Archive of Our Own ^beta

1: How To Talk To Your Shadow?

Here are some things about MK: 

-He is not an angry person.

-He is supposed to be dead.

Some sort of itchiness rested in him, after everything, propelling him to pace and fidget like a coiled up wire, waiting. It always goes away eventually. He just needs time to settle back into routine, convince himself everyone is safe and not think about the rest.

It… hasn’t been going away this time. 

“I was just thinkin’ you’se really need a break, y’know, after everything. You don’t gotta clean up,” Pigsy is saying.

MK grips the mop tighter. “I’m fine,” he smiles. 

Pigsy just continues to frown. “Kid—”

It strikes him, enough he almost opens his mouth and acts on it: irritation.

He comes to his senses maybe a millisecond after, suddenly feeling a bit freaked out. “I’m doing it cause I wanna. Cleaning is kinda calming, anyway!”

“You. Thinkin’ cleaning is calming.”

“We all change.” He walks back to the closet. “But seriously, don’t worry about iiit.”

“If ya insist, I guess. But you ain’t on delivering duty for at least a couple more days.”

“Hear hear!” He salutes.

Pigsy does leave soon after. MK just mops the floor. Something buzzes beneath his skin. Wipes the counters. It’s itching, clawing, static in his mind. Even does the dishes. Walks around and finds the next thing to clean, fix, do, if he’s doing something he doesn’t have to think about it, if he’s doing something he doesn’t have to think about it, if he’s doing something he doesn’t have to think about it, if he’s

think about what?

Don’t think about thinking about it either or not thinking about it or anything!! 

He paces the empty store. It’s a habit he’s had since he was a kid, either excitedly talking to someone or thinking over and over about fake scenarios or conversations. Most of them are about what if Pigsy actually did leave me on the streets or if I got really rich for some reason I’d wanna live in a giant house with all my friends and family and also solve world hunger or something or does anyone else start thinking about how weird it is everything is the way it is like why is it like that okay I know that doesn’t make any sense but hear me out or, more recently, was me being trans also destined by the universe???

MK does not get anything out of this. If anything, he just gets upset… at the fake scenario he made up in his head. Then he realizes that’s stupid, leaves, and doesn’t think about it outside of that room.

He doesn’t really think about anything this time. Just holds his arms, walking over the lines in the floor. 

Worryingly, he has the strong urge to find Pigsy and ask you still love me, right? To cry, to be held by him.

Even more worryingly, he has the strong urge to find him and yell. 

He doesn’t do either, tells himself this is just some weird, fleeting emotion.

But then he’s talking with Tang and, he doesn’t even remember what Tang said anymore but it annoyed him, like, really badly. Sandy talks about methods of calming oneself and he grinds his teeth, distantly wondering why he has a problem with this. Wukong is all weird and do you wanna talk about things the way everyone’s been, and it takes all he has to not snap back. Mei interrupts his newfound laying-in-bed-and-staring-at-the-ceiling time, to hang out, and his instinctual thought is great, now I have to do this. It freaks him out enough that he has the strength to shove it far, far down. Lately he finds himself wanting to be alone, more and more. He can’t even do that, though, crawling back to someone in, like, three hours tops, just to find something to be irritated by or feel anxious about, and then he holes back in his apartment, wondering what’s wrong with him.

Here are some things about MK, with addendum:

-He is not an angry person.

-He is supposed to be dead.

-He is failing at both.

It’s those thoughts that rattle in his brain during training. On being dead—he was kind of making peace with it. At least it’d finally be over, right? He’d stop ruining everything. The chaos he brought would be usurped. It’s what he was meant for, this entire time a sacrificial lamb. He was just fulfilling his destiny.

He is supposed to be dead. And yet.

Each time he tells himself, that’s a good thing. It’s not like he really wanted to die, he just thought… well, does it matter anymore? They did it. They saved the universe, together! Didn’t he learn his lesson?

…what was the lesson supposed to be? Something about not doing things alone, he supposes.

Everything’s different now.

He is not an angry person. And yet.

“Kid, you really gotta stop distracting me,” Wukong frowns, arms crossed.

He blinks, refocusing. He grins. “Distracting you? I’d never.”

It’s been who knows how long of Wukong relentlessly turning MK back to the… ‘elephant’ in the room, while MK dances around it completely.

Wukong sighs. “I know what you’re doing.”

MK could do it forever. “Whaaat? I’m just hangin around with my ol' mentor—”

“MK.”

“—you know, having fun! Isn’t it good bonding—”

“MK.”

“—to be talking about our lives and stuff? Come on, we saved the universe, we can relax a little—”

“MK!” Wukong not-quite-shouts.

That has him halt. 

“Yyyes?” he says. 

“You can’t keep avoiding this,” he says sternly.

“I’m not avoiding anything!”

Wukong’s arms cross. “Then how come I haven’t been able to get you to transform even once?”

“Transform? I can transform easy.” He poofs into a bird, then a cat, then a rabbit. “See! I’ve got all 72 transformations mastered!” He announces as he turns back to regular ol’ MK.

“That’s not what I—why won’t you transform into a monkey?”

He pauses. “I mean, uh… I feel like we already have enough of those?”

Wukong is growing increasingly exasperated. Good, that means he’ll stop pushing soon enough. “MK. This is… I know it’s hard, and you’re scared, but…”

When the ugly part of him screams shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up, he’s gotten used to it enough to just sort of ignore it, though it still stabs through him, guilt and something else he doesn’t want to name. Anyway. Hard. Scared. He’s changed into a monkey demon, like, a million times now. But… he wasn’t really thinking about it at all. It’s always in a rush of adrenaline, fight or flight, something that feels like control in the moment but off after. Not once did he choose it. Not once did he even want it. It’s just a thing that happens now.

Isn’t this supposed to be cool? Haha. You know, the hero gets a power up… they never seemed to mind when their body changed. They never talked about what it’s like to have extra limbs, fur that wasn’t there before, something running in your veins that terrifies you.

They never talked about… feeling like your body isn’t your own.

“It’s still part of you, and you need to learn how to…” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Is it part of me?” 

“What?”

He holds the back of his neck, looking down. “I mean, it wasn’t there for, what, twenty something years. Why does it… why does it have to matter now?” he laughs a little. “I don’t think it has to.”

“Ignoring it’s not gonna fix anything.”

“Ignoring stuff fixes more than you think,” he mutters. 

“Kid…”

Ohhh it’s so easy isn’t it, just accept having a completely different body sometimes, no, accept that it’s a more permanent fixture! Your true form! No big deal, even though the only times you’re it are when you’re scared, even though it holds enough power to make you feel dangerous, even though you like your body the way it is! 

Jeez, that’s—that’s mean, why are you like this, but he’s starting to not really care and that scares him and he forces himself to say, calmly, “I think. Mei wanted me to see her, today. Right now.”

“Hey, wait—”

“Sorry to cut our time short, bye byeee!”

He’s out in a blur before he can even hear Wukong call for him. 

MK’s not avoiding anything. He’s not, he’s not, he’s not. Because saying he is means acknowledging there’s something beneath the surface, and he needs to believe that it’s emptiness all the way down. Good ol MK, nothing in his brain, bumbling around naively. Innocent to everything that’s about to come.

Don’t think about that.

So he goes day-by-day like its all fine, because it is. They did it. They saved the universe. They chose their own destiny. Sure, everything’s irreparably different now, but he’s still him, isn’t he?

He grips onto his job like a lifeline. It’s the only thing that feels normal nowadays.

It seems he wasn’t doing good enough at keeping everything down, because pretty soon MK finds himself climbing the stairs to the apartment roof, meeting probably his three most trusted people in life, a fact that didn’t pass him by. Not that that’s a kind of detail MK should notice anyway. He’s not smart enough for it.

This leads him to slinking up, hiding in the shadows, to press his cheek to the door and… listen. For something. He’s not sure what.

There’s silence for a bit, then:

Pigsy mumbles, “I said this was a bad idea. We oughta just cancel the whole thing now.”

“I am not letting us be cowards!” Mei retorts. “We need to talk about this.”

MK suddenly remembers the day Pigsy and Wukong were acting… strange. Stranger than usual. Did Mei corral them into this?

Wukong, “I dunno, I’m not—should I even be here—?” 

“Again, you’re his mentor!!”

“I’m kind of the cause of most of his problems too?? I don’t know how to help people like this, I’m not good at it.”

“Just be there for him! That’s the entire point of this!”

“He’s gonna clam up,” Pigsy says. “Always does.”

“Are we supposed to just let him do that until the end of time, or until he—” She cuts off, or says something he can’t hear. 

It seems no one has a good response to that.

Ah. This is a… a problems conversation. About him. His problems. Has he really been acting that badly? Is he even doing that badly? Hm. He’s not gonna answer that. There’s like, one real thing he really, really doesn’t want to talk about, so if they say literally anything else he thinks he can manage something. They’re worried. He needs to fix that.

So he opens the doors and steps out like he wasn’t eavesdropping. “Uhh, hey guys.” Act coooool. Casual. “What did you want me here for?”

They all look at each other. Pigsy visibly steels himself, arms crossed, and starts, “Look, kid, we didn’t wanna overwhelm ya with a whole crowd, but we’re all… it’s just, uh…”

“We’re staging an intervention,” Wukong says.

