Work Text:
Part 1: To Know of a Warm Summer’s Day
MK’s shadow has become an overbearing presence.
The amount it shows itself is still the same, but, ever since the hospital it’s like he can feel it trailing behind him every moment. It’s almost cute? Though it’s not helping with his irritability: it doesn’t seem to like basically anyone. He’s not sure what that says about him.
It’s weird talking to professionals about things professionally. He’s not sure how you’re supposed to upend all your life and problems onto someone you don’t know, but, also he’s not sure how to do that with people he does know, so moot point, maybe. Literal first appointment with his psychiatrist and he’s hit with ‘you have PTSD’. How did they do that so fast??? He said basically nothing! And depression, duh, blah blah blah, take these meds at our lowest dosage possible and see if your body doesn’t hate them. MK thought briefly about the possibility of needing medication his entire life. He’s still not sure how he feels about it.
“Do you, like… think it’s that bad?” he asks, head on the counter.
Pigsy stuffs a towel into a glass, squinting at MK. He can practically feel his shadow making the same face.
“I’m asking seriously!!!” He throws himself up and immediately regrets it, head swimming as his lungs lurch. He shoves down the bile, pressing his cheek back onto the cool marble. “Ghghghhh. Why do things hafta have consequences…”
“You need tea?”
“Nooo, I have my… chew… things.” He waves a hand.
Then eat one, stupid. “Then eat one, gods’ sake,” Pigsy says, not unkindly.
“Okayokayokay.” He gets one out.
He is so sick of the taste of ginger. The chews are even worse, making his mouth feel like it’s on fire. Unfortunately, it does, like, help.
“Ta answer your question”—He asked a question?—“kid, ya tried to kill yourself.” Ohhh. “Five times. Technically six. D’ya know how many times most people try that?”
“…once—?”
“ZERO.”
“Oh,” he laughs a little, “um, yeah, zero, that makes more sense.”
It’s been… niiice? That no one’s really beaten around the bush, when talking about. All of this. He thinks he’d just lose his mind if they tried to. He’s not fragile, just… uh… a lot of other things. Yep. Anyway, it feels better just being direct.
So speaking of being direct, “I mean, I did, but that was just cause I kept failing,” he mumbles into the counter.
“That’s worse. You know that’s worse, right?” Pigsy sighs, not annoyed. “Point is, I do think it’s ‘that bad’.”
Like you helped with that?? The thought startles him. Come on, Pigsy’s been with him through everything. Literally. He couldn’t ask for someone better, someone more emotionally available? Pigsy was going through a hard time!! But he didn’t have to make it MK’s problem. No—he didn’t make it MK’s problem, he tried his best—you can’t force someone into viewing you like family! Someone you, you feed, and bathe, and clothe, and bring to school, and raise, raise for fifteen years. Yeah. Sure. Well it’s what happened, he can’t change the past; there’s just now, and right now it doesn’t matter! They’re family. They figured it out. There isn’t anything to be upset about.
…what right does he have, anyway?
Time to do this, MK supposes.
He grips his staff, hunched over, small frame even smaller. He feels too open. “Heeeyy. Um.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Wanted to… talk with you…”
Wukong is either not intimidated like MK is, or very good at schooling his expression to appear unphased. “Yeah?”
“I’m sorry,” he manages to blurt out. “I-I know you don’t want me to say I’m sorry but I’m sorry! I didn’t wanna listen to you about… the everything… and I was being mean on purpose, kind of, sometimes it was on accident I dunno, but I was still being mean!! A-And…” He chances a glance at Wukong.
Wukong tilts his head, frowning lightly. “Kid, I don’t blame you for it.”
YOU SHOULD, screaming in his brain, why can’t you be mad like a normal person, why can’t we be mad—“Why?” The word feels like glass.
Wukong steps forward, bonking MK on the head. “You’re not gonna like any answer I can give you, bud.” He smiles, though. “But, if you really wanna apologize, then I forgive you. So stop worrying about it.” He ruffles MK’s hair.
MK laughs a little, heart hammering. “Okay,” he says, knowing he’s not gonna really be able to. “Um, this was all kind of a lead up to. Being ready now. To talk about the monkey in the room.”
Wukong’s eyes widen. Something like surprise, or, delight(?) in his voice, “Really?? I mean—you don’t need to push yourself, y’know, it’s okay if you still need time. The hospital was, like, a week ago.”
“I think the only option is pushing myself,” he says, fiddling with his staff. “I really would not talk or think about it ever otherwise.”
“Well, let’s… talk about it, then. Start small. Actual transformation can happen later.”
Aaauuugh he does not wanna do that. He thinks about hitting Wukong with his staff and running away. Okay he’s not doing that either can you like, be normal.
“Let’sss take a walk.” Wukong seems to decide on the spur of the moment. “Easier to talk when walking.”
“Talking walking walky talky.”
“Exactly.”
He’s not sure if he should say something first, or wait for Wukong, or, or… dappled sunlight falls over them as they walk. There’s a word for that, he thinks. It’s always warm here, winter in the city or not, and he finds himself missing the sharp cold.
“It’s just weird,” he says. “Isn’t it weird??”
“What is?”
“Like, turning into a different species.”
“You already could do that.”
“But I choose to do that! I didn’t choose this, and apparently it’s, like, who I am??” He holds out his arms. “I… I like my body, the way it is. Didn’t ask for it to be different.”
“You… really don’t like it, huh?”
“Feel like I’ve made that pretty clear,” he mutters.
When he looks up, Wukong’s got an odd sort of expression. “Do you want to ever like it?”
“Uuuummmmmmmmmmmmm.” MK looks away. “No. But I gotta do stuff I don’t wanna do, sooo.”
MK… is not exactly stupid. He has an inkling of what Wukong’s thinking, but he doesn’t really want to address that elephant. Monkey. Because anything he could say would feel like lying through his teeth, or a hopelessly bare showcase of his worst thoughts, or it’d just come out wrong. Everything he says is wrong.
“I guess let’s start with that? Why don’t you want to?”
“Cause I don’t like it.”
“Becaaause…?”
He opens his mouth, pauses, and holds a hand to his chin.
“…you haven’t thought about this at all—?”
“I told you if it was my choice I wouldn’t think about it ever!!” he defends. “Ughh. I dunno… a lot of things about it bother me. The thing I said about not choosing it, for starters. I never—it’s never my choice to turn into it, you know? Like. It just happens.”
Wukong hums. “You need better control of yourself. Something that can help with that iiis—”
“--nooooooooooooooooo—”
“—meditation!”
“Noooo!!!”
“Seriously, what’s with your hatred of meditation?” Wukong laughs a little.
He groans, sagging forward. “Uuugh you gotta sit real still and think or not think or whatever and feel your body and feeling your body is so gross, I don’t wanna be aware of my breathing it just makes me do the thing where I gotta think about it to do it, and then all of that apparently helps you with stuff but I haven’t noticed a difference!!”
“Probably because you keep not actually doing it.”
“Well it’s dumb,” he mutters.
“Is it dumb if it’ll help?”
“Mmmmmmmmmmm.” He sighs. “Okay, I’ll try it.”
He’s led to a quieter part of the mountain, lush as ever. Sitting on the soft grass feels nice.
“Remember, cross your legs, hold your hands together… okay! Now, I know you hate thinking about breathing, but it is good to take some deep breaths. Center yourself, and all that.”
“Okay…”
Deep breath in, deep breath out.
“Let your thoughts just pass through, y’know, water off your back.”
Warm air brushing against his skin. Breaths passing through him, the movement of his lungs. Cool breeze, swaying grass. Inhale. Prickling in his chest. Exhale. Bubbling beneath his skin. Inhale. Something tearing into him, he didn’t call you his son for fifteen years.
Just let it pass through. Just let it—
Did he really hate you that much? He didn’t hate me, he just—oh, yeah, fed and clothed and raised you and none of it meant anything! Whatever. Let it pass. Let it pass.
He’s not the only one.
Let it pass.
Like any of them have actually helped you they did sure the failure of a father with no emotional capacity jesus christ that’s mean, stop it or your terrible mentor that keeps dragging you into worse and worse things STOP IT aren’t you supposed to be letting this pass through? He doesn’t want to sit here thinking terrible things about the people he loves—like they didn’t do terrible things to you everyone makes mistakes! So you’re not allowed to be mad? There’s nothing to be mad about, mad about what?! People loving him, people trying their best for him, people laying their life on the line for him?! Don’t you feel it? Everyone’s done more than enough, more than he even really deserves. He hates putting this weight on them, hates that it keeps piling up, hates the ugly feeling inside him bursting out into patches of fur, open your eyes.
He inhales sharply upon doing so, surrounded in a yawning black void. Gripping himself, he jumps as he notices his fur-covered arms. No. No, no, no, no—
You need to accept this already.
He doesn’t want to be like this, he doesn’t want to be this, he shakes his head, holding it tight.
Don’t you want to stop holding back? He’ll chain himself the rest of his life if he has to. Don’t you want to make them hurt? He doesn’t, he doesn’t, he doesn’t. Wouldn’t it feel good? Maybe there’d be sick relief for a moment. You’re not a good person. He’s trying to be good, he’s trying so hard. Your best isn’t enough. He knows, he knows, but what is he supposed to do? If he bowed down to his cruelest instincts he couldn’t live with himself. Once everything’s destroyed you won’t have to think about this ever again. Don’t think about that. Accept it. He doesn’t want to. Accept it. He can’t let himself. ACCEPT IT. He can’t—
“MK!”
He gasps, lurching forward.
“MK, MK, hey, it’s okay—”
He grips his shirt, heart battering. Blue clouds his vision, fuzzy spots bouncing around, gone in a hard blink. “Wh-What…” Wukong’s hand is on his shoulder. He breathes.
“Hey… you kinda started freaking out there,” Wukong says softly.
“Oh. Yeah.” He holds his arms. “…I’m really bad at this, huh?”
“It’s okay! You haven’t been doing this for a bajillion years like me… youuu wanna talk about what was freaking you out?”
Oh, yeah, he just feels immeasurably angry at practically everyone in his life even though they’ve done nothing but love and take care of him, and for some reason these feelings and general insecurities about himself manifested as, like, another person? And he also attached all of this stuff to his monkey form which is part of why he hates it, and also that’s the other person, and he can’t sit still without thinking terrible things about the people he loves, and he’s actually a really mean fucking person and is just barely keeping it at bay, though he still fails half the time!
“No,” he says.
A pause.
“Auuugh, I know I’m supposed to talk about it!!” He throws his head back, flopping onto the grass. “But I don’t wannaaa. I don’t wanna talk about it, I don’t wanna think about it.” He stares up at the sky, dotted blue amidst green leaves. “…I don’t know. I don’t. Like. A lot of things about myself. And I don’t want other people to know those things, cause…” Urgh. “It just doesn’t feel right that people have to deal with me getting worse.”
Shuffling, before a heavy weight falls beside him. Wukong’s tail brushes against his skin.
“MK.” …Wukong lays next to him, head tilted to look him in the eye. “Hey. You’re not losing any of us, better or worse.”
How do you know that, when you’ve lost everyone? a bitter voice snips. He looks away, grimacing.
“I should be better than this,” he mumbles.
In his peripheral vision, Wukong tilts his head. “You’re doing just fine, kid. Especially given everything that’s happened. Anybody would be messed up from it.”
Ah…
Is he ever going to believe that?
You won’t. You know what you are.
…
He throws himself up. “Okay let’s do something that isn’t meditation,” he says. “Um. I mean. Let’s try meditation again… tomorrow… and not right now…”
“We are trying again tomorrow,” Wukong frowns.
“I knowww, I know, I’m not trying to avoid it. Mostly. I just don’t think I can keep doing it today.” He holds the back of his neck.
Oh boy, he is not looking forward to doing this a million more times.
MK’s never really sure how to hold himself, sitting on the little couch in his therapists room. His leg bounces. They’ve only had a couple sessions, so not a lot of time to get into… everything. He doesn’t know what to talk about most of the time. There’s just too much, everything too loud yet nothing at the same time.
“While we’re getting to know each other, I wanted to ask,” she begins, “what’s your living situation like?”
He folds his fingers around. “Umm, well, I’m adopted. Live in a small, like… studio? Apartment with my dad, Pigsy, and sometimes Tang, my other dad. Not that they’re divorced or something, actually they got married one day, when I was really young, and just didn’t tell anyone. Anyway. Tang doesn’t live with us, the apartment’s too small, he has his own apartment…? But he’s over, like, all the time.”
“May I ask, what’s the reason behind calling them their names?”
He blinks. “Huh? Oh, uh… Pigsy didn’t really wanna be called dad most of my life, so I guess I’m just used to saying, y’know, Pigsy.”
“He didn’t?”
“Yeah, uh… I mean, I always considered him as like, my dad, but he didn’t—he didn’t see me as his son for a long time. Until recently-ish.”
“How did that make you feel, when he started seeing you as a son after so long?”
“Um. H-Happy, I guess, but also…” He doesn’t wanna say this. “…mad.” Silence. She’s waiting for him to continue. “L-Like, I mean! He’s!! Done so much for me, y’know? Like, he raised me. And I love him, and I’m really happy to be family but I guess I just kept thinking, like, why didn’t this happen sooner? Why… why couldn’t he see me as his son? B-But I know you can’t force yourself to think of someone as family, but then it’s like, why’d he even keep me? Adopt me? Do all of this??? I can’t tell if… he… I can’t tell…”
If Pigsy even really liked MK all that much.
