Chapter Text
“You’ve got to stop exerting yourself like this,” Macaque huffs, slipping beside his friend. The sun basks above, shaded only by aimless branches. Every angle, they could be. Every area needed for shade, they could hide from. Trees are weird like that.
Wukong sighs, leaning further against the trunk, his usual amber fur dusted in clumps of mud and blood. Tears in the form of claw marks litter his armored outfit, and his yellow bonnet droops.
“This better not be your blood,” Macaque continues, dabbing a towel into the overlapping waves. It can be convenient being at an Ocean edge. His ears twitch uncomfortably, but after a while, the crashing will fade into the background. He’ll just have to wait to get adjusted.
“Pft!” Wukong waves a hand, wincing as his arm folds and bumps against a fresh wound. Macaque scoffs, tugging his arm and forcing it to lie straight. He rolls up the sleeve, gently dragging the towel across.
“My blood? Nah, not even half of it is. Y’know me better than that, Maccy!” Wukong nudges his shoulder against Macaque’s, rather awkwardly, since ‘Maccy’s’ nearly leaning over him. He should probably just move to his right, but there’s less shade on that side.
His ebony fur will easily soak in the sun’s stupid ray’s. So, no, he’ll stay like this.
“Don’t call me that,” Once the blood has been absorbed, painting another white towel red, he lets Wukong’s arm go. He scans his body, catching a few bruises, a few scabs, but nothing insane. Good, looks like this scrimish won’t kill him.
“One of these days, you’ll wind up truly hurt. And I won’t be there to help,” Macaque scolds, draining out the concern that pangs through his chest, directly penetrating his heart. It still seeps through his tone, just as the blood bleeding internally does. The only bandage for wounds like these is safety.
He’s grateful that he only has two eyes, not six, like his ears. That way, when he sees his Sun–whose rays are always welcomed–crusted over by shades of red, it doesn’t obscure his whole reality. When thoughts about Wukong seeking power lead to him digging his own grave shuffle in his ever constant brain, he only has two eyes to back it up.
Two eyes, two proofs. In one end, out the other. Sure, it doesn’t work that way, but lies have always been his truth.
Wukong’s eyes round, lashes fluttering as he blinks steadily. He offers a smile, using his good hand to grip his friend’s shoulder. “I won’t, I promise. You worry too much!”
Macaque rolls his own pair of eyes, shaking his friend off. “Yeah, yeah…” He trails off, a scrape on Wukong’s left cheek catching his attention. He lunges forward, using one hand to lift up his face. He leans ever closer, earning a quiet squeak from the amber.
Macaque scours this scab, catching how brown exists and not red. Must just be dirt. “What are you doing?...” Wukong asks, the vibrations of his voice catching all six ears. Macaque meets his gaze, tongue poofing into ash and failing to work, then and there.
Wukong’s yellow eyes have always been bright. Crescents of their own light, absorbing what the world has to offer, and sparkling it right back. Macaque knows this. Yet, so close, he catches those glimmers of gold that dance within.
If the sun hits correctly through those branches, Wukong doesn’t have plain light, he yanks that very sun, and takes it all for himself.
Macaque’s body involuntarily leans closer, mesmerized by how round his friend’s eyes can truly get.
He only jolts back when their noses boop. Even then, he can’t stop staring. Yeah, he definitely doesn't need six eyes.
He clears his throat, tearing his gaze away. Wukong smirks slowly, cheeks dusted in a shade of pink. “Were you trying to kiss me?”
“Ew, no!” Macaque snaps, swiping the still damp towel. He shoves it against that spot of dirt, rubbing roughly. Wukong flails throughout, but doesn’t actively stop him. When he drops it, their gazes lock, puzzle pieces of the same corner.
“I was just inspecting that smudge of dirt,” Macaque defends, even when his face is burning, and no doubt its own shade of red. They’ve kissed multiple times. Macaque’s seen his eyes multiple times. But every single time, he flounders like a fish thrown out of water.
“Uh-huh, sure.. Was the smudge here?” Wukong taps a finger against his lip, barely keeping a grin from breaking through.
“I wasn’t even looking there, idiot!”
“Mhm, mhm, but you wanted to. You wanna kiss me sooo ba–”
SMACK. . .
Macaque had a lot of cuddling to do, to amend for his sins, that night.