“An intervention?”

“Yep, an intervention!” Mei exclaims.

“For… what?” He tilts his head. 

Silence.

Pigsy breaks it. “Kid, ya… were almost at the pearly gates. No, you were.”

Huh. This isn’t where he thought it was going. Between everything else, the whole kinda dying almost dying thing barely felt important. Sure, he thinks about it, sometimes. Thinks about how he’s living past his myth. But that’s not… a problem, is it?

“And…?” He continues, “The whole universe almost died too.”

“You—” Mei steps forward. “You almost died willingly! You didn’t have to sacrifice yourself, but you did anyway!”

This is really not where he thought it was going. Scrambling for any sort of response, he says, “I mean, like, I kind of did need to?”

It’s the wrong thing to say, because everyone immediately looks more upset. Wuh oh. 

“No you didn’t!” She throws down her fists. “We figured out another way, that proves you didn’t need to! But instead of trying to work it out with us, you—you—”

Ohhh nooo, he doesn’t ever want to be the reason Mei’s upset. Comfort her!! Figure out how to brush this under the rug!! “I—” What does he say? “I-I… well, uh…” Come on, work that brain of yours. “I was, y'know, made to do it? So it, um…” He rubs the back of his neck. “What else was I supposed to do?”

And Mei looks even more upset, whoops.

“I mean!!! I chose to have a different fate in the end, didn’t I? Just, um, it’s kind of hard to realize you can do that when everyone and everything is telling you you can’t?” 

Isn’t that reasonable??? There wasn’t… he didn’t know there was another option. He didn’t… he didn’t…

…wouldn’t he have done it either way?

If it meant saving them. They’re worth more than he ever has.

“Sure, you came around in the end, but you still jumped to… you know. Without talking to us about it, trying to figure something else first,” Wukong says.

He points at Wukong. “Monkey King also tried to sacrifice himself, why are we only talking about me?”

Pigsy and Mei look at Wukong, who looks to the side. “This isn’t about my problems,” he says very innocuously. 

“Point is, you were awfully ready to jump at the opportunity ta, y’know, die,” Pigsy says. 

And he realizes what this is about.

He pauses. “Wait. Do you guys think I’m suicidal?”

Everyone looks at each other, mmm’s and shrugging abound. 

He gapes. “G-Guys! I—come on! It’s not like I wanted… to… what does it matter, anyway? I’m still alive.”

“What does it matter—MK, we are talking about your entire life right now!” Mei throws up her arms. “That matters a lot!!! This is why we’re having this conversation! How can you act like it doesn’t matter?”

Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. “Mei you are not giving me a lot to work with right now,” he says. 

“Okay, I’ll put it like this: you’ve been doing really bad for a while now, and you never talk about any of it!”

“Everyone’s been doing bad,” he says, ignoring the second part. 

“Not like you.”

He’s suddenly feeling cornered, instincts screaming to run. 

Pigsy must see something on his face, because he says, “We’re not tryna prod. I know ya don’t like talking about this. But, er… we’re just… worried, ya know?”

He grips his arm. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Then why do you barely sleep?” Mei asks. “Your room’s a mess—”

“Okay, we don’t have to critique the state of my room.”

“—you keep leaving conversations and jumping from one thing to the next, I don’t ever see you just relax.”

“I thought being active was a good thing!”

“You’re avoiding something,” she frowns. “Several something’s.”

“I’m not! I’m not, there’s nothing to avoid!”

“Like your monkey form?” Wukong says.

Everything falls to icy silence.

Wukong immediately realizes what he did wrong. “Sorry, no, I—”

“I don’t need you up in my business,” he hisses lowly. 

“I’m your mentor, I’m supposed to be up in your business!”

“Oh, really? Then why have you left me to do practically everything myself?!”

Wukong briefly looks hurt, landing on guilty as he averts his gaze. MK can’t bring himself to feel bad. There’s this itching beneath his skin, shadow casting longer and longer behind him. He’s feeling less like a person and more like a bundle of burning nerves, non-existent tail lashing behind him, he wants to bare his teeth, he wants to scream at them, he wants to destroy this whole building.

He spins around. “Thanks for the talk, but I don’t need it.”

Without looking he knows Mei is pointing at him. “If you leave you’re just proving our point!!!”

He stops. Turns back slowly. Smile plastered on his face, he says, “Okay. What do you want?”

Mei stops, suddenly nervous. Good. 

Pigsy steps in for her. “Ya can’t keep avoidin’ alla this, kid, ya gotta take care of yourself.”

“I’m already doing that,” he says without intonation. “So what’s the problem?”

“The—the problem…”

“Go on. Tell me.” 

Even Pigsy stops. Everyone’s looking at him strangely, nervous, hunched into themselves, afraid. 

Wukong inhales through his teeth. “Just… can you just promise us one thing? That if we’re ever in danger again—”

“When.”

“That when we’re in danger again, you won’t pull anything like that. No matter how much it seems like the only option.”

He exhales. Looks at his friends and family’s faces.

“Okay. I promise.”

Wukong stops pushing after that. They’re all good actors, so they try to resume to their normal relationship with him, but there’s a faint air of tension. He doesn’t really do anything to dispel it. He can tell they want to say something to him, apologize, maybe, but aren’t sure how to. Maybe he should be apologizing, but that feeling, that anger with a vice grip around his throat, is so strong he thinks he’d just start screaming. Which only freaks him out more. Why is he acting like this? They’re just worried, why he is so upset?

His shadow looks wrong. He puts that in a little box far back in his mind.

Sometimes he wonders what the point of training is anymore, a cynical thought in his head that he could destroy anything in his way. Then he tells himself, that’s exactly why you need it. If he ever really lost control…

Anyway. He also likes tiring himself out, makes it easier to not think. 

“You know, you could probably use more of your power now,” Wukong says. “Maybe even be invincible again.”

MK’s sweating a little, catching his breath. At Wukong’s words, he flips his staff over his back and says, “Ehh, I don’t think I’m that far yet.”

Strangely, the idea makes him anxious.

“Hmm. Wanna get soaked by the waterfall?”

“Yesss.”

He’s rather happy to sit under the splashing water, sighing in relief as it washes over him. Yeah, that feels a lot better. Even better than a shower. Well not, like, hygiene wise but feeling wise, you know? A waterfall just feels really good.

Rather content by the normal day and, for once, acting normal as well, he’s instantly on alert when Wukong hesitantly speaks.

“MK, uh…” He grimaces a little. “I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t want to ask, but he does anyway. “About… what?”

“Well, I mean—you know it’s… it’s okay if you’re mad at me.”

He blinks. “What?”

“Like. I know you forgive me, but if you’re mad about the fact I’ve kinda been a terrible mentor and most of your problems were re-hashed versions of mine, that’s, like. That makes sense.”

He pauses, trying to digest the words. “I’m not…” mad at you.

…is he?

He looks away. “I don’t, uh, want to be?” 

“Well, you’re allowed to be.”

The water ripples. “I don’t like being mad at people. Forgive and forget, you know? Unless someone keeps trying to destroy the world and kill all my friends, haha.”

Even then, it’s rare he gets mad. Mostly just, anxious. Terrified.

…he ignores the fact that’s different now.

“There’s a difference between not wanting to feel something and not letting yourself feel it at all.”

The waterfall isn’t so refreshing anymore. “I’m… not mad at you specifically, just…”

What? He’s mad at everyone, himself, the world? There’s something ugly inside him, festering, spreading. It makes him feel like a spring about to snap, and he hates it, he hates that he’s acting like this. This isn’t how he acts. This isn’t how he’s supposed to. MK is a shining hero of optimism, confidence, impulsivity. MK isn’t… this.

What right does he have anyway, to be mad? Like he hasn’t been the cause of everything? Everyone should be mad with him.

“I’m not, supposed? To be mad? So.” He shrugs.

“There’s no supposed to be, kid.”

“But everyone is themself because of being a certain way, right? Some things just don’t feel like someone. Aren’t like someone.” There’s this terrible feeling that he doesn’t know how to describe, suddenly falling from his mouth. 

“…there’s a lot of things you’d think someone couldn’t do, but they do it anyway. Even with—no, especially with yourself.”

But it’s not right. This isn’t right. He doesn’t know how to say it, Wukong isn’t getting it, this is different from change or spontaneity or anything.

He tries anyway. “Monkey King, do you ever feel like… you’re… missing a part of yourself?” 

“…I do. ‘s hard not to long for who you used to be.” He pauses, quirking his mouth. “Is that how you feel?”

“I dunno. Maybe.”

“You’re still you, part missing or not. Like, taking a brush stroke from a painting doesn’t make it stop being that painting.”

“I guess, yeah.”

He should be reassured, probably. 

All he can think is: but it’s not just a part, is it?

Mei wants him to relax. He’ll relax all right. He’ll be the best at relaxing. They’ll give him a gold star and everything. 

So he’s being dragged to the mall with Mei.

“I tried to pick a day that’s less busy, but…” Mei and MK stare at the crowd of people in front of them, going up, up, up. “The difference is kindaaa impossible to notice, isn’t it?”

“Yep,” he pops the p.

“This is all boring designer stuff, c’mon, let’s get to the fun floors!”