Why would he keep me if he didn’t? …but if he did like MK, why couldn’t they just be family from the start?
“I mean.” He grips his pants. “I know he loves me. Haha, what am I even saying? Like, we figured it out, y’know? So I should be…”
“ …to feel like you weren’t wanted, it’s difficult for anyone to go through. Even though he loves you.”
His grip tightens, startling. “I-I didn’t feel not wanted, exactly, just—I mean… I guess…”
“Have you ever talked with him about it?”
“…I don’t. Want to. Cause, like. I know he was going through a really hard time, and he already feels bad about it, and we figured it out! We figured it out. We’re family for real now. There isn’t anything to talk about, right?”
“Aren’t you also going through a hard time?” she asks, gentle. “You feel bad about it yourself.”
“I… it’s just… what’s the point in bringing that up?”
“Your hurt deserves to be seen, too.”
“I’m sure he already knows,” he mumbles.
“But are you okay with how things are?”
Some part of him clawing, screeching NO, broiling beneath his skin, something that wants to burst into claws and red-hot anger.
He started holding himself at some point. God, isn’t this supposed to be, like, a judgement free zone? A place to get everything out, even the things he doesn’t tell anyone else? That’s literally the whole point of this. So why can’t he…
“Um. Can we talk about something else?” he asks.
“Of course.”
He knows he’s doing this wrong. For everything he says about wanting to get better he still doesn’t do what he’s supposed to. Is he too scared? Too scared that this is unsalvageable? Too scared to think that maybe there’s… some truth to the way he feels?
He doesn’t know.
Another day, another mostly failed meditation.
MK groans, sitting back. He did it longer this time, at least. But what he was thinking about… it still bugs him. He debates on asking Wukong about it, shrivelling in insecurity, that doubly makes him want to not ask at all.
“You need, like… an anchor,” Wukong says.
“An anchor?”
“Something that keeps you cool. To hold onto, when your thoughts start getting all messy, you know?”
He mmm’s. “I dunno… thinking about anything makes me feel…” Irrationally and deeply angry! “Bad.”
“What were you thinking about this time?”
“Mnhgrfherje.”
“MK.”
It pushes past his mouth, unbidden. “Did I earn any of this?”
“Huh?”
MK doesn’t look at Wukong. Okay, guess he’s doing this now. “Like… being your successor.”
“Bud, of course you did. I’ve watched you improve every day.”
His frown twists. “Yeah, but I wasn’t just chosen randomly. We’re both stone monkeys. My name is literally MK, how obvious can you make it? And—And I didn’t work at all for these powers!” He rises to his feet, gesturing. “I’ve been handed everything in my life. And I’m not even that good at this, like, what’s the point of being a hero if all I’m doing is cleaning up my own mistakes?” Paces the grass. “I don’t have the worst of it, like, at all, but I’m the one that keeps freaking out all the time, even though I’ve been given so much—!”
“MK. MK, hey, hey, it’s okay!”
He grips his arms, spinning around. “No it’s not!”
“None of that was your fault!”
“You’re just saying that cause I feel bad!”
“I—m-maybe, but—look, it doesn’t matter if it’s your fault or not—”
“HOW does it not matter?!” he cries. “You say to leave the world better than we found it, but that doesn’t count if it’s all just my mistakes I’m cleaning up!” Over and over and over.
“Those mistakes happened because of me rubbing people the wrong way!”
“Great, so I guess we both ruin everything!” Why is he “None of this would have happened without me and you know it!” so “So why aren’t you mad?! Why do all of you keep acting like I’m some innocent bystander to everything that’s happened?! You don’t make any sense!” angry—
Riiing.
Everything comes to a crashing halt.
He breathes heavily. His gaze flicks to his pocket, phone vibrating.
Riiing. Riiing.
It’s a familiar tune.
Haltingly,
he fishes out his phone.
“…Mei?”
“MK!!”
“Why. Are you… calling?”
“Oh, I thought you’d be done training already. Are you not?? Sorry, I can—”
He figures out how to actually talk: “No, no, it’s fine.”
“Well!! I wanted to hang out! I know we hang out like every day but I mean a planned hang out this time. There’s a new limited edition flavor at one of those cheese tea shops, and that lined up with another limited edition thing at the mall, and basically it’s a lot of stuff we’re gonna be sad we missed!” He can imagine her punching the air. “Meet me at your place?”
“…yeah, we can do that. Kinda need to get off the phone, though. See you in like… twenty?”
“Sounds good to me!”
Click.
He stares at the blank screen, sunlight reflecting off it.
“Huh.”
Wukong’s voice has him startling. He faces his mentor, awash in a fading, buzzing feeling, pooling to shame in his stomach.
“I,” he starts, then pauses. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
Wukong holds up a hand. MK shuts up.
Wukong continues, “I… think I know what your anchor is.”
“Huh?”
MK looks down, and finally notices the fur covering his arms. His tail flicks behind him. He holds out his arms, turning over his hand. Touches his claws. Flexes his hand. He’s never… been like this, without fear, without mania, without something. It doesn’t feel overpowering, disgusting. It doesn’t feel like much at all.
He blinks, and it’s gone.
MK immediately stumbles, groaning as he’s hit with a dizzying wave. “Ghhh. Okay, not great, not great, ow, ow, ow—”
Wukong rights him. MK stares at the ground.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I… ugh, I feel like a ticking time bomb all the time, I just keep…” He curls his hands into fists, then relaxes them. “I don’t know.”
Wukong’s hand on his shoulder, he kneels, smiling at MK past his bangs. “You know, the anchor thing’s gonna help with that. You know what we’re gonna do next time?”
“What?”
“Aw yeaaah, MK and Mei training session!!!”
MK laughs nervously as Mei hops around. He leans into Wukong, “Are you still sure this is a good idea?” he asks. “What if I—”
“You won’t.”
“I… guess.”
Mei points her sword at MK. “You ready to get your ass kicked?”
“I don’t think that’s the kind of training were doing?”
“Nah, it is,” Wukong says, stuffing chips into his mouth. “Gotta tire yourself out first!”
“Wait, what?”
“Ohohoho, I’m gonna get you so hard.” Mei grins.
“I didn’t sign up for this!!”
“Kid, it’ll be fine. What are you so worried about?” Wukong asks.
…right. He summons his staff, getting into the correct stance. “Well, if we’re gonna spar, are you ready to get your ass kicked?”
“Pshhh.” She waves her sword. “We’ll see.”
MK gets his ass kicked.
“When did you get so good at this?” he whines, rubbing his head.
Mei holds out her hand, and he lets her pull him up. “You know I’ve been training too!” she grins.
“Yeah, but I feel like I did worse than normal…”
“Maybe stop holding back a little, hm?”
“But I’m not trying to kill you!”
Wukong bonks MK’s head. “This is part of your problem, bud. You’re too all-or-nothing about this.”
“What’s that supposed to mean???”
Wukong musses up MK’s hair, rocking him back and forth. “It means you can go harder than you did without seriously hurting someone, but you don’t know how to do that. Or, well, you’re too scared to try.”
“Whuhuh…” He sways, dizzy.
“You didn’t always have this problem,” Mei says.
He rights himself. “Yeah, but that was like, before, you know, everything?”
“I know, I’m just sayin’ you can do it! You already have! Just get back to… however you were thinking about it before!”
“The last thing I know how to do is think like my old self,” he mutters.
Mei hums, frowning. “You’re not that different, you know?”
“Mm.”
“Wellll, let’s try meditating now,” Wukong says.
MK groans.
“Hey, it won’t be that bad.”
Mei faux punches his arm. “Just remember! You’re not controlled by the monkey, you are the monkey!”
He grimaces. “But I don’t wanna be the monkey.”
“Too bad, cause you are.”
He sits back, sighing. “How did you feel? About the samadhi fire?”
“Huh?”
“Like. You didn’t like it. It was scary. But you’re not scared of it anymore. How did you…”
She plops down next to him, legs crossed. “Well, I learned how to control it. Until I knew I wouldn’t hurt the people I cared about with it. It stopped being some… thing inside me and more just, me! And the one thing we can always control is ourselves!” She points at him. “This is part of you, so you can control it.”
“I don’t… want it to be part of me.”
“…yeah. I didn’t want the samadhi fire either.”
“How do you like something you don’t want?”
“Do you like the parts you do want?”
“I don’t think I want any part of me,” he whispers.
A pause. He makes a noise of surprise when she throws her arms around him. “I do! Every part of you makes up my best friend in the whole world, MK! So I’ll just want you twice as much, until you start wanting you too.” She pulls back, smiling.
He laughs a little, smiling back. “If you say so.”
When he goes to put his hands together, Mei instead grabs one, squeezing.
“Is that. Allowed,” he asks.
“Yeah! Kind of needed, actually,” Wukong says. “Just meditate like normal.”
He swallows, nodding.
Closing his eyes, he tries to let his mind float away, tethered yet unbound. Grass prickles his ankles. Inhale. The air is near unnoticeable. Exhale.
That pursuit only leads to one thing.
Every mistake, big to small, they’re begging to be seen, louder, louder. He’s fucked things up so many times. Just—let it pass. But he has. The Demon Bull King, the Spider Queen, the scroll, Lady Bone Demon—
Let it pass. Let it pass.
It’s just so hard, he keeps being this, destructive, terrible force—I guess you fit in with the others they’re not like that, they’re not like him you both ruin everything he’s not mad! He’s not, he’s not, he doesn’t even have the right to be how long will you keep ignoring this? He’s not ignoring anything, he just—why can’t he just let this go—
Mei’s hand is warm in his.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Let it pass through. They’re just ghosts.
On and off, his thoughts cycle, trampled over the moment he thinks about Mei again. A lighthouse in a stormy ocean, spanning over and over his mind. If she’s here, things have to be okay, right? If she can still stand him, isn’t that something to hold onto? He’d never want to let her go.
(Even if he’ll be the reason he does.)
There’s nothing to be angry about.
He’s not sure how long it is until he suddenly hears Wukong’s voice cutting through the void: “Hey, kid, you can stop, now.”
He blinks, squinting, the world blue. “Huh? Did I start…”
“Nope!” Wukong’s grinning. “You actually made it through the whole way without freaking out!”
“I… did?”
“WOO!” Mei throws her arms around him. “You did it!!!”
He laughs, surprised. “I-I did it? I did it! Yeah!!!”
“YEAH!!”
“YEAH!!!” He laughs harder when Mei picks him up, spinning round and round. “Mei! It’s just some meditating—”
“But you DID IT!! I know this has been really hard for you!”
“Hehehehe!”
She sets him down. They grin at each other, his heart fluttering. Maybe… maybe this really can work out.
And the world turns vivid.
He’s not sure how to describe it. He just wakes up one morning, and suddenly everything is so… so…
He brushes his teeth, grinning for no reason at all, grinning because he’s alive to brush his teeth right here and now. He’s alive to walk down the stairs with the apartment’s musty old smell, he’s alive to take a heap of noodles and drive out into the city, he’s alive and so is everyone else! Their own worlds, their own lives, thoughts and daily routines, it’s so real it almost hurts.
“You seem pretty peppy,” Pigsy notes in between MK’s rounds.
“I feel really good today!” he answers the unsaid question. “I dunno, it’s just… woosh! You know?”
“That ain’t a sentence that makes any sense. But I’m glad,” Pigsy smiles.
At training, too:
“That’s a new record!” Mei exclaims.
MK grins, stretching himself out. “I’m just the best to ever do it.” He nods solemnly, and she nods back, until they both start giggling.
“You’ve been doing really good, bud,” Wukong smiles.
“Yeah!!” He jumps up. “I think it might be the new meds…? My psych upped the dosage recently.” He rocks back on his heels. “I’unno, it all feels a lot easier now. I’m not sure what my problem even was before.”
“You think you’re ready to try transforming, then?” Wukong asks.
“Oh! Umm… sure??”
“You know you don’t have to.”
“No, I! Do! Wanna try. I just don’t know if it’ll work.” He shrugs. What he doesn’t say is the fact he can’t even feel his shadow right now. Can he transform otherwise…?
“Alright, then.”
A pause.
“I have no idea how to do this,” MK says.
“Have you ever transformed voluntarily?”
“I… guess, yeah, but it wasn’t for.” He looks at the ground. “Very good reasons. So I probably shouldn’t do it that way again.”
“Hmmm. Well, pretty sure I already know this, but what do you think the, like, trigger for it is?”
He shrugs. “Fight or flight? Mostly fight. Actually, just fight.”
But he can have fight or flight while being human, tunneling rage, and it doesn’t automatically transform him. So… can’t he be a monkey without those things, too?
“You gotta learn to attach other things to it.” Wukong places his hands on his hips. “More positive things. What about protecting people you care about?”
“Hmm… I guess, yeah.”
“Hold onto that. Think like a monkey.”
“Helpful,” Mei remarks.
“No, I think I get it. It’s like thinking little, right?” MK says.
“Yes! Exactly like that.”
