please?” He pleads, his voice desperate. You step to the side and allow him to enter; he does so quickly and shuts the door behind him, locking it and relaxing a bit.

“How did you-”

“Hyung told me you might be coming to visit soon. Where is he? Is he sleeping?”

“Who are you?”

“Oh! Sorry. My name is Jeongguk.” He bows politely. “I’m a friend of your uncles.”

“A friend?” You ask in disbelief. Your uncle never mentioned Jeongguk which immediately makes you suspicious… But on the other hand, your uncle told Jeongguk about you.

“I know this sounds ironic since he’s your actual uncle, but he’s like an uncle to me. Or like a brother. He helped me out of a pretty bad situation once and I’ve been helping him ever since.”

That reminds you. “Right, um speaking of bad situations, were you running from something?” You ask, remembering his frantic entrance.

“Running? Um…” He hesitates obviously not wanting to discuss the matter.

“Yeah, you seemed to be in a hurry to get in here. Like you were in trouble.”

“Let’s just say the people in this town don’t like me very much, okay? Now, where’s Hogeun?”

“You really don’t know?”

“Know what?”

You sigh, walking over to the sofa and taking a seat on it. Jeongguk follows close behind, taking a seat next to you, obviously comfortable in this home, by the way he tucks his feet under himself. “I'm sorry to be the one to tell you, but he…” You pause, taking a deep breath. “Hogeun is dead.” You whisper. It still hurts to admit it.

“W-what?” You look up to see Jeongguk’s doe eyes go even wider in shock. “What are you talking about?”

“They-” You take a deep breath, holding back your tears before continuing. “They found his body at the bottom of the cliffs a few days ago; the police said he must’ve jumped. They called me to come get his stuff sorted out, that’s why I’m here.”

The room goes silent. You look at Jeongguk to see his face twisted in what seems to be rage before he speaks, so low you almost can’t hear him. “Hyung didn’t jump.”

“Jeongguk-”

“He didn’t!” Jeongguk suddenly yells. “He-” Jeongguk stops and looks at you, seeming to contemplate something before continuing. “I know hyung. He didn’t jump.”

“I’m sorry, Jeongguk but there isn’t really any other explanation…” You sigh. “How come you didn’t know? It happened almost a week ago now. Where have you been?”

“I-” Jeongguk stops, closing his mouth and looking at the floor. He’s silent for a few moments before he suddenly gets up and walks toward the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” You ask, watching as he rummages around on the table and in drawers, looking for something, ignoring you. You get up and walk over to him. “Look, I’m sorry you had to find out like this, but I don’t really know who you are or why you’re here and it’s very late, so I’m going to have to ask you to-”

“Here.” He suddenly shoves an envelope in your face.

“What is this?” You take the envelope from his outstretched hand.

“Read it. I’m going to sleep.”

“What?” You turn as he walks away from you toward your uncle’s room. “You can’t just- this isn’t your house!” But it’s too late, Jeongguk has already disappeared into the room and shut the door behind him. Before you can huff off after him, you feel the envelope in your hand and sigh, lifting it to see what it says.

In case of Emergency: For Y/N

That’s your uncle’s handwriting. You take one last look over at the closed door before tearing open the envelope to find one of your uncle’s letters inside, addressed to you.

Y/N, I wish I was writing to you under better circumstances, but unfortunately if you’re reading this, it’s likely something has happened to me and I’m sorry that you have to be the one to pick up after my mess. You’ve already met Jeongguk, I hope; he’s a good kid. I hope you two become friends and show him the same kindness you showed me. He’ll watch over the house so you don’t have to go through the hassle of selling it. Take anything you need; the account numbers for my bank are written below. Everything in them is for you as a thank you for letting me back into your life. Hopefully it’ll help. I hope you get things sorted out quickly, ask Jeongguk for help if you need any. He’s a little strange, but he’ll be good to you. Give the family my love and apologies, especially your mother. Hogeun

Well, at least that’s one thing you don’t have to worry about. You turn and walk over to the door Jeongguk disappeared behind and knock lightly, when there’s no response, you open the door just a crack and peek inside to see Jeongguk fast asleep on the bed. You sigh and close the door again, there’s no use waking him. You head back into your room and shut the door, crawling back under the covers and closing your eyes to drift off.

You wake up to a loud clap of thunder, startled as you shoot up in bed. Man, are you always going to wake up to loud noises when you’re here? You stretch, checking your phone to see it’s a little after ten in the morning. You sit up, shivering. It got cold here last night. You’ll have to look at the thermostat after you eat something.

You grab your sweatshirt and slip it back on, remembering the intruder you had last night as you stand and make your way out to the kitchen. You manage to find some rice, grab the eggs, and a few vegetables that still look edible. You shrug and slice them up before throwing everything in a pan with some soy sauce, and sesame oil, making a very sad looking fried rice. Well, it’s better than nothing. As you dump about a quarter of it into a bowl, you hear a door open behind you and Jeongguk comes stumbling out, still half asleep.

“Is that food?” He asks, running up to your side.

“It’s not much, just some fried rice.”

"Can I have some?" He asks hopefully.

"Sure, there’s plenty. Take what you want."

Jeongguk grabs a bowl and dumps the rest of the rice into it before grabbing a spoon and walking over to the table, sitting down as he immediately begins stuffing his face.

"This is amazing." He groans.

You can’t help but giggle at his enthusiasm. "Thanks, it would've been better with fresh veggies, but-"

His eyes widen as he looks at you. "You can make it taste better?"

"Well, yeah. I'll just have to get some things at the grocery store."

"What else can you make?" He asks, scooting closer.

"Uh, pretty much anything as long as I have a recipe. What do you like?"

"Everything! I love food! I used to love when Hogeun cooked!"

"Oh? What did he cook for you?"

"Mostly seafood stuff. He'd tell me what he'd want and I'd pick it up fresh for him. Crab, tuna, shrimp, mackerel, whatever he needed."

"Is there a fish market nearby? Do they have a lot of variety? I thought they sold everything to the mainland?"

"Oh, um..." Jeongguk hesitates. "I have a friend... One that fishes and stuff."

"Oh, if I give you a list can you get some stuff for me?"

"I can get anything from the sea that you need."

"Okay. Um, thank you. How- uh, how old are you anyway?”

“Twenty-seven.”

“Oh, okay, I’m twenty-eight.”

Jeongguk simply nods as he goes back to eating like he's starved. When he's finished, he puts his bowl down and looks back at you. "Okay, I'm ready." He states.

"For what?" You ask as you continue to eat.

"To go to the store."

You chuckle again. “After I eat. And I’m going to shower first.”

"How long will that take?" Jeongguk tilts his head in what seems to be confusion.

“Maybe fifteen or twenty minutes?”

“Hm.” Jeongguk seems to pout at this.

“I’ll try to be quick.” You take another bite of your breakfast. "So, where are you from? If you don’t mind me asking."

"I'm from... Uh... The island."

"This Island?"

"N-no, the big one, to the south."

"Jeju?"

"That's the one." He nods satisfactorily.

"Right..." You shake your head.

After you eat, you excuse yourself to jump in the shower, wanting to wash the bus and boat feeling off of you. You wash yourself quickly, not entirely sure if you trust the lock on the bathroom door. When you’re finished and clothed, you grab your hair dryer and plug it in, starting to dry your hair when you see Jeongguk poke his head around the corner, observing you closely through the open door.

“Can I help you?” You ask over the whirr of the dryer. He mumbles something, but you don’t catch it, turning the dryer off to hear him better. “Hm?”

“What… What is that? It’s loud.”

“My hair dryer?” You wiggle it at him and he nods. “It’s for drying your hair faster when it’s wet. Your mom didn’t have one?”

He shakes his head. “I never met my mom.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

He shrugs, tossing your sympathy away with his shoulders. “She died when I was born. It’s not a big deal.”

You don’t know how to respond to that so you turn back to the mirror. “I should be done in a few minutes, okay?”

Jeongguk nods, heading back to sit on the couch and wait as you finish drying your hair. When you’re done, you throw on your rain jacket and boots and grab the keys to your uncle’s old rusted, red truck. You and Jeongguk climb in head back toward town to buy some food.

Jeongguk also does not know where the grocery store is, so you drive around for a bit until you find it. It’s about as big as you expected, which is to say not at all, but it’s the only one on the island. You pull into a parking space and lead Jeongguk inside, watching his eyes go wide in amazement at all the food.

You putter around the store, grabbing this and that every so often to add to the baskets you and Jeongguk are carrying, trying to think of meals Jeongguk might enjoy. You occasionally ask him his opinion, but he just says yes to everything, following you around like a lost puppy. Surprisingly enough, as you're rounding the corner where the meats sit, you nearly run right into Donghyun.

"Y/N!" He smiles brightly at you.

"Ah, hello!" You smile back. "Fancy meeting you here."

He shrugs, "Picking up groceries for the bar on my day off."

"Oh, are you closed on Sundays?"

He nods, eyeing the nearly filled basket in your arms. "I guess you don't have much food at the house?"

"Ah, no not really. Plus Jeongguk eats like he's starved."

"Jeongguk? Do you have a dog or something?"

"No, he's my uncle's friend.” You explain. “Do you not know him?"

"No, I can't say I've ever heard the name before. His friend you say?"

"Yeah. He’s right-” You turn around to see Jeongguk is no longer behind you. “He was just here… Well, he's about my age, tall, brown hair, big eyes."

Donghyun's eyes go wide as though he knows who you're describing, but he doesn't say anything further, he simply shrugs again and shakes his head. "Oh, I saw Hajoon stopped you yesterday?"

"Hajoon?"

"Crazy old man, sits outside of the bar."

"Oh, right yeah. He was talking about mermaids or something." You laugh. "Can you imagine?"

"Yeah that's what I figured. He’s a nice guy, but I think all those years on the ocean turned his brain to seawater. So just... Don't pay attention to the things he says."

"Alright. I mean, I figured with the mermaids and all."

Donghyun smiles and nods. "Hey, why don’t you come by my house tomorrow? My wife and I would be happy to have some company to cook for.”

“Really? That’s so kind of you.”

“Absolutely. Our house is the one right behind the bar. Come by around seven, and bring your friend if you can find him!"

"Thank you, I'll see you then." And with that he walks off.

As soon as Donghyun disappears down the next aisle, Jeongguk’s voice startles you from behind. “Who was that?”

“Where did you go?”

“Hm? I was just around the corner. I found this.” Jeongguk holds up a box of sweet cakes. “Hyung always had these.”

“Alright.” You grab the box from him and stick it in his basket. “Come on, I think we have enough.”

After your shopping, you head back home, walking in the door to find you forgot to change the thermostat. You put everything down in the kitchen and then walk over to check it.

“Holy shit, why is this only set to 60 in March?” You ask out loud, quickly turning the temperature up to 70. “Haven’t you been cold?” You ask Jeongguk as you put your groceries away.

“Cold? Not really.” He shrugs.

You shake your head and whip up some quick sandwiches for lunch before you begin organizing your uncle's belongings. Keep, donate, and trash are the three labelled boxes that sit adjacent to you on the floor. Keep- photographs, letters, money left in sock drawers; Donate- old clothes, out of date electronics, anything Jeongguk doesn’t want to keep; Trash - ashtray, empty cigarette cartons, beer bottles, shoes with holes in them.

It feels strange to you, compartmentalizing someone's life like this. Especially someone you knew. Someone you loved. You think about your own important things, what would someone keep of yours? Some clothes, maybe jewelry, probably your camera once they found it where it’s stuffed in the back of your closet, shelved with your dreams.

You sigh as you throw the last shirt in the closet into the donation box, finished with the guest room. You look at the time and realize you've been doing this for seven hours. No wonder you're hungry, it's nearly nine o'clock. You pick yourself up and make your way to the kitchen, cooking a simple stew for dinner to help stave off the cold outside.

You earn several grunts of happiness from Jeongguk as he continues to tell you how amazing everything tastes. When you’re finished eating, you do the dishes quickly before joining Jeongguk on the couch, grabbing the remote control and turning on the tv. "What do you want to watch?"

"Watch?" He questions again.

"Yeah, you know, watch. On tv? Like a show, or a movie?"

"I don't know. I never had one." He points at the tv.

"Okay." You pull up Netflix , and start scrolling. "Stop me if you see something interesting." You scroll, not really focusing on the screen, but more on Jeongguk's reaction to it. It looks like he's really never seen a tv before; his eyes are blown wide in awe as he stares at it.

"That one!" He suddenly shouts, causing you to refocus on the screen.

"Boys over Flowers? Really?"

He nods. "I wanna watch that one."

"Okay, if you really want to." You click on the show and the first episode starts up.

You watch Jeongguk as he stares at the screen, enraptured by the scenes in front of him, and you take the time to study him. His hair is long, down to his shoulders, and a dark chocolate brown, almost black. His eyes are a lighter shade of brown, but sometimes you swear they shimmer like golden topaz when he gets excited. He’s on the taller side, his tan body toned and muscular beneath the clothes he borrows from your uncle’s closet. His nose is a little big, but it suits him, especially when he smiles, his eyes crinkling up and his lips pulling back to reveal his cute smile, reminding you of a rabbit.

There’s something about him… Something almost inhumanly beautiful as your eyes follow the lines of his body. Once he looks over and catches you staring, causing you to blush and pull your focus back to the tv. After the first three episodes, you decide to go to bed, the day's events finally catching up to you.

"Jeongguk, I'm going to bed." You state. He only nods, watching the final scene of the episode intently until the credits begin to roll. As you get up, the 'are you still watching' screen appears and Jeongguk panics.

"What happened?" He whines.

"Nothing, it just wants to make sure you're still watching." You hand him the remote. "Just press the 'okay' button and it'll keep going."

Jeongguk presses the button and is relieved when the show starts to play again. Knowing he's content, you take your leave and head off to bed, shutting the door behind you.

As you settle in, you have to admit that Jeongguk is slightly amusing, but he's a bit strange. Especially with all the things he doesn’t seem to know about. Is living on this island really that different than living on the mainland? Something about him feels off to you, but you can't seem to put your finger on it. Hogeun trusted him, so he can't be bad, right?

When you wake up the next morning, you have to check your phone for the time because it's so dark out it might still be night. 10:33 am. You get up and stretch, walking over to the window and peeking through the blinds to see it's pouring down rain again. Or is it, ‘still’? You see a bright flash of lightning in the distance. What a miserable place. You miss the sun. You sigh as you slip some pants on and walk out into the hall to see your uncle's bedroom door is open. Jeongguk must already be awake. You head towards the main room to see the tv is still on and is currently displaying the "More you might enjoy" screen from after you finish watching something in its entirety.

"Jeongguk, did you watch that whole show last night?" You call out, but there's no response. "Jeongguk?" You call again as you search the kitchen and bathroom, but Jeongguk is nowhere to be found. "That's weird…" You comment to yourself as you walk into the kitchen. Well, maybe if you make some breakfast, the smell of food will summon him. You cook up some eggs for a delicious egg sammy, but surprisingly, Jeongguk doesn’t crawl out of wherever he’s disappeared to, and you eat by yourself.

As the day goes on, you continue sorting through your uncle’s things, wondering if maybe the stress of all of this made you hallucinate Jeongguk for some company. Was he really a dream? You shake your head, taping up the last box and carrying it out to the truck. You figure Donghyun might know where you can donate the clothes, so you’re bringing them with you to dinner tonight. At half past six you ready yourself for dinner, brushing your hair, and pulling on a warm flannel over your grey shirt and jeans, adjusting the necklace your uncle gave you in the mirror before hiding it under the collar of your shirt, slipping on your rain gear and heading out to the truck.

You drive through the rain, up the road and into town, pulling in behind the bar to find Donghyun’s house. It’s not quite attached to the bar, but it might as well be. You park on the street and walk up to the door, knocking lightly. Donghyun answers the door with a wide smile.

“Y/N! So glad you could make it.” He moves to the side and lets you in, taking your coat and hanging it up as you slip off your boots. He leads you into the small kitchen where a woman stands over the stove, cooking something. “This is my wife, Saki.”

“It’s nice to meet you!” She offers you a warm smile and you hear a lilt in her words.

“You too! Thank you for having me over.”

“Oh of course!” She puts down the spoon she was holding, wiping her hands on her apron. “Any excuse to cook for someone other than him.” Saki teases. “Why don’t you two sit, dinner will be ready in just a second!”

You thank her again before following Donghyun to the adjacent dining room, surprised to find a kotatsu as the main piece of furniture. You sit down on the pillow across from your host, pulling the blanket over your lap and feeling the warmth of the heater greet your chilled legs.

“I hope you don’t mind the table, Saki’s from Japan originally. She insists she can’t live without it.”

That explains the accent. “Not at all! It’s delightful, I might have to invest in one for my apartment.”

“It’s good for those rainy days.” He agrees. “Which is almost every day here.”

“Time for dinner!” Saki exclaims as she walks into the room carrying two trays. She sets them both on the table and you see three large bowls of curry and rice, along with several side dishes, and cups of steaming hot tea.

“Wow, it smells amazing.” You state as she places a bowl in front of you, the smell dancing through the air as you pick up your spoon.

“Dig in!”

The three of you eat, sharing stories and laughs in the low lighting of the room. Donghyun tells you stories about your uncle; they both got jobs on the same fishing boat when they were eighteen and became close friends, your uncle eventually buying his own boat, and Donghyun taking over the bar for his father’s friend. They remained friends up until his passing, and the memory seems to hurt him as he tells you about how Hogeun used to join them for dinner just like you are now. Saki’s curry was his favorite.

“He always spoke so highly of you. He couldn’t wait for you to come visit.”

A pang of sorrow rings through your chest. “I wish I could’ve come sooner…”

Donghyun smiles bittersweetly, placing a hand on your shoulder. “He knows you were busy.”

You’re thankful for the comforting gesture, nodding in acknowledgment. After the meal is finished, Donghyun brings out old photo albums and shows you the years of your uncle’s life that you missed, showing you what he was like without the stress of your family’s ideals weighing on him. He looked so happy.

So why did he end his life? The question nags in the back of your mind, but you don’t want to bring it up right now.

“So could your friend not make it tonight?” Saki questions. “Dongie said you might be bringing one.”

You shake your head. “Unfortunately not.”

“Too busy?”

“I’m not really sure.” You shrug. “I couldn’t find him.”

“You don’t know where he is?” Donghyun asks.

“This probably sounds terrible, but I don't really know that much about him.” Donghyun and Saki exchange a concerned glance. “Hogeun told me about him in a letter. Said he could be trusted. I guess they were pretty close. He said Hogeun was like a brother to him. Hogeun even left the house to him so I don’t have to sell it.”

“What’s his name again?”

“Jeongguk.”

Saki thinks on this for a moment. “What’s his family name?”

“I… I don’t know. I never asked.”

Donghyun shakes his head. “I can’t say I’ve ever heard that name, not even in passing at the bar.”

“He’s harmless, honestly. I swear all he does is eat.” You explain. Another glance exchanged. It’s pointless to try and make them understand.

After a few more conversations, you bid goodbye, thanking them again for the meal before slipping your coat back on and heading out to the truck. You wave as you pull away, driving up the dark road back toward the lighthouse. When you pull into your uncle’s driveway, the house is dark. Jeongguk must not be back. As you unlock the front door, you can’t help but think once more, did he ever really exist? Or Was he something your mind made up due to the stress.

You close and lock the door behind you, walking into the kitchen and placing your leftovers in the fridge along with some assorted banchan they gifted you. You slide off your flannel tossing it on the back of the couch before settling down onto the cushions, running your hands through your hair as you take it down and then turning on the tv. You take off your necklace and twirl the medallion in your fingers.

A few hours later, there’s a bang against the front door that scares the shit out of you, causing you to jump out of the sleep you had fallen into. Just when you start to think you imagined it, you hear light knocking, getting up and walking over to investigate. You can’t see anything through the peephole, so you open the door a crack, peeking out to find Jeongguk standing there in the dark.

“Jeongguk? What the hell?” You open the door and he pushes past you, waltzing into the house, seemingly unbothered, though he is absolutely drenched from head to toe. “Are you alright?”

“Hm?” He barely turns toward you as he walks to the kitchen, tracking water across the floor. “I’m starving, do we have anything to eat?”

“Where have- Eugh, Jeongguk…” Your sentence is interrupted as you move to cover your nose, catching a whiff of him, the strong scents of salt and sea wafting off of his body in waves. “You smell like low tide.”

You watch him lift his arm up to sniff himself before shrugging. “It’s not that bad.”

“Yes it is.” You disagree, walking over to him and grabbing his arm. “You’re dripping all over the floor! And is this…?” You grab something off of the back of his shirt. “Seaweed?” You hold the green plant up between the two of you to show him. “What the hell have you been doing?”

“N-nothing, I was just-”

“Come on.” You start dragging him toward the bathroom.

“What? Hey-”

You open the bathroom and pull him inside with you. “You’re not eating until you shower.”

“A shower?”

“Yeah you know, when you wash yourself with soap and water?”

He groans. “Do I have to?”

“Yes. Jeongguk, you stink.” You explain, turning the shower on for him. “Please.”

Jeongguk rolls his eyes. “Fine.” He states, grabbing his shirt and pulling the wet fabric off over his head, allowing you full visual access to his toned torso. You blush, only allowing yourself a quick glimpse before turning your head to look away.

“I-I’ll have something ready for you to eat when you’re done.” You mumble, immediately leaving the bathroom and shutting the door behind you.

Pausing for a moment against the door to slow your heart rate, the image flashes in your mind again; was that a tattoo you saw? You shake your head in an attempt to clear it. Why couldn’t your uncle have befriended some weird old man instead of a hot guy your age? And why was he so goddamn weird?

You sigh to yourself as you walk to the kitchen, flicking on the lights and taking your leftover curry out of the fridge, putting it in a bowl and then sticking it in the microwave to warm up. You grab a towel and use it to mop up the puddles of water Jeongguk leaked all over the floor. When you finish that, you realize Jeongguk will need a change of clothes so you walk into your uncle’s room, or you suppose it’s Jeongguk’s room now… You walk into the room, and grab Jeongguk some sweatpants, boxers, and a shirt. You can hear the microwave start to beep back in the kitchen, so you walk back out to shut it off, but as you pass by the bathroom, you hear the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.