He knows what she’s trying to do, hand in hand as she runs them up. He knows she’s just as nervous as he is about… everything. He likes this, way more than being asked a million questions all the time. It’s something to do, and with his favorite person in the whole world; what could be better, really?

The mall has practically everything. Archery, ice skating, VR, his chest light and giddy, for the first time in a long while he feels normal. Mei always has that effect on him. 

They’re taking a break, sitting on a bench as they drink smoothies. MK got mango, and it’s sort of the best thing he’s ever had.

He doesn’t realize he’s staring at Mei until she tilts her head and asks, “What’s up?”

He wants to say you’re my best friend I love you I don’t want you to ever leave please don’t leave me please please please. 

Trying for a less desperate version, “N-Nothing, I just… like being around you.”

Her eyes light up, sparkling like stars. “MK!” She throws her arms around him. “I like being around you too!!!”

The last place they look at is a petting store with hamsters and guinea pigs. MK isn’t really sure what the difference is, but they’re both adorable.

“Man, I’ve always wanted a pet,” he says for probably the thousandth time during their friendship. “It’s really too bad I live in an apartment… and work all the time… and don’t have basically anything a pet needs.”

“I’m saying, you need to sneak a snake in.”

“Pigsy would kill me.”

“Or a tarantula—”

“No!!!” 

She laughs. “I think animals like these ones are pretty easy to take care of.” 

“Yeah, but… I feel like if I got a hamster it’d be less because I really really really want one and more about not being able to think of anything else. You know? Not that they’re not cute.” He scritches the head of one. “I guess I just don’t feel like a hamster guy. Or, uh. I don’t know what kinds of animals I’d like, actually,” he frowns.

“The obvious answer is dogs, but, y’know, apartment,” Mei sighs.

“Big ones kinda freak me out. And small ones are like if you packed all the worlds anger into the tiniest thing.”

“What about cats?”

“I don’t know, I think a pet’s just a bad idea like, in general, for me.”

She opens her mouth, then closes it with a thoughtful look. “Hey, let’s get outta the mall. I’ve got a surprise for you!”

“Whuh? You didn’t say anything about a surprise earlier.”

“That’s how surprises work, dummy.”

“Fair point.”

Soon enough he’s being heralded around with his bandana over his eyes, Mei insistently dragging him along while he tries to not run into things. 

“You better not be taking me to a bug museum again,” he says.

“Are you ever gonna get over that?”

“No.”

Suddenly she halts. His bandana is pulled up, and he squints at the harsh sunlight.

“Surprise!”

They’re standing in front of a pet shelter. Mei grins, holding her hands together. 

“A… shelter?” he asks dumbly.

“Yep! For as long as I’ve known you you’ve wanted a pet, but Pigsy didn’t, but then you became an adult and can do what you want now but you still haven’t gotten a pet! Sooo… let’s change that! It’s been a long time coming, huh?”

He continues to stare blankly. Then, “Uh… did you hear when I said this is a bad idea—”

“I know, but,” she frowns, “I think you’re kinda getting stuck in your own head about it. Lots of pets would be fine with how you live and stuff.” She grabs his hands. “Come on, at least look with me! Even if you don’t get anything.”

He can’t say no to that face. “Okaaay,” he relents, letting her drag him inside.

A worker looks up at their entrance. “Hello!” they greet, smiling. “Welcome to the Metropolis Pet Shelter. We have a wide variety of options, though we mostly specialize in dogs and cats. Are you looking for anything in particular?”

“Uuhhhhh.”

Mei steps in, “Something good for a small apartment! Can be left alone a lot. Low maintenance.”

“Oh! We have a few options for that, come, come!”

Snakes and spiders are an automatic no-go, leaving things like guinea pigs, hamsters, rats, fish? He has never once considered owning fish before. There’s a lot of pretty ones, but they don’t sway his mind. He loves everything else, honestly, they’re all so tiny and adorable and he wants to squeeze them but like in a way that wouldn’t hurt them. Maybe he could be a guinea pig/hamster person. Or a rat person. He’s heavily considering it at this point, charmed by the little critters. 

It’s easy to forget his reservations, though he doesn’t exactly think hard on the idea of being a pet owner. Every time he tries to he just gets nervous. 

Isn’t it a bad idea? …is it? He doesn’t know why he thinks it is. Well, like, it’s him. MK. Probably not a person to trust a pet with. Buuut he doesn’t have to be like that. He could be MK probably okay to trust a pet with. Would it even be that hard? Yeah, yeah, he’s not gonna underestimate the difficulty of this, he’s learned his lesson across many, many things. But he might be swinging too far in the other direction.

It wouldn’t ask him anything. It doesn’t know what the world’s come to. It just wants food and love. He can do that, right? 

Why is he so nervous about having a small animal that he mostly just needs to feed, clean up after, and sit/play with sometimes?? That’s, like, three things. He does those things with himself all the time. Besides, there’s so many here. That’s not even talking about all the strays, the ones left behind. If he could help one of them, any of them… it settles in his gut, forming determination. He wants to be that person for someone. Maybe he could get a pet. Maybe it’d be nice

They’re walking around the much bigger section of cats, when a cage catches his eye. 

Namely because it doesn’t seem to have anything inside. He approaches it curiously, kneeling to peek. For a moment, it still looks like there’s nothing… but then he makes out a black figure sitting in the shade, yellow, slitted eyes staring at him. 

It looks small, fur bristling as it hisses. 

“What’s that one?” He points at it.

The worker bends over to look. “Oh, the black one? She’s, uh… she doesn’t really like being touched. Or people. Or anything. She’s not feral, but being abandoned and… however they treated her left a mark.”

He stares at her.

“I would not suggest her, she’s pretty difficult, especially for someone’s first time having a pet.”

Abandoned. Scared. Lonely. Difficult. 

On complete impulse he says, “I want her.”

“Oh. Really? I would be happy to know she’s settled somewhere safe, but… she is not going to be the type of cuddly pet most people want.”

“Uh,” he starts, then stops. 

Okay maybe don’t make a decision that fast. But he just. He just. Feels, something, looking at her. She doesn’t need to be cuddly. She doesn’t need to be anything to deserve kindness. If he could just give one damn thing a better life than it had before… 

So he decides, “She should be loved by someone, right?”

“If you’re sure, then…”

The worker struggles with herding her out into a carrier, the poor thing hissing the whole time. Soon enough he’s signing some papers and Mei insists on paying. It doesn’t really feel real, twenty-ish years he’s longed for this, and now it’s just… happening? That easily?

“What are you gonna name her?” Mei asks as they step outside, MK shielding his eyes from the sun. 

The cat has squished herself to the very back of the carrier, hissing intermittently. 

“I dunno, I… wait! I don’t have any pet stuff!!” He stops on the sidewalk. “I need to—wait, I don’t want to keep her in the carrier for all of that…” He goes to move back to the car. “No, but I don’t want her to be alone the first time in my apartment, and I can’t just leave her there with nothing.” Leans away to find some sort of pet supplies store. “Maybe she’d be fine in the car??? But I’d still be leaving her alone in some random new place…”

Mei grabs his shoulders. “MK. I’ll get pet stuff for you! You go back to the apartment.”

“Do you even know the first thing about cats…?”

“No,” she says confidently. “But I know what does!” And raises her phone. 

“Are you sure?” he frowns. “You don’t need to—”

“MK!! Let! Me! Do! This!” 

“Okay okay okay—don’t shake me I’m holding the cat!”

They part ways, MK looking up how to take care of a less than social cat. It’s actually, like, way easier than he was worried. He was thinking he just made some stupid terrible decision. Nice to know his impulses didn’t lead him astray this time. Actually, he shouldn’t be saying that yet. Anyway!

Teeming with nervous excitement, he fiddles with his keys and walks into good ol’ home. One left turn into the bathroom, and he sets down the carrier, opens it. She makes no choice to move, staring at him intently.

He really, really doesn’t want to leave her alone, but his guide says he should only see her for necessities at first… so, reluctantly, he walks back out and shuts the door.

And waits.

Aaand waits.

He’s playing some mindless game on his phone when Mei kicks open the door.

“MK!” She’s carrying, like, a million things. “I got—”

“Shhhshshhsh!” 

“What—oh, right.” She glances at the bathroom door. Continues, much more quietly, “I got all the basic stuff you’ll need. Food bowl, water bowl”—she proceeds to hand him each item—“food, I got dry and wet I wasn’t really sure which one to pick, litter box, actual litter, scratching pad, I got the pad and not a pole cause I feel like it’ll be easier to put somewhere. And that’s it!”

He struggles beneath the weight. “Y’know, this felt like a lot less stuff in my head.”

“Y’need any help?”

His brain flips between I don’t think the cat should meet other people yet and it might be good for her to get used to Mei early on. He says, helpfully, “Maybe?”

Mei snorts. “I’ll leave you alone for now.” She slinks back, opening the front door. “But send me pictures!”

“I willlll.”

The kitty kitty kitty cat doesn’t leave the carrier as he sets everything up. After researching which one you’re supposed to feed cats and why, he makes this horrible amalgamation of wet and dry food, setting it outside the carrier. 

She doesn’t move. He steps back. “There’s your food.”

Nothing.

“You can eat it.” He steps back more, opening the door, but doesn’t fully leave yet. “I’m going nowww.”