He inhales. “Okaaay, let’s do this.”
Closes his eyes. Think like a monkey. Think like a protector. This… this power doesn’t have to be destructive, dangerous, scary. Can’t it be a good thing? Imagine the fur on his arms, a tail swishing behind him. All his emotions wrapped up in a screaming box, hoping to burst open. But it’s not like that anymore. It’s not… really like anything. He’s calm, steady, breathing. His mind is so clear.
And it’s not working.
He groans, snapping out of the meditative state. Looks at his hands like he can will them into shifting. “Yeah, I don’t know,” he says.
“It makes sense you couldn’t do it right away, don’t worry about it!” Wukong says.
“Mmmm, I feel like I should be able to, though… like, I feel really good.”
Should he be worried? He mentally pokes at his head, but gets no response. Maybe it’s just… like, chilling? Taking a break?
…would it be that bad if it was gone?
He’s trying not to think like that about his shadow anymore, but he still can’t help the underlying resentment. Does he need it, really? Maybe it’d be happier this way, away from him.
He tries not to think about it too hard, come the following weeks.
That’s just it, then—that’s just how the days go on. He wakes up and he’s happy to, his mind doesn’t go flitting about every second, meditating suddenly the easiest thing in the world, holding onto joy even easier. He’s teaching Kitty how to play with toys—she gets all wary about them, it’s cute, and he doesn’t feel disgusting. It’s so obvious how happy everyone else is that he’s happy, which just makes him feel better, and it’s awesome. Was it really this easy, this whole time? He falls in love with life again, not slowly, but crashing into it. It becomes hard to remember what it was even like before.
He’s mopping up while Mei sits at the counter, rambling on about nothing that really matters, but it’s so important despite that.
“You know, you could help clean,” he jokes in between their conversation.
“Not my business, not my mess,” Mei says.
He opens his mouth to say something, when the lighting suddenly shifts. A bright, near ethereal glow floods the store. When he turns to the window, he instantly drops his mop.
“Sun-rain!” he exclaims. “Mei, come on, come on, come on!”
“Wha—? Oh my gosh!”
He grabs her, dragging her out until she runs to match his pace. They rush out the door, barrelling over each other.
He’s never been able to catch sun-rain before. It glitters beneath the sun world pearly and light, cast in a reverent glow. He laughs, holding out his arms and spinning in the cold rain falling in warming air.
Mei gasps. “MK, look!”
He near falls, swerving to follow her pointed hand. Faintly, a rainbow shines across the glittering sky. And when he looks back, the clouds part, rimmed with a heavenly radiance. He can barely describe it, what it looks like, what it feels like, as the empty space in the sky near forms into a heart.
It sets his own heart aglow, this brimming, airy lightness flooding inside him. He grins, breathing in the rain. For once, for the first time in a long while, it feels like… maybe the universe actually loves him. He’s not sure when it started feeling like it hated him.
He wants to catch this moment and keep it forever, something he tries to replicate in drawing after drawing come after, joy inside him spreading into everything he sees. He’s not sure he’s ever felt this good before. He hasn’t even thought about killing himself once!
…huh?
That nags at him, come the following days. Waking up, getting ready, driving out in his delivery truck, talking to Mei on break, feeding Kitty at five, training, waking up feeling harder than usual, getting ready, driving out in his delivery truck, talking to Mei on break, feeding Kitty at five, training, he just wants to go back to sleep, his clothes are thrown on the floor, driving out in his delivery truck, talking to Met, feeding Kitty, fidgeting during meditation, his alarm is so god damn annoying, yawning through dressing himself, driving in that stupid delivery truck, talking to Mei, feeding Kitty, that whisper of wanting to die eating at him, he’s not rested at all, he wants to die, he feels gross, the stupid truck keeps breaking down, he’s not sure what to say to Mei these days, he forgets to feed Kitty, he wants to die, he can’t meditate anymore, he wants to die, get it together, he wants to die, he knows how to do this, he wants to die, he knows how to be better, he wants to die, was it that easy to let go of, he wants to die, staring himself down in the bathroom thinking about those fucking pills, on and on and on and on and on and—
Until it seems like the medication isn’t working at all.
His fan whirrs above him.
He doesn’t get it.
He grips his blanket, mouth twitching. Just an off day, he assured himself, too many times to count. What happens when an ‘off day’ becomes an off week, an off month? …he doesn’t want to think this is real.
“Is this just my life?” he asks aloud. “Like, am I gonna feel like this forever?”
An answer of his own voice, “You’re not.”
He’s caught somewhere between screaming and crying. “Yeah, but. I got better. I got better and I lost it. Is—is this just how it’s gonna be??” He laughs a little, pushing himself up as he grips his head. “I don’t want to live like this! Not after knowing I don’t have to!! Not after knowing I can be normal! Why did it stop working? Is anything going to work? Do I have to live like this until I’m old? Is that even worth it??”
“I know what you’re thinking. Stop it.”
“But then what am I supposed to do?!” he snaps at his shadow. “…I didn’t even feel you. What was… what was this like, for you?” he asks, quieter.
“The same as it was for you.”
“Happy,” he mumbles. “I don’t get why you care so much about living when living’s like this. Why do you even try to stop me? Shouldn’t you be, like, encouraging this? …wouldn’t you be happier? Wouldn’t have to deal with me, or our friends, or… any of this.” He holds out his hand.
“…I’m what you don’t like about yourself. And you don’t like the fact you want to live.”
His shadow disappears, and MK is left staring at nothing.
“Getting bad again, huh?”
It’s raining again. This time, there is no sun, casting the store in muted gray. It’s peaceful. He wants to go back to sleep.
“Yeah,” he mumbles into the counter. “I dunno. I don’t know why my meds stopped working.”
Tang places a hand on MK’s head. “You’ll find something that works.”
“But this was working, and now it’s not! What if… what if everything’s gonna be like that? I don’t know what to do.”
“You just gotta keep trying, no matter what,” Pigsy says. “I know you can do it.”
“I don’t wannaaaa,” he complains.
“Unfortunately we all have to do things we don’t want to,” Tang says.
“Rich comin’ from you,” Pigsy says.
“Do you guys really think it’s gonna get better?” he asks.
“Of course it is, kid,” Pigsy says, softer. “It got better before, it can get better again, right?”
“Mm.”
“You’ll get there. I’m sure of it.”
“…I guess, I just…” You don’t get how this feels.
He doesn’t say that. Just stops and sighs, slumping against the counter.
“I know I don’t know how this feels”—MK’s eyes widen—“but… I… kid, you mean everything to me. I don’t want you to think—ya don’t deserve to think that this is all there is to it, you know? You deserve better. I wish I could make you see life is worth livin’—i-if there’s anything I could ever do—” He covers his mouth with his hand, shoulders hunching.
MK realizes very quickly what’s happening. “Wait—a-are you crying?!”
“I—no, don’t look at me—” He waves his hand. “Just don’t mind me.”
“Pigsy,” he frowns. Silence. “Dad.”
Pigsy startles. He wipes his eyes, visibly trying to compose himself. “…I-I don’t think ya understand, kid, how scared we were,” he says quietly. “Every day I’m terrified that the next time I knock on your door, you’re not gonna answer.”
Oh.
…oh.
“We’re not trying to be overbearing, but… you know we really love you, right?” Tang asks, placing a hand on Pigsy’s arm. “And we don’t want you to ever… disappear.”
“I…”
“I don’t wanna lose my son.” Pigsy wipes his eyes, voice thick.
MK inhales sharply. He’s frozen, for a moment. Then, slowly, he holds out his arms, wrapping them around his dad tight. It’s warm as Pigsy shudders, hugging back.
“I don’t know if this means anything to you, but,” MK whispers, “I promise I’ll never do anything like that again.”
“It means everything,” Pigsy says back.
MK feels… weird, after that. Not really sad, just, puzzled. Off. The way anyone feels when they see their parent cry. Except this time it was about said parents kid trying to die. Awkward? He wants to talk to someone about it, but the thought of making anyone else cry has him keep his mouth shut. Funny. First time he wants to talk about something, and it’d just be too weird to.
There is one person.
He places Kitty’s wand toy away, after another largely failed attempt of getting her to play, and an equally failed attempt at distracting himself. He walks around his apartment, flopping onto his bed eventually.
And he reaches into his head.
“I know this is gonna sound insane, but,” he starts aloud. “I didn’t really. Think of it as a big deal.”
His shadow shifts, swerving to place itself on the wall, a familiar shape taking form. “To the surprise of nobody,” it scoffs.
“Shut up,” he says without heat.
“You tried to die, like, six times. Of course that’s a big deal.”
“Not ‘we’?”
“I don’t take claim for your stupid actions.”
“Gee, thanks. It’s not like we’re the same person or anything.”
“If you get to ignore that, so do I.”
Maybe this was a bad idea. He sighs. “Everyone’s been weird after… everything.”
“…of course they have been.”
“They really care about us,” he mumbles. “More than I realized, I guess.”
“They shouldn’t.”
“Come on.”
“They shouldn’t. You know that. You’re thinking it all the time.”
“That doesn’t mean…”
“What? What if we’re wrong?”
“Well, what if we are?”
“Do you think we are?” it laughs.
“I…”
“The charity isn’t gonna last. They’ll get sick of us eventually.”
“But they haven’t yet—”
“Oh, I’m sure they will, you know, the whole being horribly depressed shtick, and nothing eeever getting better. We’re still the same god damn person we’ve always been! A depressed nobody that keeps fucking things up.”
He groans. “I don’t get you! You’re all like, nooo, I don’t want you to die, and then the next second—”
“Just because I don’t want to die doesn’t mean we’re being a good person!”
“Pick a side!”
“My side is being realistic.”
“Do you really think you’re being realistic? Our friends and family, hating us? Leaving us? After all we’ve gone through?”
“They like the MK they’ve fabricated in their heads. They wouldn’t like the real us.”
“I don’t think you’re the ‘real’ me,” he frowns.
“What, and you are? You’ve been repressing me because you don’t want to face it! You don’t want them to see!”
“I know you were watching me in the hospital.”
Silence.
MK continues, “I know that… you care. In some way. Deep down there. Somewhere.” He still remembers what his shadow said to him, limp in the bathroom. “I don’t know what your goal is, but—this is just… you’re just trying to do what you think is right. Like me.”
When he looks up, his shadow is no longer.
Classic me move, he thinks, running away from your problems.
He’s pretty sure at this point his therapist doesn’t hate him. She was hard to figure out the first couple of sessions, but she seems happy to see him nowadays. He’s not sure how much of a good thing that is…?
“I don’t knooowww.” He flops back onto the couch. “For a while now it’s felt like whoever ‘MK’ was, like. Died. And I replaced him? But I’m really bad at being him. I don’t even feel like a real person, honestly, more like someone’s idea of a person, so it’s like trying to use the scent of food to make up for not being able to eat it, doesn’t really work, I don’t feel like me—the me everyone else sees—half the time, and whatever I do feel like is something I don’t like.” He pauses. “I think I have issues.”
“What you have is a dissociated sense of self,” his therapist notes. “It’s common, after undergoing trauma, to have a hard time connecting with the you of ‘before’.”
“I guess, but then, like, what am I supposed to do about any of that?”
“Who do you want to be?”
“I… I wanna be MK.”
“Then you’re MK.”
“…is it really that simple?”
“Most things are.”
“But. I can’t just choose to be—be something I’m not.”
“Why aren’t you it?”
“Huh? Cause, I, I dunno, I’m doing it wrong.”
“Has someone told you that before?”
“No, just… myself.”
“What if you did everything right? Would you be happy with that?”
“I.” He stops. Really thinks about it. Heart heavy, continues, “Probably… not.”
“So what’s the real problem?”
“…I don’t like myself, no matter who ‘myself’ is.”
She stands, approaching to hold out her clipboard. He takes it gingerly. “A lot of people think of it like this: there’s the you from before”—she points at a straight line—“and the broken you, changed by a traumatic event.” And points to a branching line. “But even if that event didn’t happen, you still would have changed from something else.” Here, she points to a similar drawing, except both lines branch off, and split into even more paths. “There is no version of yourself that was pure, untouched, and is now forever lost. Nobody is who they were a second ago.”
He lets her take the clipboard back, staring at the empty space between his hands. “Is it really okay for me to be like this?”
“The only one saying it isn’t is yourself.”
“But…”
Surely this can’t be right… right? That feels like it goes against, like, everything. In general. He doesn’t know. He’s not sure he knows anything about himself, at this point, except that he just doesn’t like whoever ‘himself’ is.
So, he starts on a little mission.
The next day, he’s sitting with Mei in his apartment, the two of them coaxing Kitty into playing. She’s started learning how to bat at the toy.
“Mei,” he starts apropos of nothing, “what am I like?”
“Hmm?” She tilts her head, holding a hand to her chin.
Silence.
“…do you really have to think that hard about it—”
“Shush!”
He shushes.
“I don’t know, you’re like… kinda super weird.”
“No I’m not??”
“You are. You are so weird.”
“I’m not the one who put cameras on everyone.”
“That’s a normal, logical thing to do.”