It’s low, but melodious, immediately catching your attention. You don’t know what it is, it almost sounds like the distant crashing waves, the lull of the open sea, a sweet word on the wind, filling your heart with so much emotion you feel like it might burst, and yet, you feel nothing at all, only a deep want, a voracious need in your chest that has you turning toward the bathroom and opening the door before you can stop yourself.

Your vision goes blurry as you open the door, the sweet sound hitting your ears at a higher volume, echoing off the round acoustics of the bathroom walls and bouncing right back into your brain. As you walk toward the source, the shower curtain pulls back and the final barrier between you and the voice is removed, your reach for it when suddenly the sound stops. Your eyes focus to find Jeongguk standing before you, a terrified expression on his face as he takes in your drugged-like state.

“Y/N?”

“J-Jeongguk? What-” You suddenly notice Jeongguk is still standing in the tub, naked as he’ll ever be and you turn away. “Oh god! I’m sorry I was, uh-” What were you doing? You look around for clues and see the pile of clean clothes you dropped to the floor. “Ah!” You bend over and pick them up. “I was just bringing you some dry clothes.” You place the clothes on the sink counter. “You can use my towel to dry off, I’ll wash it tomorrow.” You mumble before quickly leaving and shutting the door behind you.

What the hell was that? You don’t remember anything, it’s like you blacked out as soon as you came out of Jeongguk’s room. Weird. Maybe it’s just because you’re tired? Despite the odd feeling creeping up the back of your neck, you walk back into the kitchen, pulling Jeongguk’s food out of the microwave and setting it on the table for him just as he walks out of the bathroom.

You’re still a bit too flushed to face him, looking down at your lap as you sit down at the table, watching out of the corner of your eye as he takes a seat next to you. He seems oblivious to your embarrassment as he immediately digs into the food, shoveling mouthfuls past his lips, making you wonder if he breathes when he eats. When he finally starts to slow down, nearing the end of his meal, you lift your head, still unable to meet his gaze as you mumble an apology.

“I-I’m sorry for, you know, walking in on you. Like that.”

“It’s alright.” He says between bites.

“I don’t even know why I did that. Honestly, I don’t remember doing it.”

“You don't?” He quirks an eyebrow, eyeing you under the hair that falls across his face.

“It’s the weirdest thing, right? I must be really tired or something.”

“Hm. Maybe…” He stretches and yawns, his spoon clinking against the bowl as he stretches his arms above his head. “Thanks for the food.” He smiles, taking his dishes to the sink and washing them quickly.

“So, where did you go, if you don’t mind me asking.”

He shrugs, “Just had a couple things I had to do.”

“In the rain? Without a jacket? Or shoes?” You question, having noticed his footprints in the water he left on the floor.

“Shoes are uncomfortable.”

“Right…” you watch him as he places his dishes in the rack to dry before turning and walking towards his room. “Jeongguk-” You call out to stop him.

“Hm?” He stops, spinning back around to face you, his doe eyes wide in question.

“N-nothing, never mind. I’ll talk to you in the morning I guess. If you’ll be here?”

“Sure.” He simply nods before walking away into his room and shutting the door.

You sit at the table, temporarily stunned at the interaction you just had. God he’s strange. You get up, grabbing your necklace where it fell on the floor, shutting off the tv, and flicking the lights off on your way to your own room. You place the necklace on your nightstand, slip into some pajamas, and crawl into bed.

Just a few more days. You think to yourself. And then you can go back to your normal life. Or… at least what’s left of it.

Jeongguk quickly shuts the door behind him, glad to finally be alone as he takes a deep breath. Damn. He’s going to have to be more careful. He didn’t think he was being loud enough for you to hear him over the sound of the shower, that could’ve been a disaster if he hadn’t opened the curtain and seen you. Jeongguk drags his hand over his face, trying to wipe away the worry as he strips out of his clothes and flops down into bed with an exasperated sigh.

Jeongguk appreciates you. He’s grateful that you let him into your home, or, well, his home he guesses. You don’t ask too many questions. And you’re nice. You’re so much nicer than he ever thought you would be for some reason. Most people, especially in this town, aren’t particularly welcoming when it comes to him. He wishes Hogeun was here. It would make things so much easier…

He wishes he could tell you something.

He wishes he could tell you everything.

He wants to tell you everything, but Hogeun specifically told him to keep you out of it. He already hid all of their research in his room, hoping you won’t find it. Jeongguk pulls the letter addressed to him out of the bedside table, the one he found with yours, reading over it again.

Figure out what happened to me. Hide the research. And most importantly, make sure Y/N gets out of here as soon as possible. I would only blame myself if she got caught up in this mess that I made…

Hogeun didn’t want you anywhere near the Ineo, so being near Jeongguk while you sorted things out was as close as you were going to get. Jeongguk has put up a firm wall, and tonight was too close for comfort. Jeongguk has to continue like this, sneaking away in the early hours to do what he needs to do. To find the answers. Jeongguk is determined to find a way to lift this curse.

When you wake up the next morning, it’s cold again. It’s early, you check your phone, unable to sleep because of the cold; it’s only just turning to eight o’clock. It takes everything in you to get out from underneath the warmth of the blankets; wanting to stay cocooned in them for the rest of the day, but you have things to sort. You shiver as your bare feet hit the cold wood of the floor, quickly reaching for warmer clothes; socks, a sweater and sweatpants, and slipping them onto your body.

You open your door and walk out to the living room to check the thermostat again. 60 degrees. What the hell? You turn the temperature back up to 70, feeling the heat immediately pouring out of the vent beneath your feet. Much better. But how did it get turned down? There isn't an automatic adjustment feature on it, it’s too old. Did Jeongguk…?

You huff, walking over to his room and knocking while you open the door to see Jeongguk sprawled across the mattress in nothing but shorts, blissfully unaware of the temperature. You walk over to him and are about to wake him when you see the tattoo etched into his skin, swirls of dark blue ink surrounding hands as they sink into the depths of color. You swear you’ve seen this before, but you can’t place where. Oh well, back to the task at hand.

“Hey!” You smack Jeongguk in his bare chest, startling him awake. His eyes dart around the room until they land on you standing over him.

“Y-Y/N?”

“Did you mess with the thermostat?”

“The what?” He sits up.

“The thing that changes the temperature. Did you turn it back down?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah.” He nods, unbothered. “I’m used to cold weather.”

“Aren’t you from Jeju?” He tilts his head as though he doesn’t understand why that matters. You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Okay, normal people get cold at this temperature, so I’m going to turn it up. Can you leave it alone until I’m gone please?”

He shrugs. “Sure.”

You’re about to say more, but decide against it. He doesn’t talk much anyway. “Thank you.” You state as you turn and walk out, closing his door behind you. You barely make it three steps before the door opens again and Jeongguk follows behind you, he reminds you of a lost puppy sometimes.

“Are you… going to make food?” He asks, pulling a shirt on.

You chuckle, should’ve known that was coming. “I can, what would you like?”

He thinks for a moment before his eyes light up. “Hyung used to make these things,” He forms a circle with his hands. “Like little cakes? They were sweet.”

Sweet cakes? “Like, rice cakes?”

“No. Um… fluffy?”

“Hotteok?”

“Hotteok!” He points at you as he says it, clearly excited.

“Okay,” You giggle, turning to fish ingredients out of the cabinets. “I can make Hotteok, but you’ll have to wait for the dough to rise.”

Jeongguk nods, taking a seat on the couch and watching closely as you mix up the dough, putting it in a bowl and covering it before joining him. You set a timer for an hour and turn on the tv. You put on something mindless, dozing off as you watch until the timer goes off and jolts you awake. You get up and check the dough, kneading it before covering it for another 20 minutes or so. When that times up, you get the skillet ready, turning the heat on, and Jeongguk watches you carefully.

You look at him over your shoulder. How is he going to take care of himself after you leave? “Do you… want to help?”

His eyes go wide. “Can I?”

“Sure.” You wave him over. “It’s easy once you have the dough.”

You turn the dough out onto a floured cutting board and instruct Jeongguk how to separate it into balls while you mix cinnamon and sugar for the filling. You show him how to add the filling to the dough balls and then have him watch as you fry one up, waiting until it turns a golden brown before flipping it, squishing it down with the spatula, and then covering the pan with a lid so the sugar melts into a syrup. When it’s done, you scoop the pastry up out of the pan and place it on a plate.

“Voila.” You hold the plate out to him. “Hotteok.”

Jeongguk takes the plate, smiling. “Amazing.”

“It’s hot, be careful.” You scold when he picks it up immediately, burning the tips of his fingers.

“Hot. Right.” He nods, blowing on it carefully.

He waits for you to cook a few more before you both sit down at the table together and eat. You can’t help but watch him, fascinated by the way everything seems new to him. He carefully eats the hot pastries, focused on nothing but the food in front of him the entire time. If anything, at least he’s amusing to spend time with. You smile as you observe him and his odd mannerisms.

“So what are you going to do today?” He asks as he licks the remains off his fingers, you barely hear him, entranced by the flick of his pink tongue. No. You scold yourself. You can’t start thinking about him like that.

“Um, I’m going to try and bring some things up from the basement to go through.” You state, leaning back in your chair. “I didn’t realize how much was down there until yesterday. It’s going to take me a while to get through it all.”

“Can I help?”

“You want to spend all day going through boxes of junk with me?”

He shrugs. “I don’t really have much else to do.”

“Sure. I could use your muscles.” You nod. It’ll be easier to have Jeongguk lug everything up the stairs for you since you don’t want to do anything in that creepy basement.

As you do the dishes, Jeongguk carries up box after box for you, covering most of the floor in the kitchen. You tell him that should be enough for now, and the two of you get to work sifting through the miscellaneous items your uncle collected over the years. One box has old movies on VHS and a video camera that doesn’t work anymore. Another is full of old fishing ledgers that he never got rid of. Jeongguk opens a third box and pulls out a series of old CD’s and vinyl albums.

“What are these?”

“Hm?” You look up from the notebook you’re skimming through. “Oh those are just CD’s. You know. Music?”

“Music?” He takes one out and turns it over in his hands. “Who is Sonyeo Sidae?”

“Did you really just ask me that?” You scoff. He looks up at you with wide eyes. “You’ve never heard of Girl’s Generation? The nation’s girl group?” He shakes his head. “God have you been living under a rock?” You mumble, grabbing your phone and crawling over to Jeongguk, sitting down at his side and pulling up youtube. “Here,” You hand the phone to him. “This is their debut song. It’s one of their most iconic.”

The intro to Into the New World plays, and you immediately feel nostalgic, reminded of all the times you listened to this very song with your uncle when you were younger. His favorite was Gee. You watch Jeongguk, his head nodding along to the beat of the song as it plays, enraptured by the scene on the screen.

Several hours later, you and Jeongguk are dancing around the living room, having just taught him the moves to I Got a Boy, the two of you scream-singing along as the song blasts from the tv.

“Ayo stop! Lemme put it down another way!”

The two of you dance like crazy until at some point during the last chorus you both crash into each other and fall to the floor in a heap, laughing until you can’t breathe. As the song fades out, the two of you catch your breath, both of you sweating from the unprompted exercise.

“I didn’t know dancing could be so much fun.” Jeongguk smiles as he sits up, his breath heavy.

“Would you believe me if I told you Hogeun knows every step to that song by heart?”

“Hyung? No.”

“Oh yeah, he is… well, was the biggest SNSD fan.”

“Really?”

“Yeah…” You nod softly, pulling your knees into your chest.

Jeongguk studies you for a moment, taking in your suddenly silent state. “You miss him.” It’s not a question, but a statement. An observation.

You sigh. “I do miss him.” Jeongguk opens his mouth to say something, but before he can, you stand up, stretching. “Wow, four o clock already?” You look at the mess on the floor, realizing that you didn’t get much done as your stomach rumbles. “Hey, why don’t we have seafood tonight?” Jeongguk’s head perks up at this. “Would you be able to get stuff from your friend this late?”

“Of course.” Jeongguk stands with you. “What do you need?”

“Hmm, mussels and shrimp if he has them. Maybe some clams? Oh, and squid! I have everything for the stock, I just need to run to the store and get some noodles and veggies.”

“Okay, I’ll bring everything back here.”

“How much?”

“Hm?” He turns back to you.

“You know, money? How much will it cost?”

Jeongguk shakes his head, smirking. “Don’t worry about it.” And with that he walks out into the rain, barefoot. You watch him walk down the path toward the lighthouse and disappear into the mist.

About an hour later, you come back from the store with a bag full of ingredients as you hurry to the kitchen and start on the stock. Just as the stock is finishing, Jeongguk comes back through the front door, a bag of his own in hand, once again, soaking wet from head to toe.

“What the-”

“Here!” He walks over and hands you the bag, shaking his hair as he does and sprinkling you with salty droplets.

“Jeongguk!” You squeak, wiping some of the drops off your face. You open the bag and look inside to see everything you asked for. It’s all extremely fresh, so fresh that some of it is still moving. “Did you just dive into the ocean and pluck these out?” You ask incredulously.

“What? N-no, my friend had them.”

You eye him suspiciously, giggling. “I was joking, but you sound defensive.”

He looks anywhere but at you. “I’m going to go shower!” He runs off before you can ask him any more questions.

“Clean up the floor when you’re done!” You call after him as the bathroom door closes.

You quickly clean and prepare your seafood, chop up the veggies and stir fry the pork while your noodles cook. You add the pork and veggies together and pour in some broth before adding your seafood and noodles and covering the pot, letting everything marinate together for a few minutes until your mussels all open up.

Jeongguk strides out of the bathroom just as you pull the lid off, filling the house with the warm scent of salty broth and seafood. He quickly mops up the floor as you divvy out two large servings into bowls, placing them on the table and waiting for Jeongguk to join you before you both dig in.

It's delicious; the freshness of the seafood only adds to the delectability of the broth. The table is silent aside from the sounds of slurping broth and noodles, occasionally a groan or grunt of contentment slipping into the mix. When you’re done, you lean back in your chair, lifting your arms and resting your hands on your forehead to help you get a full breath.

“That was so good.” Jeongguk states, putting his bowl back down from slurping up the extra liquid, the shells from the mussels clanking together against the porcelain as it hits the table.

You smile, letting your hands drop back down into your lap. “I'm glad you enjoyed it.” You look back over at the living room and the mess you left before checking the time with a sigh. Only seven? God it feels like midnight. It’s hard to keep track of the time when the sky’s always dark. You suppose you should sort a few more things before bed.

Jeongguk insists on keeping the entirety of Hogeun’s album collection, stashing them all away in his room. You pick through a few more boxes of clothes, as well as old books; text books that don’t even look like they were cracked, almanac’s where the pages are worn thin, and a few cookbooks with recipes missing; separating everything into sell, donate, and toss piles. When you finish it’s about ten pm, and decide to shower before heading to bed, wanting to wipe some of the feeling of dust off of yourself.

You grab a change of clothes from your room before heading into the bathroom and locking the door. You start up the shower, letting it get warm before you strip down and hop in, letting the water wash over you. As you wash your hair, you can’t help but let your mind wander to Jeongguk, thinking about him licking his fingers clean this morning.

You sigh in frustration; you know it’s been a while since you’ve had sex, but thinking about him like this… Your mind flashes to the glimpse of his nude form that you saw in this very shower. God he looked so good with the water trailing over his muscles. Stop it. You’re not going to be here long enough for it to be worth starting any sort of situationship, and a one night stand feels like it wouldn’t be… enough. You need to focus on finishing what you came here to do, and then get back home to… To fix the mess you made when you left.

When you’re done, you turn off the water, stepping out to grab your towel and dry yourself off. You dress and then /dry your hair. After that, you come back out to the living room to see Jeongguk sprawled out on the couch watching tv. You smile at the way he reacts to the scene on screen; some sort of horror drama.

Damn. He really is handsome.

You turn into your room and shut the door behind you, heaving out another heavy breath before flopping down onto your bed and checking your phone to find a text. It’s from Donghyun.

Donghyun (11:03pm): Hey, how’s the sorting going? Listen, we’re having a memorial tomorrow night at the bar for Hogeun if you want to come. There will be food and drinks and friends!

A memorial? That’s so nice of them. You deserve a drink or two.

You (11:07pm): What time? Donghyun (11:07pm): 8pm! You (11:08pm): I’ll be there!

And with that you close your phone and set it on the nightstand before the energy you spent today catches up to you, and you fall asleep.

The next morning you wake up to the sound of birds chirping. That’s weird. You don’t think you’ve heard a single bird since you arrived here five days ago… Your eyes flutter awake to see a bright beam of light streaming in through the slits in the blinds. You’re so used to the gloomy weather, the sight of light confuses you as you sit up and reach a hand out, turning it around in the beam where it lands on the bed. Sunlight. You jump out of bed and race to the window, immediately opening the blinds to see that sure enough, the clouds have dispersed enough to let the sun poke through above the trees as it starts its journey across the sky.

You practically sprint to the front door, sliding into your slippers and throwing the door open to feel a warm breeze immediately caress your face as you step onto the front porch. You inhale deeply, the warm mix of early spring and late winter air filling your lungs.

“Noona…?”

You turn around to see Jeongguk walking groggily out of his room, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Jeongguk, the sun’s out!” You don’t know why you whisper it like a secret the island isn’t supposed to know; feeling like if you say it too loud, the sun might disappear and then the rain will come back, but as you look outside again, it rises steadily from the horizon, showing more and more of itself every minute, a few rays landing on your face where you stand, warming your skin.

“Wow…” Jeongguk breathes, walking up behind you and observing the sky as it lightens. “Hey, why don’t I show you around the island a little bit todau?”

Hope springs in your chest, but you stuff it back down. “You- You don’t have to do anything else?”

He shakes his head. “Not on a day like this.”

You smile. “Breakfast first?”

You make breakfast and you both eat before getting dressed. You pack a quick lunch for the both of you which Jeongguk offers to carry, not knowing how long you’ll be out. He slings the backpack over his shoulder and you both put on your sneakers before Jeongguk leads you out of the house and up the road.

Jeongguk shows you around the island, everything feeling vaguely familiar from long ago when you spent time here as a child. You walk around town on the south side of the island before making your way up the eastern coast, following along the pathway as you chase the sun, over rocky outcroppings and through dense forests, talking casually the whole way about nothing.

You stop to take pictures, showing Jeongguk how your phone works and having him take some for you, as well as selfies of the two of you together and taking pictures of him alone as well. For someone who’s never used a camera, he’s surprisingly photogenic. No matter how many you take, Jeongguk doesn’t seem to have a bad angle. In more than one, he stares wistfully out at the ocean, and you wonder what he’s thinking about.

You and Jeongguk cut across the island to the west side, settling down to eat your lunch on one of the rocky outcroppings in the sea that Jeongguk convinces you to jump to, laughing every time a large wave comes and mists you both as you munch on your sandwiches.

After you’re finished, you both wander along the coast back toward the house, enjoying the scenery as you arrive back at the dilapidated lighthouse. You stroll up to the side of the old white building, looking up at the glass paneling at the top, wondering what this must’ve looked like in its prime.

“I guess ships don’t come to this side of the island anymore.” You think out loud.

“Not really. Most of them try to avoid it.”

“Why?” You ask, continuing to walk forward until you’re on the cliffs in front of the building, taking a seat in the grass.

Jeongguk shrugs as he walks over and takes a seat next to you. “Rumors.”

“Rumors?” You repeat. “What kind of rumors?”

“Mermaids mostly.” Jeongguk chuckles.

“Mermaids? Mermaids put an entire lighthouse out of service?”

“You know how superstitious sailors are.” Jeongguk explains. “One or two ‘sightings’ and suddenly this side of the island was basically deserted.”

“Mermaids…” You scoff. “Well, I guess if they can cause a rift in my family, they can stop boats.”

Jeongguk scoots closer to you. “Hyung never told me why you stopped visiting him.”

“It was my mother.” You sigh. “When I was little, she used to bring me here all the time to visit her parents; this is where my family is from originally.” You begin. “Since Hogeun was so much younger, he still lived here with them. The two of them never really got along, they were constantly fighting with each other.

“One day when we were visiting, Hogeun took me out to sightsee, and my mother, not trusting him, tagged along. We were walking along the low cliffs, when my mother suddenly fell into the water. My uncle followed to make sure she was okay, and ended up saving her. When she came to, she was convinced that Hogeun had pushed her in. She claimed she heard someone tell him to do it and she never forgave him.”

“What… What does that have to do with mermaids?”

“Well, mother doesn’t remember anything from after she fell, but Hogeun… When he jumped in to save her, he claims he saw… something. It looked like a human, but their teeth were razor sharp, and their skin was painted with swirls of blue. They had grabbed hold of mother, and he had to fight them off of her. I don’t know if you ever noticed the scar on his face.”

“The one on his eye?”

You nod. “That was from them, they cut him with something during the fight. Hogeun became obsessed with finding it again, convinced the island was home to these mermaid-like creatures, but no one wanted to hear it. My mother’s parents moved to Busan a few years later to be closer to my parents and me, but Hogeun stayed behind here, saying he wasn’t finished. My mother never took me here again, still convinced that Hogeun had tried to kill her that day.”

It’s quiet for a moment before Jeongguk repeats a phrase he’s already said to you. “You miss him.” Another observation, but this time, it’s an invitation to talk about it.

“I reached out to him a few years ago without my mother knowing and we became like family again.” You mumble, looking down at your lap. “I… I regret not coming here sooner to see him… And now it’s too late.”

“He talked about you a lot.” Jeongguk states.

“Really?” You look to see Jeongguk’s focus on you.

He nods. “Every time he got a letter or message from you, he got so excited. He was really proud of you.”

“Thanks, Jeongguk.”

“Did you ever figure out what you wanted to do?”

“What do you mean?”

Jeongguk looks out at the ocean again before looking back at you. “Well, he always said you didn’t seem happy. He said you needed to figure out what you wanted to do. Did you?”

You shake your head, pulling at the grass under you. “No, I… I Didn't. And sometimes I think it’s too late for me to change my mind.”

“It’s not too late.”