And he shuts the door quietly. He checks the time: somewhere around five, okay, he’ll set an alarm to keep feeding her at this hour. 

So that’s it. He’s got a cat.

He heads farther into his apartment. Then he resists outright squealing, just grinning as he punches the air and hops around. He has a cat!!! A little kitty cat and she’s perfect!!! Oh man, he’s been dreaming of this day for his entire life, and it’s just happening?? That’s it?? He might not even be in over his head! Okay, he knows patience is not a word people apply to him, but not bothering one cat seems, like, pretty easy. 

He doesn’t even really care about having to do it (or, well, not do it), about not having a pre-packaged friendly and cuddly cat. He doesn’t need her to act buddy-buddy, he just… wants to know he can help something. Anything. 

He can’t keep himself from smiling all day.

He finds himself, not for the first or last time, staring stock-still at the dark ceiling, heart beating in his chest. It’s, it’s fine, it didn’t happen, he didn’t do that, it didn’t happen, they’re okay, he wouldn’t do that—he squeezes his eyes shut. 

Just. Breathe.

He weakly pushes himself up, gripping his shirt. Of course he had to get nightmares practically every time he sleeps. Can’t even have a break with his eyes closed. 

It’s 3 a.m. He’s thirsty.

He stumbles out of bed, flicking on the kitchen light. Too bright. Squinting, he traverses to the sink, getting a glass and making the water as cold as possible before he downs it. Finally able to breathe, he holds himself up by the counter, staring at his reflection in the glass.

And,

And.

“I know you’re there,” he says. 

Still and quiet, the air, his apartment. Still, quiet, off.

He waits.

Then, “That’s no way to greet someone.”

Whipping around, he finds his shadow cast against the wall, two clear eyes. Fur. A tail. 

Its arms are crossed, he thinks, mild irritation on its face. “Are you finally done ignoring me?”

He forces his muscles to stay still. He’s not sure what he was expecting, speaking to it directly. Maybe he was hoping for nothing. What does this mean? He didn’t want this. He didn’t want to be right. He faintly wonders if he’s been in a nightmare he can’t wake up from.

Swallowing, he forces himself to speak, “What—w-who are you? Why are you here?”

“I’m you, dummy.”

He recoils. “No you’re not.”

“Oh, sorry, I guess I’m not,” it says flatly. “Let me just back my bags and find someone else to be.”

“Can’t you leave?! What even are you?? You’re not the real ink demon… are you?”

A hallucination? Magic?? Some entirely different thing??? He doesn’t know. 

“Do you want me to keep saying I’m you while you deny that, or, like.” Somehow it looks even more annoyed. “What sort of narrative do you want to hear? Would you be happy with anything I could possibly say?”

“Stop being sarcastic with me!! You’re supposed to be gone!”

“Part of you can’t just disappear, use that big boy brain of yours.” It spins its finger. 

He near flinches. “You don’t—you don’t have to be part of me,” he tries. “You don’t need to be here! I’m over this whole thing!”

It sighs. “How long are you gonna keep thinking that?”

“If… if you’re part of me…”

And he realizes.

His shoulders hike. “Then I’ll just get rid of you, for good. I’ll—I’ll cut you out. I’ll do it,” he laughs. “Why didn’t I think of it sooner? This will fix everything!”

“Wow, you’re desperate, huh?”

He can’t stop laughing. “Desperate? No. No, this is the best decision I’ll ever make.”

It’ll all be over soon.

So he tries.

First, it’s just a matter of determination. Seeing if he can push this—this thing out from inside him through sheer will. It wasn’t part of him for twenty-one years, he can just shove it back down into nothing. A void. Forever.

It persists.

A more hands on approach, then. MK has a very hard time transforming, even when he’s trying to. But there’s been that common thread, hasn’t there? Panicked. Someone in danger. A rush of adrenaline and screaming nerves.

So he just has to trick his brain into feeling like that again.

MK comes to learn he is held only by thread, and it is very easy to cut.

It’s sort of difficult thinking about anything, heart trying to rip itself out his chest and tears spilling out, but he grabs a razor and tries to shave off his fur until his razor breaks.

Next time, desperate, he tries to trim, file, tear out—his claws, but he can’t.

Next time, most damning of all, he finds that even if he cuts off his own tail, it just grows back.

He vomits into the toilet and doesn’t move for hours.

2: It All Seems Small, Up Here

Okay, so that didn’t work. 

For maybe a week MK doesn’t feel much of anything about anything. Not about things that usually make him happy, not about what he did, not about everything else. He doesn’t think about a lot. Just does the things he’s supposed to do and says the things he’s supposed to say and lives a life he’s supposed to live. Until he’s staring long and hard at the floor, hair dripping after a shower, and it strikes him: screaming in his brain, rush of panic crashing over his body, desperately wanting to do something feel literally anything get your head back on right please please please GET UP GET UP GET UP—

He’s the one to suggest, to Wukong, some sort of group training thing. For fun. He just really, really wants to do something fun and cool and casual right now and be a normal person. He doesn’t say that part out loud.

The Monkie Kids coalesce at Flower Fruit Mountain, some more excited than others to finally get in on the whole Wukong and MK training thing. Mostly Tang.

“Kinda surprised you still put us in your house,” Mei says. “It’s pretty small…”

“I did that for a reason.”

Wukong produces a blindfold and water gun, handing them to Mei.

“You guys need to learn stealth,” he explains.

“How does that relate to this?” Mei frowns. 

“No, see, it starts with one person blindfolded. You’ll rely on your other senses to spot and shoot the players. The players have to be quiet as possible, or they’ll get water gunned.” He mimes shooting a gun. “And if that happens, they join the blind and get a gun to hunt down the rest.”

“Oh, if that’s the case,” Mei giggles, “then you’re all going down.”

“No one leave the house. Do whatever you want, mostly, but uh, don’t destroy my stuff.” He walks to Mei, grabbing her shoulders. “Now I’m gonna spin you around, and then we start. Everyone get ready.”

“Um, Monkey King, this is going to be really hard with such a small space and so many people!” Tang points out.

“That’s sort of the point. Okay, find your places.”

He spins Mei around and everyone tries to find the most optimal place to be, which, true to Tang’s words, is very hard when there’s three other people trying to do the same thing and you’re in a house that’s one room.

Poor, poor Sandy, just finds the most hidden corner to stand in, between the TV and shelf. Tang dives under the table (that the TV is on), Pigsy climbs onto the head of the couch, and, MK, panicked, looks around until he settles on cowering behind the chest not backed up against the wall.

Mei slows to a halt, facing one of the only corners no one’s in. She holds out her hand, taking a hesitant step. When she doesn’t find anything at eye level, she crouches, patting around in front of her. She touches the mini table (that the TV isn’t on), then the scroll unfurled onto the carpet. She moves until she reaches the other scrolls on the bigger table. Lightly pressing her hand against them, she, of course, realizes there’s empty space behind them.

Tang is sweating. Mei swipes away the scrolls. Reaches under the table—

Tang grabs a book from the table and chucks it to the other side of the room, hitting the couch with a THWUMP. 

Mei instantly turns to the sound, approaching the couch. Pigsy mouths TRAITOR at Tang, pointing at him angrily. Mei finds the couch as Pigsy tries to somehow hurriedly and quietly escape. 

Mei pauses. She seems to be thinking, pointing in different directions as she turns around. Then with a scary amount of purpose starts walking directly toward Sandy’s hidey corner. She bumps into the little table, climbing over it. 

Yeaaah, it’s definitely too late for him. The space between Mei and Sandy is now negligible, and she places a hand on his chest. 

She sprays him with water. “Gotcha!” she exclaims as he tries to shield his face.

He sighs. “Why am I always the first to lose at hide and seek?”

“I knew this was the corner you’d pick! I just had to re-orientate myself.” She’s so smart!!

“Mei, stay where you are,” Wukong says, reclining on his net bed thing. He tosses another blindfold and water gun to Sandy. “You’re on her team now. Everyone else, get into different places if you don’t wanna be caught immediately. Or don’t.” He shrugs. 

Sandy ties on his blindfold. “A little water never hurt anybody,” he seems to be saying to himself to justify doing this. 

Tang goes to the opposite side of the room, trying to hoist himself onto the shelf with the larger chest as support. MK and Pigsy, like father like son, stay in their places, probably both with the idea they’re not going to think I’d be stupid enough to not move.

Actually, maybe they would think that about MK, but he’s already made his decision sooo. 

Mei and Sandy prowl the room, by which he means mostly Mei while Sandy tries to not knock into everything. Tang hasn’t managed to climb onto the shelf, so he just stands on the chest awkwardly, standing back as far as he can. 

Tang slips a little, alerting Mei and Sandy. Visibly panicking as they approach, he grabs another book and chucks it next to Pigsy. 

They hone in on the scrambling Pigsy, spraying him with water.

“TANG!” he growls. “Oh, when I get my hands on ya—”

With now three hunters and Tang the traitor being the only one left with MK, he’s suddenly feeling very nervous. To remedy this, he decides he’s just going to follow Tang around—can’t be the scapegoat if you’re in the same place!

Tang tries to silently shoo him away as he crawls under the desk with Tang. He just grins. 

