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When Wukong awoke that morning, he could immediately tell that it was going to be a bad day. He didn’t even want to get out of bed, but as he rolled over with a groan and closed his eyes, a familiar cramping pain shot through his abdomen, and he realized that he needed to get up. Now.
But even though he had immediately leapt out of bed and moved so quickly that he had practically flown into the bathroom, Wukong was already far too late. The frustratingly familiar red liquid had already soaked his pajama bottoms while he was still asleep.
Great. It looked like he would be doing laundry today, then.
Wukong grumbled angrily to himself as he stomped back to his room. He grabbed a change of clothes (an old T-shirt and sweatpants, because he would not and could not be expected to wear anything else during his period, thank you) and returned to the bathroom, where he quickly cleaned himself off, got dressed, and put on a pad. And once that was all done, he washed his hands, washed his face, combed his hair, and then stared at his tired reflection in the bathroom mirror.
Okay. Fine. This was fine. He was up and dressed, and sure, he hadn’t had the best wake-up call that morning, but he was going to treat himself today. He knew he still had a couple of peach turnovers in the cupboard, and he was going to eat them for breakfast. After the bad start he’d had to the day, he deserved it.
So Wukong stood up straight, gave himself an encouraging smile in the mirror, and left the bathroom.
Wukong made his way down the little hallway and into the living room, from which he could see the kitchen table. He wasn’t surprised to find Macaque sitting there, seemingly invested in the book he was reading. The shadow monkey took a sip from his mug, the contents of which smelled like tea. One of Sandy’s brews, specifically. The monkey and the water demon seemed to have become good friends since the Lady Bone Demon’s defeat.
And it was then that Wukong noticed a plate on the table in front of Macaque, upon which sat a mostly eaten peach turnover.
Wukong’s stomach twisted sourly, but he pushed the feeling of distress down as he made his way into the kitchen without giving Macaque so much as a “good morning.” And Macaque offered none in return.
This was fine. This was fine. Wukong remembered that there had been two peach turnovers left. So if Macaque had eaten one, then there was still one left for him.
It would be fine.
Wukong could feel his heart beating an anxious rhythm in his chest as he grabbed the handle to the cupboard where he had stored his pastries, and with bated breath, he pulled it open.
… the shelf that had held the pastry box was empty.
Wukong’s stomach sank like a stone as he hopefully looked down at the kitchen counter. Maybe Macaque had left the box out. Sometimes he was lazy like that, though it was usually Wukong who didn’t clean up after himself. And why should he? It was his house. If Macaque wanted to live here, then he could deal with the Monkey King’s messiness.
But no. To his dismay, the pastry box was nowhere in sight, until Wukong turned around and saw it poking out of the trash can.
That meant Macaque had eaten both of them.
The cupboard handle creaked under Wukong’s grip as he turned to glare at Macaque, who hadn’t looked up once from the stupid book that he was reading. “Did you seriously eat the last of my peach turnovers?” Wukong hissed at him.
Macaque took a long, loud sip of his tea before he finally looked up at Wukong, a crap-eating smirk gracing his lips as he leaned back in his chair. “Gosh.” Macaque closed his book with a snap. “I guess that’s what happens when you don’t do your chores.”
Wukong tilted his head, confusion briefly overcoming his simmering anger.
Macaque trailed his finger along the edge of his plate, before gracefully picking up the bit of turnover that was left. He studied it carefully, like it was a priceless gem, and Wukong knew that he was playing it up just to piss him off.
“It was your turn to go grocery shopping last week,” Macaque said coolly, before popping the last bite of pastry into his mouth and swallowing it down. “Not mine. You’ll have to find something else for breakfast.”
Wow. Okay. Wukong’s face grew hot with anger as he blinked back tears. He wanted to spit back vitriol at the spiteful prick that was currently sitting at his kitchen table, but there was a lump in his throat that was preventing him from doing so. So instead, Wukong slammed the cupboard door shut, the wood splintering from the force, and stormed out of the kitchen.