You chuckle as you lay back against the grass. “Jeongguk, no offense, but I don’t think you know enough about the world outside of this island to decide that.”

“Maybe not.” Jeongguk lays down next to you as you both watch the sinking sun begin to paint the sky with bright streaks of oranges and pinks. “But I know he was right, you’re not happy.”

You smile bittersweetly. “I don’t have to be. As long as I’m doing what I’m supposed to do.”

“Why do that, when you could do what you want to do instead? You could do that picture stuff he talked about. He said you loved doing that.”

“Photography?”

“Yeah!” Jeongguk smiles. “He said you were good at it.”

Hogeun was the only one you ever told about photography; how it was what you really wanted to do, but you never had the nerve to tell your parents, so you shoved your want down, and settled for something realistic that they would approve of; taking over your father’s business. “I could’ve been. But it was just a silly dream… It doesn’t matter anymore.” You sigh.

“Why not?”

“I’m almost done with school for business, I’m learning how to operate the shop, I did what I had to do and I have what I need, nothing… Nothing more.”

“But is that what you want?”

“I don’t know what I want…”

The two of you lay there in silence for a long minute, nothing but the sound of the wind through the grass, and the crashing waves far below. You can feel Jeongguk’s gaze flick towards you on occasion, but you can’t bring yourself to meet it. As the sun finally dips below the horizon, you sit up, taking one last look out at the ocean before standing and walking up the path back toward the house. You hear Jeongguk’s footsteps behind you, and you slow down, allowing him to fall into step beside you. As you reach the front door, you pull out your phone to check the time; seven thirty. The memorial starts soon. As Jeongguk walks into the house ahead of you, you stop in the entryway to grab your keys.

“Jeongguk,” You catch his attention and he stops in his tracks and turns to you. “They’re having a memorial for Hogeun tonight at the bar if you want to come.”

“A memorial?”

“Yeah, it’ll probably just be a few people; mostly drinking and telling old stories about him.”

“And you want me to come?” He checks.

“Of course. I feel like you were the closest to him.” You remind him. “You should be there. To help honor his memory.”

“Okay.” He nods, walking back over to stand in front of you. “I’d be happy to.”

Thirty two minutes later, you park the truck in front of the bar and the two of you hop out. It’s dark as you and Jeongguk walk up to the front door, a chill settling in the air now that the sun has disappeared. You tug your jacket closer as you open the door, stepping foot into the bar.

“Y/N!” It’s Saki. “You made it.” She walks over and gives you a tight hug.

“Hi Saki.” You return the embrace and as you step back she notices Jeongguk next to you, her eyes going wide as her demeanor suddenly changes, she seems almost nervous.

“A-and who’s this?” She questions, looking him over.

“This is Jeongguk, the friend I told you about.”

Jeongguk nods shyly in greeting. “Hello.”

“Nice to finally meet you.” Saki smiles politely. “I’m glad you could come.” And with that she walks away behind the counter where Donghyun stands talking to someone. You watch as she tugs his arm, grabbing his attention to whisper something in his ear and then nod in your direction. Donghyun looks up and meets your gaze, offering a small smile as he walks over.

“Y/N! You’re here!” He places a hand on your shoulder as he gives Jeongguk a once over. “And this is Jeongguk?” You nod and Donghyun sticks out his hand. “I’m glad you’re here to help us honor Hogeun.”

“Of course.” Jeongguk shakes his hand. “Anything for Hogeun hyung.”

“Great, well, there’s food on the table, and if you want a drink just come ask, they’re on me tonight.”

“Thank you, that’s very kind of you.” You smile warmly at him.

“Feel free to walk around, we hung up some pictures of your uncle. We’ll do a toast in a bit.” Donghyun nods again before walking away back behind the bar.

You turn to Jeongguk. “Hungry?”

You walk over to the food table and pile some warm food onto your plate before finding an empty table where you have Jeongguk sit as you grab drinks. Hogeun pours you both ‘something strong’ as he calls it, and you take the drinks back to the table, handing one to Jeongguk, his plate already halfway empty. He takes a drink and lets out a harsh cough as he sets the glass back down.

“What is that?” He asks, his face twisted in disgust.

“Alcohol.” You explain. “You’ve never had it before?”

Jeongguk shakes his head. “Hyung used to share his beer, but they didn’t taste like this.”

“This is a stronger kind. It’s more concentrated.” You take your own swig, your face matching his at the taste.

“What's the point of drinking something you don’t like the taste of?”

“It helps.”

“Helps with what?”

“It helps with this.” You gesture to the sad faces around you. “It dulls your senses. Makes it so it doesn’t hurt as bad.”

Jeongguk looks around the room before drinking the rest of the glass in one go. You stare at him in surprise, watching as he goes back to eating. After you finish what’s on your plate, Jeongguk goes back for seconds, and you take your time strolling around the room, looking at the different photos of your uncle that have been temporarily hung along the walls.

Mostly the pictures are of him with a blank expression as he holds various sizes of the catch of the day. There’s one of him mid-wrangling a very large fish, shock and surprise on his features as the fish attempts to wiggle out of his grasp. You chuckle, closing your eyes you can almost imagine yourself standing on the deck of the boat, drenched by sea spray as you watch the scene unfold; Hogeun yelling in surprise as you cackle at him, trying to take the picture before the fish escapes.

When you open your eyes, you feel a presence next to you and turn to see Jeongguk laughing at the image in front of you, a sad fondness on his face as he’s reminded of the brother he lost. You circle around to the last photo, the big one they chose as the centerpiece on the small altar they built, a few envelopes on the table in front of it with words of condolences written on the front. The picture is of Hogeun when he was younger, in his prime, and in his lap sits a small child.

It’s you.

You’ve never seen this picture before, but the sight of it has a tear slipping down your cheek. Mostly because he’s smiling. Your uncle wasn’t known to smile in pictures, like shown in the rest of the photos around the room, but in this one, he’s beaming at the camera and you realize you know why.

This was taken when he still had a family that loved him…

“Is that you?” Jeongguk walks up behind you, pointing at the picture. He looks at you and sees you crying. “Noona? What’s wrong?”

“Hm? Nothing.” You turn away from him and wipe away your tears before standing upright again. “He just looks so happy.”

Jeongguk nods as if he didn’t realize it before. “He does.”

Just then Donghyun walks up to the two of you with two more drinks. “Another round?”

You nod, taking the drink from him and taking a long sip from it. “Where um, where did you get this picture?”

“I took it!” Donghyun explains, handing Jeongguk his drink and watching as the younger boy downs it in one go. “Hogeun brought you down to the dock one day, he said you wanted to see what he did. I was still working on a boat with him back then. I found it in one of our albums.”

“It’s perfect.” You state.

“Are you ready to toast?” Donghyun asks.

You shake your head. “You go ahead and do it.”

“Are you sure?”

You only nod, turning to watch as Donghyun grabs the attention of the room. He thanks everyone for coming before starting in on his speech. He talks about how he met Hogeun, and how they became friends working on the same boat. He tells several stories about Hogeun, getting several laughs from the other sailors in the room. When he’s finished, he raises his glass and toasts to the memory of his beloved friend.

“To Hogeun!”

“To Hogeun!” The crowd repeats, and then you all take a drink.

As you turn back to look at the picture again, out of the corner of your eye you see someone enter the bar. His eyes immediately scan the room, searching for something until they finally land on it: Jeongguk. He starts walking over to you and something inside you is screaming to run away. Instead, you stand your ground and nudge Donghyun who turns to see what you need as you nod your head at the stranger.

Donghyun’s eyes go wide before he moves to stand in front of you, blocking the stranger's path to Jeongguk. As he gets closer you see that he’s tall, his hair has greyed with age, and his beard has the same salt and pepper look. His eyes are different, one dark brown, and one cloudy grey with an unknown blindness.

“Hwan, what are you doing here? Bar’s closed tonight for a private party.”

“Private party?” Hwan looks around at the tables. “Over half the town’s here.”

“And you still didn’t get the hint that maybe you’re not invited?” Saki spits as she walks over to stand beside her husband.

Hwan scoffs. “I heard the prince of the Ineo himself was here. I simply wanted to come pay my respects. Ask him to stop crashing my ships.” He pushes Donghyun and Saki out of the way and stalks up to where you stand in front of Jeongguk.

“I don’t know who you are, but you’re being extremely disrespectful disturbing the memorial service of my-”

“Protecting them just like your uncle, huh?” Hwan glowers down at you, his blind eye shining in the low light, before elbowing you aside, effectively shoving you to the ground.

“Y/N!” Jeongguk immediately bends down to check on you, but he’s pulled back up by the back of his shirt as Hwan yanks him upright, standing toe to toe with the younger boy, a perpetual frown plastered to his face. You see anger flash across Jeongguk’s features as Saki and Donghyun help you to your feet.

“Hwan-” Donghyun tries to interrupt, but Hwan ignores him.

“It’s nice to see you up close. Now I know who to look for in my nets.” Hwan hisses.

“What do you want?” Jeongguk stares down at the shorter man, suddenly seeming much more intimidating than you’ve ever thought with his tall, muscular stature.

“To remind your kind that you’re not supposed to be here.”

His kind? He called Jeongguk an Ineo. Does he think Jeongguk is a mermaid? What the hell is this crazy guy talking about? Jeongguk only rolls his eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You know exactly what I mean.” Hwan inches closer to Jeongguk’s face, cracking his knuckles. If it comes to a fight, you're sure Jeongguk could handle himself, but you don’t want it to get that far.

“Stop!” You yell, grabbing Jeongguk’s arm and tugging him away from Hwan. “We’re leaving.”

“Y/N, don’t-” Saki tries to protest, but you shake your head.

“It’s alright.” You turn to Hwan. “Listen, I don’t know who you think you are, but you need to back the hell off. Jeongguk is a good person. You’ve got salt in your brain. Ineo don’t exist.” And with that, you drag Jeongguk with you as you walk toward the door.

“Be careful young miss. I may have salt in my brain, but you’re sleeping with the enemy!”

“Bye Donghyun, Saki, thank you for tonight!” You call as you open the door.

“What do you think happened to your uncle?” Hwan yells after you. You can still hear him as the door shuts behind Jeongguk. “It’s only a matter of time before he kills you too-”

You huff as you drag Jeongguk over to the truck, both of you climbing in. “What the fuck was that guy’s problem?” You mumble as you start the truck up, quickly pulling out of the spot and driving up the road back towards the house. “He was crazy, right?” You flash a glance at Jeongguk who laughs.

“Very crazy.”

“God, just because you’re not from this god-forsaken island.” You curse. “Obviously you have to be evil, right?” You didn’t realize how upset that encounter made you, but now that you’re outside it, you realize your heart is racing, and your hands are gripping the steering wheel tightly as you drive.

Jeongguk seems to notice this as he puts a hand on your arm. “Are you alright, noona? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down. “No, he just knocked me off balance. I’m alright…”

Jeongguk squeezes your arm in understanding, and the small gesture comforts you. You pull into the drive, parking before you both get out and walk into the house. You both slip off your shoes, but as you go to move further inside, Jeongguk slides in front of you, cupping your chin out of nowhere.

“W-what are-”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks again, concern evident in his big brown eyes as he gazes down at you.

You get caught in his stare for only a moment before you shake him off. “I’m fine. I promise.” You assure him before walking into the kitchen and grabbing a beer out of the fridge, cracking it open before taking a long swig. Jeongguk watches as you kick the fridge closed with your foot before walking towards your room. “Goodnight Jeongguk.” You nod at him before shutting the door, leaning against it for good measure as you take a deep breath. You chug the rest of your beer before changing into some pajamas and flopping onto the mattress, face first, with a long sigh.

You lay there for several hours, unable to sleep as your thoughts churn like the sea itself. Mermaids. Mermaids? There’s no way they exist, but at the same time, it can’t be a coincidence how many times you’ve been warned about them since you arrived. The crazy old man outside the bar when you arrived, the north side of the island being shut down, your own uncle having seen one, and now this Hwan character…

You toss and turn as your brain attempts to put the pieces of an incomprehensible puzzle together without a guide. You check the time on your phone, groaning when you see it’s already 4:03 in the morning and you aren’t the least bit tired. You huff as you get up, tugging on a sweatshirt as you quietly walk back out to the living room, looking around for something to do. You decide you might as well sort through some more things while you have the time. The faster you’re done, the faster you can get off this island.

You flick on the basement light, heading down into the murky room to grab a box before quickly bringing it back up the stairs. It only takes you about twenty minutes to get through this box, and when you’re done you head down to grab another. This one is full of old picture albums, and you take your time paging through it, but it’s mostly just pictures of fish from when he still worked on boats.

When you reach the bottom of the second box, you head back down the stairs to grab a third full of books, but as you pick this one up, an old worn book falls off the top of the pile and onto the ground. You put the box back down and pick the book up, dusting it off when you notice the single word stamped on the spine. Ineo. Your heartbeat thumps at the sight and you turn the book over in your hands. The front cover is dull, bleached from the sun, but you can still see the faint outline of words: Legends of the Ineo. You roll your eyes as you flip through the pages. Of course your uncle would have something like this lying around. How could anyone ever-

You nearly miss it, but the splay of blue ink across the page catches your eye, causing you to flip back, wanting to make sure you didn’t just see what you thought you saw. But sure enough, as you flatten the page with your palm, there it sits.

A drawing identical to the tattoo adorning Jeongguk’s ribs.

You hurry upstairs, needing better light to read the faded words on the page. You sit on the couch and grab your phone flashlight, shining it on the book as you read:

The Drowning Mark – A dark, swirling tattoo resembling water pulling downward, hands dragging the wearer into the depths. It slowly spreads over time, symbolizing the fate of the Ineo, the blue becoming more pronounced the more lives they take; until eventually they lose their soul completely, along with their human nature. Their skin then turns a deep cerulean, matching the color of the waters they inhabit.

Your breathing suddenly feels heavy. There’s no possible way that Jeongguk could be… He couldn’t…

Right?

It has to be a coincidence.

A million thoughts rush through your mind at light speed, not giving you a chance to focus on any one thing. You shake your head in an attempt to clear it as you slip back to the start of the book, wanting to learn as much as you can.

As the hours tick on and you make your way through the book, your incomprehensible puzzle starts to become, unfortunately, comprehensible. He eats and sleeps so much because using their human form takes more energy. He’s ethereally beautiful like they’re all said to be. He doesn’t know a lot about how the human world works. His general disdain for shoes. They way that he’s never cold. Piece by piece things slot into place and the thought you didn’t want starts to form in the back of your mind.

Is Jeongguk… an Ineo?

You run your hands through your hair as you flip back to the page with the tattoo and stare down at it. It taunts you, the blue swirls seeming to come off the page and twirl in the air directly in front of you, and yet just out of your reach. You’re going crazy, right? It’s just because you haven’t slept. You need air.

The book falls to the floor as you get up off the couch, rushing to slip on some shoes and fumbling as you unlock the door, quickly rushing out of the house so fast that you don’t even close the door behind you. It’s not enough. As the sun rises behind the low clouds, mist hanging in the air, you race to the edge of the cliffs, gasping for breath as you stand at the edge. Your eyes flick over the scenery, from the overcast skies, to the roiling waves far below you as you attempt to breathe.

Could everything you’ve ever known be a lie? Could creatures like Ineo really be out there? You stare down at the rocks, the very same place where they found your uncle’s body. Could this have been the reason? Did he know? Did he feel this too? This feeling of betrayal, like nothing is actually real. You gasp, trying to force air to your lungs as you fall to your knees, everything feeling like it’s just too much.

“Noona!”

It comes from the direction of the house, but you can’t bear to turn and look, still trying to ground yourself. You can hear him running through the dirt and grass until he skids to a halt beside you, crouching down next to you.

“Noona? You left the door open, I was worried.”

It doesn’t hit you until he touches you. Until this creature you thought was your friend rests his hand on your shoulder, his breath ghosting your face as he tries to get you to look at him. You throw him off with surprising force, causing him to fall back on his behind as you scramble a few inches away from him.

“Don’t touch me!” You hiss, lifting your foot with an obvious threat to kick his gorgeous face.

“N-noona?” His eyes are wide with concern as he takes in your semi-rabid state. “What’s going on?”

“You lied to me!” You cry, tears suddenly streaming down your face as you grab a handful of dirt and chuck it in his direction. “Did you do it? Did you really kill him?”

Jeongguk’s hands are out in front of him like he’s corralling a feral animal as he gets back up on his knees. “What are you talking about? Come on, it’s not safe out here.”

Looking into Jeongguk’s eyes, for some reason, you are no longer afraid of what he is, you’re no longer afraid of him, only angry, furious with him. “I want you to tell me the truth.” You state, trying to calm the shake in your voice. He nods. “Are you an Ineo?”

“Noona I-”

“The truth!” You remind him. “Only the truth.”

Jeongguk sighs, glancing out over the water before looking back down at the ground between you. “I will tell you everything if you come back inside.”

You hesitate. Could this be a trick? Although, you suppose if he wanted to hurt you, he could just push you off the cliffs right now. You sniffle, wiping your face as you nod. He tries to help you to your feet but you smack his hands away, standing by yourself and cautiously leading him back toward the house.

You both walk in, slipping off your shoes as you walk over to the living room. Jeongguk sits down on the couch and pats the cushion next to him, but you ignore him, choosing to pace in front of the tv instead. Jeongguk runs an exasperated hand through his hair, looking down at the floor, and that’s when he sees it; the book. He chuckles to himself as he picks it up.

“Where did you get this?”

You see what he’s holding and immediately snatch it out of his grip. “In the basement.” You state, flipping through it until you find the page with the drawing. “I didn’t think anything of it until I saw this.” You turn the book toward him and show him the picture. His hand immediately moves to his ribcage, his thumb rubbing over the fabric of his shirt.

“Ah, I see…”

“Tell me.” You slam the book shut and put it down on the table in front of you.

Jeongguk takes a deep breath as he looks up at you, his hands folded neatly in his lap. “It’s true.”

“And you?”

“I am.” He nods. “An Ineo.”

A lump forms in your throat but you force yourself to swallow it back down. “And Hogeun?”

Jeongguk’s face twists in anger. “I didn’t do that.”

“But you kill people.”

“No.”

“No?”

“It’s… complicated.” He shakes his head. You simply cross your arms, waiting for him to explain and he sighs again. “Ineo are more like mythological sirens than mermaids. We are born of trauma, of death, and accidents. We’re made to lure humans to their deaths, to crash their ships, or tangle them in their nets. When a human dies by the ocean, some of them are given a second life as an Ineo; a slave to the sea, forced to do her bidding for her. We are given human features to help our purpose, but meant to spend our lives beneath the waves. Sometimes, Ineo can be born the natural way. It’s rare, but it happens.

“That’s what it was for me. My mother, like me, was born of another Ineo. She mated with another Ineo.” Jeongguk pauses. “She died of complications during my birth, so Yeongsu, my birth father, was left in charge. Something you have to understand, not all Ineo want to be what we are, we resist it, we fight it; and then there are some that give themselves over to the ocean fully, those are the true monsters.

“That’s what happened to Yeongsu. After my mother died, he became inconsolable. And went on a rampage. He is the reason the north side of this island isn’t inhabited. He set up just off shore, killing anyone he could get his hands on. He claimed so many lives that day…” Jeongguk trails off. “In the book, did you read about our marks? And how they spread?”

You nod. “It spreads with every life you take, eventually turning your skin blue as you lose your soul.”

“Right. And it does.” Jeongguk confirms. “My father… He killed enough people that his mark spread instantly. So much so that his mark had covered him completely in a matter of seconds.”

You walk over and sit next to Jeongguk on the couch as you process everything he’s said. “Why… Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because Hogeun, he didn’t want you anywhere near this. Humans aren’t supposed to know about us. It’s dangerous.”

“Then why did he know?”

“He was helping me. Which is even more dangerous.”

“Helping with what?”

Jeongguk looks down at his feet for the first time. “He was helping me find a way out of this. To not be what I am.”

This surprises you. “Like a cure? Why?”

“I don’t want to be a monster…” Jeongguk holds his head with his hands.

You’re afraid to ask it, but your curiosity gets the best of you. “How many have you…?”

“One. But it was an accident.” He explains. “I was young. I didn’t know what I was capable of. I was just by the shore singing and someone heard my song. He jumped from the cliffs on the east side of the island and hit the rocks. I was a mess for days… I-I didn’t understand what had happened until I went back home and someone explained it to me.”

“Then my uncle…”

“If any Ineo knew he was helping me, or that he even knew about me, they would have tried everything in their power to kill him. ”

“Jeongguk-”

“Y/N, you can’t let anyone know what you know. Hyung’s death is on my hands, but I won’t let yours be too. Please.” He pleads, grabbing your hands and looking at you with a certain desperate sadness in his eyes, the feeling nearly tangible.

“I won’t. I promise, but Jeongguk I need you to know that Hogeun’s death was not your fault. If someone killed him or not, it will never be your fault.”

Jeongguk offers you a weak smile. “Thank you…”

It’s silent for a long moment before you stand up. “I should get some sleep.”

“You were up all night, weren’t you?”

“Yeah…” You admit, walking toward your room. “If you need anything just wake me, okay?”

“I’ll be alright, noona, sleep well.”

You give him one last nod before disappearing behind your closed door, tossing your sweatshirt to the ground before crawling under the covers. Images of scaly tails and gills flash in your mind until sleep overtakes you.

When you wake up next, it’s some time in the afternoon. The house is quiet except for the pitter-pat of rain against the roof. Still tired, you get up, stretching your arms as you stand and change out of your pajamas, into some jeans and a t-shirt and securing your necklace around your neck. It was a long morning, but you have things you need to do anyway; like go to the grocery store. With the way Jeongguk eats, it’s no surprise you’re already running low on food.

When you walk out of your room, you still don’t hear anything. When you check Jeongguk’s room, it’s empty. You hope he doesn’t disappear for too long this time… You grab your wallet and keys before heading out to the truck and making your way to town.

You decide to stop in at the bar and grab some lunch since you haven’t eaten yet today. You park and head inside the dimly lit building to find it mostly empty, with Donghyun wiping down the bar. He looks up as the door jangles, his eyes widening when he spots you.

“Y/N!”