The other three stalk around the room, thorough and far faster with a bigger group. It’s not long before someone’s at the desk, and Tang and MK are trying to quietly crawl away.

Then, Tang, looking over his shoulder, trips over the chest. 

Everyone immediately aims at him. He skids to the TV, awkwardly behind it, “Wait, wait, wait! The TV’s shielding me! Do you want to destroy it???”

“Wh—that’s cheating!” Mei exclaims.

Wukong is eating chips. “Nah, you might actually be in a situation like that, enemies looove to have meatshields. So it’s all fair play.”

“R-right, so you can’t—” Tang starts and ends when MK shoves him over the TV, Tang splatting face first on the floor.

“GET HIM!” Mei yells, the three pouncing with a water attack. 

“MK, WHY?!” Tang cries.

He shrugs.

“Betrayal from allies is also something that can happen!” Wukong continues.

Now, he’s been saving this spot. He jumps and climbs onto those wood pieces jutting out around the door. Then, he climbs up to the rafters. He has to suppress a giggle. It’s perfect. 

Everyone down below is none the wiser. They spread out, with the space they cover it’d be nearly impossible to hide from them—if someone didn’t have his idea. Finally using the smart boy brain to use, huh? For a very inconsequential game, but, well actually it’s very important training. He nods to himself.

It fools them for a while. Long enough he closes his eyes and feels ready for a nap. But, of course, they catch onto his scheme eventually. 

“We’re all over the room,” Mei says. “And we’ve checked everything a million times. How is he still hiding?”

Pigsy grunts. “Must be pulling a trick up his sleeve or somethin’…” He pauses. “Wait a second.”

“What?”

“If he’s not on the ground, the only place he can be—”

“Is up,” Mei finishes in realization. Everyone points their water gun up at him, and he yelps as they spray him. Mei pulls down her blindfold, grinning. “MK, that was so smart!!”

He swings down, bowing once he hits the floor. “Thank you, thank you.”

He looks up, laughing a little, which makes Mei laugh, which makes him laugh harder, breathless.

“I wiiin!” he sing-songs. “Monkey King, do I get anything?”

“The satisfaction of beating everyone.”

MK frowns very sadly.

“Okay, okay, yeah you get something! Here.” 

He tosses it, which MK totally catches perfectly and without failure. “A rock!” he exclaims. “Thanks!”

“Yeah, yeah. I got a couple more ideas, if none of you are too tired yet.”

They have a lot of fun, like, really really fun. MK’s laughing half the time and smiling most of it, something that doesn’t feel forced. The air is light, and he’s just happy, to know he’s still capable of this.

Progress is being made with Kitty.

He thinks so, anyway. She’s stopped hissing at him for the most part, begrudgingly accepting the food he gives her. Even with the hiccup of… that night, eugh, he still feels bad for freaking her out—it’s coming along. They’re at the point where he’s started sitting with her for longer, outside of giving basic needs.

“Kitty kittyyy,” he coos. “Baby kitty kitty kittyyy.”

Kitty sits in one of the shelf cupboard… things… what is that called? Anyway. He’s repurposed the one nearest to the ground as an impromptu cat bed, padded with blankets. It took her a bit to finally use it, but now it’s, like, her favorite spot. Case in point, it’s where she sits as he talks. 

“Do you even know how small you are? You can’t comprehend it! You think you’re a normal size and I’m freakishly giant, but you’re sooo smaaall.” He gestures to emphasize how small she is. “Actually, maybe I am freakishly giant…? I think most animals are small. Bugs. But there’s a lot my size too, I guess I’m just medium?”

Kitty blinks. 

“You know,” he starts, “I’m really glad you’re here. I know you have no idea what I’m saying, but… I’unno, I’ve wanted a pet like you for a really long time now. I guess I forgot. Thank god there’s always Mei, right?” 

He smiles, then suddenly finds it to be less-than-happy. Come on, he can have good normal times still, he’s not that far gone. 

Still, he taps his fingers together. “What did they do to you?” he wonders quietly. “I guess it doesn’t matter. It’s just… you’re so scared, and you seem angry but it’s more like, a defensive thing? I don’t think you’ve ever really been mad. Just don’t like people, right? Or, just don’t trust them.”

Kitty, of course, only responds with intense eyes. 

“…I hope I’ll be able to… help you get better. Finally do one good thing,” he laughs a little. “If you can be helped, maybe—” 

He stops. He knows it’s not equivalent, not at all. 

“Nevermind. I’ll get outta your fur now,” he says, slowlyyy standing. “Until the next time I bother you, which is going to be very soon, and very frequent!” 

Maybe this is all a good thing. Not in over his head. He hopes. 

“Sooo. Why are we all just, like. Standing here,” MK says.

He’s on Flower Fruit Mountain, for something that probably isn’t training but he doesn’t actually know, Wukong and Macaque present this time. He’s, like, 80% sure he knows what’s going on with those two and is blissfully ignoring it. 

Wukong grimaces a little. “Bud, we really gotta talk about the monkey in the room.”

MK stares at him.

“No we don’t.” And turns around. 

Wukong pulls him back by the hood. “MK, I’m serious—”

“I’m serious too!!” He tries to dislodge himself. “We don’t need to talk about it, I don’t wanna talk about it!” 

“You never do! But you can’t keep avoiding this forever!” Wukong tries to stop MK from squirming away, the two of them locked in push and pull. 

“Maybe I’d stop avoiding it if instead of trying to make me like it or whatever you tell me how to get rid of it!”

“Guys, stop—Wukong, you can’t force him to talk about it.”

“So what?! Do we just wait until the end of time or until he—” 

“What’s even gonna happen if I don’t talk about it, what are you guys so worried about, why does this have to mean anything?!” MK yells. 

“Because it grows,” Macaque frowns. “The longer you ignore it, the more you hate it. And when it blows up, you might… do things you’ll regret.”

He huffs. “Okay, then I just won’t let it blow up.”

“Not how it works, kid.”

“MK, kid, c’mon,” Wukong pleads. “I… I know you don’t want to talk about it, but you can’t keep hating this part of yourself—”

“It doesn’t have to be part of me!” he yells, ripping away from Wukong. 

None of this has to be, the scrawling anger festering inside, picture of a picture of a picture of a picture, if he digs in deep enough he can rip the weeds out, finally be the person he’s supposed to be and he’s not going to get that acting like any of these traits are okay, acting like they belong to some boy named MK! 

“You don’t get it,” he continues, “neither of you get it, you’ve always been who you are and it was your choice!”

Wukong looks sad, worried, and for some reason it just makes MK’s head scream. “We’re all choosing who we are every day, you are too!”

“Do you think I chose this?!” MK’s hands curl into fists, baring his teeth in a snarl, he feels like he’s dying, dying. “I didn’t! All I ever wanted to be was just me! But who I am, it’s only been the universe pulling strings, everything—everything was just predestined! Why—why did they also have to take my body?! Why can’t it be mine?” His voice breaks, rush of anger replaced with crashing despair. Is this what Wukong wanted in a successor? A burning out star? His vision swims. “…why did they have to take it?”

“Oh, kiddo…”

“I don’t wanna hear it,” he murmurs. “You don’t understand what it’s like. I hate it. I hate being it. It’s not my body, it’s wrong, it’s all wrong.”

And he doesn’t just mean transforming. 

Macaque opens his mouth, nothing coming out. He elbows Wukong, who steps forward. “MK, they’re both your body. And… and I know you didn’t choose this, but you can make it your own. Remember? It doesn’t have to be scary, you can—we can work at it!”

He doesn’t want to hear it he doesn’t want to hear it he doesn’t want to hear it he doesn’t want to hear it he doesn’t want to something is clawing inside him, dirty, gross, rotten, it doesn’t shout for attention, it just whispers.

But that’s enough.

Wukong reaches out a hand, hesitant—

MK flickers. “Shut UP!”

He slaps Wukong’s hand away, claws tearing through skin. 

And,

and.

Wukong does not get hurt. Wukong does not bleed. Wukong does not get hurt. Wukong does not bleed.

Static screaming in his brain, 

a second that feels like a million years, 

he stumbles back and transforms into a bird, 

shooting away away awayawayawayawayaway GET AWAY get away get away what the hell is wrong with you why would you do that why are you like this he’s just trying to help you love him you love him you love him you’re not supposed to act this way you’re a bad person just ACCEPT IT ALREADY—

He de-transforms at a cliff, collapsing to his knees. He can’t breathe. The world sways beneath him, taking him down into a whirlstorm of shame. Something is wrong with him something is wrong with him something is wrong with him deeply and innately and he’s not sure it can even be fixed. 

And if it can’t be fixed.

If it can’t be.

The edge is inches away. 

Unbidden, slowly, he stands. Everything blurs together, gorgeous scenery reduced to just a smear. 

He steps forward, staring down at the maw of death. 

Calm washes over him. 

Right. There’s a very easy way to stop this.

All he ever does is hurt people. Over and over and over. He can’t actually help them, save them, protect them—they’re only ever in danger because of his messes, his destiny. A destiny that was supposed to meet its end a long time ago.

It’ll all be over soon.

He steels himself.

And steps off the edge.

MK has fallen many, many times before. But his gut still lurches, heart leaping to his throat, much like how after twenty-ish years, he still gets motion sick. Some things just don’t change.