He marched back to his room and slammed the door shut behind him hard enough to rattle the door frame, and then he flopped down onto his bed, pulling his blankets back over him as he buried his face in his pillows. Hot tears leaked from his eyes as he clenched his teeth hard enough that they squeaked.
He wasn’t going to cry. He wasn’t going to cry over such a stupid thing. He wasn’t! He had faced far worse things in his long, long life than bad stomach cramps and no breakfast. He wasn’t going to—
There was a knock at his door. Macaque. Who else could it be?
“Are you seriously upset about the turnovers?” Macaque called through the door, his voice a mixture of annoyance and confusion. “It’s just junk food. You could go out and get some more. And the groceries while you’re at it.”
Wukong scowled. Was he seriously still going on about—
A bolt of pain shot through Wukong’s stomach like he had been jabbed with a hot poker, and he curled over in pain as he hissed through his teeth. He couldn’t go out and buy anything, even if he wanted to, because his period seemed intent on ripping him apart from the inside. Just the idea of standing was enough to make him nauseous. “It doesn’t matter!” He shouted back, tears flowing down his cheeks as he struggled to hide the tremor in his voice. “Just… leave me alone!”
Wukong’s voice cracked on those last three words, and he buried his face in his pillow just in time to muffle the sob that tore itself from his mouth. But there was no use in trying to hide it; he knew that the Six-Eared Macaque, hearer of all things past, present, and future—AKA, his extremely annoying roommate—had heard him anyway.
There was nothing but silence on the other side of his bedroom door, and Wukong waited apprehensively. If Macaque was stupid enough to intrude right now, then he was going to get a pillow to the face, thrown with such force and accuracy it would put a professional pitcher to shame.
But luckily (for his sake, anyway), Macaque wasn’t quite that dumb. The silence lingered for a few tense seconds, and then Wukong just barely heard the faint creak of the floorboards settling back into place as Macaque disappeared into the shadows.
Great. Just great. Macaque had heard him, and now he knew that Wukong was having a silly, irrational meltdown over cheap, stale pastries that the Monkey King had snatched from the grocery store’s discount rack.
Great.
But at least, with the house now all to himself, Wukong didn’t have to worry about anyone else hearing him cry. And it didn’t matter that Macaque would eventually come back, because Wukong had decided that he was never leaving his bedroom ever again. Macaque could have the house, he didn’t care. Who would want to live with Sun Wukong, anyway? The sniveling, sulking Monkey King, who was too lazy to clean up after himself and too forgetful to remember to buy groceries, and was currently crying because he hadn’t gotten to have dessert for breakfast.
Oh, boo-hoo. Woe was he.
Wukong’s abdomen throbbed with a sharp, aching pain that radiated from deep within his gut, and he whimpered as he grabbed a pillow and hugged it tightly. That was the thing with being an almighty, immortal god. He also had super-powerful, terrible, horrible, almost unbearable periods. He almost wished he was still trapped under the Five-Phases Mountain, because back when he had been, his body had become so malnourished that he had stopped having periods for centuries.
Who would’ve thought that a diet of molten copper and iron pellets, forced down his throat every day for hundreds of years, wasn’t nutritious? Huh.
Wukong still remembered the look on Tripitaka’s face the first time Wukong had gotten his period on the journey (which was also the first time he’d gotten it since his imprisonment), and despite the pain in his gut, he chuckled. He could still see, as clear as day, the way the monk’s face had turned as white as snow, before he had promptly fainted. It had made the monkey’s period pains one-hundred percent worth it.
Wukong’s stomach churned, and he squeezed his eyes shut against the pain. He could practically envision blood-red waves, frothing as they swelled and crashed against his insides like a stormy, turbulent sea. He wished there existed pain medication strong enough to help him, but nope. Nothing he had tried had ever worked to ease the pain. Lucky god, huh? He just had to grit his teeth and bare it.