“Yeah…”
“But, anyway. You’re weird.” She waves the toy near Kitty. “You’re, like, super easy to read, but also not? You’re so much more secretive than someone would think, y’know?” Urgh. “You act loud and confident and real overshare-y but then you don’t actually share anything important.” Urgh. “And also you’re not confident.” Urrhrgrhgh.
He wilts. “Thanks for the bullets.”
“You’re welcome! You care too much about a lot of things, too. Like, way too much about being a ‘good person’ or whatever.”
If everything else was like being shot, that takes the cake. He utters a noise, unable to respond. How did she—
He lets her change the topic, come a couple minutes later. Something feels off after.
To Pigsy, while closing up shop, “What am I like?” he asks.
“Stubborn,” Pigsy says.
“I think I got that from you.”
“Damn right you did. You’re eager, too. I think you’se scared of not bein’ enough, so you’re quick to prove yourself any chance you get. That’s something you’ve always cared about.”
“Yeah. I dunno. Never really feels like my best is… that good.”
“It’s good ta me. It’s good ta alla us.”
MK holds his arm, smiling a little as he lets himself be reassured, even if only momentarily. “Thanks.”
At training with Wukong:
“Impulsive. Brave. Real fake-it-til-you-make-it kinda person,” Wukong says.
“Hmm.”
“You want to protect everyone badly enough you… well, you forget you can rely on them, too. You’d do everything on your own if you could. You try to. It’s not the greatest?”
“I don’t like… roping people into stuff,” he says.
“You’re doing people a favor letting them help you, you know.”
“Hmmmmmmm.”
Painting with Sandy:
“You’re creative! A bit of a perfectionist. You try a lot harder than most people would think, I think.”
“Yeah? I dunno, I feel like I slack off a lot.”
“It’s more that you get distracted a lot,” Sandy says. “There’s a difference. You’re not trying to be lazy.”
“I’m not?”
“Are you?”
“I… guess not.” He pauses. “Perfectionist?”
“You like doing things right, when you really care about it. And you really care about most things.”
“But I’m not, like, all nerdy and smart. And I mess things up all the time.”
“Most people don’t think about their mistakes as much as you. Perfectionist!”
“Huh.”
And hanging out with Tang:
“Fickle, but passionate. You really fight for what you believe in.”
“Is that… a good thing?” he asks.
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
“…I don’t know.”
“You’ve got that look.”
“Huh?”
“When you’re thinking about something.”
“Oh. I guess I’ve never actually told anyone about this, but.” He holds the back of his head, averting his gaze. “When… we defeated the Lady Bone Demon, we sorta, talked, before she died. She said we’re not that different, cause we both fight for what we think is right, but the only thing that ever leads to is… is pain. I guess. It feels kind of true.”
Tang hums. “You know there’s really no merit to anything she says.”
“I guess.”
“But… well, maybe it is true, a little.”
“Huh?”
“Every good thing comes with pain. That’s what makes it good, right? If we didn’t feel sorrow… we wouldn’t understand happiness. If we didn’t get hurt fighting for what we believe in, we wouldn’t understand the greatness of victory. Nothing comes without a cost, nothing comes without the chance of hurting. But that’s what makes it all worth it, in the end. Getting through that pain to a happy ending.”
Something clicks.
“Yeah,” he says, not quite hearing his own voice. “Yeah.”
MK’s shadow is laughing, and he is not having a good day.
“I can’t believe you did that!” it snickers. He resists the urge to say I hate you I hate you I hate you. “That effort would be more valiant if I couldn’t read your mind.”
“Having fun being the peanut gallery?!” he snaps. God, he does not need this. Social embarrassment and some guy who’ll heckle him for it?
“Yeah, it’s great watching you fuck everything up. You don’t even need my help! You just fall flat on your face anyway.”
“GET A REAL BODY SO I CAN FIGHT YOU!”
“That is my body.” It points at MK.
“I—whuh?” He stops. “Oh. Well I can’t… punch… myself…”
“No, no, do it. It’d be funny.”
He sets his anger aside on the back-burner for the sudden question in his mind. “Hey, wait, if this is your—my—our body… why…” His brain comes up empty. “Like, why do you never… uh… uhhhhh.”
“Why do I never control it?”
“That!”
“I have controlled it before, you just don’t notice.”
“What???”
“I’m our anger, idiot, every time you get mad it’s usually me.”
Huh.
“The line does get blurry… we’re not always separate enough to attribute specific actions or words to one or the other, and, y’know, sometimes I’m the normal one and you’re the angry one.”
When he gets mad… it just becomes everything he is, killing him from the inside out,
“I guess I don’t really know how any of that works. It’s like we keep pushing together then rip apart, taking or swapping pieces from each other… like a… really bad tango.”
like a disease, something rotting, but most of all it’s like he’s…
“World’s worst tango. But mainly I’m all the stuff you don’t like or try to ignore or whate—”
“Is that what you always feel like?” he asks, quiet.
“—vvvwhat?”
He can’t look at it, gripping his shirt. “Like… you’re dying.”
Silence.
“I-I mean, nevermind! Nevermind, haha, I know you—I—we? Don’t like talking about stuff like this and maybe I’m just making assumptions or—”
“It is.”
He looks up at his shadow, finally. Its expression is unreadable. He blinks, and then it’s gone.
Everything’s off the rest of the day, a pit in his stomach rolling round and round. The thought he keeps coming back to is: how do you even talk to me? How is it not, like, constantly screaming and crying?? Man, he’s rarely seen it angry. It just gets flat, irritated, and he doesn’t… he doesn’t understand how…
Is it ignoring the feeling, the way he ignores it?
Every facet of him, apparently it’s repression all the way down. When he lays in bed that night, he wonders how far it goes. There is something buried deep inside him trying to claw its way out of him, out of his shadow, out of the recesses of their mind. And it’s not going to be pretty when it succeeds.
MK won’t admit this to anyone, but the way he comforts himself into sleep these days is imagining himself dead.
Yeah, he knows. Not great. Better than actually trying to kill himself, at least. Unfortunately, though it helps him get to sleep, it doesn’t get him to stay asleep. Nothing does. He wakes up, over and over, tormented by his own mind every night. Sometimes he’s apathetic to the routine. Other nights he’s trying not to scream in a panic. This night is more like the latter.
He stumbles out of bed, vision hazy with black spots, meandering to the bathroom. Nausea swims in his stomach, rising in his throat, gagging and swallowing bile.
The lights blind him. He gasps, gripping the sink. Sticky notes surround his face, graphite blurred through tears, some terrible reminder of the fact he’s loved fogged in desperation. Can’t it be enough? It was so easy, it was so easy, it’d be so easy. Waking up like this every day, monotonous, crushing, for years and years and years. It chips away at you until you break. He can’t do this. Bubbling inside him, to his throat, this awful rot, some tearing hole growing bigger and bigger and he’s not sure what’ll fix it anymore—will anything? He wants this to be done and over with already! Why does he have to keep living like this?! Why does nothing ever stop? Why are his only two god damn options living miserably or closing his eyes forever? Is it even really an option? It’d be so easy.
He thinks about opening the medicine cabinet. He thinks about reaching darkness.
And he thinks about becoming nothing.
…he promised.
He stumbles back with haggard breaths, gripping his arms. Sweat drips down his face. He can’t. He squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head. He can’t do it. Why can’t he… why can he never…
I’m what you don’t like about yourself.
And you don’t like the fact you want to live.
He rubs tears off his cheeks. Maybe, maybe, god, maybe. Isn’t it terrible he wishes he didn’t want to? It’s just that it’d feel easier, one side or the other, but here he is, stuck in a miserable middle. Someone who doesn’t love life, someone who’s too terrified to die.
Sometimes he’s surprised he hasn’t completely swung the other way. He did try to get that peach, yeah, but… he doesn’t know. He doesn’t want things to stay the same anymore. He just wants to feel okay through whatever happens.
It’s not like you wanna be like him anyway.
“You’re awake?” he mutters.
“Of course I’m awake. I’m you.”
He can see his shadow behind him, in the mirror. Sorta. His vision’s still all wonky, blurring in exhaustion. “Right…” He yawns. “Okaaay, done moping. Gonna go back to bed…”
More accurately, he’s going to try to. And utterly fail at this endeavor. He just tosses and turns, images splotching his mind, staring at the ceiling in a stewing frustration mixed with anxiety. How many sleepless nights can he afford? He’s gonna collapse at some point if this runs on for too long.
Despite his exhaustion, he thinks.
Eventually he shoots the question: “What’s your problem with everyone? Especially Monkey King.”
Silence. He doesn’t even feel his shadow. For a moment, he wonders if it went to sleep.
But then it appears, cross-legged on the wall beside him.
“…why are you asking?” it mutters, tail lashing.
“I’unno, just. Like. Been hard not to notice how you get about people.”
“You don’t want to have this conversation.”
“You don’t know.”
“I’m literally you. You had a terrible nightmare. You wanna kill yourself. Now you’re asking me about stuff you hate thinking about?”
He flinches. Then, annoyed, “I’m trying to get you.”
“Right.”
“Maybe I’m bored! It’s boring laying here not being able to sleep or anything.”
“It is boring.”
“So answer my question.”
“…fine. You wanna know? I don’t like them because they hurt us. Because he hurt us.”
“I—even if that’s true which I don’t think it is really, you like, get really really mad, and I don’t actually feel mad about like, any of this, and I guess I just don’t understand why any part of me would, like…”
It sighs. “Since we love thinking in black and white, here: you love him and I hate him! You’d think that would cancel each other out, but it just results in this horrible amalgamation of conflicting feelings! And like always, you ignore the parts you don’t like.”
“I don’t—” He suddenly feels sick. “I don’t hate him! I don’t think any part of me would.”
“Okay, less in black and white, then. We’re angry!”
He feels himself wilting. “I’m not actually… i-it’s just the, PTSD and stuff. It makes us irrational. We’re not really…”
It groans. “Do you even realize you SHOULD be mad?”
“W-What?”
“He’s fucked up! Monumentally! Feeling just a tiny smidge of upset about that is the rational response! Not whatever you’re doing!”
“But I’m not upset, I-I understand why those things happened, and—”
“Why don’t you ever just let yourself be mad?!”
“I’m… I’m not supposed to be…”
“This again.”
Something’s curdling in his stomach. “But I shouldn’t be! I love him, I love all of them!”
“So that means you can never be upset with them?”
“I forgave them—”
“Right! Right, forgive and forget. Like that makes it go away. Like we ever stopped hurting!”
“But we did!”
“No, you just ignore it! Like how you ignore literally everything else! Do you think I would EXIST if everything was fine?! If some part of your brain didn’t know it was true?! I’m a part of it, and I’m telling you this now!”
If he gets upset—
He squeezes his eyes shut, that stupid nightmare clawing at his brain. He doesn’t… he doesn’t want to be like this, he doesn’t want to feel like this, he doesn’t want to hurt anyone, he doesn’t. He doesn’t… he doesn’t… this isn’t right. None of this is right. He doesn’t know anymore.
“…I told you you didn’t want to have this conversation.”
His shadow disappears.
He breathes, gripping his blanket. His blinks slow. Despite it all, darkness overtakes him once again, and he finally sleeps.
“It’s not just about the power, is it? Not liking your monkey form.”
MK sighs, breaking out of his meditative pose. He did well this time, but everything’s, you know, still a massive struggle. He re-orientates himself at Wukong’s question. “Mmm. Yeah, I guess.”
“I was just thinking. We don’t have to talk about it.”
“No, ‘s fine.” He waves a hand.
“What are the other things you don’t like about it?” Mei asks.
He shrugs. “I dunno how to explain it.”
“Try anyway?”
Hm.
Something about being a human raised and surrounded by demons. Something about, but if you never were human…
“It’s. Like. I was adopted by a demon,” he starts. “And a human, but Tang’s the only human I know! You guys, Pigsy, Sandy, Red Son, Macaque… none of you are human. And that’s… important to me? I guess? I dunno why.”
“Like, being different?”
“Yeah. Surprise! You fit in the whole time! But that’s not how I grew up. I don’t want that to just be, ‘fixed’? Cause!” He pushes himself up, gesturing. “I-It’s important that I guess I don’t, in… um… when something is natural? Naturally. Belong, but we still made it work, you know? …is that weird of me?”
“Weird or not, it sounds like being human’s really important to you,” Wukong says. “So… why can’t you just still be one?”
Huh?
“I don’t think that’s how that works…”
“Why not??” Mei asks, leaning forward. “You look pretty human to me! It’s the thing we’ve known you as for like, a bajillion years! That doesn’t need to stop!”
“But it’s… this body is… it’s fake.”
“Why?”
“Huh??”
“Why is it fake?”
“I—” He pauses. “Cause, like… like, I was made as a stone monkey thing. Not this. Actually, I’m not sure why I even have this body?”
Her frown deepens. “You weren’t made a boy, either. But you are one.”
“I… guess? Hmm. But that’s different! You can change your gender, you can’t just, like, decide you’re a different species—okay I know I can literally turn into other species but that’s also different—like, it’s just not…”
“Why can’t you do that?”
He blinks. “Cause. Um.” He holds the back of his neck. “I dunno?? You just—it just—”
Unable to conjure any reasonable string of words, he falls silent. He stares at the grass.
“…MK, when all of this started, I never stopped thinking of you as human. You were just, like, also a monkey, apparently. But those things don’t cancel each other out. Why can’t you just be both?”