What he’s not expecting is that turning into abject terror.

It surges through him and in his panic he transforms into a bird, soaring back up from his doom. He hits the ground as a human, keeling over.

He gasps and gasps and gasps, sweat dripping down his face. 

He just—

He almost just—

No, it probably wouldn’t have worked anyway. He’s been slammed into concrete, crushed beneath rocks, survived what no human could, none of it has ever even left a scratch. 

Because he’s… he’s not human.

Bile rises in his throat. He clutches himself, a vice grip.

And suddenly a voice says: “Chickened out, huh?”

He snaps up. His shadow has stood up, arms crossed and tail flicking. 

“Wh…” He tries to compose himself. “W-what… do you want?”

“Are you really that scared of me?” it sighs. “Enough to jump off a cliff?”

He grits his teeth. “I hate you. I hate you.”

“Wah wahh you’re evil and I hate you because I’m just so good! Y’know, it’s not like I’m actively hurting the people that care about me, it’s not like I think about hurting them, either, because a good person wouldn’t do that,” it mocks. “You know you’re just delaying the inevitable, right? No matter how much you hate me, no matter how long you keep me down.” It grins eerily, tilting its head. “I’m always going to be you.”

“What do you want?” he repeats. “Are you just here to taunt me?”

“Eh. Mostly I’m here to say, maybe don’t die over this?” it snorts.

“What—isn’t that something you’d want?!”

It frowns. “No, I actually don’t want to die.”

“I wish you would.”

“Ouchhh. The self-loathing is strong with this one.” 

“I—what is this, some sort of pep talk?” he growls.

It pauses. He can’t discern its expression. “I just think we should live with who we are, instead of taking the cowards way out.” 

And it disappears. 

He pants, staring at the empty space.

…maybe he’s tired of being brave. 

He brings his knees up, burying his face into them. 

Wind flutters by, distant chirping. He’s not sure how long he sits there. Long enough to hear the soft patter of footsteps behind him, two people sitting beside him silently.

They stay there for a while, just watching the world beneath them. What would happen if he jumped off the cliff right now? If he had succeeded before? He wants to turn into a bird, fly away and never come back. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally manages to mumble. “‘m sorry.”

“Bud, it’s okay, it was barely a scratch.”

“I still shouldn’t have…”

He can’t say any more. What’s wrong with him? His hands dig into his arms, itching, clawing, like if he could just rip off his skin or hurt enough to not feel anything else it would fix this— 

A hand grabs his own. He lets them pull it off his arm.

Wukong’s voice is soft, “Kid, do you… want to talk about it?”

“…no,” he mutters.

“You always say that.”

“I know.”

“You know you’ll have to talk about it someday, right?”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

Gee, that cliff is looking pretty appealing right now! He wouldn’t have to talk about his problems if he was dead!

Wukong starts saying something, maybe, but MK just stares at the drop below him. It’s not like I think about hurting them. He suddenly has the urge to shove Wukong off the cliff, enough he grips the ground and keeps his hand still. It wouldn’t do anything, anyway, but… he doesn’t want to think about what would hurt, come on, brain! 

Still, it thinks: Monkey King can’t die. How much of him could you rip out?

He feels sick. He’s not even angry anymore, he doesn’t want to hurt people, he doesn’t want to hurt people, he doesn’t want to hurt people. 

Keep telling yourself that.

Wukong touching his shoulder snaps him out of it. “Kid?”

He flicks his gaze toward Wukong.

Wukong opens his mouth, closes it with a frown, looking at MK, down, then MK again. “Let’s… move away from the edge, yeah?”

“…okay.”

He knows what Wukong is thinking. He doesn’t have the energy to try and dissuade it.

3: Hanging By A Thread!

“Do you ever think about going back to school?” MK’s laying on the apartment roof when he poses the question. Floor time, as he calls it. They’ve taken to doing it up here more often, instead of barraging Kitty’s personal space all the time. He likes watching the clouds pass by.

It’s chilly, in a way that feels nice. Though MK also says that about -23𐩑C, so.

Mei lays beside him. “Not really. What, you wanna revert to being a nerd?”

As if she doesn’t still call him one. “Wasn’t a nerd.”

“Sure you weren’t.”

“It’s just… I know you got your bachelors degree, but… you could get a PhD, or something. You’re, like, insanely talented. They’d all be beating each other up trying to get you to join their programs and stuff.”

“Hmm, I guess… I just don’t really care about all of that.” She shrugs. “I’m satisfied with the bachelors degree. What about you? You wanna get one too?”

He never went to college, just didn’t see a need to. But now… he doesn’t know, it’s just, maybe it’d give a sense of purpose? A path to follow? “I’unno. Maybe?”

“What would you get it in?”

“I was thinking somethin’ artsy? Like drawing. Do drawing degrees exist?”

“I think it’s just called an art degree.”

“Then that. But…”

“But what?”

“I don’t know if… I’d be good at it. All the work, I mean,” he says as if he wasn’t absolutely intending the other meaning too. “School is pretty haaard. I already went through the ringer with just highschool. A full bachelors? Nuh-uh.”

“You won’t know unless you try. And there’s no harm in dropping out if you decide it’s too much! Right?”

“Right,” he mumbles.

She frowns. “Why’d you ask?”

I’m terrified I’m only good at one thing and I don’t even know if I wanna do it anymore. That if I do anything else I’ll just fail and prove to myself I wasn’t made for it. Because what I was made for was to die but I lived and I don’t know what to do.

“No reason,” he says.

“Hmm. Have you drawn anything lately?”

“Nah.”

“Wanna draw me?” She poses. 

He smiles. “Yeah. I’ll get my sketchbook… hey, actually, come with me. Let’s turn this into another Kitty meeting.” He makes a come on gesture, rising. 

She gasps, delighted. “Kitty meeting!” 

He’s been slowly introducing Kitty to new people, letting her wander the full apartment too. She sticks to the bathroom often, and when out likes to be under his bed. But sometimes she sits, sort of out in the open, while he’s laying down or watching TV or something. He tries to ignore her when she does this, as per the many guides he’s read, but quietly he’s happy about it.

Warm air blasts him as he steps back inside. “Remember, be quiet, don’t look at her or call her or talk to her or anything, just let her come to you.”

“I knowww, I know,” Mei says. “Do you think she’ll actually leave your bed this time?”

He shrugs. “Some stuff said I should block off her hiding places, but other stuff said to let her have them… if she keeps not coming to you, I’ll try blocking it.”

He fiddles with his keys, opening the door gently, the two of them walking in. He briefly checks the bathroom, not finding Kitty. Okay, that’s good. He can’t help a glance under the bed, finding gleaming eyes underneath. 

“She’s under the bed,” he reports. “Lemme get my sketchbook.”

He has, like, a bajillion sketchbooks, filled out over the course of fifteen years. Most of them have stickers plastered on the front, his latest harboring an Absol (which definitely means nothing he just likes it for no reason), Wu Liuqi, Dai Bo, Xiao Fei, a rainbow, the aroace flag, a dragon, peach flowers, and a strip of text referencing his favorite image ever: premarital eye contact is a sin. 

He sits on his bed, legs crossed, and Mei follows. 

True to his word, he starts with doodling her, trying to re-familiarize himself with his style. It’s more simplistic, cartoony, but tends to follow real anatomy. Sometimes he messes with a style that throws it out the window. It’s hard not thinking of that style as lesser, to the grand, detailed pieces he sees, but he’s grown to accept he’s never going to be that sort of artist. 

Besides, what he makes is only something he could have made. There’s something to that. 

Mei peers over. “Sketchbook tour?” she asks. “When you’re done.”

“I can just show you now.” He flips through the pages, sticky notes stickers afoot. “This is all figure drawing, umm, but next to it is my attempt at like, exaggerating the poses. I want my art to be more shaped. Y’know?”

“Mhm mhm. These look cool!”

“I guess I’ve been thinkin’ a lot about my art style, how I want it to look… it’s kinda weird looking through older sketchbooks and seeing how it’s changed. Oh, speaking of, this is where I was drawing cats in different styles. Like, realism, to cartoony, to um… like… the way furries draw animals.” 

“You say, as if you’re not one of them.”

He ignores the reminder of middle school. “Aaand this is more shape practice, like, really pushing how to draw people. Then I was thinking about how to stylize objects and background stuff, in a way that’s more fun and isn’t just like… drawing the thing and that’s it. So I was giving them more lopsided, wacky shapes. I like it when the background colors are a little out of the lines? Like… shifted to the right a little. So then I was messing with that coloring style.”

“It looks pretty. I’ve always really liked your colors.”

“Thanks. Oh, here’s the ‘I can’t remember how to draw/everything’s coming out bad, so I’ll make a bunch of scribbles and stars and call it a day’ page. Gotta have a couple for every sketchbook.”

She’s leaning on him now, watching with rapt attention. “I really think you could do good with an art degree. Since you said you were thinking about that.”

“I guess… maybe.”

“MK, your art is really good!”

“It is! It is good and I like it, but people a lot younger than me are drawing some insane things, people my age are, too, and there’s so many cool styles with so much more detail or just a completely different way of drawing everything, and they’re all pretty and cool, and I wanna be able to do alla that toooo.” He finally takes a breath of air at the end.