“Hey,” You walk over to him and take a seat at the bar in front of him. “Is the kitchen open?”

“For you? Always.” He offers you a warm smile. “What’re ya having?”

Donghyun quickly whips you up a spectacular lunch as the two of you chat. It isn’t until you’re finished your meal and go to pay that he finally brings up the previous day.

“Nonsense, it’s on the house. An apology for last night.”

You wave your hand at him. “There’s nothing for you to apologize for. I know better than anyone that new people in a small town aren’t the most welcome; and Jeongguk is no exception.” You place a handful of small bills on the counter.

“Y/N-”

“Please, it’s the least I can do to thank you and Saki for everything you’ve done for me already.” You push the money toward him until you’re sure he’s going to take it before taking your hand off the counter.

“At least take this.” Donghyun slides something across the counter for you. You pick it up to find the original picture of you and your uncle used to make the larger copy from last night. “He’d want you to have it.”

You offer him a smile. “Thank you. I’m still in town for a few more days, so I’ll see you around.”

“Alright, we’ll have to have dinner again before you leave!” He calls as you start to walk to the door.

“Of course!” You wave one last time before walking back out to the truck.

You drive the short trip to the grocery store and grab a basket as you head in. You take your time shopping, perusing the aisles as you think of things Jeongguk might enjoy, even though he’s never had a bad thing to say about anything you’ve made. You grab the box of sweet cakes he likes as you wander over to the meat section. They have some fresh seafood options, but nothing can compare to the fresh seafood Jeongguk brought you. You wonder if he actually just went out into the ocean and caught it himself. You suppose that would make sense…

You stop in your tracks as you realize just how much you’re thinking about him during this simple trip to the grocery store. You begin to wonder when exactly your mind became a whirlwind of all things Jeongguk. You shake your head. You have been living with him for the last week, so it’s only natural that he’s become the focus of your thoughts, right? You start to wonder about what he and your uncle were working on, if they had actually found anything worthwhile about a cure. Or if there even is one…

You finish your shopping, packing everything in the seat next to you so it doesn’t get wet. As you start the truck, a light dings on the dashboard and tells you that you’re almost out of gasoline. You drive to the gas station by the docks to stop and get some gas. As you’re pumping, you start to hear the strangest noise.

It sounds like singing, but you’re the only one in sight. It almost sounds like it’s coming from offshore somewhere. You hold your hand up to block the relentless drizzle from falling in your eyes as you search the waves around the dock. It sounds… familiar. Like you’ve heard it before, but you can’t place it, the song sounding too similar to the crashing waves against the cliffs nearby.

You look around one more time, and when your gaze passes by one of the rocky outcroppings, you swear you see something moving. A shadow of some sort. Is that a person? You run over to the edge of the gas station where the cliff drops off, thinking they might need help, but when you look again, the shadow is gone.

The sound of the gas nozzle clanking as it shuts off brings your attention back to your truck. You look out over the waves one more time, but there’s nothing there. You have a strange feeling in your gut as you walk back over and put the gas nozzle back in its place, screwing the gas cap back on the truck before climbing back into the cab. As you pull out of the gas station and drive back up the road, you hear the sound again, but it fades into the distance as you drive away.

Jeongguk comes home as you’re putting groceries away and you watch him out of the corner of your eye as he kicks his shoes off and walks over to you, smelling of salt. His eyes go wide when he sees the snack cakes, immediately ripping into the box and pulling one out, making you giggle at how excited he seems. He offers you one and you take it, observing him as you both munch on the cakes. You take in the sight of his strong jawline and soft eyes, wondering what he might look like underwater.

“So where’d you go today?”

He looks up at you as he unwraps another cake. “Nowhere, just around.”

“Jeongguk, you don’t have to lie to me anymore, remember?”

“I was just asking around about some stuff.”

“Stuff?”

“Stuff.” He repeats.

Suddenly it clicks inside you, the final piece of the puzzle. “You’re looking into Hogeun’s death, aren’t you?”

He avoids your gaze, guilt on his features. “Noona, I told you, you shouldn’t get involved in this.”

“But-”

“Trust me, the less you know, the better.” He shoves the cake in his mouth and then turns away, walking toward the bathroom.

“Hey,” You grab his arm, forcing him to turn back. “Listen, I know it’s risky, but-”

He shakes his head. “No, you really don’t know.”

“Jeongguk if you’re looking into my uncle’s death I want to help.”

“No.” His voice is firm as he shakes you off of him. “This is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you.”

“But if you’re still looking for a cure-”

“Noona!” Jeongguk spins and pins you against the fridge, his hands on either side of your head as he stares at you. You’re caught in his gaze, unable to look away; he’s so close, too close; the smell of sweet cakes on his breath ghosting across your face. “Hyung said no. Please, just let it go.”

“I won’t.” You can’t stop the words before they’re out of your mouth. He drops one arm, moving back a bit in surprise at your stubbornness. “Jeongguk, he’s gone. And I could be next, but even if I am, you’re my friend. As long as you’re searching for a cure, I’m going to want to help you. No matter how dangerous it is.”

Jeongguk sighs, taking another step back as he rubs his hands over his face. “Noona-”

“You said you guys had research. At least let me look at what you have already.” You offer. “I might see something you didn’t.”

“Fine.” Jeongguk nods, starting to walk away again as he strips his shirt off over his head. “After dinner.” And with that he disappears into the bathroom.

Just as you finish cooking, Jeongguk emerges from the bathroom wrapped in a towel and heads to his room, coming back out a few minutes later in a change of clothes. You can feel his eyes on you as you put everything on the table. You sneak your own glances as you sit down and eat. His hair’s still wet, all of it pushed back off of his face, small droplets falling onto his shirt as he eats. God, you can’t stand how beautiful he is. Couldn’t he have been average looking? Once he glances up at you at the same time and you both panic, nearly choking as you immediately avert your gazes. You want to try to fix the awkward silence, but you can’t think of anything to say.

After you eat, Jeongguk gets up and disappears into his room. You hear him rooting around in there while you put dishes in the sink, and as you finish packing away the leftovers, Jeongguk comes back out with a box. He places it on the table in front of the couch with a loud thunk and then turns to you.

“Here you go.” He sits on the couch as you walk over to investigate. “This is everything we had.”

You look in the box to see papers with notes scribbled haphazardly on them on top. You begin pulling things out and sorting them, a stack of loose-leaf papers, several large books, and even more notebooks with notes and pictures all taped inside with no sense of order or organization in sight.

Jeongguk turns on the tv and you eye him closely. You run to your room and grab a spare notebook and a pen before heading back out to the living room and sitting down next to him, beginning to read through things. You take notes as you read, writing down what you think might be important, or things you want to come back to or look up later.

You read into the early hours of the morning, quietly going over everything you can get your hands on, and Jeongguk sits beside you as you do. He watches you, mumbling to yourself, but you can feel his eyes on you as you turn page after page.

At some point, you must fall asleep, because you wake up to the feeling of Jeongguk’s arms around you and you stir just enough to feel your bed underneath you as he sets you down on it, pulling the covers up over you. You relax back against the mattress when you feel him brush his fingers over your cheek. The touch is fleeting, and you’re not entirely sure it was real, but as quickly as it’s there, it’s gone. And then you hear your door shut. You touch your cheek where you felt his fingers only moments ago, humming pleasantly as you are pulled back into slumber.

Part 2 ->

39 notes · View notes

mylo-space · 3 days ago

Text

How Little I Show

Summary: A look into the relationship between Wukong and Macaque through three different world-ending disasters; a series of pushing buttons and crossing lines and struggling to figure out where they stand with each other after a millennia of distance--both hindered by desperately trying to convince the other that they're indifferent to the situation entirely. (title from 'Paint' by The Paper Kites)

Posted on Ao3: 2025-02-26 Word Count: 20,679

When MK started getting more aggressive with his training, and sharper with his responses upon being asked about it, Wukong had a million different ideas of things to blame. He mulled it over every waking second they weren’t training; perhaps MK was still stressed over the Demon Bull King, or his noodle deliveries, or maybe his favorite arcade game had broken again.

But Wukong couldn’t argue with himself about the symbol on the back of MK’s jacket, magic coloring over the logo in violet shades to sneer at him. An old enemy–an ever older friend, the Six-Eared Macaque.

There weren’t a lot of things that could get Wukong out of Water Curtain Cave, and if Macaque had kept his meddling to a minimum, he might not have even bothered at all. He was a far cry from the impulsive creature he’d been so many centuries ago, the thrill of settling scores an old, tired thing sitting among the cobwebs of Wukong’s mind; he wasn’t keen on giving the fight Macaque clearly wanted, so he resolved to simply keep a closer eye on MK, instead.

Then he felt the seal he’d put on MK’s powers pulsing, the kid struggling to summon magic that wouldn’t come to him. He was quietly thankful, when he finally crash landed onto the scene, that Macaque seemed mostly occupied with scaring MK than doing any real damage–though he’d find out later that he had knocked the breath out of MK with a punch to the stomach before pinning him to the mountain side.

Still, it was the principle of the thing. Macaque may have shouted, sorry, kid, over the roar of magic, nothing personal! and maybe he even meant it. Macaque had a taste for the spotlight, but if he’d really wanted to hurt MK, he wouldn’t have wasted his time with the theatrics. The whole thing left Wukong with a very long list of questions that all began with ‘why’.

Wukong would be the first to admit that he didn’t know Macaque–not anymore, not like he used to–but he was certain the shadow wouldn’t start a fight without a damn good reason, and wouldn't attack someone in Wukong’s care unless it was a calculated risk. Macaque wasn’t stupid enough to make that kind of mistake twice.

When the dust settled from MK’s rather impressive show of strength, Wukong could feel a dull ache in his stone muscles. The fight was short, but it was the most effort he’d put into anything in ages; he might have even appreciated the workout under different circumstances. MK stayed for a little bit, soaking up both the lectures and reassurances that Wukong offered him, and finally scampered off the mountain upon realizing Mei and Pigsy had been blowing up his phone.

And long after MK had left, Wukong remained on the ledge overlooking their battleground. There was a presence behind him somewhere, just to the right, and even if Wukong didn’t know Macaque like he used to, he knew enough to understand, “You wanted my attention?” He glanced over his shoulder to watch Macaque emerge from the shadows. “There are better ways of getting a conversation out of me.”

“What,” Macaque asked, “like I was gonna just waltz on up to Water Curtain Cave?” He flicked a bit of debris off his scarf. “If I’m gonna get hit, it’s going to be on my terms.” And Wukong couldn’t refute that he might have punched Macaque outright for approaching the inner sanctuary of Flower Fruit Mountain, so he kept his teeth clenched about it. “Everyone knows the fastest way to get your attention is a fight.”

“Were the theatrics necessary?” Wukong put a hand on his knee and stood. “MK didn’t deserve what you did to him today.” He turned to Macaque and was met with a raised brow. “You could have tripped him walking down the sidewalk and I would have hunted you down. Why go to all this trouble?”

Macaque hummed, “You know I always aim to impress, Wukong,” he replied easily. “You can’t tell me that wasn’t at least a little fun for you.” His lip curled at the corners, the beginnings of a smile–or a snarl, perhaps, some bared-teeth challenge that had Wukong lashing chains around his primal urge to fight. “When’s the last time you had a real fight, huh?”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Wukong reminded, determined not to let Macaque steer him off-track. “Why did you bring MK into this little tantrum of yours.” Macaque’s brow twitched to furrow–maybe annoyed that Wukong wasn’t rising to his bait, but he masked it well enough by glancing away, rolling his eyes like Wukong was the one being irritating. “If you don’t want to get thrown through the nearest mountain, bud, I suggest you start explaining yourself.”

Tsking, Macaque replied, “Believe it or not, Monkey King, I’m not the worst thing out there.” Wukong straightened, putting aside his frustration for a moment to hear Macaque out, “You made a lot of enemies over the centuries, and most of them aren’t going to be kind enough to train your successor for your attention.”

“You didn’t train him,” Wukong said sharply. “MK said you’ve been sparring with him off and on for almost two weeks now. I’d have smelled you on him if you were actually around.” But the logo on MK’s jacket had been his only clue, which meant, “You trained him with a clone.”

Macaque snorted, “And? You’re telling me you’ve never been tempted to ditch a training session, leave him with a clone for a day?”

Pointedly not answering Macaque’s question, Wukong replied, “We’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you.”

“I,” Macaque drawled, “was multitasking. Had other things to do.” A hand came to scratch at his cheek idly. “Also, I’ve been trying to keep a low profile. Hard to do if I start throwing a ton of magic around, so I had a clone do some physical combat with him.” He shrugged. “Sue me.”

And there was a terrible moment of vulnerability that bled into Wukong’s anger, slipping through the wall he’d built around his friendship with Macaque to ask, “Is someone tracking you?” And because that might have sounded just a bit too much like concern, he added, “You pinned MK to a mountain and stole his powers so that you couldn’t be traced by someone?”

Tipping his head back, Macaque heaved a guttural sigh, “You know, if I wanted to actually hurt that kid, I would have,” he complained. “Are you gonna be pissy about this forever?”

“Maybe not forever,” Wukong said, “but for the foreseeable future? Yes.” Macaque grumbled, but seemed to understand where he stood on Wukong’s sliding scale of patience and didn’t press. “And I’m gonna be even pissier about this if you don’t start giving me some straight answers.”

Macaque studied Wukong for a moment like one might gauge the needle of a pressure valve, “The same people tracking me,” he explained slowly, like he was deciding as he went how much was too much to reveal, “are also after the kid’s power,” he relented finally, “and the staff, too. If he couldn’t handle what I did to him today, there’s no way he would have survived what’s coming.”

“So,” Wukong scowled, “what, this was all some kind of test?”

“More like a really elaborate lesson plan,” Macaque replied easily. “Couldn’t trust you to prepare him for what’s coming.” Wukong’s lips parted to demand further explanation–he could prepare MK just fine if he knew what was coming, but Macaque interjected, “You’re not getting a name out of me, if that’s what you’re after. I’m trying to keep a low profile, remember? Can’t have you bumbling about in my personal affairs.”

“Your personal affairs,” Wukong hissed, “are, apparently, out to get my successor. You care enough to warn me about it, but expect me to be content without a name?” Macaque raised an amused brow at the steadily rising tension in Wukong’s voice. “Did you lead something to MK?” he demanded. “Did you-”

“I didn’t lead anything, anywhere,” Macaque cut in. “She’d have come, anyway,” the detail didn’t escape Wukong–she; it wasn’t much information, but he’d take it. “I’d say you have until the New Year before you need your guard up,” Macaque continued, “and if you haven’t figured it out by then, I’ll let you give me the third degree.” His tone was something close to playful, even as he began threatening, “Maybe I’ll even kidnap your successor again. Have another little scrap about it,” he suggested teasingly, “huh? For old times’ sake?”

“I don’t think it’s in your best interest to start another scrap with me,” Wukong warned, tail lashing, “about anything. Can’t promise I’ll be so nice about a stunt like this a second time.”

Macaque hummed, “I think we have different definitions of nice, Your Majesty.” Whatever semblance of disappointment Wukong thought he’d heard in Macaque’s voice evaporated with a sickly sweet, “And here I was, warning you about an impending threat.”

“And kidnapping my successor,” Wukong recalled. “I don’t care who’s after his power, you don’t get to act like this,” he lifted his hands and bit out, “lesson,” in quotations, “was a kindness. Because we both know it wasn’t.”

“Would you have prefered I not warned you at all?”

“I would prefer that you stayed as far away from MK as possible,” Wukong snapped, and Macaque made some disinterested noise that had his hackles rising, “I’m serious,” he warned, “you haven’t done me a favor by scaring the shit out of MK and giving me half a warning,” Macaque’s gaze flicked away under Wukong’s pyrite glare, “If you’re not actually gonna make yourself useful, then make yourself scarce.”

Macaque shook his head, bitter amusement spilling out of him, “That’s all it was ever about, eh, Wukong?” the shadow chuckled. “I was never useful enough to you.” Wukong’s fists clenched at his sides, a tense silence stretching between them. “I’ll leave the kid be,” Macaque acquiesced, and his word alone wasn’t really all that reassuring, but Wukong could feel the tension in his shoulders ease minutely, “but if your poor mentoring leaves the kid high and dry, don’t come crying to me.”

“Yeah,” Wukong huffed, “maybe when Hell freezes over.”

There was something amused on the corner of Macaque’s lips, “Yeah,” he said lightly, voice hovering over a barely-concealed laugh, “maybe.” The shadows behind Macaque began condensing before Wukong could ask him what was so funny. “Until then,” Macaque gave a little bow, a theatrical farewell–he always did know how to make an exit, “have fun making the kid do more chores. Sure it’s gonna be a huge help.”

A retort died on Wukong’s tongue, Macaque vanishing into a portal before he could bite it out. It was another five minutes or so before he managed to uncurl his fists and stalk back to Water Curtain Cave, kicking every pebble in his path and desperately trying to banish every single fleeting thought about Macaque from his head.

In the following weeks, MK cracked a joke and didn’t even need to say Macaque’s name to get a withering glance from Wukong and a deadpan, too soon, bud, and it was too soon. If he’d never seen Macaque again it’d have been too soon, but Macaque had a habit of turning up like a bad penny, and it was a coin’s toss how tolerable the shadow would be. He resolved to enjoy the peace and quiet while he could.

With Macaque’s warning fresh in his mind, Wukong had–with very minimal guilt-tripping on his part–managed to keep MK on the mountain for the New Year. He’d spent the better part of the day scanning the treeline and the air and behind every boulder like something might jump out at them, and he was looking forward to spending some downtime with his successor before he went after Macaque for his owed ‘third-degree’ interrogation.

He could have picked up a mountain and thrown it when the fireworks show ground to a halt, anger finding that familiar place in his chest and settling, but there wasn’t time. MK was equal parts surprised and exasperated by Wukong’s desire to help him save the city, seemingly taking, no one ruins my New Year, at face value. But Wukong had a dreadful, heavy feeling that Macaque hadn’t given him a New Year’s deadline for no reason; if there was a commotion in the city, he couldn’t let MK handle it alone.

And if MK got left on the roof of a building, it only marginally had something to do with the kid jumping on his head, and mostly just the realization that Wukong couldn’t bring a panicking, frightened MK right into the heart of Macaque’s personal affairs. If MK hadn’t been able to stomach the spiders crawling the streets, there was no way he could have brought the kid any further into the den of monsters.

There was a rather foolish part of him that assumed Spider Queen was the source of Macaque’s threat, the shadow’s warning was a fleeting thought under the live-wire webs draining him of energy–someone’s after the kid’s power. And he’d had half a mind to be amused when he and Demon Bull King slipped out of her clutches; this, a measly city-wide takeover, was Macaque’s big threat?

He should have known better, really. Macaque may have had a reputation for being a coward, but Wukong had seen him take on far scarier things than a spider; he’d fought side by side with Wukong for some of his worst battles. But even if he should have expected a heavier hitter than than Spider Queen, there was no way to anticipate the Lady.

With the city cleared of any lingering spiders and MK safe as Wukong could make him, he had ventured into the Realms to hunt down any information he could on the Lady. He knew MK was less than pleased about his impromptu ‘vacation’, but Wukong didn’t want his successor anywhere near the situation. Taking on the Demon Bull King and the Spider Queen was one thing, they were manageable threats for someone with MK’s experience, but the Lady was a different monster entirely.

The temple he’d finished raiding had been a dead end–three days of breaking down walls and uncovering buried murals, brushing off his successor and scouring the whole area within a mile radius, only to find nothing. He was hoping to find anything, and came out the other side empty handed. No secret chambers, no war room full of maps and notes detailing the Lady’s plan. Just four stone walls with far too many booby-traps between them.

Wukong might have looked relaxed enough, sitting by a campfire, tired and bruised and barely keeping his eyes open, but he felt like a rock of glowing ember, just waiting for something to ignite him. His search for the information about the Lady hadn’t progressed well–or at all, and the whole thing had set him more on edge than he’d have liked.

“Maybe when Hell freezes over,” he muttered to himself, tossing another log onto his growing fire. Seeing as he couldn’t take his anger out on the Lady, he aired his grievances to the wind–and maybe part of him hoped that Macaque could hear, but he really just wanted to vent the sparking, smoking anger under his skin. “And I bet Macaque thinks he’s so clever.”

Wukong did try his best to meet Macaque’s antagonism with indifference, but tired and sore and huddling around a campfire was a rather inopportune time for Macaque to come slithering out of the shadows. “I do occasionally appreciate my own brilliance.”

“Not in the mood,” Wukong said shortly, refusing to give Macaque a single inch to run with.

Macaque’s eyes glittered, flicking back his scarf dramatically to crouch by the fire, “Duly noted. You underestimate how much I don’t care.” He shifted on the balls of his feet, shoulders wriggling as he settled into the warmth. “This seat taken?” he asked innocently and Wukong set his jaw, his gaze flicking to the blackening logs of the fire. “Great,” Macaque said amicably, like he’d been offered, “I’ll make myself comfortable, then.”

Crackling and crickets filled the space between them for a moment, and Wukong was content to let it sit. He’d half hoped that the silent treatment might have bored Macaque into leaving, but the shadow seemed content to warm his hands, claws hovering a hair’s breadth from the flames. “Careful you don’t set yourself on fire doing that,” Wukong muttered finally, “god forbid you make me laugh.”

“You wound me, Wukong,” Macaque replied, shuffling closer to the fire. Wukong couldn't imagine what he was trying to prove by it; the weather was cool enough to comfortably sit by a fire, but not nearly cold enough to warrant getting wrapped in the flames. “And here I was being helpful again,” Macaque’s passive expression twitched a bit, a barely there furrow of his brow, “for all the good that did me.”

It was well established that Wukong and Macaque had very different definitions of helpful, and suddenly Wukong remembered the last conversation with his successor. MK’s distressed pleas for Wukong’s attention had him sitting ramrod straight. “What did you do,” he demanded.

“I told him a story,” Macaque drawled, and Wukong had to cling to his last shred of willpower to not hurl himself across the firepit. “Would it make you feel better if I told you I didn’t even lay a hand on him this time?”