“She’s right, you know,” Wukong says. “You’re the only one who gets to choose who or what you are.”
He flops back. “It’s not—it’s not just about turning into a monkey, it’s myyy. Identityyy? I-I don’t like a lot of things about myself, and I guess that all got stuck to the… monkey stuff…”
“Stuck to it?” Mei asks, tilting her head.
He shrugs again.
“Associated with it,” Wukong doesn’t quite ask.
“Yeah. And they’re not really things that feel like… like, the way I wanna be and, those things, don’t really feel like they can go together.”
Anger and easy-going. Optimistic and bitter. Kind and mean. Human and not human. Airy and analytical. Slow and sharp. Weak and strong. Earnest and sarcastic. Forgiving and resentful. Wanting to die and wanting to live.
“I don’t know how to make them fit together,” he says.
“Maybe they don’t need to,” Mei says.
“Huh?”
“Like, I dunno. Anyone can be like anything, right? It doesn’t need to make sense.” The sun sets her aglow. “When have people like you and me ever made sense?”
“Mm…”—He averts his gaze—“but I want it to make sense…”
“You’re a real black and white thinker, you know.”
“No I’m not!”
“Yes you are.”
“Nuh-uh.”
“Yuh-huh.”
“Nuh-uh!”
“Yuh-huh!”
“Maybe he’s one sometimes, but not other times,” Wukong chimes in.
A pause.
MK giggles. Mei follows, and her giggling only makes him giggle harder, until he’s clutching his stomach, full-out laughing.
“It wasn’t that funny!” Wukong says, but he starts laughing too, until all three of them are about to burst a gut.
MK’s laughing peters out as he flops back against the cool grass, clouds passing over the sun. He sighs, cheeks hurting from how hard he’s smiling. “I really love you guys.”
“I love you too!” Mei flops down beside him.
“Aw,” Wukong laughs a little, embarrassed, this time. “I care about you too, bud.”
He feels good, after that. Good enough it sort of hurts. Good enough it bothers him. He goes about his day, and waits until there’s a quiet moment, alone in his apartment. He sits on his bed, staring at the blank TV.
“Back when we fought Azure Lion, and I… transformed…” He frowns at his hazy reflection. “That was you, wasn’t it?”
The silence is answer enough.
“You still protected Monkey King,” he continues. “You still love him.”
“…and you’re still angry.”
…
Maybe.
“I guess another thing I’ve been meaning to bring up… it feels like my life has been really messed up, but it also feels like I’ve just been handed everything and I actually have it really good.”
“What do you mean?”
He’s laying on his therapist’s couch, hands folded. Kind of like a dracula. “Like… I’ve almost died, like, a million times. Other people did die. Sometimes I was the one killing them! Is that—should I be in jail right now??”
“What’s said in here stays in here.”
“Cool. So all of that’s happened, and also my friends and family have all also almost died a million times. And I was made solely to die, but I didn’t die, so I don’t have any purpose anymore. Which also means I’m not human, or, like, human and something else, and I don’t want to be something else. On top of all of the crazy world-ending stuff, I only grew up with one friend cause everyone else bullied me, and my dad didn’t act like my dad for twenty years, and generally most of the adults in my life have massively fucked something up with me, like my mentor, too, who sort of left me to a lot of world-ending things alone and kept terrible secrets from me and other people, which he feels bad about that but I also feel bad about it. And I’m super depressed all the time.”
“That all does sound very messed up.”
“Right?! Right??? Isn’t it?”
“But…?”
He sighs, falling back. “But I still feel like I don’t have the right to be all that upset. My dad wasn’t a jerk, you know? Not the way Mei’s parents treated her. Everyone loves me so much! And I was just handed these amazing powers and opportunities. I stumbled on some random noodle shop and the guy actually took me in. I could have been a homeless orphan child. And everyone’s trying really hard to… be there for me, and I’m just not really giving them what they want. I dunno.”
“You can be grateful for the love and kindness in your life, while still being upset about the unfair or traumatic events that have happened. It’s always a bit complicated, being a person.”
“I wish it wasn’t.” He sighs.
“And you’ve been through a lot more than most.”
“I guess. It just never really feels like… enough. To be upset about.”
“If someone else went through what you did… nearly dying, watching others die, feeling betrayed or hurt by loved ones, ostracized from society, with the weight of the world on their shoulders—would you think that isn’t enough to be upset about?”
“I. Guess I’d say it is enough. When you put it like that.”
“Unfortunately, it’s always easier to say it about someone else. It feels different if it’s you, right?”
“…yeah.”
“It won’t always be like that. It’s just that you’re afflicted with a deeply damaging illness. It hinders your ability to see things clearly… especially things regarding yourself. You can’t help but hate who you are, that you give yourself no grace or charity. But that’s not how you’d treat someone else. So… when you feel these things, try to approach it from an outsiders perspective—with comfort, with care. Gently challenge these thoughts. You are hurting, you are in pain, and your brain is crying out for relief. The best thing you can do is treat it with kindness. It’s… like a child, in that regard. That’s something that’s part of all of us.”
“Like a child…”
Or like a scared cat.
Heat rises behind his eyes. He breathes, in and out. She gives him a minute.
“Um. Can I talk about something, like. A little happier, for a moment?” he asks.
“Of course.”
“Weeell… we’re going on a camping trip.”
“Mm?”
“Yeah, I’m kinda excited for it. I dunno. I think it’ll be fun? Supposed to be a group outing to like, get out of the city, introspect and train and be with nature and stuff. Mostly I just wanna make s’mores.”
“S’mores?”
“It’s an American thing! I’ve seen it in some shows, and I wanted to try it. You have, like, these crackers, and marshmallow and chocolate sandwiched together.”
“It sounds fun,” she smiles. “Make sure to tell me all about it when you’re back. Speaking of which…” She turns to her computer. “We could schedule another session for right after?”
“Yeah! That sounds good.”
“While we’re wrapping up, is there anything else you wanna talk about?”
“Umm, not really. Maybe just more of the same thing next time.”
“And do you want to hurt yourself or anyone else today?”
“No.”
“Good.” She stands. He follows, letting her lead him out the door. Of course, he snatches some of the candies in the basket before exiting. “Have a good day, MK. I’ll see you in a week.”
“Thanks! Bye!”
Yeah. The trip’ll be good, he hopes.
Part 2: The Bitter of Winter Must Fray
“Just imagine it. All alone in a dark forest… we’re basically begging for one of us to get possessed.” Mei waves her hands.
“That’s always you, though. You’re the one who gets possessed,” MK says.
“Has that happened before…?” Wukong asks with a frown.
“No, just, like, when we talk about what would happen if we were in a horror movie.” He starts counting on his fingers. “Mei gets possessed. I die first investigating a weird noise or tripping over a rock or something. Tang dies second cause he’s like a comic relief character, you know? And he’d have too much important information to make it to the end, so they’d need to cap him. Pigsy sorta has final girl vibes… we haven’t really decided if he’d die at the very end or make it out.”
“Can’t help but notice you’ve decided none of you would live,” Macaque says.
“Well, would you?” Mei asks.
“Obviously yes.”
“Having that confidence is exactly why you’d die in a horror movie.”
“Where do you think I’d be placed?” Sandy asks.
“Hmmm… you’d survive, actually.”
“Yeah, you’d survive.”
“What about me?” Wukong asks.
“You’d die.”
“What??”
“You’re a mentor! Their entire thing is dying!” Mei exclaims.
“Ugh, I hate that trope. Also, I’m immortal?”
“Yeah, but we’re talking about horror movie rules right now. You’re not gonna be immortal in a horror movie.”
“That’s dumb.”
“You can’t seriously be offended by this,” Macaque says, exasperated.
“Alright, we’re at camp,” Pigsy announces, stopping, the group halting as well.
“Woo!” MK cheers. “Aaah, it’s just like I remember it!”
A forest breaking into a small plateau, scattered trees forming half a circle, which opens up to a beautiful night sky. Unlit lanterns hang from the trees, near invisible. The air is cool, still, crickets chorus filling it.
“Woah. This is a really nice spot,” Wukong says.
“Eh, my mom used to take me here.” Pigsy shrugs. “Then I started taking MK an’ Tang. High time we take our whole family.”
They make quick work lighting up all the lanterns, casting their spot in a dim amber glow. Then comes gathering firewood and setting up tents once they have sufficient light.
“Okay, so, you just roast marshmallows like normal.”
“I’ve never roasted a marshmallow before,” Mei says. “Though, I’ve also never gone proper camping before… we did that fake fancy camping where you’ve got a whole bed in a tent.”
“Glamping,” MK says.
“The marshmallow thing is still pretty Western,” Pigsy says. “At least it’s sort of caught on here. Not whatever abomination MK’s about to make.”
“No, no, no, see, you roast the marshmallow. Okay? And you get one of these biscuit thingies.” He tears open the wrapping. “And you put chocolate on it. Then you put the marshmallow on it. Aaand another biscuit.” He tops it. “Bam. S’mores. I think.”
“Honestly, we’re already roastin’ sugarcane, do you really need even more sugar?” Pigsy sighs.
“Do your best American impression!” Mei grins.
“Okay, okay, hang on.” MK clears his throat. “Hey broski, you totally stoked to see some rad moves on the waves? There’s some hot beach bab—IT’S MELTING!!”
“Eat it, eat it!!”
He shoves the s’mores into his mouth.
“So… how is it?”
He chews thoughtfully. “‘s pretty good!”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Pigsy chastises.
“I’m gonna try one!”
Roasting food, sharing stories, singing, getting in some special stealth training (among other things), laughing all the while, he feels so happy it hurts. It’s like his heart is about to burst, buzzing energy beneath his skin, hopping around every chance he gets. The happier MK is, the louder that lingering resentment becomes. He starts shaking. Wishing to die, flinching at the thought of every mistake, smiling at his friends and family, wondering if it’s possible for him to be happy without every negative feeling rising to meet it. It itches. He’s having fun. It itches. Nags. A cyst, a disease, a whisper. He wants to pick everyone up and spin round and round, and some other part wants to scream, tear the whole forest down as it asks: is this really okay? Is he allowed to have this? …is he allowed to be happy?
And are they?
He stretches himself out, pleasantly exhausted after training. There’s still that itching inside him. He waits for a moment of silence to say, “I’m gonna, uh, clear my head for a bit.”
Mei stops, blinking at him. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, just! Um. I’ll be back in a couple minutes, don’t worry.”
“Wait, MK…”
“I’ll be fine! See you!” He waves.
He half runs, half slides down the rocky hill, barrelling out into the trees. He doesn’t think about where he’s going, but instinct takes him to a pond—the same one Pigsy used to teach him how to make wild water safe.
He exhales. Fireflies dot the grass, flitting about. Then, he sits.
It’s peaceful out here.
“…why are you upset?” he asks. Silence. He grits his teeth. “Come on. We’re having fun! Why do you always have to—what do you want me to do?” How does he fix this?
Below him, the water ripples, darkening, as his shadow makes itself clear.
“I want you to stop ignoring this,” it says.
“I’m not ignoring it! All of this has been me not ignoring it!”
“Really?! All you ever do is try to get rid of me!”
“I—because you can’t keep acting like this! If we’re gonna work together—”
“Acting like what?” it hisses. “You can’t be nice to me if you still think my existence is wrong.”
He steels himself. “You’re mean, we’re mean! I just want to have a good time, for once, but you…”
“Oh, so it’s always my fault?”
“Maybe it is!”
“How many times do I have to tell you? I’M YOU.”
“You don’t have to be!” he cries. “We don’t need to be like this! I’m not—I’m not gonna just, accept being an angry terrible person! I don’t want to feel like this. I don’t want to act like this! I’m trying so hard to be better but all you wanna do is stew in everything! Why can’t we just be happy?!”
“You don’t let yourself feel anything you don’t like! How is it stewing if you never stepped into it in the first place?!”
“I don’t need to step into it!”
“Yes you do!”
“I don’t wanna be a bad person!”
“Well tough luck, because that’s what we are! And you’re not gonna get aaanywhere by doing this all the time! Pretending you’re some god damn samitarian, that all of this is just some invasive part to cut out of you, like it isn’t you. I’M you. THIS is you. This is US. You. Can’t. CHANGE THAT.”
He grips his head, word beneath him dizzying. “I don’t want to be a bad person,” he whispers. “This doesn’t need to be us.”
“But it is, and they need to see that instead of dragging this out forever!”
“They don’t need to!”
“Why? Because you’re scared of how they’d react?!”
“YES!” he breaks. “Yes, because I’m scared! Is that what you wanted to hear?! I’m scared they’ll hate it the way I do, I’m scared of doing more damage, I’m scared about not knowing how they’d… react…”
His shadow has… risen, pushing itself to its feet as it stands on the pond, staring at MK.
He can’t say a thing before it lunges forward, hands on his shoulders with a manic grin: “Then let’s show them.”
A mentor is supposed to be able to help their student.
Things a mentor probably shouldn’t do:
-Leave their student to fend for themself.
-Keep secrets that personally affect them or people they know.
-Make their problems their students problem.
Things Wukong has done:
-All of that.