“You can’t be every style at once.”

“I knowww,” he bemoans. “It just feels like everyone can do… more things than I can. And, like, can I even imagine myself in art professionally? As a career?? I can’t even imagine myself with any career!”

“It’s not like you have to know all of that right now,” she says. “We’re barely adults.”

“Well I wanna know,” he grumbles. 

She laughs a little. “I don’t know what I want to do either! We can be the not-knowers together.”

“The not-knowers.”

“The not-knowerrrs.”

Kitty does come out from under the bed at some point. He and Mei deploy their best ‘ignoring her’, and eventually she loafs on the floor. He has to keep himself from staring at her too much, overwhelmed by her cuteness, and tries to channel that energy into drawing. 

“Aaaaugh, she’s so cuuute, I love her, I love her.”

“I know, I know.”

“She’s just a baby kitty cat. Kitty baby.” He’s been reduced to standard ‘around cute animal’ incoherency. “The thing. The creature. My favorite pet, the ominous black hole in my apartment.”

“She does kinda look like that, doesn’t she?”

He’ll coo over her the entire rest of Mei’s visit, while still actually, like, talking about things. It’s nice. 

Maybe he woke up irritated. Maybe it was the final straw. Maybe he just wanted someone to feel the way he does. Maybe these are all excuses for something much more terrible below—no, they are. Excuses, excuses, excuses.

“Really, kid, ya don’t gotta help me,” Pigsy says for maybe the hundredth time. 

“I know,” he says, also for the hundredth time, trying not to snap about it. He wipes down the counter, shining under dim light. “Just faster with two people doing it, right?”

He wasn’t lying back then, really, it kind of is calming. Or, just… he doesn’t know. Satisfying? He mostly just hates doing dishes. Wiping things down and such is a hundred times more bearable and rewarding. 

And if he’s moving there’s less time to think.

Rain beats against the windows. He’s brought down his umbrella to head out after this. He doesn’t want to be around people right now. He thought this would be quick. He thought it wouldn’t have to mean anything.

Pigsy sighs a little, but he’s smiling. “When did’ya get so responsible? It was just a year ago you were slackin’ off every chance you got.”

There’s a lot of normal things he could respond with. Instead he finds himself asking, apropos of nothing yet everything in between the lines, “Why did you even take me in?”

“Whuh?”

His hand stills. Then he scrubs harder. “When I was younger. Why didn’t you just take me to the authorities?”

“I, uh… kid, y’know the system can be pretty rough.”

Itching, clawing, “You didn’t—you didn’t even like raising me enough to call me your son, why did it matter if the system was rough? Like you wouldn’t have been happier?” spitting acid to make it hurt. 

Pigsy is taken aback. “K-Kid, I…”

“I don’t wanna hear it!” he snaps, throwing down the wash cloth and heading to the door. “I’m sick of how you’ve been acting, I’m sick of how everyone’s been acting! I—you just—” He’s so angry he’s not even sure what he’s trying to say anymore, snatching his umbrella. “I’m going out,” he manages to mutter.

He ignores Pigsy calling after him, rushing out into the rain. He walks and walks and walks, only slowing when he’s a good couple blocks away from the store. 

He pants. Rain patters against his sun-yellow umbrella, out of place. Winter’s drawing near. He inhales the cold air, resisting the urge to punch the nearest thing—he trembles, then pulls down his umbrella, closing it. He continues walking, hoping the rain will wash away the fire burning beneath his skin. 

He can’t think. Well, no, he can, but the only things he can think are too awful to share. Itching, itching, itching. He claws at his arms, protected under cloth, and he wishes he could just tear through his skin, bang his head against a wall, something, anything. Pain is the only thing strong enough to drown out everything else.

That pursuit only leads to one thing. 

Something’s trying to claw out of his chest, ripping open an ugly sight, choking on this god-awful tar. The air keeps him somewhat in check, bitter and harsh, a sensation that’s hard to be nothing under. His vision blurs and it just makes him feel more pathetic, stupid, stupid, stupid, crying in the rain after a fight with his dad like some dumb movie scene. 

Why is he so mad, why can’t he stop, why doesn’t he want to stop?

It’s like his brain splits itself into logic and emotion, the former saying he’s being unreasonable, he doesn’t actually feel this way, it’s just some stupid ugliness he hasn’t managed to get rid of. But his emotions, his emotions scream in hatred, blinding, all-consuming rage that makes him want to tear out of his own skin.

And MK is not a thinking type of person. He just feels and feels and feels.

He walks. His hands twitch, spasm, every other second wishing for something to dig into, it won’t stop itching. It becomes so overwhelming he bites his hand until it hurts, angry red marks on his skin. 

The feeling subsides a little. 

He doesn’t know where he’s going. Somewhere. Anywhere. The rain’s nice, at least. 

Eventually, he finds himself sitting on a bench, distinctly uncomfortable given the weather, but he was already soaked, anyway. Who cares.

Puddles drizzle from the sidewalk.

…he’s still mad.

Why? Just let it go, he hates feeling like this! He hates being like this. He…

Maybe he should just accept it already. This isn’t how good people act. This isn’t what good people think, what they feel.

He’s not sure how long he sits there, burning yet cold, unraveling a chasm of aching emptiness inside him. It’s long enough someone steps into his peripheral vision. 

“You know you hold your umbrella over yourself, right?”

He looks up. “Tang.”

“MK.” It’s hard to make out his expression, something MK decides he’s grateful for. “What are you doing out here?”

“Sitting.”

“You know that’s not what I meant. I’d sit too, but, uh…”

“What? You don’t wanna join the wet beast community?”

“No, not really.” Tang gestures at MK to stand, and he obliges with a sigh. Eugh. Wet pants feel terrible. “And open your umbrella.”

“Bit too late to not get soaked.”

“It’ll sound nice.”

…MK opens his umbrella.

It does sound nice. 

To Tang’s credit, they walk for about a minute in silence. Well, aside from the pattering rain and cars driving by. Not fueled with bitter anger, it actually feels quite peaceful. 

“Did something happen?” Tang asks, eventually.

MK shrugs. “I guess.”

“Do you want to tell me what you guess happened?”

“…just got mad. Again. Over nothing. Again.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, there’s always a reason.”

“I don’t think I have a reason, I just wanna be mad.”

“That’s a reason.”

“Hmmm.” Tang got him there. “But I don’t—I don’t even know why I wanna be mad. It just makes me feel awful, and then I act mean, and there’s no point to it! And now I feel stupid, and I don’t wanna go back.”

“MK, you can’t run away because of a bad conversation.”

“Counterpoint: but… what if?”

“What would you even do?”

“I’unno, find some work?”

“You know you need credentials for that, right?”

“You need credentials to work?? Why?”

Tang shrugs. 

“Can’t I just be nobody from nowhere, no past, no future?”

“If you’re nobody from nowhere, you’re gonna have a hard time doing anything, not just getting work.”

Related to that, “How did you guys even get me a birth certificate?”

Tang groans. “MK, that was years of torture. Remember all those people you had to talk to?”

“Sorta.”

“You had no birth certificate already, duh, but you also had no records of who your parents were, where you were born, any schooling… there was literally nothing that said you exist in any manner, legally. And the government doesn’t like that! But, you know, why would obtaining any of that be easy? They had to make quadruple sure you really didn’t have any existing relatives, and that we weren’t criminals, and then we had to fight to legally adopt you. Getting them to even agree with you staying in the apartment during the whole process was like pulling teeth.”

“That does sound like years of torture.”

“It was worth it, in the end. Now you have everything you need to exist, and no one’s going to get mad at you about it. Probably.”

They did all of that for him. He asks, not angry this time, merely quiet, “Why did you guys take me in?”

He’s expecting some sort of because we love you, but Tang sighs, averting his gaze. “It’s kind of selfish, I don’t know. I think we just wanted to know we could help someone.”

Oh.

Suddenly it feels like he can breathe.

Tang’s eyes widen. “Not that we didn’t also love you! We just—”

“No,” he interrupts. “I think I get it.” 

He really does. 

“I think, um, I’m ready to go back now,” he says.

Tang blinks. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” He smiles. “I’m not mad anymore.”

It doesn’t solve the deeper curdling in his gut, no, but it is a reprieve in the midst of his descent to rock bottom. Reprieve enough he stays the shovel and wonders about stopping all of this. But those fluffy feelings will always, always go away, and soon enough he’ll forget what they were like at all.

He’ll remain acutely aware of this fact.

As stated before, MK doesn’t do a lot of thinking about most things.

It’s just not his nature. He’s always been more of a do things, think later type of guy. Isn’t that, like, his archetype? Ignoring the fact real people don’t have archetypes. Right. Real people. 

He knows, logically, who’s to blame for everything. It’s right there, that damn snake. He woke up MK, he set the domino's and let them fall for everything that happened, and now everyone’s reaping the consequences. It’s his fault, it’s so obviously his fault, the person to direct all his ire at! 

So why does MK still feel so… so…

If he had died back then, it would have proven he really couldn’t have done anything else. He supposes there’s some peace in knowing you had no choice.

But he didn’t die.

So did he always have a choice?

Bad son, bad friend, bad apprentice, bad hero. 