He supposed he could get up and grab himself a hot water bottle from the kitchen, but he still didn’t feel like he could stand, and he knew that if he saw that empty pastry box again he would likely start sobbing (hooray for hormones). So instead, he hugged a pillow tightly to his stomach, and wept quietly in the silence of his home.
It was the period cramps, amplified by aching hunger pains, that eventually forced Wukong to leave the confines of his room an hour or so later. His bedroom door creaked as he pushed it open, and he trudged down the hall, dragging his feet as he made his way into the living room. Laying in bed with nothing to do was doing absolutely nothing in soothing his abdominal cramps, so maybe watching some TV would help to at least distract him from the pain.
Macaque was nowhere in sight. He didn’t exactly have a room in Wukong’s little hut—the two of them had been working on adding one, but their constant bickering had slowed the process considerably. So he normally slept on the couch, out in the trees, or in Wukong’s bed, once in a blue moon. It wasn’t exactly a friends-with-benefits situation, even though they were friendly to each other. Sometimes.
Roommates-with-benefits, then?
Whatever. It didn’t matter. The only benefits were on Macaque’s side, since he didn’t have to pay for rent or groceries. All Wukong got in return was a snarky jerk who invaded his privacy and ate his food.
But… it hadn’t always been like that. Long ago, before Wukong had been The Great Sage Equal To Heaven… before the brotherhood had ever formed… their relationship had been different.
Back then, whenever Wukong’s periods had caused him agony, Macaque had been by his side. He was always there, bringing Wukong fruit to eat or willow draught to try and ease his pain. He had been the one to discover that heat eased Wukong’s cramps, and he had burnt himself more than once while heating stones in the fire, after which he would wrap them in cloth and place them on Wukong’s abdomen to act like little heat packs.
And whenever Wukong had lied awake at night, tears leaking down his face as he found himself unable to sleep from the pain, Macaque had always been there for him, kissing away his tears and holding him close until his suffering went away.
But it hadn’t been that way between them in a long time. Longer than Sun Wukong cared to admit. After the brotherhood of sages had formed, Macaque had started to drift away from him. He had still shown up every now and then, in the dark of night when Wukong had been unable to muffle his pained cries. Those rare nights had brought Wukong a longed for and much welcomed peace that he hadn’t felt in months.
But then the sages had declared war on Heaven, and lost. Wukong had been imprisoned, and Macaque had occasionally come to visit him, but… then, they had fought. Words had been said that maybe shouldn’t have been, and Macaque had left Wukong behind, imprisoned in chains and stone and unbreakable spells.
And nothing had been the same since that day. If anything, it had gotten worse. So much worse.
During the journey, Wukong’s pilgrim brothers had been able to do little in the way of helping him through his periods—the only one of them that had really been able to make a difference was Ao Lie, with his dragon’s fire that was strong enough to melt through steel, and had been perfect for easing Wukong’s cramps. But it hadn’t been the same as Macaque, with his heated stones and gentle touch, with his soothingly whispered words and feather-soft kisses that had worked better than magic at lulling Wukong to sleep.
And then after… after Macaque’s death, Wukong had suffered alone. He knew it was no one’s fault but his own—he was the one who had ended Macaque’s life, after all. So he had learned to deal with his periods on his own. He prepared his own heat packs, and learned to grit his teeth through the pain. Thankfully, he had never had monthly periods; they were more yearly than anything. The joys of being a celestial monkey turned god, huh? But it sure seemed like since his periods were so spaced out and far between, whenever they did come around his body was intent on giving him all the pain he had missed out on. All bundled together like an awful gift, for an anniversary he wanted no part of.
But he had learned to deal with it on his own. Even if “dealing with it” sometimes translated to spending ten days or so secluded within the confines of his cabin, unable to do much more than drag himself across the floor and weep from the unending pain. It wasn’t perfect—not by a long shot—but it wasn’t like he had a choice. He didn’t have anyone else to help him. No family, no friends… not any that he could possibly let see him like this, anyway. If MK were to see his mentor like this, laid low and crying from silly stomach cramps, then Wukong was sure the kid would leave him out of sheer secondhand embarrassment.