“No,” Wukong said shortly, because Macaque was clever, and there was most certainly a loophole in there somewhere.

“Really,” Macaque insisted, pulling his hands away from the flames and tucking them into the space between his knees and stomach, “your little successor threw every punch.”

Wukong’s fur bristled into stalactites of anger, “At what,” he pressed.

“Shadows,” Macaque answered, vaguely enough that Wukong knew it couldn’t possibly be as simple as a few Macaque-shaped shadows. “You’re lucky I stepped in when I did,” he mused, “MK’s gonna start getting tired of that whole ‘believe in yourself’ schtick you keep passing off as training.”

The shadow must not have been as indifferent to the situation as he seemed, because when Wukong’s leg shifted–not to stand, just to put it in a more comfortable position–Macaque’s gaze snapped to him warily, guarded and wild like a cornered animal. “What,” Wukong pressed again now that he had Macaque’s undivided attention, “did you do.”

Macaque’s gaze raked over him, eerily still where he perched, then he relented, “I put his friends in the lamp,” and there was more to the sentence, Wukong could see Macaque’s lips parting to further explain himself, but there were lines to this dance of theirs. Macaque should have known better than to admit something that damning after being warned that Wukong was not in the mood.

But Wukong should have known better than to think he’d get the drop on Macaque; in the time it took him to stand, Macaque had kicked a log out of the fire and melted into the shadows while Wukong scrubbed the embers from his eyes. There was a singular moment of blinding panic–the same kind of panic that’d seized him swooping into a spider-infested city, MK’s arms like a vice around his head–and he took a few startled steps back, gasping and cursing at the rush of smoke and sparks.

He wrenched the rush of adrenaline towards something more productive than fear, eyes blazing and gold as he searched for Macaque among the fire-stretched shadows of the clearing. It was a long moment of fleeting glances, every shadow moving suspiciously in the flickering light of the fire, but then he caught his own outline shifting, stretching long until it climbed a tree and peered out at Wukong with glowing, violet amusement.

Wukong wrestled with his impulse control for a moment, debating if punching the tree would be just another way of giving Macaque what he wanted, and eased his stance where it stood poised to strike. “Where’s the lamp,” he demanded through gritted teeth.

“Broken,” Macaque’s voice echoed about the clearing, “his friends are fine. I just wanted to see how long it took for the kid to go looking for them.”

“What happened to telling him a story,” Wukong asked tensely, hands flexing at his sides to ease the anger out of them.

The shadow of Macaque shrugged. “Multitasking,” he replied, and the last of Wukong’s fury was chased away by his exasperation, leaving behind a dull frustration. “Look, the kid was trying to train himself with a videogame for thirty-six hours straight,” Macaque explained, “I had to step in.” A smile stretched wide across Wukong’s warped shadow, “I mean, unless you wanted another gaping hole in your wall, in which case, I’ll just let the kid have at it next time.”

Turning from Macaque’s gaze, Wukong began building the dying fire back up from where it’d been kicked. “You’re insufferable,” he muttered. “I thought I told you to make yourself scarce if you weren’t going to be useful.”

“Oh, ye of little faith,” Macaque cooed, “I am here to make myself useful.” Apparently realizing Wukong had simmered down enough to approach, Macaque once again melted out of the shadows. “I’m afraid it’s good news and bad news, though,” he added, settling back into a crouch by the fire. “Take your pick of the order.”

Not trusting Macaque wouldn’t give him two disastrous choices, Wukong opted to get his disappointment out of the way, “If you’ve actually got any for me,” he sighed, “I could use some good news.”

Macaque snorted, “Yeah, I bet you could, after this dead end.” Wukong shot him a glare, though Macaque didn’t even bother looking up from the flames. “The good news is that I just got my ass handed to me yesterday.” He glanced up at Wukong with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes, laden heavy with bitterness, “Figure that’d put you in a good mood.”

Wukong hummed, pushing a log back into the flames and flicking the ash off his hand, “You know, it does make me feel a bit better about what you did to MK.” Macaque rolled his eyes and resumed warming his hands by the fire. It occurred to him suddenly that Macaque wasn’t actually affected by the weather so much as, “The Lady.” Macaque’s brow furrowed at the name, “Is that the bad news?”

“My little intervention with MK tipped off her lapdog,” Macaque muttered. “He took the lamp, which means she’s one step closer to putting her plans into action.”

“Well, don’t act like it’s the end of the world or anything,” Wukong replied half-heartedly. Macaque was silent, so Wukong prodded, “What were trying to teach MK that was so important, anyway? I thought you were trying to keep a low profile.”

Macaque lips parted to answer, then bit the inside of his cheek in thought, “That kid’s a lot like you,” he said slowly, “you know that, right? It’s almost uncanny.” His gaze drifted for a moment before resolutely narrowing on the fire. “And you’ve trained him well, too; he goes right for the eyes.”

Wukong’s stomach lurched at the accusation–the idea that he’d train MK to be so purposeful and ruthless–but Macaque probably only said it to get a rise out of him, so, “Your point?” he prompted through his tightening vocal cords.

“The kid was getting distant from his friends,” Macaque continued. “He’s not sure what’s coming, but he knows it’s going to be a fight.” Macaque’s arms closed tighter around himself, “The one thing he shouldn’t do while obsessing over this fight is drive away all people who’re gonna help him. He’s gonna need as many people in his corner as he can get.”

“A lot like me,” Wukong remarked dryly, long since used to Macaque’s less than subtle jabs at past choices–and past regrets. “So, the kid gets a little too in his head and you gotta pull out all the stops, huh? Think you’re gonna teach him the importance of ‘listening to his friends’ by kidnapping them?”

“Some learning about ‘friends’ would’ve saved you a lot of trouble, back in the day,” Macaque replied. “Figured it’d be better for MK to learn sooner rather than later, considering what’s at stake.” He gestured around them vaguely, “I kinda like the universe where it is, thanks.”

Scowling, Wukong reminded Macaque, “I’m out here trying to fix this, you know.” Macaque’s brow raised doubtfully. “Don’t shoulder MK with the universe before I even get a shot at preventing what’s coming.”

“It’s in everyone’s best interest to have as many players on the field as possible,” Macaque huffed, “I don’t want to shoulder the kid with anything, but if you’re not gonna come back to the city and teach him like a real mentor-”

“I can’t go back until I know I can take her down,” Wukong interjected. “I don’t want him involved with this unless he has to be, and I definitely don’t want him involved with you.”

“If you’re not gonna go back and help him work this out,” Macaque snapped, “then you don’t get to complain when the Lady decides how involved he is.” His gaze flicked to Wukong, “And if you’re gonna stop me from getting involved,” he added, “then you better take your shot now.”

Wukong hoped his snarl hid the way his stomach fell through the ground, “That’s not funny.”

Macaque held his gaze evenly, “I’m not laughing.”

The fire popped noisily between them, and Wukong reached to feed it another log. “Whatever,” he murmured, “you already got your ass handed to you yesterday, right? Seems like the Lady did my job for me.” Macaque hummed, but didn’t appear to have any more of a response than that, so Wukong took advantage of the silence, “What’s she got on you, anyway? This can’t just be about the lamp.”

“It’s not,” Macaque confirmed, “it’s about me not upholding my end of a deal.” He shuffled again, dangerously close to the fire, “She’d have turned this world into a blank slate a long time ago if I hadn’t left her key in the desert somewhere.” A smile graced his features, something small and notably victorious, “Took that puppet of hers ages to find.”

Wukong whistled, “Deal with the devil, huh?” he asked. “Awfully devious of you to double-cross the Bone Demon, bud.” And stupid, too–although maybe not quite so stupid as making a deal with her in the first place. The Lady Bone Demon wasn’t a very forgiving entity.

“The world got another couple of centuries to exist because of that double-cross,” Macaque pointed out. “You’re welcome.”

For a moment, Wukong let the gentle crackling of the fire break the tension between them. “Why’d you make a deal with her, anyway?” he asked quietly. He and Macaque weren’t big on small talk, if the Lady could qualify as such, but this was the closest to civilized he’d been with Macaque in ages and–sue him!--he was curious, “Must have been one hell of a deal, if the exchange was getting her out of the box.”

Something tired and hysterical tumbled out of Macaque, a wheeze that might have been a laugh with a little more energy behind it, “I mean,” Macaque shrugged, “it’s not like you dragged me back out of the Underworld.”

Knuckles cracking, Wukong’s hands curled into startled fists; it seemed intentional that Macaque would mention it so soon after telling Wukong to take his shot, and if he had said it to get under the king’s skin, he very nearly succeeded. “That,” Wukong hissed, “is not fair.”

“Doesn’t make it any less true,” Macaque replied, voice thin with anger, a hairpin trigger pulled taut. “You’re lucky I’ve even made this much of an attempt to help you. I owe the Lady my life, and I owe you,” he spat, “nothing.”

“What are you even doing here, then?” Wukong challenged.

Macaque shook his head, breath escaping him in a single, bitter scoff, “Great fucking question.” He rose from his crouch, turning on his heel and into a portal before Wukong could squeeze in a last word. Wukong distantly wondered how Macaque always managed that, and how it never failed to get under his skin. The stubbornness might have been endearing, some centuries ago–Wukong might’ve even been elated to have his soft-spoken warrior fighting him for the last word of whatever meaningless argument they’d started.

Throwing himself backwards into the grass, Wukong grumbled–half to himself, and half hoping that Macaque could hear him, wherever he managed to slink off to. It wasn’t often that he’d admit defeat when he was on a mission, but he knew Macaque wasn’t lying about the threat the Lady posed. Scouring her temples wouldn’t give him any more answers than he already had. If there was no way to figure out the Bone Demon’s plans, then Wukong needed to switch gears.

Fortunately, Wukong had always been much better at offense than defense. There weren’t a lot of ways to take down someone as powerful as the Lady, but he’d find a way. He always found a way.

Wukong clenched his jaw around his muttered complaints about Macaque to plot in silence, just in case his shadow was actually listening in on him. Whatever the Lady had planned, Macaque was a part of it–however begrudgingly his loyalty didn’t matter; Wukong couldn’t risk Macaque overhearing where he’d be off to next. His claws dug into the grainy dirt beneath him, anchoring himself to settle the whirlwind of ideas knocking around his scattered mind.

He watched the smoke from his campfire spiral into the air for a while–anywhere between a few hours and an eternity, or at least long enough for rays of light to begin peering over the horizon. Wukong had half a mind to let the sun rise without him, but he only allowed himself a precious few minutes of dew-soaked rest before dragging himself upright. If it had to be a fight with the Lady, then so be it; Wukong was lucky enough to know how he could find a weapon, though he doubted the keeper of its map would hand it over easily.

Shaking his head to clear his doubts, Wukong summoned Nimbus from the sky. He sometimes missed the confidence that he’d had in his youth, the naive sort of arrogance that made him feel like he could take on the world bare-handed. But with time came knowledge, and Wukong was painfully aware that the universe didn’t care for anyone’s pride. There was always something more to take, and he absolutely could not afford to fail.

And they didn’t fail, though it was no thanks to Wukong’s efforts. He came back from his vacation too late, MK’s staff already ripped from his hands, magic completely drained, and–ah, Wukong had just enough time to think, eye twitching angrily at the Lady, a lesson. But his anger had to wait until he had the energy for it, scooping MK into his arms and darting off into the sky in a less than daring escape.

The battlefield had a dance to it that Wukong loved, and the king hadn’t met anyone in his long life that played the game better than Macaque. It was easy to be irritated with Macaque’s theatrics, angry even, but Wukong couldn’t bring himself to be anything more than exasperated. Of course, Macaque couldn’t just let them save the world; of course, Macaque just had to make a hard journey more difficult by attacking Wukong and his friends; of course, he did.

But Wukong’s frustration was humbled by Macaque pushing him into the ship floor, hovering over him with some snide comment about winning sides. And Wukong realized, just barely holding Macaque from descending upon him, that the shadow was giving him another warning. Wukong and MK were powerless, weaponless, helpless against Macaque’s strength and magic. The shadow could have dragged them to the Lady whenever he damn well pleased, but he was feeling out the winning side.

Wukong couldn’t deny the sliver of relief that dug into his chest knowing that Macaque wasn’t quite so crazed that he’d help destroy the world without a bit of resistance. Wukong doubted he and MK would get many chances to prove they could stop the Lady, but it was better than nothing and maybe more than Wukong deserved.

He forced himself not to think about the fragile, razor-thin wire Macaque was walking–letting MK escape in the desert, all the times he was certain Macaque was lurking in a shadow somewhere and not opening a portal beneath their feet–because the Lady was cruel, and Macaque had already betrayed her once. It wasn’t until they were near the end of their journey, pinned down by shards of ice, that he let himself confront what Macaque truly had at stake.

Goading Macaque into an argument might not have been his best idea–Nezha certainly didn’t seem to approve of the tactic–but Wukong was desperate. He teased and insulted, anything he thought might rile Macaque enough to fight him and give them an opening to escape, but the warrior barely spared him a glance, a tired glare.

I couldn’t care less, Macaque had seethed, about what the Lady Bone Demon wants. And Wukong had known that, he’d known the whole journey, from the very first attack Macaque had held him down and did nothing, that it’d never really been about helping the Lady. But it only just occurred to Wukong, as Macaque limped after MK and the Rings, that it was about surviving.

There was a shadow over Macaque’s amber eyes, already half swallowed by the Lady’s parasitic magic- already half dead from the strain it must have put on his core- or what? you’ll make things worse? For MK, for the world, for the already precarious situation they were in–for Macaque.

Perhaps that was why, when Macaque was finally in Wukong’s grasp, dragged back through the portal he tried to escape from, the king couldn’t actually bring himself to do anything. His fist, poised to strike, trembled even before Tang had called to him, because Macaque was tired and scrabbling at the hand around his throat and wrenching his head to the side to protect his one good eye, and how could Wukong be angry if Macaque couldn’t even muster up the energy for a taunt?

Besides, it was probably for the best that he hadn’t punched Macaque. He couldn’t fathom how the kid had managed to get the Macaque’s help fighting the Lady–fighting him–but he doubted the shadow would have been so inclined if Wukong had already dealt him some damage. He’d have been thankful for Macaque’s assistance, if he remembered how to express anything towards the shadow that wasn’t a very worn kind of anger.

When it was all said and done, it was almost a relief how easily Wukong and Macaque started bickering. Their meaningless argument over a bowl of noodles saved Wukong the trouble of figuring out how to express gratitude, and–more importantly–it forced Macaque to scurry off the mountain before Wukong had to make him. The sage had barely mustered up the energy to see the kid and his friends back down the mountain, much less deal with anything regarding Macaque.

There wasn’t a word that Wukong could use to describe his exhaustion after the near-apocalypse, but he couldn’t relax with the static under his skin, the remnants of adrenaline that hadn’t quite left his body. He found himself–maybe a bit deliriously– wishing for the shadow’s presence as he trudged back up Flower Fruit Mountain. He’d have taken an argument over the silence–he’d attempt conversation, an arguably much more intimidating thing, but he was certain that Macaque was miles aways, slipping through the shadows and dropping off the face of the planet.

At least, he’d assumed so, until he spotted a shadow sitting on a ledge near the edge of his territory. Ordinarily, Wukong would have confronted him, but there was something about Macaque that seemed so uncharacteristically slumped and tired and wrong, and he really shouldn’t have cared, but- “What are you doing here,” he asked anyway. “Got another cryptic warning for me?”

For a moment, Macaque said nothing, ear twitching in anticipation like he was waiting for Wukong to make an actual demand. When none came, the shadow hummed, “Just needed a breather.” Macaque’s legs shifted with a barely audible grunt, pressing a hand into his knee to stand. “I’ll go.”

Wukong nearly let him, briefly considered chasing him out with some half-baked jab, but something pained escaped Macaque as he tried to stand that made a long forgotten part of Wukong ache, “Don’t bother,” he said, as indifferently as he could manage, “as long as you’re not making trouble, you can stay.”

“Great,” Macaque mumbled, dropping back to the ground. It was odd, and Wukong couldn’t quite put together why Macaque wasn’t being his usual, taunting self, but he knew questioning it would do him no favors. “Just gonna stand there, or what?”

Wukong huffed out something that might have been a laugh if he weren’t so tired, making his way to the ledge. “You think I’m staying on my feet after a day like this?” He groaned as he sat, and he could almost hear MK comparing him to the old noodle shop owner. “Between Nezha and the Lady, I’m beat.”

“Not used to those back to back fights anymore, huh?” Macaque teased, a genuine playful lilt to his voice that caught Wukong off guard. “Back in the day, you’d already be gearing up for the next battle.”

“Back in the day, our enemies weren’t quite so ruthless,” Wukong pointed out. “I know you had your deal with the Lady or whatever, but would it have killed you to make our jobs just a little easier?”

The shadow’s expression faltered a bit, “Well, yeah,” he said slowly, “probably. The Lady isn’t, uh- fond, of failure, y’know? I was pushing my luck letting you get away as much as I did.” Wukong hummed, turning his gaze back to the setting sun and trying hard not to linger on his misstep in the conversation. “I’m surprised it never occurred to her that I could’ve portaled you right to her doorstep.”

“I did wonder about that,” Wukong mused. He recalled his successor telling him about the encounter with Macaque in the desert, the shadow’s looming threat coaxing the anger and magic back out of MK–or at least enough of it to escape. “I just figured you were getting caught up in your own theatrics and forgot.”

“Those theatrics were your saving grace and you know it,” Macaque rolled his shoulder, and Wukong grimaced at the audible crack it made. “I told you I was picking the winning side; you’re lucky I gave the kid time to prove himself instead of throwing you through a portal the first chance I got.”

“What, you want my gratitude or something?” Wukong deadpanned. “You want a ‘thank you’ for being slightly less mean than you could have been?”

A wheeze tore out of Macaque’s throat, devolving into a cough that made Wukong look over for the first time and give the warrior a proper glance. A weary smile stretched across Macaque’s face, even though his brows furrowed in discomfort. “Gratitude,” he managed, “from you? Wasn’t exactly counting on it.” He sat back up, taking a deep breath and running a hand over his right side. “But you’re welcome, anyway.”

“What’s wrong with you,” Wukong asked. And because that most certainly sounded too much like caring, he added, “If you’re injured, I’m not fixing you.”

“Oh, relax,” Macaque drawled, “I’m not gonna bleed all over your mountain or anything,” He patted his chest absently. “The ribs you cracked just need a couple hours to heal,” Wukong’s own ribs squeezed at his heart, but he ignored the feeling as best he could, “my leg already feels almost good as new.”

Wukong swallowed back something bitter. “The hell happened to your leg?” he asked, because he vaguely remembered a glimpse of the hit that might have broken Macaque’s ribs, but he didn’t remember much of anything else until MK’s voice began drawing his consciousness back to overpower the Lady.

Among the many downsides of possession were the memories tainted by the Lady, like windows panes blurred and fragmented by frost–the view was there, just fuzzy and out of reach. Wukong was fairly certain that if he squinted through the glass, he’d see Macaque’s body ragdolling across the ground, and he decidedly didn’t want to linger on that image.

Snorting, Macaque replied, “You threw me into a mountain at mach speeds, Wukong.” He flexed his leg, swinging it idly over the ledge. “It was a hard landing, that’s all.” His gaze slid to Wukong for a moment. “The Lady didn’t make you do anything irreparable, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m not worried about it,” Wukong replied immediately, a bit more defensively than he meant, and Macaque raised a brow at him, eyes quickly darting down and up again as though studying the sage. “You, I mean, I’m not-” Wukong huffed, “you can take care of yourself, is what I’m saying. And you deserved it, anyhow, just a little bit.”

Macaque hummed, “And after I was so helpful, too,” he drawled. “But heaven forbid you actually give a shit about little ol’ me, right?” He reached out and patted Wukong on the shoulder before the sage could protest. “Don’t worry, Monkey King, I’ll keep saving your ass,” Macaque said, his voice lacking its usual practiced haughty composure, “s’what I do.”

“Sure,” Wukong snorted, though his taunt faltered a bit on a memory of MK dropping though the ground, a feat that could only be achieved via portal, and he was fairly certain that they’d been ditched after the Samadhi Fire incident. “Why did you come back?”

“Because I don’t hate you more than I like living,” Macaque replied dryly. “I prefer the world in one piece, even if that means I gotta help some reckless kid and his even more reckless mentor.”

Wukong nodded, “Right,” he muttered, sounding quite a bit more deflated than he’d meant to–though he couldn’t possibly fathom what he had to be disappointed about, “of course.”

“Don’t sound so disappointed,” Macaque chuckled. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you missed me or something.” Wukong’s heart skipped a beat at the accusation, but the shadow hummed, “Or missed me watching your back, anyway.” The sage didn’t even have time to form a response before Macaque continued, “Know what? You can make it up to me literally right now.”

At that, Wukong recovered a bit of his irritation, “Make it up to-” his brow furrowed, “I don’t owe you anything.”

Macaque flapped a hand at him, “Okay, sure, but consider: I watched your back, now you watch mine?”

“I’m not-” Wukong started, but Macaque shushed him, batting at the king’s cloaked shoulder. “Hey-!”

“Watch my back,” Macaque said again, a little more demanding, his hand grasping Wukong’s shoulder and shaking it in a gentle scold, “quietly. The adrenaline’s wearing off and I have about a month’s worth of sleep to catch up on.”

Some startled, strangled noise escaped Wukong, “You-” there was a retort there, somewhere on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t quite convince himself that Macaque was taunting him, so he heaved a sigh instead, “Alright, I give up trying to figure out your game here.” He reached up slowly, pulling Macaque’s hand from his shoulder. “Did you hit your head or something?”

“You hit my head or something.” Macaque pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes and scrubbed them over his face, “Next time someone’s gotta fight you,” he muttered, “I’m not volunteering.”

“Why didn’t you just portal yourself home when you left everyone earlier?” he asked, his hand halfway to reaching for Macaque’s arm. “You still have that, uh… the dojo thing, right? If you need to sleep that bad, what are you still doing here?”

Macaque hummed, “Can’t portal further than half a mile like this, and I don’t even know if my dojo is still standing after what the Lady did to the city,” and every argument on Wukong’s tongue wilted. It was rare that Macaque’s composure betrayed his flesh body’s limitations, and even rarer that the warrior would admit them out loud. “Would you just- I only need, like, two hours; I’ll leave when I wake up.”