The more MK reaches out, the more terrified he gets. Seeing him break down like that, learning the full scope of what MK’s been dealing with, it just… he thinks to himself, over and over, I’m not good at this. He barely knows how to fix his own problems, let alone other peoples. And half of those ‘other peoples problems’ are still his own problems in disguise! He brought MK into an ever-growing mess, and the kid’s been irreversibly damaged by it.
MK tried to kill himself.
Five times. Six times, sort of. Once is already too many. Five, six, he can’t even begin to comprehend that.
It repeats: there’s a problem, he pretends he knows how to help, the problem grows bigger, he pretends he knows how to help, it grows bigger, he pretends, bigger, he pretends pretends pretends.
He still thinks about MK proclaiming he wouldn’t leave Mei to the samadhi fire. There’s a lot of times he’s realized MK is a much better person than he is, but that one sticks.
How long can he keep pretending? How long until the problem’s simply too big? Nothing feels good enough, but he has nothing else to give. It almost hurts more, being unable to delude himself into thinking MK hates him, because he knows MK doesn’t. He knows MK thinks the world of Wukong, and that’s worse. He tries, tries to hope that his presence in MK’s life hasn’t been nothing but turmoil, that MK has gotten something out of this, and sometimes he can sort of believe it when he sees MK’s eyes. But that feeling of inadequacy never goes away, not fully.
It’s just… he couldn’t even stop MK from trying to sacrifice himself, back then. He tried, and his best wasn’t enough. That’s the problem, really.
Thank god MK has such good family and friends. Wukong’s been learning more and more how kind they are. They’re people he can even call his own friends, now, but… he still places himself in a separate category, like he’s been pasted into a pre-existing scene, slightly out of place. Maybe he wishes it was seamless, but he tries to not wish things like that anymore.
High time we take our whole family.
…maybe, though.
He quirks his mouth, staring out into the forest. “You think he’s okay?”
Mei frowns similarly. “Let’s trust him… but if he doesn’t come back in a few minutes, I’m getting him.”
“We all know he gets like this sometimes,” Pigsy says. “Best to let him have some space, I’d say.”
Right. The kid’s just clearing his head. Wukong understands what it’s like, to need that, even—no, maybe especially—when you’re having a good time. He’ll trust MK, like Mei said. They need that, anyway. More trust.
Wukong’s just about convinced himself everything’s fine, truly, when—
A geyser of golden magic shoots into the sky, birds flying off in a panic.
The group pauses.
Simultaneously and without a word, they rush down the hill. “MK?!” Mei calls. “What—what was that?? MK? MK!”
“Kid!” he calls in tandem. “It wasn’t too far, he should be close by.”
“MK!”
The forest opens to a clearing, where the group comes to a relieved, panicked halt, upon seeing MK sitting in the middle of the grass, by a pond. Golden light dies down, seeping into him before disappearing entirely.
“MK!” Mei says. “Are you okay?” Silence. “MK?”
MK pushes himself to his feet, slowly. Mei’s about to rush forward, but Wukong holds out an arm. “Wait a second,” he murmurs.
“What? Why?”
The air feels wrong. MK raises his head, half masked in pitch black, and opens two, white, glowing eyes. He tilts his head with a crack, grinning, tail lashing. What comes out is his voice, but it’s wrong. The intonation, the flippancy:
“Long time no see, huh?”
“Wh… M-MK? What do you—”
He looks mildly disappointed. “Right. How about this: does hearing The Scroll of Memory bring up anything for you? Do I look familiar?”
Voices overlapping, “The ink monst—?” “Ink thing??” “Ink guy?” “Weird shadow MK?”
“So close! But”—he flips his staff over his shoulder, expression settling on what could only be quiet animosity, startling on MK’s face—“I didn’t come here to chat.”
“What did you come here for?” Mei asks.
In a blink it’s gone. He points out his staff, grinning. “I’m here to settle something. I’m tired of waiting for it to happen, and I’m sure you are too. Rip the bandaid off, and all that. But, look, I know you’re all sentimental and fluffy and stuff, you like that stupid part of us. You’ll hold back. So… I’ll just give you a reason not to.”
An explosion of gold energy sends a shock-wave. Out of the blast of wind, a gigantic monkey roars over the group, slamming itself down to bite. Wukong gets out of the way fast enough, basically no one else can, a chorus of shouting.
As it dissipates it sends trees crashing down. Fuck fuck fuck—he rushes forward, hauling a tree to not crush Mei, several portals open and spit people into safety, Tang winces as a tree hits his shield, trunk shattering in half.
Everyone that was bit sway and stumble, trying to get their bodies back in working order. MK doesn’t wait for that.
Mei yelps as MK suddenly appears in front of her. “Boo.” His staff hits her sword with a screech of metal.
She jumps back, near falling. “If you’re some part of MK, why are you doing this?! We’re your friends!”
If Mei had any strength left he swiftly destroys it, relentless. “Why am I doing this?” MK repeats, Mei struggling as they remain locked, staff and sword straining against each other. “You know, you’re our favorite. Our best friend. I wonder—how far does that extend?”
And he punches her in the gut, sending her crashing into a tree.
“Mei!” the others cry.
Ripped from her hands, MK spins her sword and stabs it into the tree above her.
Wukong, desperately trying to find an opening, is beaten to it by Pigsy. He yanks his rake around MK’s neck. “Kid, you gotta stop!”
MK grabs the rake, looking entirely unbothered. “You’re really fine fighting your son, Dadsy?”
Pigsy falters, and MK starts to swing, intercepted by a golden shield. He pauses. Tang stands a few feet away, face hardened in nervous determination. “M-MK! Calm down, please!”
During that brief second, Wukong registers now, now’s the time, now now now—
MK smashes through the shield with his fist, ground shattering on impact, Pigsy just leaping away in time.
And Wukong strikes.
MK grabs his fist before it lands, kicking his stomach, only to be shoved back by Macaque. MK grabs Macaque, arm shifting to a gorilla’s, and slams him onto the ground.
“Kid!” Macaque yells. “You’re going to regret doing this—!”
“What’s one more to the pile!”
MK throws Macaque into a tree, him entering a shadow just before impact, leaping out from a different tree. He lands on the now coalescing shadows, the towering figure of Smokey blotting out the moon. As Smokey roars, slamming its fists onto MK, Wukong realizes what he’s supposed to do. He flits to MK, reaching out to catch him from behind as soon as the fists raise—
Without missing a beat MK swings back. MK grins eerily. “Did you think you could get me with that?”
He struggles against the staff, feigning an attack, long enough for Macaque to finally ensnare MK in his shadows. He and Smokey, of course, were just a distraction. Taking the opportunity, Wukong summons gold chains that snap around MK’s limbs, the combined weight dragging him to his knees.
Macaque slides back beside Wukong. “That’s not gonna hold him for long.”
“Just, regroup. Figure out a plan,” Wukong says.
“Okay, can someone explain what’s goin’ on?!” Pigsy yells.
MK’s taken to sitting cross-legged, just watching. That’s… somehow worse than if he was struggling.
Wukong realizes everyone’s looking at him. “How am I supposed to know?!” he squawks.
“Mystic monkey business?” Mei says.
“Ain’t this sorta stuff your entire deal?” Pigsy asks.
“Why don’t we just ask MK?” Sandy proposes.
Everyone pauses. They turn to MK, who’s got his head propped up by his hands, tail lazily swinging.
“No, no, no,” he grins, “I wanna see if you can figure it out yourselves!”
Helpful. “He’s been… struggling with his identity,” he starts.
“And being a stone monkey demon thing,” Mei adds.
“And the fact his PTSD and everything else has caused a split in his thoughts and emotions, turning into an endless struggle to shove down everything he thinks is ‘wrong’, but none of it actually goes away so once his brain can’t handle repressing any more it just leads to an explosion,” Sandy says.
Everyone looks at Sandy.
He stares back. “Uh… I thought we all knew that?”
“Don’t do that.” They whip their heads back around to MK. His smile is gone, tail flicking. “You’re not my therapist. And I’m not a victim. This is your problem! Oh, poor MK,” his voice lilts as he rises, scowling, “traumatized and suicidal, like it excuses everything we do! Let me make this clear,” anger is swiftly crushed beneath a cold, unfeeling tone, “I don’t care about what I’m doing, or about what I’m going to do.”
The ribbons and chains snap, MK disappearing.
The group presses together, scanning the trees. “What are we supposed to do?!” Mei asks.
“You should leave him to me—”
“WE HAD AN ENTIRE ARC ABOUT NOT DOING THINGS ALONE!!!” she shouts.
“That’s not what I meant—I mean, well, kind of, but—” He raises his arms in just enough time to block MK’s staff, skidding back. “Gah—kid!”
Bolts of light, MK striking blow after blow, swift and transforming around Wukong. If Wukong ever thought he experienced a real fight with MK before, it was nothing compared to this. He keeps getting pushed back, unable to retaliate, just barely stopping MK’s staff from stabbing into Wukong or something, which at this point he’s starting to think is on the table!
“Stop”—MK swings—“holding”—Wukong catches it—“BACK.”
He realizes he fell for it a moment too late, MK’s other hand coming in to punch Wukong, a fiery burst of fury.
“You’re pathetic. You can’t even have a real fight your student because you’re too scared of hurting him. Well I’m not scared of hurting you!” He raises his staff—
A hand grabs MK, pulling him into a portal. MK’s spit out across the clearing, where Macaque tries to restrain him, MK struggling with flashes of gold. “Kid—come on! We don’t have to do this—”
MK breaks free, punching Macaque back. “You know, I’m getting real sick of people saying that!” he growls.
MK flits about in flashes, appearing behind Tang to ram a foot into his back. Tang yelps, and Pigsy leaps in to pull MK back, just to get a punch in the cheek. Mei’s gotten her sword back, aiming a destructive blast at him, which MK dodges in inhumane speed. It’s hard to even see where MK is, just bursts of light as he appears in front of and behind people, gradually taking them down one by one, until the whole groups struggling to stand.
When MK finally slows, just for a moment, Wukong gets in between him and Sandy, blocking his attack.
MK grits his teeth, straining against Wukong. “You again?” he mutters, pulling free.
“I’m not gonna let you hurt everyone!” Wukong stands firm. “I know how upset you’ll be about doing this!”
“You should be more worried about yourself!”
MK grabs Wukong, flipping him over to crash him into the dirt. Wukong transforms into a bird, slipping from MK’s grasp, and MK follows the transformation, striking blows mid-air before transforming back, MK shoving him onto the ground, hard, the two of them rolling through the dirt and grass.
MK breathes heavily, swinging at Wukong with his claws. “We make quite a pair, don’t we?! We ruin everything we touch!”
“This doesn’t define who you are!” Wukong tries, wincing when MK manages to draw blood.
“You’re just like everyone else. You ignore the parts of people that makes it harder to love them!”
“I just wanted you to be able to control it, so that this wouldn’t happen!”
“So that this wouldn’t happen?” he snarls. “It’s nice to know what you think of me. You’re scared. ADMIT IT.”
“Of course I’m scared!” he yells. “Of course I’m scared—but it’s not of you, I’m scared for you!”
MK’s eyes widen a little. He flickers, then re-appears a few feet away, surrounded by the group. He pants, raising an arm, and out comes an arc of gold, slicing into everyone. The group yell, more trees cut down, near crushing them.
“Are you tryna kill us?!” Pigsy yells.
“What? Surprised your precious MK would do something like that? If you don’t want to die, you’ll just have to kill me first!” He’s a blur, moving in front of Pigsy, and strikes—
Mei blocks the way.
MK grunts, pushed back. “Gh—”
“MK! Listen to me!”
“Shut up—”
“MK!” She grapples him, MK squirming and clawing at her. “MK, I swear to god—stop—I know you’re upset, but we don’t have to do this! Just talk to me!”
“Do you want to die?!”
“You wouldn’t kill me! I know you wouldn’t!”
“I’m not gonna let you placate me again!”
“We can figure this out together!” she yells, staying even as his claws scrape blood. He shoves her away, but she holds her ground, matching his every step, a determined barrier between MK and everyone else. “Please, just—we love you! Whatever it is you’re going through, we want to help! So stop fighting us and talk to me!”
“I said”—He raises his staff, swinging at her head—“SHUT UP!”
Mei collapses.
Time stops for a moment.
MK stares. He stutters back, a huff escaping his mouth, that morphs into a laugh. He cackles loudly, white tears budding in his eyes.
“Do you see now?” he asks to empty air, holding himself. “Do see now?! You can’t save me! We can’t save any of this! Just some fucked up kid and all the fucked up people in his life.”
Tang grips his staff, unsteady. “MK, she’s right—please, just—talk to us. Why are you upset?! We can…”
“Why am I upset…?” he repeats quietly.
The air stills. Wind howls, new spring leaves fluttering by. Wukong’s not sure how to describe it, but it’s like something… something terrible is surrounding MK, growing, festering, screaming. A rattling tail, baring of teeth, claws unsheathing, the pause of motionless quiet after a warning and before the bite, yelling: GET AWAY.
He stalks forward, slow and deliberate, staff dragging along the ground. “Why am I upset?”
And he disappears in a flash of light, appearing behind Pigsy. He yanks Pigsy by the ear and slams him into the ground. “You”—and he rams his staff into Pigsy’s throat, cutting off his scream—“couldn’t call us your son for fifteen years!”