So Wukong would deal with this alone, just like he always had. Even though he did have a roommate now. Heck, now that Wukong thought about it, this was the first period he’d had since Macaque moved in. He would probably have to mention that when Macaque came back, to explain his… outburst in the kitchen. He didn’t need Macaque thinking he was losing it (any more than Macaque already thought that, anyway).
Wukong sat down on the couch with a hiss of pain, and he grunted as he laid down, placing his head on the armrest as he stretched out across the cushions. His whole body protested at the movement, and Wukong bit down on his lip at the sharp ache that throbbed through his belly.
This was fine. He had dealt with worse.
Wukong grabbed the remote from its spot on the coffee table and flicked on the TV, hoping to find something especially mind-numbing to distract him from the pain.
This was fine.
There was nothing good to watch on TV. Seriously—Wukong had spent how much getting internet and cable hooked up on his mountain, and all they had to offer were reruns of Cooking with Chang’E? He didn’t even like cooking! Wukong supposed he could just watch Monkey King: The Animated Series again, but if he was being completely honest with himself… he had seen it a few too many times. Seriously. Sometimes the episodes would even play in his dreams, and that was a bit much, even for a complete narcissist like himself. He needed something that would grab his attention, not put him to sleep.
Though, if he did actually manage to fall asleep, he certainly wouldn’t mind…
Suddenly, there was the crinkling sound of a plastic bag overhead, and before he could look up and see what was making the noise he was bombarded by raining junk.
“Ack!” Wukong cried out, throwing his arms up to shield himself from the onslaught. “What in the eighteen levels of Hell?”
“Ouch. Hitting a little close to home there, pal.” An annoyingly familiar voice snarked. “I doubt you’ve even been to all eighteen levels, like I have.”
Wukong looked up, and saw none other than Macaque leaning over the back of the couch. The shadow monkey’s expression was unreadable as he stared down at Wukong, and Wukong glared right back at him. “What do you want?” Wukong snapped.
Macaque rolled his eyes. “Nothing. Just brought you some peace offerings, is all.”
Wait, what?
Confused, Wukong looked down at the stuff Macaque had dropped on top of him, and what he saw was an assortment of snacks. Peach-flavored potato chips, peach-flavored candies, chocolate bars, a bag of sugar-donuts, and a box of peach mooncakes—Wukong’s favorite.
“Oh, and this.”
Wukong looked back up just as Macaque (carefully) dropped another box onto his lap.
It was a box of freshly-made peach turnovers, still warm from the bakery rack.
Despite the nausea from his cramps, Wukong’s mouth watered at the sight of the pastries. But he wasn’t going to let Macaque win his forgiveness that easily. So he scoffed, picked up the box, and sat it on the coffee table. “Thanks… I guess,” he grumbled.
Macaque didn’t answer, but Wukong could still feel him hovering over his shoulder. So he ignored him. Weirdo.
As Wukong began to sort the various gifts—peach gummy worms, peach lollipops, peach fruit chews—and place them on the coffee table, he noticed two things that weren’t food. One was a package of menstrual pads, and the other was a box of tampons, both labeled as for heavy flow.
“I already have some of these,” Wukong said grumpily, his face warm with embarrassment as he sat the period products down on the floor.
“M’kay,” Macaque replied coolly. “Just making sure. I know how forgetful you can be at times.”
That simple comment made Wukong see red. If he is still going on about me forgetting the groceries, I’ll—
But then Macaque turned and walked away, and Wukong’s anger left him all at once, replaced by a sudden and terrible sadness as his heart sank into the pit of his stomach. He felt like a puppy whose owner had left it at home alone. He twisted to look over the back of the couch, stubbornly ignoring the pain in his gut as he did so, and saw Macaque heading into the kitchen.