Under normal circumstances, Wukong might have entertained Macaque just to have some peace and quiet, let Macaque slip away again once he’d slept. If asked why he hadn’t, he’d blame his bleeding heart on the fact that he was tired, not thinking straight, and didn’t feel like sitting on the ground for a few hours while Macaque slept, “Or,” he started, clearing his throat when his voice hitched, “uh- do you think you could walk?”

“Probably,” Macaque sighed, “told you, leg’s fine.” A small, tired smile crossed his features, “Why, gonna make me trek down the mountain?” he asked, but there was a glimmer of something in his eyes–not outright hurt, but something close enough, like he was suddenly so certain he was about to be kicked off the mountain and didn’t know how to argue his case.

“No,” Wukong said quickly, “I just- there’s always the house,” his fingers laced together and squeezed, and Wukong hoped that his stammering didn’t betray how nervous he was to make the offer. “The one that- I mean, you know what house I’m talking about, right?”

Nose scrunching, Macaque clarified slowly, “The one with a giant hole in the wall from the kid?” Wukong’s head jerked, a tentative nod. “What about it?” His head tilted curiously, “Are you offering sanctuary for the night?”

Wukong bit the inside of his cheek, fangs digging into the flesh anxiously, “I’m offering a truce.” He glanced over at Macaque, hunched in on himself and staring back at Wukong with a confused little furrow in his brow. “Even if your dojo is still standing, I don’t want you anywhere near MK.” Macaque huffed, confusion eased by his exasperation, but he didn’t protest. “I rarely use the house anymore, so… and it’s not like you’re banned from Flower Fruit Mountain.”

He held his breath, waiting for Macaque’s response. “Truce,” the shadow said finally, softly, like the word itself was so fragile it’d break under any more force than a breath. “I’ll think about it,” another smile tugged on the corner of Macaque’s lip, “not sure I feel like sharing space with you just yet, Wukong.”

“I hardly ever leave Water Curtain Cave, anyway,” Wukong insisted, “I doubt we’d even cross paths,” and he wasn’t even sure why he was fighting so hard to keep Macaque on the mountain. Macaque was tricky, and the thought of having to constantly watch his own shadow was not an appealing one, but Wukong couldn’t help but press, “Look, I just- I really don’t want you near MK, and I’d barely know you were here, anyway.”

Macaque snorted, “You’d barely know I was here even if I was living in the cave with you.” His hand reached up, absently fidgeting with the neck of his scarf, “But, it’s appreciated. The offer, I mean.” He glanced over at Wukong with a small, faltering smile, a faint crinkle at the corner of his eyes. “I’ll take advantage of your generosity for the night, at least. It’d be rude to refuse such a gracious gesture from His Majesty.”

Wukong swallowed, forcing the words, “You’re welcome,” around the tightness in his throat. “I’m not kidding about leaving MK alone, though.”

“I know, I know,” Macaque grunted, shuffling to get his legs under him, “pretty much the last thing on my mind.” He huffed out a laugh, “Kid went for the face again while we were in the desert; at this point, I can’t help but think it’s intentional.” Wukong bit his tongue while Macaque hauled himself up, “Wasn’t planning to give him any more reasons to take a swing at me.”

“Right,” Wukong murmured, brushing off his skirt as he got to his feet, “You, um- you don’t actually think I taught MK to do that, do you?” he asked, grasping at his sleeve–an old nervous habit that didn’t go unnoticed by Macaque, amber eyes flicking to the motion. “Because I wouldn’t,” Wukong continued quickly, smoothing the fabric of his sleeve like that’d disguise the minute crack in his facade, “I didn’t.”

Indifferently brushing off his scarf, Macaque commended, “It’s good tactics,” he picked at his claws absently, “knowing your enemies’ weaknesses and all. Not like I didn’t deserve a punch in the face, anyhow.”

“But I didn’t-”

“Relax,” Macaque assured, “I know you didn’t. Just funny, s’all.” He propped his hands on his hips and scanned the treeline. “Now, how far is that house again? More or less than half a mile?”

“Definitely less.” Wukong studied Macaque for a moment, “You sure you have the magic for that?” He gestured vaguely at Macaque’s chest. “I saw you pulling at your core for our last stand against the Lady.” It wasn’t often that Macaque plunged a hand into his chest, and Wukong was thankful for it, shuddering a bit at the memory, “Still freaks me out when you do that.”

“I got enough energy for a small skip and jump,” Macaque replied shortly, apparently not keen on further discussing the state of his magic, “don’t you worry your giant, heroic head about it.”

Wukong rolled his eyes, “I dunno why I bother with you,” he grumbled, but the words didn’t have quite as much bite behind them as he would have liked, edging too close on the territory of exasperated fondness. “You’re lucky the kid sees something in you that I don’t.”

“Yeah,” Macaque snickered, “getting roped into saving your ass; lucky me.” A portal opened at Macaque’s feet as he continued, “Well, I guess I’ll be seeing you around, then,” his smile turned sharp, just for a moment, and he added, “though I can’t guarantee that you’ll be seeing me.”

Spluttering, Wukong exclaimed, “What do you-” he shouted, an indecipherable outburst of frustration as Macaque disappeared through the ground. “I did not,” he hollered at the empty space, knowing damn well Macaque could still hear him from the house, “invite you to live here so that you could spy on me!” He was met with his own echoing voice, and he dragged a hand over his face in the lingering silence. “Unbelievable,” he muttered. “This is what I get for trying to be nice.”

It was days of watching his own shadow before Wukong could convince himself that Macaque had been teasing about spying on him, but he was still left with an odd sense of unease in his chest. Macaque’s absence was an old wound that had long since scabbed over, but it seemed the shadow’s mere presence was enough to start tearing off the years of carefully placed bandages. It’d been easier to keep Macaque out of mind when he was out of sight, but having the warrior back in his orbit brought a storm of emotions to the forefront of Wukong’s mind that refused to be calmed.

“You haven’t seen Macaque around, have you?” Wukong had asked MK one day. It’d spilled out of him during one of their easier training days, Wukong aimlessly tossing out directions and MK tossing the staff accordingly. “No more mysterious shadow plays at your theater or anything?”

MK, balancing the staff on his forehead precariously, replied, “Yeah, uh… no,” he stumbled a bit to keep the staff from teetering over, “haven’t seen him since you guys fought over my noodles.” His gaze flicked to Wukong curiously, letting the staff drop back into his hand. “Why, you think he’s up to something?”

“No,” Wukong said quickly, “I mean, maybe, I just- we had this deal and-” He cleared his throat, “Don’t worry about it, bud. I just wanted to make sure he was leaving you alone.” Something knowing in MK’s gaze had Wukong’s eyes darting away, scratching at his cheek in a poor imitation of indifference. “Good to have things back to normal,” he managed, “calm and peaceful; Macaque-less.”

The dubious stare MK shot him made heat creep up his neck, and he was thankful for the thick fur there hiding the red sprawl of emotions–something like shame, something like embarrassment, something he couldn’t quite put a name to and didn’t like MK prying at too much. Thankfully, the kid was distracted easily enough with a quick sparring match before going home, leaving Wukong to continue his attempts at wrapping bandages around his turbulent emotions about Macaque, shoving them into the shadows of his heart somewhere; out of sight, out of mind.

But the universe liked to pay Wukong back for his cheated immortality in rather creative ways, pain that his stone skin couldn’t save him from, and it didn’t seem keen on letting him close that Macaque-shaped wound in his soul once it’d been reopened. MK might have been content to let the subject slide for Wukong’s comfortability, but the Scroll of Memory had no such qualms about preserving a stubborn king’s ego, and if Wukong thought that plucking a scab on his and Macaque’s relationship was hard, it was nothing compared to the scars the Scroll carved open for him.

The Scroll of Memory was a cruel warden by design, and no amount of immortality could save Wukong from the ink-black memories wearing him out, beating him down, bleeding him dry as he cowered behind a stalactite. The stories wouldn’t stop their onslaught, and it was all Wukong could do to tear his way through them, breaking his stone hands against the walls of his own memories until there was nothing left to rip apart, just him and a cliff and the golden silhouettes of his mistakes.

Sitting on the edge of a precipice, Wukong almost hadn’t noticed Macaque standing behind MK. The kid did a pretty good job of grasping his attention and dragging it back to more productive lines of thinking. He could almost ignore Macaque’s presence, almost had to, for his own sanity’s sake, but Macaque had his gaze again with just a few bold steps. There was a still distance and MK between them, but Macaque’s lithe frame still felt looming.

MK was earnest, quoting Wukong’s advice back to him about leaving things better than they found it, and Wukong couldn’t have stopped his gaze from drifting to Macaque if he tried. Amber eyes pinned Wukong where he sat among his crumbling memories, and he wasn’t sure what he’d wanted to find in Macaque’s somber gaze, but he found that he couldn’t decipher what he found, anyway. And it didn’t matter, because the solemn, unreadable expression was gently eased by the barest trace of a smile.

Wukong wasn’t known for his honesty, he’d claim to be a humble creature and he’d be a liar for it, but more than proud or dishonest, Wukong’s most fatal flaw was his avarice. Greed was almost second nature to the Monkey King and his gaze had fallen upon Macaque’s smile. It was so small and tentative and so real that Wukong could hardly remember what he’d been brooding about in the first place; he couldn’t fathom letting Azure destroy the universe with such a precious treasure still in it for him to chase.

So blinding were the stars in Wukong’s eyes, that it somehow never crossed his mind that Macaque might not be on the same page, or even in the same book, when it came to the state of their relationship. Long after MK and his friends had made their way back down the mountain, with promises of a beach day somewhere in their near future, Wukong scoured the mountain–mostly to scavenge anything worth bringing back to Water Curtain Cave, but also to see if Macaque would slip back out of the shadows with some taunt about having to train MK again.

“Training with a videogame,” Wukong murmured aloud, for no real reason than to fill the aching silence, “s’lot safer than your other lessons, that’s for sure,” and he wasn’t even sure if Macaque could hear him, but Wukong would pretend for his own sake. “I suppose I should thank you for helping MK get me out of that scroll,” he mused, “shame you’re so hard to track down.”

He hadn’t really expected the promise of a ‘thank you’ to work, and it didn’t. No amount of gentle coaxing or teasing summoned Macaque from wherever he’d slipped off to, and Wukong resolved that he’d just have to wait until the next time the world was almost destroyed to see his shadow again. The house Wukong had offered him as sanctuary wasn’t even standing anyway, it wasn’t as though Macaque had any reason to stick around.

Water Curtain Cave was dark and full of sleeping subjects when Wukong arrived, and he might have stumbled blindly into a puddle of white fur somewhere if it weren’t for the two lanterns sitting just inside the waterfall, far enough away that the spray couldn’t douse the soft light but close enough that Wukong couldn’t have possibly overlooked them.

For a moment, he stared uncomprehendingly, blinking at the lanterns and their torn red and purple shades. His lanterns, he realized distantly, from the house that Azure destroyed.

The lanterns were barely noticeable pieces of decor that he and Macaque had picked together a millennia ago, but they suddenly felt like beacons to Wukong as he crouched to be nearer to their light. Wukong picked up the round, red lantern and trailed a hand absently over the small tears in the paper and ran his fingers through the tassel. He didn’t dare move the purple lantern, the thin bar of wood keeping its cylinder shape cracked, impossible to hang without tearing, so he left it where it’d been carefully placed.

There was a part of Wukong that wanted to think that it meant nothing, that the memories pulled from the wreckage of Wukong’s house were somehow an empty gesture. The lanterns could have just as easily been scavenged by one of his own subjects, Wukong scolded himself before he could lose himself to fantasy, settling the red lantern next to its counterpart; he had know way of truly knowing Macaque had recovered the lanterns and returned them to him.

But he was mostly certain, and that was enough to keep his gaze trained on the flickering lights until his vision blurred, banishing the dark from every corner of the cave and warming some long-forgotten crack in Wukong’s heart.

A questioning call from one of his subjects jolted Wukong from his thoughts, sleep. His entire body suddenly ached at the reminder, eyelids drooping over his tired eyes as he mumbled out a confirmation, an assurance that he was on his way. The lanterns were delicate, not something Wukong could linger on with exhaustion dragging at his thoughts, and almost as delicate as the damaged wood and paper and tassels was Macaque, and Wukong couldn’t touch that festering wound, either, not without sleep and a clearer head.

And with rest came clarity, Wukong prying his eyes open sometime in the late morning, covered in a warm blanket of tangled limbs and tails. He couldn’t hunt Macaque, even if he tried; when he and Macaque talked or argued or fought, it was on Macaque’s terms, had to be, and the shadow seemed content to keep it that way. Macaque shoved pure light at Wukong, the lanterns, a smile, and then he slipped back off into the darkness where Wukong couldn’t find him.

Macaque’s terms, Wukong determined solemnly as he propelled himself up, out of the disgruntled pile of subjects protesting their interrupted slumber. If the lanterns meant anything–and Wukong had to believe that they did–then Macaque was grasping at the same straws Wukong was. Their centuries-long battlefield had turned into a no-man’s land, and they were both trying to figure out where they stood, but Macaque was too reserved to do anything on terms that weren’t his own.

Luckily, all those things Wukong was known for, his proud, dishonest, greed-driven habits, made him an excellent cheat. Wrangling a conversation out of Macaque had to happen on the warrior’s terms, but that didn’t mean a king couldn’t skew his chances. So, when MK drove his tuk-tuk up the mountain with a noodle lunch delivery, beach day already on the tip of his tongue, Wukong readily suggested a place. His beach, on Flower Fruit Mountain, next to Macaque’s gnarled tree–their tree, but most memories Wukong had of it were laced with Macaque, bandages and peaches and Macaque.

It wasn’t a ploy that would work unless Macaque wanted it to, but Wukong had his lanterns and his suspicions–and if he snagged an extra popsicle before he laid back in his beach chair, then it was no one’s business but his. And if he never bothered moving that umbrella from where Macaque had placed it, that was between him and the sun. And if he promised something with a ‘we’ in it and Macaque didn’t protest, no one else was around to hear it, anyway.

In the grand scheme of things, nothing had changed much. Wukong found the time to carefully patch up his lanterns and, every so often, his subjects chattered happily about sharing a branch with a shadow by the ocean, but nothing changed. Wukong very firmly shoved the urge to go spying. Not only would it probably shatter any hope of Macaque staying on Flower Fruit Mountain, but Wukong wouldn’t be able to sneak up on the six-eared celestial primate anyway, not even in his sleep.

Nothing had changed, and the kid never really even questioned why Wukong tried making a hair-clone of his house, except to give him a half-hearted apology that sounded an awful lot like, “Did you really think that would work?” Wukong had brushed it off. It wasn’t as though he used the house for anything other than watching ‘Monkey Cop’ reruns. He rarely left the trees around Water Curtain Cave if he could help it, or if he was training MK. And Macaque didn’t appear interested in it, anyway; the beach must have been pretty comfortable to be staying there almost every night.

Sometimes, though, Wukong wished that something had changed. Nothing drastic, nothing big, Wukong didn’t need the grandeur of a rekindled friendship, but he felt–after everything they’d been through, all the time they spent dancing around each other–that something had to give. It didn’t have to be friendship, it didn’t even have to be cordial, but it needed to be something.

Even when Macaque was helpful–really helpful, trying to find more information on the coming storm–it seemed as though not much had changed. Macaque caught the tail end of MK deflecting another of Wukong’s concerns and teased about how the conversation went well, like there weren’t lanterns in Water Curtain Cave, like Macaque’s sharp smile hadn’t been something softer in that scroll, like Macaque hadn’t gnawed on the wooden stick of a peach popsicle long after it’d been eaten.

And Wukong responded like he hadn’t allowed Macaque by his fire; he demanded to know if Macaque was seriously lurking, like he hadn’t offered the shadow a house. Macaque must not have seen the point in reminding Wukong of their olive branch, and instead made some flippant remark about the mountain being just as much his home as it was the king’s.

It was a less nerve-wracking talk than Wukong was used to, but neither one of them had quite grasped how to hold conversation without the tension. Macaque pressed about Wukong's old enemies, about not being ready, and Wukong stuck his royal foot in his mouth asking why Macaque came back–not how, he knew how, but why; Macaque had plenty of opportunities to disappear after the Lady, why would Macaque come back for Wukong?

He couldn’t even lift his gaze to meet Macaque’s when the shadow whirled on him with bared teeth and a frustrated growl; not the time for such questions, a mistake and he knew it. Luckily, Macaque seemed just as hesitant to start an argument, even when he had the right to, because he took a breath and continued their conversation with only marginally more tension in his voice.

But despite both their best efforts, the conversation turned south, arguing over each other about nonsense Wukong barely remembered. They were fortunate that MK started hollering for Wukong before either of them remembered how to throw a punch. Macaque slipped off again with advice Wukong tried not to take to heart: do better. Like Wukong hadn’t been trying desperately to do right by MK; like nothing had changed.

Macaque, apparently, wasn’t the only one who seemed to think that Wukong needed some wrangling. He couldn’t say that he was surprised when the Ten Kings came knocking, but he was rather startled that MK and Macaque had gotten dragged with him. His crimes were many, the deities he’d fought for information about the Lady, the map he’d stolen from Nezha’s care, but MK was only guilty of saving the world, and Wukong really tried not to think about Macaque being in the Underworld at all, much less what the Kings might want with him.

Wukong had forgotten how easy the well of pity was to fall in, until his head was once again adorned with gold. Wukong hadn’t meant the comment to be a slight, just a complaint, a way of venting his frustration about the situation since he couldn’t escape it–something about always taking the punishment while Macaque moped, but his unease over the circlet had perhaps blinded him a bit to the shadow’s own struggle.

Maybe going to jail wasn’t on my agenda for tonight, Macaque had bit out, glaring pointedly at a pair of chains. And Wukong could feel that familiar, red-hot emotion crawling up his neck again–something like shame, something like embarrassment; he barely managed some lame retort before turning away and gnawing at his lip in an effort to keep his mouth shut. When Li Jing summoned that circlet, Macaque had been shouting in protest somewhere behind him before Wukong even realized what was happening, and Wukong had just taken the first opportunity he could to throw a jab. Like nothing had changed.

Pity and bickering wouldn’t get any of them anywhere, and they both seemed to reach an understanding when Nezha stood before their prison cell and opened the door. They both wanted out of the Underworld, away from Li Jing, and to help MK save the world; any emotions that happened outside of those three things could wait until after everyone was safe, then they could argue about whatever to their hearts’ content.

Second to fighting, Wukong was most adept at escaping. Whatever he couldn’t talk his way out of, he could scheme his way out, and when all else failed there was always the option of clearing a path with his fists. It probably helped some to have Macaque, despite their mutual bitterness over being imprisoned. No one else could have formed a plan with him with just a knowing glance, kept pace with him tearing through the Kings’ palace, destroyed a small army in the time it took to swing a sword; he probably could have escaped with just him and MK, but it would have been harder, and a lot less entertaining without Macaque shrieking his name as they tumbled off a bridge to freefall through the air.

He felt a century old again, his stone body light with laughter that felt almost hysteric and hands that itched to grasp forbidden fruit. It was a high rivaled only by the crushing reminder of his leash, chained to Li Jing by a bright, blinding band of pain with no escape and no hope of convincing MK to leave him behind. He was ashamed to admit that among his frantic, racing thoughts, he hadn’t even given the shadow in the corner of his blurring vision much thought when he first saw it.

Then it streaked past him, knocking Li Jing’s hand from the air and disrupting the sigil. Wukong gasped for air at the sudden lack of pressure, but the effects lingered, ears ringing–Macaque had said something, he was certain, but he could barely even hear MK, could barely hear his own breathless, no- desperately trying to claw his way back out of the portal Macaque dropped him into, Macaque-!

Wukong wondered–briefly, because he couldn’t linger on it too long for his own sanity’s sake–if Macaque ever felt this helpless watching his retreating back when they were younger. He wondered, landing in the back of a van like the stone weight he was, how many times Macaque had wanted to wrench the monk’s hand away like he’d stopped Li Jing. And when MK began quietly reassuring himself, or Wukong, maybe both, that Macaque would get away, right? he always gets away. Wukong couldn’t quite bring himself to answer, because Macaque didn’t, not always, and Wukong knew that MK had already seen the scarred-over proof under the shadow’s glamor.

It was the only moment he allowed himself to wonder, because saving the universe had a deadline, and Wukong only knew for certain how to find one of the stones they needed to save the world. There would be a time to think about Macaque, Wukong assured himself–had been assuring himself; after the Lady, after Azure, after they’d escaped the Ten Kings, surely, but the universe, crumbling though it was, didn’t seem to care much about the when, and decided Li Jing’s pagoda would do just fine.

Of all the enemies they could have encountered, Wukong thought dazedly, of course, they’d run into the one that could flay open the memory of a wound and make him bleed out the hurt. He couldn’t have stopped himself anymore than he could have the first time, asleep with his eyes open, like every worst nightmare he’d ever had suddenly turned waking.

Perhaps it shouldn't have surprised him when Macaque broke the Hundred-Eyed Demon’s hold–after the Lady, after Azure, after Li Jing, but it did. And what surprised him more was Macaque’s flippance about it, the almost disappointed drawl about Wukong wasting his very noble sacrifice.

And Wukong wanted to ask, grab the warrior by the shoulders and demand to know if Macaque had jumped into the pagoda under the assumption that no one was coming for him. Had Macaque really been willing to risk that–for Wukong? for the world? why? And a thousand other questions that they had no time to linger on, so Wukong grasped his sleeve instead and bit his tongue. There’d be time, Wukong told himself firmly, he’d make time if he had to, for Macaque–after.

After, he swore, they’d talk about Macaque tearing himself from Xianglu’s hold to save MK; after, he thought, they’d talk about Macaque overexerting his magic–had his core even healed after the Lady? did Wukong want to know?--to give everyone else a chance to escape, to fight, to let Wukong try his hand at talking down MK; after, he convinced himself, until there was no after.