When Tang tries to intercept, he jabs his elbow into Tang’s stomach. “You’ve always been more preoccupied with looking reliable than actually being there!” MK shouts, kicking him into a tree.
“MK, Mei was right, we can just talk about it!” Sandy tries. “We don’t need to fight!”
“I am talking about it!” He grabs Sandy’s arm, yanking, surging with golden power, “You act like you’ve got everything figured out, but you can’t even help anyone else!” and throws him over, smashing into dirt.
Macaque tries to catch MK unnoticed, but MK grabs him instead, gripping him by the throat and slamming him into a tree. “When have you ever been sorry for anything you’ve done?!” he snarls, Macaque struggling to get MK’s hand off.
MK drops him, head snapping to Wukong. “And you,” he hisses, air suffocating. “You made us think we were worth something! So it was fine that you left us in the dust, it was fine you dragged us into your problems, it was FINE that you kept secrets, IT WAS FINE WE WERE HURT, IT WAS FINE OUR FRIENDS AND FAMILY WERE TOO! AND IN THE END?” His staff grazes Wukong, time seeming to slow for a moment. “We weren’t worth anything.”
And Wukong is slammed into the ground.
MK towering over him, tears in his eyes as his face twists in anguish, Wukong thinks: if he tried to kill me, I wouldn’t even stop him.
But MK flickers. He’s back in the center of the clearing, collapsing to his knees. He utters a pained sound as his body glitches, flashes of gold light.
“Wha—what’s happenin?!” Pigsy cries.
Wukong, somehow, can still talk. “He—m-magic can be tied to emotions, and his—”
“Are really big and intense right now?” Tang finishes.
“Too much so, yeah, because he kept repressing all of it, that now it’s just… exploded. This is months, years of pent up stuff, he can’t handle all of it at once.”
“What happens if he doesn’t calm down?” Sandy asks.
He says nothing. The silence is answer enough.
“We can’t keep just fightin, we gotta knock him to his senses,” Pigsy says.
“Is he even going to listen to us?” Tang asks.
“Prolly not, but we still gotta try.”
MK rises. He’s panting, stumbling a little, but stands straight enough. His mouth moves, too quiet to hear.
“What—what did you say?” Tang asks.
“I SAID.” His body crackles with gold. “I DON’T.” The ground shatters beneath him. “WANT TO.” And a surge explodes with a gold arc. “HEAR IT.”
Wind blasts into them all, slamming them to the ground. He grits his teeth, trying his best to keep purchase of the clawing dirt.
Pigsy, “Kid, please—!”
“I HATE HOW YOU ALL MAKE US FEEL!” he shouts, tears beginning to roll down his cheeks. “Forgive and forget, smoothing it over like we weren’t hurt, like you weren’t hurt! Why can’t we just be ANGRY?! WHY AREN’T YOU?!” With nowhere to go, his magic surges into the sky, MK twitching and glitching. “YOU SHOULD BE MAD! YOU SHOULD HATE US! WE’RE A TERRIBLE PERSON!” It’s becoming more and more difficult to see him, sparking gold and an unstable form. “I just wanted to get to the part where you leave us already! But you had to make that difficult TOO! STOP GIVING US HOPE FOR SOMETHING THAT ISN’T GOING TO HAPPEN!”
Wukong has thought this many times, but now more than ever he realizes: he never could help MK, and will never be able to.
He doesn’t know what to do. There’s nothing he can do. Not him.
Mei gets up.
“MK!” she shouts. She stumbles forward, clutching herself with one hand. “You idiot! I know you don’t even like doing this! You’re hurting yourself more than you’re hurting us!”
“YOU DON’T KNOW THAT. YOU DON’T KNOW ME!”
“I’ve known you for fifteen years!!!” she cries. “You don’t get to say I don’t know you! I know the first time you ever cried, I was there when you were struggling with being trans, I was your first kiss and the first person to hear you hate anything like that! Every stupid, awkward moment, from a kid that barely knew how to smile, to an acne-ridden teenager that had enough anxiety to rival the world, to someone learning how to be an adult, loud and impulsive and maybe kind of reckless, but it was okay, because we were there to catch you when you fell!” Closer, closer. “For a long time now, you’ve acted like nothing really bothers you. But you never grew out of your insecurities, the fear that one day everyone would realize you’re a burden and leave you, that you were too different, too wrong!”
MK steps back. “GET AWAY!”
“NO! I’ve always, always helped you, and that isn’t changing now!”
“THIS IS DIFFERENT! I’M HURTING YOU, EVERYONE, ON PURPOSE! I’M NOT SOME DAMSEL IN DISTRESS, I’M NOT SOMETHING YOU CAN FIX!” he screams, angry and terrified and harrowing.
“I’M NOT TRYING TO FIX YOU! No matter how broken you think you are, I’m still going to be by your side!”
“I COULD KILL YOU!”
“DO YOU THINK I CARE ABOUT THAT?!”
“YOU SHOULD!” it tears out of him like he’s been shot, coming to a halt as he form suddenly stabilizes. “You should. Why—why are you—”
Pigsy’s risen, hand pushing back against the wind. “Son, you’re right. I hurt you! I hurt you cause I couldn’t fuckin’ accept being a parent! I didn’t think I was gentle enough for it, I didn’t think I had anythin’ to give as someone that’s a son no more.” He marches forward, as best he can. “But I shoulda kept ya closer, I shoulda just given you what you needed—what you wanted! I know it ain’t gonna make up for years of hurt, but I want ya to know, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me! You were never a burden!”
Tang grimaces, clutching his staff as he staggers to his feet. “M-MK, I-I want to be someone you can rely on, too! Someone that doesn’t run away when things get too hard! I’m sorry it took me so long to realize that, I’m sorry I faked it for so long!”
“I don’t know everything,” Sandy starts, “you’re right about that. I don’t know how to help people much more than I know how to help myself. I’m just trying to do better than I did yesterday. And that means today, too! I’m sorry I could never do more! But I’m extending my hand to you now, even if I can’t solve it, even if all I can do is be by your side—I’ll do it!”
Mei’s almost there. “MK,” she says, softer, “I know you want to be a good person, but this is killing you inside. You think every bad thought or feeling, every time you slip up, means you’re just one mistake away from losing everything, but you aren’t!”
“It’s not one mistake! I’m always the cause of everything!” He tries to skitter back, but it’s clear he’s losing his resolve. “Do you know how much easier, how much better your lives would be if you never met me?!”
“Screw having an easy life! I don’t even care if it was all your fault!”
“Why?!” he shouts, more tears spilling over. “Why won’t you just let me go?!”
“Because I.” Another step.
“Get away,” he whispers.
“Still.”
“Get away.”
“Love.”
“GET AWAY!”
And she leaps forward. “YOU!”
She crushes MK into a hug, skidding across the ground.
Everything stops.
The sickness in the air, bursts of desperate, crying magic, wind pushing them all way. It’s as if the universe sighs in relief, finally lowering its shoulders.
MK has stilled in her arms, eyes wide with tears.
“…don’t do this,” he says weakly. “I don’t want to stop being mad.”
“You can be mad all you want, but I’m going to hug you through it. And you can’t! Stop me!”
The others come closer, now that they can. “You deserve to be mad,” Pigsy says. “Nothin’s been easy on ya, and I didn’t help with that. But I just want ya to know…” He wraps around the back of MK. “You’re my son. I love you. Ain’t nothing’s gonna change that.”
Tang, too. “MK, no matter what, I’m still going to stand by you. Also, it’s not like any of us are perfect.”
And Sandy wraps his arms around everyone. “MK, I used to struggle a lot with this. Being angry, wanting to be angry, it swallows you. But the only way through is to let yourself feel it… then send it off when you don’t need it anymore.”
MK stands there.
Slowly, slowly, he raises his hands, feebly wrapping them around Mei. Wukong sees the exact moment he loses the battle, slumping into everyone. He trembles, those budding tears spilling over again, and sobs.
“It’ll be okay,” Mei whispers. “It’ll be okay. We love you.”
Pigsy’s brows furrow, and he looks at Wukong and Macaque. “Hey! Getch yer asses over here!” he barks.
“Uhhh,” Wukong says eloquently, “I, uh…”
“I’m not, like. Good at this,” Macaque says, clearly also feeling too guilty to join.
“I shouldn’t… I mean, I…”
He loses any reservations the moment MK looks up at him. Maybe he’s just letting delusional hope seep in, but MK looks pleading. He… he can’t ignore that. So he steps forward, then drags Macaque along by the sleeve, until they’re both being squished into the giant hug pile.
MK’s breath hitches through his tears. Faintly, he laughs.
“…guess you all proved us wrong.”
A soft smile is his last expression before the shadow slips away, and MK falls limp.
MK is standing in a field.
Tall grass sways in the wind, camellias, dandelions and other flowers he doesn’t know the names of, butterflies flitting about. Everything’s fuzzy at the edges, like watercolor smearing. Wind passes through him without sensation.
He feels compelled to walk, so he does.
Clouds pass over the sun, washing the world in soft hues. Is he dreaming? The place feels familiar, somehow. He’s not afraid.
It all comes to a cliffside, choppy water crashing into the rocks below.
His shadow sits near the edge.
MK approaches, looking at it—legs pulled up, head in its arms. He sits beside it. Emanating from his shadow is a slew of emotions, anger, despair, confusion, but biggest of all: a crushing weight of mournfulness. He faintly feels it as he watches the ocean, waiting.
“ …aren’t we a bad person?” his shadow mutters eventually.
Loaded question. “I’m trying not to be.”
“But it never works out.”
“I guess.” He picks at the grass. “I… get it, now. You. You’re not… a bad part of me. You’re just a part. I dunno if that makes any sense, haha. Like. I guess there aren’t really good or bad parts to anybody, it’s all just. Parts.”
“Some parts are better than others,” it mumbles.
“I don’t think I’m better than you,” he frowns.
“Don’t you hate me?”
“I don’t anymore.”
Silence.
“You’re scared, like me, right?” he asks. It’s not really a question. “About who we are. The things we’ve done. I was so scared, I kept trying to get rid of you. And you kept trying to get rid of me.”
“…I hated how different you acted, from how you felt. It was like you were pretending. Keeping who you really were shoved down.”
“It’s not pretending, you’re not—you’re not the ‘real’ us, and… neither am I. There… isn’t a real or fake, pretending or not pretending, just… us. All of it. It’s us. And none of it’s any better or worse than the other parts.”
It pulls its head up slightly, teary-eyed. “Do you really believe that?”
“I wanna try to.”
“…you’re stupid.”
“I get that a lot.”
When he thinks about the way wind feels, he almost gets the sensation on his skin. An echo of a memory.
It rubs its eyes, tail flicking about. “If we’re not a bad person, what was the point of any of this?”
“I don’t think there’s a point to most things.”
“There was a point, to us. We were made for something. We were made for something, and we followed that path, up until the very end. Were we—did we not have a choice? Did we always have one?”
“I don’t know, I just… know the answer I like more.”
Its face scrunches. “But it means none of this had to happen.”
“Yeah,” he says. “It does.” He faces his shadow, laughing a little. “Doesn’t that suck?”
It blinks in surprise, a final tear rolling down. Slowly, its legs unfurl, staring at the sea down below. “What do we… do now?”
“We live, I guess. As MK. Whoever that is.”
“…together?”
He smiles, holding out his hand.
It stares at him. Hand raising, it reaches, tentative, finally reciprocating as its fingers graze his palm, and they lightly hold each other.
Then he drags it forward into a hug.
They grip each other and it feels like he’s hugging and being hugged and everything at once. Something’s rising in him, something’s changing. His vision blurs and he only holds on tighter.
“I’m sorry,” it says.
“Yeah. I’m sorry too.”
They meld together, body’s dissipating, and he can’t say it, but he thinks, thinks as hard as he can: I love you.
Somehow, he feels it
being said
back
.
.
.
MK’s eyes fly open.
He gasps, throwing himself up. Images stain his mind, something like a dream, quickly overtaken by a stab of dizziness. “Ow, ow, owww—”
“Hey, hey, don’t move too fast! You’re still recovering.”
Vision somewhat focusing, he sees the blurry face of Wukong. “Hwuhwh?”
MK’s in… his room, he thinks. Wukong’s sitting on his computer chair, and the lights are off, blinds closed, so only a soft light illuminates the room. It feels dreamy, like a rainy day, but with his blanket under his hands, he knows this is real.
He blinks. “Why am I here?”
“You passed out. Been sleeping, like, nearly a full day now? You really wore yourself thin.”
“Oh…” Wait. “W-Wait, so did… all of that actually…”
“Happen?” Wukong grimaces a little. “Yeah, bud, it did.”
MK slowly averts his gaze. Then, grabbing his pillow, he throws himself back and yells into it.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay, really!”
“THAT WAS THE WORST WAY TO DO THAT!!!” He kicks his legs. “Auuughhh, what was it thinking—what was I thinking? We…?”
He reaches and doesn’t find another presence, nor the absence of one. It’s hard to describe, it just sort of… is?
Something has happened.
He throws himself back up. “Who am I right now??” he asks Wukong like he’d know.
“Yourself?”