Wukong heard the sound of dishes being moved around, and then the sound of water flowing from the tap.
Okay. So he wasn’t leaving again. Okay, that’s… good.
Wukong gingerly lied back down, taking a deep breath to try and ease his pain. Macaque was back home. That was good. If things got really bad with his period, then Wukong doubted that Macaque would do anything to help—not that he was required to, or even expected to—but just knowing that the other monkey was around did help to ease Wukong’s distress.
Just a bit.
Wukong hadn’t managed to fall asleep on the couch, but he had managed to fall into a… a trance of some sort. He had found a shopping channel—he didn’t know those even still existed—and had been able to zone out as he listened to the narrator try to sell him a 4-piece wine glass set.
Fascinating. Whenever Wukong felt like drinking, he usually drank straight from the bottle. It wasn’t like he had anyone to share a drink with.
A faint whistling sound came from the kitchen, stirring Wukong from his stupor, and he wondered just what exactly Macaque was doing. Was that the kettle?
But then there was a clatter of metal, and the whistling went silent. Was Macaque making tea, perhaps? Wukong wondered if he might be able to beg a cup from the other monkey. Tea sounded pretty good right now.
After a couple of minutes, Macaque returned to the living room, with a hot water bottle in hand. He came around to the front of the couch, and with surprising gentleness laid the hot water bottle on Wukong’s stomach. Wukong looked up at him in surprise—that was what Macaque had been doing in the kitchen?
But… after how Wukong had acted earlier that morning, why…?
Wukong knew he should say thank you, but he was too stunned to speak. That, and he was still slightly annoyed at Macaque, but that sentiment was now quickly fading—with the snacks, and now the heat pack, Macaque had already done more than enough to make up for eating the last of the peach turnovers.
Macaque took a step to the side and grabbed Wukong’s calf.
“Don’t touch me,” Wukong growled, but there was no real anger in his voice.
“Then move over,” Macaque countered. “I want to sit down.”
Wukong grumbled, but begrudgingly did as he was told, lifting his legs up just long enough for Macaque to sit down next to him. And then he plopped his legs down on Macaque’s lap, not caring if it pissed the other monkey off. If he wanted to sit on Wukong’s couch, then he could become Wukong’s leg rest.
“Aren’t you gonna eat anything?” Macaque asked, a hint of annoyance in his tone as he saw all the untouched food. “I doubt you ate while I was gone.”
Wukong frowned, his lower lip sticking out in a grumpy pout. “No.”
Wukong could practically feel Macaque’s eye roll, and the shadow monkey leaned forward and grabbed the box of peach turnovers. He opened it and then held it out to Wukong, practically shoving the box into his face. “Eat. I didn’t waste money on all this junk food just for it to go to waste.”
“Hah. It was my money, anyway,” Wukong snarked. And he was right; Macaque didn’t have any source of income. He just used Wukong’s money whenever he needed something. Wukong didn’t care; he earned plenty from copyrights and royalties and all that fancy trademark stuff.
Macaque didn’t take the bait, though. He just held out the box, and waited for Wukong to take a pastry.
The offered food was extremely tempting, and as his stomach growled in protest Wukong finally relented. He begrudgingly took a turnover, refusing to look at Macaque as he took a bite.
And it was wonderful. The flaky, sugar-dusted crust gave way to the sweet, juicy, gooey peach filling, and Wukong felt like he was going to cry. Food was so good! Oh, the simple, cheap, grocery store pastries were better than any food Wukong had ever tasted in the Celestial Realm.
Magnificent. Simply magnificent.
Seemingly satisfied, Macaque sat the box back down on the coffee table, and leaned back into the couch cushions. Wukong stuffed the rest of the turnover into his mouth, not even caring about the fact that he was chewing with his mouth open like a toddler. If Macaque was grossed out, then that was just too bad. Wukong was on his period. He could be as gross as he wanted to be.