He’d only just pulled himself together again with MK safe in his arms, head pounding with red-rimmed eyes. He’d only just gotten the missing piece of his world back on the right side of living, and the universe dissolved, anyway. His chest hurt with fear–mortality had never quite sat right with him, and there was enough adrenaline in his veins to take on the Jade Emperor all over again, but there was nothing to fight. The end of the world was a spiraling freefall with nothing to hold onto, and Wukong’s claws twitched uselessly with the ever-insatiable urge to grasp at something–anything.

Macaque, he remembered suddenly; there wouldn’t be an after. Wukong turned to see the shadow standing some unfathomable distance away, gazing with such a raw, open expression that he was almost certain Macaque never meant for him to see it. He looked surprised that anyone had even bothered to find his gaze, and stared disbelievingly when Wukong offered him an outstretched hand. It was the absolute very least Wukong could do, after everything, but Macaque stared like he’d been offered the whole crumbling world.

The universe, Wukong thought, was awfully lucky to have MK to save it, absolutely last second and with a flair the great Monkey King couldn’t have taught him in a thousand years. And Xianglu was awfully lucky to have escaped into the Pillar when he did; Wukong had killed for far lesser crimes than taking Macaque’s reaching hand from him.

Wukong had braced himself for Macaque’s leaving before he’d even left. He wasn’t even sure when Macaque had slipped off, but he’d looked around at some point and forced air into his lungs upon noticing the loss. After seeing the kid and his friends safely back to their noodle shop, Wukong had summoned a nimbus to take him home. It wasn’t often that Wukong spent the night anywhere but Water Curtain Cave, but he’d been asleep in his house when the Ten Kings had stolen him away and, gods be damned, Wukong was going to sleep in his own home, even if it was just for one night.

MK would get plenty of use out of it, Wukong was certain, with ‘Monkey Cop’ reruns and videogame parties and any other excuse he could think of to visit, but the king couldn’t help but want a quiet night anywhere that wasn’t Water Curtain Cave and his warrior’s looming absence.

If he’d been paying any more attention, he’d have noticed the faint light through the windows when he touched down and dismissed the cloud. As it were, Wukong barely had the energy to find the stairs, much less be on his guard. He all but stumbled into the house, cursing something fierce as tripped on the threshold and nearly face-planted. Wukong kicked at the door to nudge it closed, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes and taking a slow breath.

His claws dragged his eyelids open again, palms running tiredly over his face, and he nearly hit his head against the door behind him reeling as Macaque appeared in his line of sight, “You-” he gasped, hand pressing into the wood behind him before he could hit it, “I mean, uh…” Macaque blinked at him from the couch, crowded on the side furthest from the door and looking like he’d rather be anywhere else, “hey,” Wukong finished lamely.

Cautiously, Macaque replied, “Hey,” letting it hang in the air awkwardly for only a moment before adding, “didn’t mean to startle you, I just-”

“You didn’t,” Wukong lied in reflex, clearing his throat and picking at his cape self-consciously. “You didn’t startle me, I just… wasn’t expecting company, so-”

Legs swinging off the couch, Macaque began standing, “I can-”

“No, no!” Wukong placated frantically, before Macaque could say leave, “It’s not- you can stay! I mean,” his boot scuffed the floor, “I offered, didn’t I? This house is just as much yours as it is mine.”

Macaque settled back into the couch slowly. “Alright,” he replied hesitantly, “if you’re sure.”

“Super sure,” Wukong agreed, “I’m just- I’ll take the hammock, yeah? If you’re gonna crash on the couch.” Macaque nodded, and Wukong took that as an invitation, skirting the wall and clambering into the swinging net in the corner. Not quite as good as sleeping on a cloud, Wukong mused to himself, but good enough.

The sounds of mountain nightlife slowly filtered through the silence, and Wukong watched Macaque gradually relax, sinking into the couch cushions and tucking himself into a stray blanket that’d been sprawled across the back of it. “Tired?”

Wukong snorted, “Oh, unbelievably.” He sighed and rolled over, mindful to keep the hammock’s balance, “But I don’t think sleep is gonna be finding me any time soon.” He chanced a glance up, studying Macaque’s twitching ear and flicking tail, “What about you?”

“Exhausted,” Macaque sympathized, “and probably not sleeping any time soon.”

Humming, Wukong’s eyes trailed to the soft light cast over the room. “Did you-” his brow furrowed thoughtfully, “when did you put the lamps in here?”

“Been there,” Macaque answered plainly. “Since the kid showed you the house. Snuck them in there before our, uh… chat.” He huffed out a laugh, “You didn’t notice?”

“I don’t know,” Wukong admitted, “I’m so used to seeing them in the cave, they probably just slipped right past me.”

“The little ones told me you’d fixed them up,” Macaque noted, a smile in his voice–Wukong almost wished Macaque would turn some so that he could see it, “getting sentimental in your old age, Wukong?” He had the audacity to outright laugh at Wukong’s offended scoff–old age, “Anyway,” the shadow continued, “just thought you’d like them in your new house, was all.”

Wukong, picking his battles, let the comment about his age lie, “I do like them,” he settled on, and Macaque hummed in reply. “No, seriously,” Wukong sat up, and the hammock’s creak made Macaque turn a bit, just enough to hold Wukong’s gaze with the corner of his eye, “I appreciate it. All of it, the… you know, with Li Jing and everything.”

Shoulders hunching, and so unlike the snarking shadow he’d come to know over the last year or so, Macaque mumbled something along the lines of, “Told you I’d keep saving your ass.” Then he sat up, turning to drape himself over the back of the couch and face Wukong properly. “So,” he started, “if we’re just gonna keep each other up all night,” he peered through his drooping eyelids, “what are we gonna do about the kid?”

“We?” Wukong clarified. “Promoted yourself to full-time mentor, have you? Or is there another apocalypse you’re secretly trying to prepare him for?” Macaque raised an expectant brow rather than answer, and Wukong huffed out a breath, “I don’t know. I’ve been lost since the Lady, honestly, he just- he’s become so much more than I thought he would.”

Macaque head listed, resting on his folded arms. “Think the Celestial Court had something similar to say about you, back in the day.” He chuckled and, in a poor imitation of a deep, haughty voice, drawled, “It’s just a monkey with laser eyes, it’s not like he’ll grow up to wreak havoc in Heaven.”

Grabbing a pillow out of the hammock, Wukong aimed for–and missed–Macaque face, “Shut up,” he complained, grumbling when the shadow merely blinked as the pillow bounced harmlessly off the back of the couch and hit the floor. “Give that back.”

“Nah,” Macaque replied easily. “If you wanted it, you shouldn’t have thrown it.” Still, a portal opened in the floor, and Wukong had just enough time to look up at the faint, swirling sound of shadows above him when the pillow dropped through. “You think maybe we oughta lay off the training for a while? His work-life balance hasn’t exactly been stellar, as of late.”

Wukong hummed, “I think we need to throw him a damn party or something. Another beach day, fireworks, whatever, just get the poor kid out of his head. Gods know he’s gonna need it, after that Pillar.” At that, Macaque fell uncharacteristically quiet, amber eyes blank and staring at something far behind the house’s four walls. “Are you-” and he swallows back an okay, because he couldn’t possibly expect anyone involved with the end of the world to be okay, “how’s your core?”

“It’s seen better days,” Macaque mumbled, “think that little pillow portal is gonna be all I can manage, for the moment.” Something like a smile graced Macaque’s features, something soft that just barely touched his eyes. “Just don’t throw anything bigger than a cushion until I get some sleep, yeah? Save the fighting for another day.”

“Or for no other day,” Wukong suggested before he could think better of it. “I mean, we- it’d be hard to make the whole co-mentor thing work if we’re at each other’s throats, right?” Macaque’s eyes sharpened a bit, trailing closer to Wukong, but not quite meeting his gaze. “So, maybe the fighting becomes… like, not a thing. Maybe.”

An amused puff of air escaped Macaque’s nose, “Not even a good-natured rivalry?”

“Is that what you want?” Wukong asked tentatively.

Macaque shrugged, “Does it matter?”

Wukong tucked his arms under him to sit up a little, “I wouldn’t be asking if it didn’t matter.” Macaque grunted, head twisting, scrubbing his face tiredly into the crook of his elbow. “Look, I can’t- you gotta give me something, alright? We can’t do this dance forever.”

“Can’t we?” came Macaque’s muffled reply. “It’s your favorite dance.”

“We could,” Wukong amended, “but is that what you want?”

The silence between them stretched long enough that Wukong began to wonder if Macaque had fallen asleep there on the couch. “Since when do you care about what I want?” he asked finally, not bothering to lift his head. “What are you gonna do, Wukong? That’s the real question, because you’re gonna do whatever you want no matter what I say.”

“Everything has been on your terms since you came back,” Wukong protested. “I can’t- and I don’t blame you for wanting it that way, and we could do this forever, but I don’t want to.” His jaw set, suddenly realizing that Macaque hadn’t been speaking poorly of his character, just stating a fact, “And I’m not going to,” even if that was what Macaque wanted, Wukong wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

Macaque’s head turned a bit, just enough to peer Wukong through his lashes, “Yeah,” he hummed, resigned–not bitterly, just knowing, like he’d always known Wukong’s answer; or he’d at least known that his own choice wouldn’t matter much. Wukong didn’t feel very good about either option. “So, what are you gonna do?”

Wukong took a breath, “I think I’m gonna go scheme with MK’s friends tomorrow, find a way to throw him that party,” he said slowly. “And I’m gonna invite you. Properly, this time, not like the beach day. Consider this your official invitation.” Macaque’s brow raised a bit at that, surprise rounding the slits of his eyes. “And you?” Wukong deflected, turning the question on Macaque, “What are you gonna do?”

“I’m gonna go check the state of the Underworld, now that the Ten Kings are out of commission,” Macaque replied. “Something Xianglu said isn’t sitting right with me.” He slipped off the back of the couch, laying down and making himself comfortable. “But I’ll make time for the party.”

Already anticipating Macaque’s reservation, Wukong tried, “Do I get to know about this ‘something’ before or after it turns into another apocalypse?”

“Make you a deal,” Macaque grumbled, pulling a blanket around himself, “drop it for the night so we can sleep, and I’ll let you ask me about it the next time you see me.”

“At the party?” Wukong asked.

“Whenever you see me,” Macaque yawned. “Now shut up, or the deal’s off.”

Wukong huffed, but rolled over and trained his gaze on the wall, trailing the wood grain and resisting the urge to close his eyes. Perhaps a bit selfishly, Wukong wanted to enjoy the peace between them before the morning light revealed Macaque had slipped off again. He fought sleep just long enough to remember that Macaque could probably hear his heartbeat, his breathing, knew that he was just lying there awake, and finally let his eyes rest.

He tried not to be too disappointed when his eyes opened again to sunlight and an empty couch–Macaque was going to make time. They’d talk, whenever, and it was more than he’d gotten in centuries, so he could stand to be patient about it. Wukong threw himself into planning MK a gathering of friends. He had a heartfelt conversation with MK on the roof of the noodle shop. He helped pick out fireworks while Mei dragged Redson into the party planning, he helped Tang pick out ingredients for Pigsy to cook, and he helped Sandy haul their supplies to the van and up the mountain to a quaint little cave.

It was nice, shedding the almost nonstop needling anxiety he’d been carrying around since Macaque’s first arrival. For the first time in a long time, the world wasn’t in immediate danger–or, at least, Wukong wasn’t afraid that it might be. Things were hectic in the city, and all around the world, with the Colored Stones’ magic being redistributed throughout the universe, but it didn’t feel dangerous. It didn’t feel like Wukong needed to be looking over his shoulder for the next threat.

The cool rush of shadows didn’t even phase him. If he felt anything at all about Macaque’s arrival, it was relief, which was a nice change of pace. He turned to see Macaque greeting Mei, dropping a box of lanterns with the rest of the party supplies and asking if there was anything he could help with.

There was a moment that Macaque caught Wukong’s gaze, half-lidded and tired like he hadn’t slept since that night they’d shared, and he smiled. No sharp edges or mean show of teeth, just a barely-there curl of his lips that might have melted Wukong entirely were he not made of stone.

They didn’t speak the whole night, not when Wukong came back with the blindfolded MK, not when Macaque began helping Tang hang lanterns, not when Pigsy began passing around take-out boxes full of warm food, not even when they’d helped search for Sandy’s missing matches before remembering that Mei and Redson could light fireworks just fine without them. It didn’t feel like avoiding each other, just minding their space; they had whenever to talk, and didn't need to disrupt MK’s night to do it.

After Mei and Redson’s fifth round of fireworks and all the snacks Pigsy packed had been eaten, MK started nodding off on Wukong’s shoulder to the sound of whatever Tang had playing on the van’s radio. It wasn’t terribly late, certainly not the latest Wukong had ever partied, but after what MK had been through, he was amazed the poor kid managed as long as he did.

He brushed off any offers to help clean up, all but pushing MK and his friends into their van and rolling them down the mountain. Mei had insisted on one more group selfie gathered around one very sleepy Harbinger, and nobody–not even Redson–had the fortitude to dissuade her. Wukong smiled to himself as they drove out of sight, wondering if he could pester Mei into giving him a printed copy. It’d make a nice addition to the collection he had adorning the walls of the house.

“So,” and Wukong barely flinched at the sudden voice, his head whipping around to the noise, but Macaque chuckled anyway, “now that the kids are gone.” A small portal opened for Macaque to stick his arm through, and pulled it back out with two bottles in his hand.

Wukong’s tail flicked happily at the prospect of alcohol, but he did feel the need to point out, “Every single person here was an adult, you know.” He took a bottle and bit the cork, tugging it out and spitting it somewhere. It wasn’t as though he’d be capping it again before it was empty. “I oughta tell them you were holding out.”

Macaque pulled the cork from his own bottle with a lot more grace, “You oughta keep your trap shut about it,” he warned teasingly, “or I’m never doing anything nice for you again.” Wukong hummed around a swig, fruity and sweet, sharp and warm in the back of his throat–some kind of wine. Not as good as peach wine, but it’d do. “Speaking of nice,” Macaque continued, raising his own bottle to his lips, “I believe I owe you a conversation.”

“Oh, is that why you’re getting me drunk?” Wukong asked, “So you can talk circles around me all night?”

“I got alcohol so there’s something to blame if you say anything stupid,” Macaque corrected easily. “I know you’re a lightweight, but I didn’t anticipate getting you drunk with one bottle.”

Pursing his lips and blowing air through the space, Wukong mumbled, “You’re a mean, mean soul, you know that?” He summoned a cloud from the sky to rest on, his old, stone bones tired of sitting on the cave floor. “I don’t remember you being this mean.”

“You don’t?” Macaque asked, brow raised, “What, you killed me for being super, extra nice or somethin’?” Wukong choked on the word ‘killed’ and coughed the rest of the way through Macaque’s sentence. The shadow seemed nonplussed, amused, even, at the reaction, “Careful, Wukong,” he chided lightly, “gonna lose one of your immortalities hacking up a lung.”

“What-” Wukong nearly fell off the nimbus sitting up, glaring at Macaque with rising incredulity, “what the hell is your problem?” Not to say it hadn’t ever crossed his mind, their fight, the last and only real brawl he ever had with Macaque, but he certainly hadn’t expected the shadow to toss it out so casually, like small talk, like the city’s perfect weather or the who the actual mayor was.

Macaque blinked, “Oh. Too far, huh?” He pinched the bridge of his nose and scrubbed the pads of his fingers across his eyes. “S’my bad. I’ve, uh… had a few things on my mind lately. Trying to sort some stuff out.”

“Did going to the Underworld fuck with your head or something?” Wukong asked, and he didn’t mean to sound quite as hostile as he did, but Macaque didn’t appear to care, or perhaps acknowledged that it was deserved after his comment. “I’m allowed to ask why you went investigating now, right? Not gonna be dodgy or nothin’?”

“No dodging,” Macaque said, holding up his bottle, “that’s also what the alcohol’s for. Keeping my head on straight.”

Wukong snorted, “Don’t think anyone’s ever gotten tipsy to keep their head on straight.”

“Well, being sober didn’t get me any closer to figuring this out,” Macaque sighed, tipping back another swing of his wine. “Between these last few days and that little fireworks show, my head’s going to explode.” Wukong winced in sympathy–he had noticed that Macaque had stuck to the back of the cave for most of the celebration, perched atop Sandy’s van. “And if I can’t escape the headache anyway, might as well have it at the bottom of a bottle.”

Tsking, Wukong teased, “And you pride yourself on being the sensible one.” He allowed himself one more sip before doubling down on his need for answers. “Seriously, though. What’s got your tail in a knot these days, huh? You said something about Xianglu not sitting right with you.”

“Couple things,” Macaque replied, “like, when he claimed to know you.”

Wukong’s brow furrowed, struggling to recall the moment Macaque spoke of. It was fleeting and distant, a mere blip in the conversation compared to everything else that’d been happening around them. “Something about being old friends,” he remembered, “and old enemies.” He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter, I don’t remember him.” Macaque bit the inside of his cheek, looking contemplative. “Unless you think it does matter.”

“He said something to me, too,” Macaque explained. “Asked about my powers, where I got them,” his lips twisted into a scowl, “who I made a deal with.”

“For the shadows?” Wukong clarified, shifting to sit up properly on his cloud–carefully, with the mostly full bottle still in his hand. “I thought you always had that, the… the thing in your chest, that you can reach into.”

Macaque huffed, leaning against the nearest cave wall and sliding down, “I don’t think that’s what he was talking about.” He swirled his bottle of wine absently, “I could fight him, er- resist him, I guess, that magic of his.” Twin shudders raced down their spines; they didn’t acknowledge it. “But I never made a deal for any power. Or I don’t remember making one, anyway.”

“And I don’t remember ever being his enemy,” Wukong said slowly, “or his friend, for that matter.”

“Eh,” Macaque shrugged, raising the wine to his lips, “what’s the difference.” He either didn’t notice or didn’t care for Wukong’s withering glare, “Makes me wonder what else we don’t remember,” he added once he’d pulled the bottle away from his face.

The implication hadn’t occurred to Wukong, content to let Xianglu and all his off-putting comments fall by the wayside, but now that Macaque had brought it to the forefront of his mind, it was a thought that disturbed him more than he’d like to admit, “And you thought you’d find some answers in the Underworld…” Wukong started cautiously, “why?”

For a moment, Macaque said nothing, glaring at his bottle of wine like he could shatter it with his eyes, “Xianglu had been masquerading as one of the Ten Kings for years–eons, maybe. If I’ve got a magic similar enough to his to rival it, the Underworld would be the only connection we have.” He took another drink, three long gulps, like he was trying to down liquid courage, “What do you remember about the day I died?”

Wukong stared for a moment, trying to decipher the intention behind Macaque’s question, “You’re serious?” he asked. “Your plan for tonight was to party with the kid, get me drunk, and make us relive the worst day of our lives?” When Macaque didn’t refute the accusation, Wukong closed his eyes and tipped his head back, “This your idea of a good time? You just enjoy making me squirm, or what?”

“Yeah,” Macaque drawled, “I’m absolutely itching to have this conversation.” He lifted his wine, already more than half gone, as a show of exactly how thrilled he was. “You know I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t have to,” and Wukong did understand that Macaque’s death was a much more sensitive topic for the shadow than it was for the king–he didn’t have much to complain about, all things considered, but that didn’t make him any less receptive to the conversation. “Humor me,” Macaque shuffled to sit up straighter, though he still leaned against the cave wall like he’d fall over without it, “what do you remember?”

There was a long moment of Macaque staring at him expectantly that made Wukong want to shrivel up and hide in the nimbus, “M’uncomfortable,” he managed finally–with the conversation, with Macaque’s eyes on him, in a cave surrounded by stone, “let’s go back to the house,” he offered, lifting his bottle to take another drink–he’d need it to even approach the conversation Macaque wanted to have.

“Not portaling,” Macaque grunted, downing his own generous sip of wine. “And we still have to clean up.”

Wukong made a disgruntled noise around the rim of the bottle, abandoning the wine mid-drink to reply, “I’ll do it tomorrow.” Patting the space next to him, Wukong offered, “C’mon, plenty of room on Nimbus.”

Macaque snorted, “Your cloud is picky about its passengers, remember? I don’t think it’s gonna hold me.”

“I’ll hold you,” Wukong replied before he could give it much thought. “Just- get on the cloud.” Macaque grumbled something about having just gotten comfortable, but stood. The hand not holding the bottle of wine pressed against the cloud’s surface tentatively; he didn’t fall through, but Wukong held his arm, anyway, letting Macaque lean on him like he needed the support.

Drunk and tired and not particularly looking forward to the landing, Wukong slowly steered the wisp beneath them to the house. Macaque’s tail flicked idly behind him, rumpling Wukong’s cape every few swipes, “You’re taller now,” Macaque said suddenly, “you know that? You used to be this scrappy little guy, running around, causing mischief. No one could believe you were the great and powerful Monkey King until you proved it.”

“I’m broader, too,” Wukong noted, “MK calls it a ‘dad bod’. Mei said it was fitting that a stone monkey would be built like, uh… a brick shithouse. Or whatever.” He shouldered Macaque, “Surprised they haven’t made any comments about you, huh? You’re a stereotype: tall, dark, and handsome.” He made an unsure sound, “Well, not tall, but you know what I mean. You’re tall-er.”

“Was.” Macaque head lolled a bit, eyes sliding closed–perhaps feeling the alcohol a bit now that it’d had time to settle. “Not anymore. Noticed it on your Journey.”

Pointedly keeping his gaze trained on the horizon, Wukong asked, “For the Rings?”

“No,” Macaque replied quietly. He let the wind rush past their ears for a moment before continuing, “I guess if those Pilgrims were good for anything, it was making sure you ate at least two meals a day.” Wukong could feel Macaque’s laugh more than hear it, a puff of air lost on the breeze, “Always did wonder if your exclusively peach-themed diet was stunting your growth.”

“And you’re not-” Wukong’s claws tightened around his wine, “you haven’t grown at all?”

Macaque hummed, “Don’t think I ever will again.” His eyes cracked open a bit, staring listlessly at the space in front of him, “Tested it. Don’t gain weight, can’t lose it, definitely haven’t grown at all.” A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I don’t even bleed so good anymore, s’probably on account of the, uh- heart thing.”