“No, I mean, like—” He gestures. “Why’s it all gotta be me, makes it so hard to talk about,” he mutters to himself, feeling some sort of faux annoyance—fondness, really, but then realizes he’s not sure who he’s directing that to.
Wukong softens. “Don’t be too mad at yourself, seriously. You… needed to let it out.”
“Coulda done it in a less explosive and shouty manner.”
“Hey, that line of thinking is exactly why it happened in the first place.”
“Stop saying things that are right,” he mumbles into his pillow.
“That’s gonna be pretty hard.”
He looks up at Wukong, noting the way Wukong averts his own gaze. He looks… nervous?
MK realizes there’s a million things he needs to, wants to say. And, like. Not screaming it this time while trying to kill everyone. He won’t say what he felt at the time was false. It wasn’t a moment of cruelty that meant nothing. But it did, crucially, leave out anything positive he feels about them all, and that’s a lot of things. How much it outweighs his anger isn’t even a contest.
But if he says there isn’t any anger…
He messes with his fingers. He’s gotta stop running.
But Wukong stands and says, “I’ll tell the others you’re awake, now.”
“H-Huh? Oh, uh… okay…”
MK watches him leave, mouth open without finding the courage to speak. He’s left in silence.
He just watches the rain pattering outside his window. There’s talking downstairs, barely audible. Something in his chest feels lighter. He reaches inside, reaches as deep as he can to figure out this feeling, this absence, this fullness.
And it clicks.
After so long of feeling like he was missing something, missing himself, a jumbled puzzle, wondering who MK really was or what it meant to be him, feeling like this instead is…
Heart beating, he grips his shirt, unable to keep himself from grinning.
He feels whole.
Flopping back down, he closes his eyes and thinks: I love you.
After a minute, there’s a knock on his door.
“Come in,” he says.
Pigsy and Tang walk in. MK sits up. “Dad,” he breathes.
Their faces scrunch, tears in Tang’s eyes, and they rush forward. “MK!” Tang reaches out, just to stop. “Can I—”
MK holds out his arms. Pigsy and Tang are quick to take the invitation, wrapping him up in a hug from the world itself. MK laughs a little, heat rising behind his eyes. This feels familiar.
“Oh, kid…” Pigsy pulls back, wiping his eye. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s—it’s okay.”
“No it ain’t. I was a sorry excuse for a dad and we both know it.”
“It’s not like I was much better…” Tang says.
“You guys did your best! You… you really did.” He takes his arms back, gripping his blanket. “I’m really grateful for everything you’ve done for me. I love you. And… you love me. That’s… really all I could ask for, hah.”
“We coulda done better. I shoulda. Sure, some nasty’s stuff happened to you this past year, but you were always insecure—and that? The way you turned out? That doesn’t just happen randomly.”
“I was also bullied.”
“And ya didn’t tell me that for years. I didn’t make myself someone you thought you could tell anything.”
“I…”
Pigsy cups MK’s face. “Just let me say sorry, kid. You deserved better. And I swear on my grave, I’ll spend every day of the rest of our lives doing better for you. If… if ya want me, still.”
MK sniffles, that damn heat burning into tears. “The only thing I ever wanted was you,” he manages, voice thick. “I just—I just wanted us to be a family. I didn’t understand why you kept me. I still don’t. If you didn’t like me enough to call me your son—”
“Kid, I always loved you.”
“Then why…”
“…I don’t have a good reason. I was stupid. Didn’t know how to be what you needed. I guess I didn’t want to be that important person in your life, you know? I was too scared of hurting you. You were so small. But in the end, I just made it worse, trying to keep you at a distance. ‘n I’m sorry, for that, for everything. I’m so sorry.”
“I didn’t know how I was supposed to treat you,” Tang says. “I’m sorry too. We were the adults, we should have figured it out instead of… leaving you to wonder if you were even loved.”
MK inhales sharply, tears rolling down his cheeks. “You’re really gonna try?”
“Yes!”
“You want to?”
“God, that’s the only thing I want,” Pigsy says.
MK smiles tearfully, laughing a little as he takes Tang and Pigsy’s hands. “Okay. I guess you can be my parents…” he says, faux reluctance. “Y’know, if it’ll be like this.”
Pigsy laughs back, a smile that could lighten the whole world. “I love ya, kid.”
“So do I,” Tang smiles.
“I love you guys too.”
“You wanna talk to Mei now?”
He rubs his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, that’d be nice. I-Is she okay…?”
“Nah, she’s fine. Got a thick dragon skull.”
“I don’t think that’s how that works,” he laughs a little.
So, they leave him to get none other than the best person in the entire world.
Mei waves as she rounds the corner, softly approaching MK.
“Hey. How are you feeling?” she asks.
“Um… okay, I think.” He holds the back of his neck. “Sorry for my great skill in having mental health crises."
“We’ll just have to give you a medal for it.”
“So sad.”
“So sad.”
She seats herself beside him. She looks nervous.
“Mei? Actually, by the way, I am so sorry—is your head okay?? Pigsy said it was but I wanted to ask you too, like, are you—”
“I’m fine! I’m fine, really,” she smiles.
“…if you’re sure. It’s okay if you’re… not.”
“Well, I am. You done?”
“Yeah.”
“ …I wanted to say something too. Or, uh, ask something. Are you really not mad at me for anything?”
“Hwuh?”
“Um, just.” She fiddles with her sidetails. “You didn’t… I mean, back there… you didn't say anything about being mad at me. There’s gotta be something you wanna say, right?”
“Oh.” He pauses. “No.”
“Huh?? Really?”
“What would I even be mad at you for? Being there for me for fifteen years? I’m sooo angry that you’re such an awesome amazing talented nice person.” He flops back, waving his hand. “It really grinds my gears that you’re so supportive and have helped me through the hardest times of my life—”
She hits his face with a pillow. “Okay okay I get it!!”
He tries to smush the pillow against her, the both of them straining back and forth. “No, no, no, I’m not done being mad about having you as a best friend. I hate that you make me feel like a normal person—”
“Shut up!”
“And make me laugh all the time, and how being near you immediately makes my day better—”
“Shut up!!!” She manages to thwack him again with the pillow.
He cackles, sitting back up. “Still bad at taking compliments, huh?”
“Like you’re any better,” she pouts.
They meet each others gaze. Mei immediately loses the battle, and smiles back at him, so loving it makes his heart twist.
She leans forward. “You’re like a cat.”
Nevermind. “I’m literally a monkey?”
“You’re a cat monkey.” She squishes his face. “You weren’t hiding anything evil or bad or whatever inside of you. You were hiding”—she pauses for dramatic effect—“a cat. A shouty, tsundere cat.”
“You’re too much like me,” he says, exasperated.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
He averts his gaze. She whacks at him and he laughs.
“You didn’t tell me there were two of you,” she says, head on his lap.
“It’s more like one of me now?”
“Ohh. Like, you fused?”
“I guess.”
“I get it. You don’t like a lot of things about yourself, like the monkey stuff. So it split into, like, the you you try to show everyone, then the you you didn’t like. And got all messed up. But you accept it now, right? So you’re one person now.”
“Y-Yeah. How did you…?”
She thwacks the pillow against him. “You’re not that hard to read.”
He thinks about everything he said, pausing. His hands curl. “…I really wanted you to give up on me,” he mumbles.
“I’m never giving up on you.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good thing.”
“You’re a good thing to me.”
His mouth twists. “Let—Let me prove it.” He turns, grabbing her shoulders. “I wanna help you the way you’ve always helped me! I don’t think I’ve… done good at that.”
She blinks, laughing a little. “I just don’t need as much as help as y—”
“That’s not true.”
A pause.
“…please.”
She leans in to meet his head, thunking together, voice soft: “Okay, dummy.”
Well. Time to do this.
MK’s been trying for days to get Wukong alone, but the monkey keeps dodging every attempt at having a conversation. MK even got a conversation with Macaque before Wukong (to which, yes, Macaque did apologize).
He finally corners the guy, catching him at his house.
Wukong startles upon seeing MK. “MK…! H-Heeey. Bud. What are you—I was just heading out, so—”
“Monkey King.”
“I mean, we can talk another time, is what I’m getting at, if you wanna talk, which it’s totally cool if you do and I also super would like to sometime yes, but maybe after—”
“Wukong.”
Wukong freezes.
“Stop avoiding me,” MK frowns.
“Avoiding you? I—uh—”
MK just stares at him.
“I…” Wukong wilts. “I just… do you even want me around?”
MK’s about to open his mouth, when he decides to walk forward instead, grabbing Wukong’s hand and dragging him along. He follows without resistance, MK leading them out of the trees, to a babbling brook.
He sits. Wukong hesitates, then, sits beside MK.
Hands fidgeting, his reflection ripples. I’m sorry I’m sorry I didn’t mean it I’m sorry okay but like you meant some of it and you’re supposed to stop lying about this well I didn’t need to say it like THAT and I love him you can love him and be mad actually I think I was never mad at all ever yeah trick of the light oh my god you can’t do this again OKAY LET’S MAYBE TAKE A STEP BACK HERE.
Even after fusing he still argues with himself. Maybe it’s just how he thinks.
Step back. Right. “…my psychiatrist says I have PTSD. Go figure. And it has, like, a million things going on, but one’s… unstable emotions.” He grimaces a little. “You’ve, uh, seen that already. And stronger ones, too. It’s apparently normal for one of them to be anger, hah. I don’t… like being angry,” he says, softer. “Especially not at people I love. I never really knew how to be mad at someone while loving them. Or… how to be mad at someone while forgiving them. I just kinda, tried to ignore it. I didn’t like it. I didn’t want it. Which, uh, turned out great.”
It felt wrong, it still does. How do you… how do you do both? If you love someone, if you forgive them, you’re not upset about it anymore, right? He’s not sure when he started feeling angry. Maybe it was always there.
He wants to say, so badly, that he’s not mad. That it didn’t mean anything, that it was just a moment of ugliness, that he doesn’t feel—he doesn’t… he doesn’t want to feel…
“I-I guess I’m… no, I…” Just say it. “I’m. Upset. I still forgive you. I still want you around! You mean… you mean so, so much to me, a-and I don’t think you’re a bad person, or a bad mentor, or—I-I just… I don’t want you to think I hate you—”
“MK.”
He stops.
“You can just—it’s okay, like… you can just say you’re mad.”
Holding his hands, he whispers, “…please don’t think I hate you.”
When he looks up, Wukong is smiling a little, that sort of reassuring one you give people. “You know, for some reason I’d have a hard time thinking you hate me.”
He smiles back, tentatively.
“…you know I need you too, right? Like I need everyone else,” he says. “I… know, what you’ve been thinking, about the monkey stuff. You were happy we were the same.”
“Huh? …how did—”
“You’re not that hard to read.”
A pause.
MK continues, “Maybe I can learn to like it that way too. So. I’m actually ready now, for realsies, to figure that all out. Do you… wanna teach me monkey stuff? Show me the ropes?
Wukong’s smile brightens. “Course, bud.”
“Thanks.” He stands. “I’m gonna go now. I need tooo. Do. Some things, first, but… let’s start soon, okay? And, um. Also!! Apologize to Mei. If you haven’t already.”
“Oh. Y-Yeah, of course.”
“Bye!” He summons a cloud, and he’s off.
‘Doing things’ was, of course, referring to the thing he does now. Once he’s back home, he finds Mei in his apartment, playing with Kitty (who’s finally learned how to do it. He’s so proud).
“Hey, MK!” she greets. “How’d it go?”
“Good! Good. So, about that thing I mentioned earlier. Can we, like… do that now? Talk about… the stuff the adults have done. Under the pretense! That! I don’t hate any of them and I’m not trying to be mean! But, I like, need to actually vent about it to someone who gets everything, and—”
Mei grabs his shoulders. “MK,” she says very seriously. “I’ve been waiting for this day for fifteen years.”
He laughs. “Okay! You wanna, like…”
“Let’s get some hard slushies and bitch!”
“Nicely! Nicely.”
“Complain super evilly and meanly.”
“Maybe a little mean. You know I’m not gonna be able to get drunk, right?” Even a large drink does nothing for him—to the surprise of everyone on his 18th birthday. And he’s not really interested in drinking more than that, alcohol makes his stomach hurt.
“I’ll just get drunk for the both of us.” She nods like she’s taking on a great weight.
“I’ll drive us back.”
As it turns out, bitching actually makes you feel better. Who knew.
He talks to his therapist about how he’s doing, he gets put on different meds, he hangs out with everyone and trains with Wukong—finally demonstrating he can now transform with ease. It’s not all sunshine and rainbows, a dark cloud trying to drag MK down on a daily basis. Hopefully the new meds will start helping that. But, even if they don’t, he’ll just keep trying.
With his newfound control over his body, he’s coming to be a lot more comfortable with… everything. He likes being able to purr. He likes lashing his tail around. It embarrasses him when he chirps, but Mei thinks it’s cute. When he’s in his monkey form, he doesn’t look at himself and think I’m not human anymore. He is human. Just like how he’s also a monkey demon. It’s not his ‘true’ form, but neither is his human body. Because there isn’t a true and fake form, something that’s right and something that’s wrong. They’re equally real, equally important, two halves of a whole, making up to be him: MK.
He can live with that.