Wukong swallowed, and grabbed another turnover from the box. He took a bite out of it, behaving only slightly less ravenously than he had with the first, but then he faltered. After a brief moment of thought, Wukong grabbed another one of the peach pastries, and held it out to Macaque as a peace offering of his own.
Macaque shook his head. “No, thanks. I’m not touching any of your food again. I don’t need you going crazy and ripping my head off.”
But Wukong persisted. “Take it.”
“Wukong—”
“Monkey King’s orders.”
Macaque glared at him. “You can’t just say that whenever you want me to do something!”
Wukong just stared expectantly in return, and after a few seconds Macaque huffed and snatched the turnover from Wukong’s hand. But he didn’t eat it. Instead, Macaque just stared at the food, his brow furrowed and his lips set in a deep frown.
Well, whatever. If he just wanted to stare at his food, then he could do that. As for Wukong, he was going to eat.
But as Wukong moved to take another bite of his turnover, Macaque spoke. “I’m sorry.”
“… huh?”
Macaque didn’t respond at first, and Wukong began to wonder if he had just imagined things.
But then Macaque spoke again. “I’m sorry for eating the last of your peach turnovers. And… for being an asshole about it.”
Wukong scoffed, but he smiled as he retorted: “When are you not an asshole?”
“Hey. I have my moments.” Macaque grinned.
Silence settled over the two of them, but not for long. “… I’m sorry, too,” Wukong admitted. “For shouting at you, and for acting… emotional.” That was… certainly one word to describe his meltdown earlier.
“Pssh, you’re fine,” Macaque assured him with a lazy wave of his hand. “That’s not the worst thing you’ve done to me on your period.”
“Definitely not,” Wukong agreed with a chuckle. “But, uhh… I’m sorry for all those times, too.”
“Stop.” Macaque warned him. “We’re not getting into this—”
“But—”
Macaque put his finger to Wukong’s lips, silencing the stone monkey. “No. This isn’t turning into some sort of apology-fest, because we’ve both got a lot to apologize for. Far more than stealing each other’s food and shouting when we’re upset. And personally, I don’t feel like dealing with all of that today. Okay?”
“… okay,” Wukong finally acquiesced. He knew that Macaque was right; they both had a lot of apologizing to do, for a lot of wrongs committed against one another. Heck, in the light of all of their past transgressions, Macaque eating the last of Wukong’s turnovers was nothing.
But it had still upset him, and Macaque had still apologized. Which was… nice. Maybe it was a sign that, despite everything, there was still some hope for the two of them. Even though Wukong doubted that there was any chance of his and Macaque’s relationship returning to what it had once been, maybe… maybe they could have something more than just awkward roommates.
Maybe.
Macaque leaned forward over Wukong’s legs and grabbed the TV remote from its spot on the coffee table. “What do you want to watch?”
“Hmmmmm… Monkey Cop.”
Macaque looked like he wanted to slap him, but kept his violence at bay as he opened up the streaming service and began scrolling through its titles. “You’re really shallow, you know that?” He told Wukong snarkily.
“Whaaat? Pssh!” Wukong gave a flippant wave of his hand. “Nah. I just know perfection when I see it. And the Monkey Cop series is perfect.”
“Torture.” Macaque grumbled. “It’s torture.”
“Shush, you big baby.”
The two of them fell quiet as the movie began, and Wukong almost didn’t notice as his tail began to swish lazily back and forth against the side of the couch. He was feeling way better than he had earlier. The hot water bottle lying on his abdomen was definitely helping, and the food settling in his empty stomach was helpful, as well. He shoved the second turnover into his mouth, relishing in its sugary sweetness as he mulled over the fact that it wasn’t just the water bottle and food that were helping him feel better.
Honestly, the little heart-to-heart that he and Macaque had just had was probably what had helped him the most.
Wukong moved to reach for another pastry, but he paused as Macaque held out his hand. He had ripped his own peach turnover in half, and was offering half of it to Wukong.
Wukong hesitated for only a second before taking the offering. “Thanks.”
“Anytime.”