“Heart thing?” Wukong asked, voice strained, the little alcohol he’d drunk sitting uncomfortably in his stomach. “Do I even wanna know?”

“A non-issue. It still beats,” Macaque assured him–a fragile reassurance, all things considered, but Macaque seemed to think, “s’fine,” so Wukong didn’t comment. He steered the cloud towards the ground upon spotting the house, and Macaque’s eyes flicked open a little more at the abrupt change of direction. “You in a rush or somethin’?”

“I wish you were in a rush to pick a different topic,” Wukong admitted, lowering their ride until it hovered just a few inches off the ground. “I’m still not totally convinced you aren’t doing this as some… some plot, to mess with me.”

Taking Wukong’s offered hand, Macaque slid off the cloud, “Ah, you got me; my dastardly plan all along was to make you participate in uncomfortable conversation.” He bumped shoulders with Wukong as they trudged up the steps of the house. “Just drink your wine. You’ll feel better.”

Wukong shouldered the door open and held it for Macaque, “Look, after the Hundred-Eyed Demon, this whole situation is already pretty raw,” he admitted. “You can’t blame me for being reluctant.”

Macaque gave him an odd look from the threshold, “Is that what he showed you?” he asked curiously, genuine surprise laced into his words.

“I mean,” Wukong’s gaze flitted away, “yeah. That last fight, it’s- it was easily the worst day of my life, so…”

“Oh,” Macaque’s brow furrowed for a moment, “okay.” He slipped in the open door and started for the couch, “Alright, time to talk.”

Sighing, Wukong closed the door and followed Macaque, sitting on the couch opposite of where Macaque had made his claim, “You really think talking about this will help you figure out what Xianglu said?” Macaque shrugged, setting his bottle on the floor and staring at Wukong expectantly. “And you’re not asking me about this just to fuck with me?”

“I understand that you’re not trying to be an asshole right now,” Macaque said coolly, “but the implication that this conversation is going fuck with you and not me is laughable.” And Wukong understood that Macaque was trying to be gentle, but the alcohol did quite a number on both their filters. “So, what do you remember about the day I died?”

Wukong pressed the bottle in his hands to his forehead, letting the cool glass soothe his frazzled mind for a moment before managing, “I remember us brawling our way out of Buddha’s home,” he recalled sullenly, “and I remember that my master, he-” He grit his teeth for a moment, chewing on the words for a moment before realizing there was no kinder way of saying, “restrained you.” Macaque hummed. “The same spell we used for the Lady Bone Demon.”

“Blue chains,” Macaque remembered, “not a good time for me.”

“You did knock him unconscious,” Wukong defended the monk fiercely, though his voice was weak, “and stole our supplies. And threatened the pilgrimage. You understand how he thought that spell was necessary, right?”

Macaque nodded, “I understand why the monk thought it was needed,” he agreed easily. “But I’m not angry with the monk.”

Snorting, Wukong grumbled, “Could’ve fooled me.” Macaque raised an eyebrow at him, and he shook his head. “Whatever. So, I- you, the Demon Bull King, and Camel Ridge were all still technically wanted for treason against the Jade Emperor.” His grip tightened around the bottle, “I don’t think you deserved to get put in a box for… petty revenge. I was only going to let the monk contain you until the end of the Journey, and only because I couldn’t guarantee that the Celestial Realm wouldn’t make me do worse.”

“So… you were saving me,” Macaque supplied, a small disbelieving laugh spilling out of him, and Wukong couldn’t blame him. Much like most of Wukong’s plans over the years, it wasn’t until he was forced to voice his thoughts out loud that he realized how ridiculous it sounded. “That was your logic?”

“I never claimed it was a smart idea,” Wukong admitted, “I think turning my back on you that day was the worst decision I ever made.” His eyes opened just enough to glare at the bottle still resting against his forehead. “That’s why I told you to leave when you got free. I didn’t think you’d-”

“Stop,” Macaque interjected firmly. He didn’t sound angry, but the sound was sharp enough that Wukong lifted his head to meet Macaque’s gaze. “Say that again.”

Wukong huffed out a breath and took a drink, trying desperately to pretend that Macaque’s amber gaze wasn’t burning a hole in the side of his head. “Your magic went haywire. Damn near swallowed you whole,” he elaborated. “Looked like it was trying to rip you out of the chains, and it- I guess it did. The spell turned corrupted and red and spat you out.” He swallowed back a bitterness, trying to focus on the burn of alcohol in his throat. “And then I told you to leave, before we had to imprison you again.” He chewed on his lip until it broke the skin, then released it, letting the wound zip itself shut again, “And then you tried to… Macaque, you know, don’t make me-”

“Do you have any idea how much energy it took to break that spell?” Macaque asked. “We’d already fought each other all over the Realms; my magic went haywire because I overworked it–way worse than what I did to escape Xianglu. I blacked out breaking those chains,” he extended a hand to the open space between the TV and the couch, two shadows playing across the floor, “I woke up to this-”

There were many reasons to admire the Six-Eared Macaque, despite what got written in the book, but Wukong had always been particularly fond of Macaque’s knack for theater. He was sat on the literal edge of his seat, scooting up on the couch to watch the small display. He was certain it’d have been much more elaborate if Macaque weren’t inebriated, or had more time, but Wukong was more than capable of deciphering the two outlines before him.

Wukong watched the wispy chains snap and a shape collapse. The outline of Macaque dragged itself up, head tilted up at the second shadow and its glowing circlet–and Wukong remembered the moment, Macaque staring up, eyes wide and tired and disbelieving and scared as Wukong beared down on him. But it’d happened long into a hard-fought battle, begging Macaque to back down before Wukong had to do something he regretted; it hadn’t happened like this, but-

He didn’t want to think too hard about the implications, what must have been going through Macaque’s mind, blinking himself awake and looking up to see Wukong preparing to deliver a killing blow. The two shadowy figures collided and dissipated, the intent behind it clear–the last, decisive blow of their fight, Wukong barely remembered, not the first, “We fought,” Wukong told himself, firmly, like he had to convince himself. Then louder, “You tried killing the monk and laughed.” He turned to Macaque, his thoughts frantically trying–and failing–to piece together anything other than, “We fought.”

“Killing the-” Macaque sat up straighter on the couch, “Dude, I was already pushing my luck impersonating you and the Pilgrims; why would I go killing Buddha’s precious little errand boy?” He gestured at Wukong, “I saw what happened to the last guy who pissed off Buddha, remember? You think I’d sign myself up for five-hundred years under a mountain?”

“You think I would kill you for escaping?” Wukong fired back, a snarl on the corner of his lips that wilted at Macaque’s expression, claws dug into the arm of the chair and amber eyes glaring pointedly at anything but Wukong, “No, you-” realization crashed into Wukong like a wave, “you did. This whole time, you thought-”

“You said the seal turned corrupted when I escaped,” Macaque pressed, ignoring Wukong’s revelation. “What’d it look like?”

For a moment, Wukong couldn’t pry his gaze from Macaque’s face. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, and Macaque refused to meet his eyes, anyway, “I only caught a glimpse,” he said, turning his attention to his wine, which, all things considered, he hadn’t drank nearly enough of. “The seal was blue until your shadows got ahold of it. It turned corrupted and-” his breath hitched for a moment, catching another stray thought and shoving into the mess of puzzle pieces, “and red.” He ran a hand through his hair, “But it wasn’t- your magic was still purple when we fought, like your normal shadows, but the spell-”

“Turned red,” Macaque supplied. He downed the last of his wine and extended his hand again. “Did it look anything like this?”

Wukong nearly recoiled at the wisp of crimson that rose from Macaque’s palm, but he settled for tightening his grip around the neck of his wine. It somehow seemed like the answer to all of Wukong’s questions, if only he could decipher it. “So…” the sage started carefully, “what does this mean?”

“I don’t know,” Macaque said quietly. “But it’s… I guess it changes some things.”

“Changes-” Wukong stood to start pacing the room, the sudden rush of adrenaline running wild and cold in his veins, “We’ve been at each other’s throats for centuries over that fight,” he pointed an accusing finger at the crimson flame curling around Macaque’s fingers, “and you’re telling me it’s all because of that?”

Macaque sighed, “I don’t know,” he reiterated firmly. “Apparently, I don’t even remember dying right. At this point, you have more information than I do.” Suddenly eager to not be in his right mind, Wukong cursed and started draining his bottle of wine. “Not any closer to learning about this magic, but that’s one hell of a revelation.”

“What are you-” Wukong whirled on him incredulously. “Seriously? You’re taking this at face value?” He pressed a hand against his chest, “I’m the Monkey King, remember? Trickster god! What if I’m lying to you about the fight, huh?” He wasn’t, but it seemed hasty on Macaque’s part, to believe him so easily, “How can you just- you can’t just believe me.”

“I can, actually, because you’re a terrible liar,” Macaque replied easily, “I’d know if you weren’t telling me the truth,” He raised an eyebrow, “I, on the other hand, am a great liar,” his head tilted curiously, “so, why do you believe me?”

“Because I-” Wukong faltered, his head struggling to form a complete sentence through his whirling thoughts and the alcohol fuzzing the edge of his vision. “I don’t know, I just- I do.” Energy drained, Wukong sat back down on the couch, tossing aside his empty bottle and pressing his face into his hands.

He couldn’t put a number to how many times he’d turned that last fight with Macaque over in his head, trying to pinpoint when his best friend had become someone he didn’t recognize, someone willing to kill and laugh himself into hysterics about it. It’d been the worst fight of Wukong’s life, and it was incomprehensible to him that he and Macaque could have ever been pushed to a place where one would have to kill the other, and yet-

“I spent so long thinking you’d turned into some kind of monster,” Wukong admitted quietly. “I couldn’t tell you how many years I spent in denial, trying to think of any conceivable way that wasn’t you. And there wasn’t one. I needed an explanation, and there was just- there was nothing. My soft-spoken, sensible, loyal friend went on a murderous rampage, and I-” he curled in on himself, “and I killed you.”

Macaque was quiet for a moment, and Wukong had to dig his claws into the palms of his hands to keep himself tethered to the house. “I was going to disappear,” he murmured finally. “I remember blacking out after that spell and thinking… if I could just escape, I’d go find a hole to crawl in and stay there, you know?”

“Why?” Wukong asked.

“Dunno,” Macaque replied honestly, “I thought maybe it’d serve you right, if you came back from your grand adventure and I wasn’t home waiting for you, like I’d always been.” Wukong dragged his hands away from his eyes just enough to peer over at Macaque. The shadow had slumped against the arm of the chair, his gaze distant and staring through the walls. “Or maybe I just wanted to see if you would have come looking.” Macaque shook his head, “Wasn’t thinking very clearly, obviously, after overexerting my core like that, but-”

“And then I killed you,” Wukong reiterated helplessly.

Groaning, Macaque’s head tipped back. “Just keep saying it over and over again, Wukong,” he sighed, “I’m sure it’ll make you feel better, eventually.”

“You saved me,” Wukong realized suddenly, his attention wrenching away from the bloodied fists of centuries past and forcing him to remember the Lady, the Scroll, Li Jing, the end of the world, “You spent centuries thinking I’d killed you in cold blood, and you just kept coming back.” Macaque didn’t bother lifting his head from where it lay staring at the ceiling. “Why?”

Macaque ran a hand over his face, his expression contemplative, “I don’t know,” he said thoughtfully, “maybe I just spent a lot of time trying to figure out why you did what you did, and no explanation satisfied me. You couldn't possibly have done it. But you did.” He huffed out a laugh. “I wasn’t exactly happy to accept that you were the kind of person who killed his best friend for the next best thing.”

“Macaque-” Wukong choked out.

“I think I’m just relieved that I got an explanation,” Macaque finished. “Or something like an explanation, anyway. Still know jackshit about this magic, but… that fight makes a little more sense, I guess.” He turned to Wukong with a faltering smile curling the corner of his lips, “Maybe saving your ass hasn’t been a total waste of time then, huh?”

It couldn’t possibly be this easily, Wukong thought distantly, staring blankly at Macaque’s attempt at humor, banter, amidst the absolute whirlwind of information they’d uncovered. Wukong had an enemy he couldn’t remember, and Macaque had powers he couldn’t remember getting, and they both remembered two very different versions of the fight that’d ripped them away from each other–and they didn’t know why. And it almost didn’t even matter, because Wukong was bottle-deep in wine and just inebriated enough to admit, “I missed you.”

The already tentative smile on Macaque’s face turned confused, “You what?”

“I missed you,” Wukong took a ragged breath, a futile attempt at steadying his fracturing voice, and Macaque sat up with a furrow in his brow that almost looked like concern. “I- maybe the alcohol was a mistake,” because he wanted to grab Macaque and yank him close, like he could bridge the millennia of distance between them in a single night. His fingers twitched with it, the urge to grasp and sink his claws into something and steal it away.

“Oh, not a fan of wine, suddenly?” Macaque asked, a playful taunt lilting his voice, “Thought you liked having your inhibitions lowered.” He chuckled a bit, “Or was it the flavor? I can get you a peach one next time.”

Wukong shook his head, “Just makes me honest,” he admitted; made him want things, made his hands itch. “Makes me- I want… I don’t know.”

Macaque snorted, “Since when are you shy about the things you want?” His grin became a bit more genuine, softer, “Or do you have to wait until the end of the world now,” he asked teasingly, “to ask for something so small?” Wukong blinked as Macaque extended a hand to him, staring at the space between them uncomprehendingly. “C’mon, Wukong, I don’t bite.”

“Yes, you do,” Wukong argued, almost second-nature, but he reached, anyway, grazing the pads of Macaque’s fingers.

“Well,” Macaque hummed, turning his hand over and letting Wukong trace the shape of his knuckles idly, “I won’t bite much,” he amended.

He’d blame the alcohol, Wukong decided, if ever asked why he’d grabbed Macaque’s hand and pulled, he’d blame the storm of emotions and the sweet wine sitting warm in his stomach and throat. Macaque made some strangled sound as he was yanked gracelessly across the couch, but Wukong crushed it into his chest, “Wukong-”

“Shut up,” Wukong interjected weakly, wrangling Macaque impossibly closer. The shadow could have slipped away from him and they both knew it, Wukong’s clumsy hands rendered almost useless with emotion and alcohol, but he stayed.

Wukong twisted to get his legs on the couch and under Macaque, letting the warrior sit high with auburn fur tucked under his chin. Macaque’s breath came in unsure gasps, a near-imperceptible tremble in Wukong’s arms, but he stayed–probably out of sheer stubbornness, just to prove he could let Wukong hold him without a fight between them. Wukong couldn’t say he cared much about the actual reason, not when he had the familiar weight of Macaque back in his arms after centuries of going without.

“Maybe the alcohol was a mistake,” Macaque said unsteadily, a hesitant laugh on his words. Wukong had half a mind to let go, some sharp ache of worry burrowing into his chest–it was the most physical contact they’d had in ages, and by far the kindest, but perhaps too much, too soon–but he melted at the feeling of claws running careful lines through his fur, untangling the strands and smoothing the curls back into place. “Forgot how clingy you can get.”

Humming, Wukong pressed his face into Macaque’s scarf to hear the heartbeat. It’d always been a comfort, of sorts; a lifetime ago, Wukong had tangled himself around Macaque any time he could, just to feel the shadow breathing. The heartbeat was a balm to that centuries old Macaque-shaped wound in his heart, and his eyes slipped closed, hoping to hear it steady itself as the warrior calmed.

Except that it was steady. Wukong pressed his hands into Macaque back with a frown, feeling the shadow tense under him, and yet- “Does your heart always do that?” he asked quietly.

“What,” Macaque asked, voice strained and breathless, “beat?” Wukong turned to press his face into Macaque’s hanfu, and the hands in his hair followed the motion easily, steady in their carding even with Macaque’s uncertainty. “I told you it beats.”

“You’re freaking out,” Wukong mumbled, ignoring Macaque’s scoff, “but it’s slow. Your heartbeat, it’s… but it shouldn’t-” His frazzled, buzzing mind thought back to their conversation on the cloud. “Is that the heart thing you were talking about?”

Macaque made a vague noise of confirmation, “S’kinda nice sometimes,” he said absently. “Makes training easier, in any case. I still get tired, but my heart just,” Wukong could feel him shrug, “beats. It’s all like that now. I can eat, but I’m not hungry; my heart beats, but it won’t race.” Wukong’s eyes slid closed again at Macaque’s chuckle, “It’s also pretty great for when you’re throwing me around,” he added, “told you, I don’t bleed so good.”

If Wukong were in a more stable frame of mind, he might’ve been embarrassed about the sound that escaped him, growling like a wounded dog and winding his arms tighter around Macaque, “Don’t,” he pleaded quietly.

Lithe hands slid under his cape to drag up and down his back, “Okay,” Macaque replied, “we’ll save the teasing for another time.” Wukong mumbled… something. A response of some kind, he was sure, but if Macaque’s resounding laugh was anything to go by, it wasn’t a particularly coherent one. “You’re hopeless.”

“I’m tired,” Wukong corrected. The alcohol in his system was making itself known, and their conversation was a distant thought, all the tension and emotion and adrenaline draining out of him. “I wanna lay down,” he decided.

“Gotta let me up, then,” Macaque shifted as if to move, pry himself away from Wukong, and the Stone Monkey was grateful that he didn’t have to be particularly lucid to make that difficult, simply locking all his joints in place and letting Macaque struggle against the statue he’d become. “Wukong. Dude, come on,” he pressed his hands to Wukong’s shoulders and pushed, “lemme up. Go lay in your hammock so I can head down to the beach and-”

Wukong grunted his displeasure at the idea and rolled them, shoving Macaque into the back of the couch and curling around him. He was glad Macaque brought the alcohol, he thought blearily, he might not have had the stones to hold Macaque otherwise.

“Are you-” Macaque wriggled a bit, trying to make himself comfortable where Wukong had him pinned to the couch, “you’re kidding me.” Wukong tried not to focus too much on how much smaller Macaque was. The shadow had never been fragile, Wukong felt like the slender frame in his arms might break or fracture or disappear or- “I’m punching you about this in the morning,”

“M’kay,” Wukong said agreeably, wrapping his arms around Macaque and burrowing his face into soft, raven fur, “best punch of my life.” He let himself be lulled by the scent of incense and petrichor and resolved to deal with his more embarrassing emotions when the sun rose. “Missed this.”

Macaque sighed, letting his head rest against Wukong’s chest in defeat, “Can’t wait to hear how much you regret this tomorrow,” he said, “when we wake up sore from laying like this, I don’t wanna hear anything from you.” Wukong hummed in agreement, “And if you get all huffy and embarrassed about the cuddling, don’t blame me,” he added, “I tried getting you into your hammock.”

Wukong shushed Macaque, batting aimlessly at his scarf. “Embarrassed about nothin’,” he said, “finally got you right where I want you.” He yawned, jaw cracking with the force of it, “Besides, we agreed to blame the alcohol.”

“Yeah, well, I’m still gonna blame you,” Macaque scrubbed his face into Wukong’s chest, “I’m allowed. You killed me, remember? I get to blame you for whatever I want.”

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Wukong grouched. “This- that’s not a ‘funny haha’ joke, Mac, and you don’t get to make it.” Macaque gave an amused, knowing grunt, like he knew that Wukong knew there was no real way of stopping him, “At least give it… I don’t know, two weeks or somethin’. Time to process. It’ll be easier to hear it.”

“Sure, Wukong,” Macaque yawned. It was familiar, Wukong thought distantly, almost like nothing had changed at all. Or everything had. Wukong was too tired and too content to think about it too hard, “Whatever you say.”

They were both losing their battles with consciousness and Wukong wanted to at least beat Macaque if he couldn’t win against his drooping eyelids. And he wanted the last word, for once, even if the thoughts behind it weren’t particularly put together. “Not like that,” he scolded Macaque, “don’t want this like that.” He shook his head at Macaque’s questioning hum. “I don’t want a… whatever you say,” he tried to elaborate, “I want it however we say.” A bit more sobering, he added, “I want you to get a say.”

Macaque hummed, letting his head fall back against Wukong’s chest, mumbling something that sounded like agreement. Maybe contentment. Maybe Macaque was just too tired to argue with him about it anymore. Maybe they were two tired old celestials that needed sleep, and Wukong didn’t need to think about it too hard–and couldn’t, finally letting his eyelids slip closed.

He imagined they’d both be a lot grumpier in the morning, Macaque especially, with his sensitive hearing, grousing over a cup of coffee and nursing a small hangover, and it’d probably be the best morning Wukong ever woke up to. It’d be everything he ever wanted, waking up on Flower Fruit Mountain with Macaque by his side–he’d wake up next to a grouch every day if it meant waking up to something real.

It wasn’t quite the picture of forever Wukong had painted all those centuries ago–they still had more questions than answers and years and years and years’ worth of issues to sort through–but it was more realistic, Wukong supposed, more tangible than the empty, picturesque promises he’d made to an agreeable, loyal warrior. A grumpy Macaque was one he could hold, at least, a suspicious Macaque was one he could grasp with both hands and never let go of, Macaque was Macaque, no matter what form he took.

He almost didn’t want to let sleep take him, just to savor the moment a little while longer. Tipsy and tired and standing at the beginnings of a brand new forever, Wukong couldn’t think of anything he’d wanted less than to fall asleep and miss a single moment he could be spending with Macaque.

But sleep took him, anyway, while he was distracted thinking about something or another–things changing and leaving and staying. The world was ever-evolving, but it still spun round and round and empires rose and fell and the tidal wave of the universe always, always brought back the things that were meant to be there; Macaque was back in his arms, almost like nothing had changed at all–almost, except for most things, but almost nothing, in the grand scheme of things.

The most important things always seemed to make their way back to him eventually, and Wukong supposed if he’d already waited a millennia to have Macaque back, then just waiting until morning couldn’t be all that bad.

#mylo's lmk stories #cross posted on ao3 #lego monkie kid #lmk sun wukong #lego monkie kid sun wukong #lmk macaque #lego monkie kid macaque #shadowpeach #lmk fanfiction

17 notes · View notes