The sun gleams above branches and sparse leaves, sky a stubborn blue. He twists the rope in his hands, walking farther, farther, farther still, dying grass and bare bushes. No one’s going to find him, not for a long time. 

I guess you all were right.

It stuck, clinging, that impulsive feeling on a cliff settling deep inside him as he realized it was anything but impulse. He never had a name for it, or maybe he just pretended he didn’t. He’s good at pretending. All he’s built from is wooden stands and paper mâché, something that seems like it’s whole, but when you peel back that outer later, there’s nothing.

It’s oddly serene, really. The anxiety rolling in his gut slows to a stop, as the weight on his shoulders lifts. 

It’ll all be over soon. 

He finds a low, sturdy branch, and a suitable rock. A chair would have been better, but he wasn’t about to haul one all the way out here. 

Okay. He steps back, observing the noose. It feels weird, climbing onto the rock, staring at the hole in the middle of the rope. Best case scenario he snaps his neck and dies instantly, worst case scenario he just painfully and slowly chokes to death. 

Hm. Not a great thought to be having. He needs to stop being a coward, anyway. 

Here… here goes nothing. 

The moment he kicks the rock back, dangling, he chokes. 

Oh, okay. We’re going the painfully and slowly choking to death route. Haha, that’s, that’s great, that’s—terror flares in his chest and he struggles, he doesn’t—he doesn’t wanna—

There’s a SNAP and he gasps as he hits the ground.

His hands fly to his throat, retching. Tears hit the swaying dirt beneath him. Oh no, oh god, he hated that, he hated that, never again, never ever ever.

In the midst of his crying, he barely makes out a voice: “What is it even about this time?”

He whips his head, finding his shadow projected on the tree. Awesome. Great. Of course!!!

Still struggling to breathe, he manages, “Wouldn’t… you already know?”

“Listen, you really gotta stop trying this.” Its arms cross. 

“Why?”

“What.”

“Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious—”

“No, no, no, tell me. Tell me.”

“Because we’ll die???”

He stumbles to his feet. “You want to live like this?” He laughs a little. “What, are you the stupid part of me?”

“I’m pragmatic. And, reasonably, I don’t wanna die!”

He huffs. “This is just for yourself. Not me. You wouldn’t care if I died. Wouldn’t you be free, if I did?”

“…that’s not how this works.”

“Why am I even arguing with you? You’re just some… figment of my imagination.” He waves his hands. “I dunno, maybe I’m going crazy!”

“Sure, keep acting like I’m not a very real part of you. That’s gonna help the repression issue.”

Everything comes to a head, this rolling in his stomach turned to a chokehold on his throat, world narrowing in—

and he snaps. 

“DON’T ACT LIKE YOU CARE!” he screams, voice raw. “DON’T ACT LIKE YOU KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT ME AND HOW TO FIX MY PROBLEMS!” He approaches his shadow, shoulders rising. “If you’re part of me, that means you’re just as lost and helpless as I am! You don’t know what to do! You’re a stupid coward that’s running from his problems, waiting for the day everyone leaves him!” His shadow small beneath him, the snapping of his own teeth—“So you know what? I don’t care if you don’t want to die, because you DESERVE TO.”

His chest rises and falls heavily. 

His shadow looks—

Looks—

MK stumbles back a little, energy lost, shaking. “I—” His mouth is numb. “I didn’t… mean… I…”

He did, but he didn’t, but he did. He wants every piece of who he is gone. But actually yelling that at his shadow, who isn’t even talking anymore, for once smaller than him…

He just feels sick.

“Just…” He hangs his head, shutting his eyes. “Just go.”

When he finally musters the courage to look up, his shadow is no more.

He collapses. Everything swims, and, hysterically, he giggles through the tears, clutching himself. He can’t blame this ugliness on his shadow anymore, can he? It’s just him. The laughing stops as he chokes on a sob, gripping his head. 

It’s… it’s just him.

4: Moonglade

He’s been going on walks in the morning. It’s good for his health. Supposedly. He mostly does it to look like he’s actually trying to get better to everyone else. Each time he walks a bit farther than before. Walks until his feet are dead. Walks until home is a distant memory. But he always turns around, comes back. 

What if he just… didn’t?

So one day he leaves his phone on his bed, bundles up in a coat, and walks. And walks. And walks. And doesn’t turn around.

This is a pretty bad idea, huh? 

He doesn’t really care. It’s what he does, make rash decisions based on nothing more than impulse. How many times has he felt like something was just right? …is this the same?

His breath is visible in the cold air. He really didn’t think the universe wanted anything from him. Except it did. And now it doesn’t. He’s living past his myth, without a purpose in mind. And though he didn’t find it disturbing before, after everything, it’s just hard to not… want, that purpose again. A destiny.

Eugh, actually, what is he thinking? He hates the concept of destiny. If he heard that word on his deathbed it’d be too soon.

From busses to trains to just good ol’ walking, he tries to find a place he hasn’t seen before. Living in the same city for fifteen years gets you pretty familiar with it, but there has to be something new. New in a normal way. Like a restaurant he’s never heard of, or an event about a thing he had no idea was important, or someone opening their first store.

And he thinks, despite himself.

Everyone he passes is real. Their own lives and monologues, stuck in their head for no one to truly see. They’re people, the person they’ve always been. A complex web of relationships and memories that piece together a puzzle without any part missing.

What happens if you’re not just missing a piece, but you jumble all of them together? What happens when you put it together again, and it’s suddenly a different picture?

The box says it’s still the same puzzle.

He starts pretending he’s a tourist, scoping out everything he can in awe, snapping imaginary pictures. The city’s kinda pretty, isn’t it? Though he doesn’t like climbing up a million hills. 

He eats somewhere that sounds terrible, but it actually ends up being… terrible, yeah, it’s not good at all. He still eats everything he ordered, thinking about Pigsy trying to get vegetables into him as a kid.

It all goes by in a blur. He feeds a flock of ravens, spins around in the falling snow, goes from place to place to place, just looking out of curiosity. But most of all he keeps moving. 

The sky grows softer, striking pink appearing at the horizon. Actually, for a moment, the whole world looks pink. Huh. He’s never seen a sunset do that before. 

He walks. Baby blue fades into darker and darker colors. He walks. Streetlamps start flickering on, bright neon buildings and signs. He walks. The sun’s completely out of sight. He walks. It gets dark enough he starts itching for his staff, then decides he doesn’t really care. He walks. The first stars glimmer in the sky—or, well, the only stars. Light pollution is awesome. He starts wondering if he should find an inn or hotel or something. Despite that, he just keeps walking. His legs feel like they’re dying, at their limit. Walks, walks, walks.

Strangely enough, in that moment, standing under a streetlight and staring up at the pitch black sky, far, far away from home, he feels… free.

I could just keep going, he thinks. He could never stop. He could hide away, over and over, until they stop looking for him, until he gets far enough away. He could change his name, build a new life, new identity, start from the ground up and get rid of all of this. 

The universe has other plans, apparently, because the sky is soon blocked by a jet he recognizes all too well. 

“MK!” Mei leaps from it onto the ground, rushing to him. “Oh my god, are you okay? What happened?? Where did you go, what—”

He’s tired. “Nothing happened.”

She pauses, hands gripping his arms. Then she picks him up and tosses him into the jet. Once they’re both in, she’s quick to start it up again.

Aaand now he’s alone with Mei for an extended period of time which he can’t escape from once she inevitably starts asking questions. Uuughhhh. 

She’s actually quiet for a few minutes. He lets himself think she’ll remain quiet, but she dispels that thought quickly.

“MK, what… what were you doing?”

“Taking a walk.”

“A walk?! MK, you’re on the other side of the city! You’ve been gone since this morning! And you left your phone and didn’t tell anyone and we couldn’t find you anywhere—” She pauses, taking a few deep breaths. 

He sinks down. “…didn’t mean to worry you.”

Mmm, he kind of did… well, no, he didn’t? He doesn’t know. It’s just this awful, clawing feeling in his chest. It makes him want to scream, cry, break down for all to see and somehow, someway, still be loved for it. It makes him want to disappear without a trace. Run away and forge a new life, or die in a ditch somewhere never to be found. But, some part wants to be found. He tries to not think about how everyone would react. It feels… selfish, gross, when he imagines them being distraught. Does he really want to put them through that? …he’s not going to answer that, actually. 

He doesn’t realize Mei’s been talking until he catches the end of it: “—you’re not listening, are you?”

“Not at all.” He grins. 

“MK, this is serious.”

“Mm.”

She sighs. “I know you’re an adult, you can do what you want, but you never just… leave without a trace like that.”

There’s a lot of things he never did before.

“I dunno. You really worry me sometimes, MK. If you ever want to talk about… I-I mean, you know we all care you about you, right? So, so much! And I don’t ever want you to… to…” He finally looks at her. She stares ahead, face twisting. “…disappear.”

Those words should matter to him, maybe. 

He looks away. 

They land. 

Of course, he immediately gets an earful from Pigsy the moment he’s inside. 

“Kid, what were you thinkin?! You can’t just disappear like that, we thought somethin’ happened! Are you—”

“I’m going to bed,” he says and turns away to head upstairs.

“Whuh?”

MK climbs the stairs quickly, getting into his apartment and locking the door behind him. It’s dark, quiet. He exhales, sliding down a little. 

Gleaming eyes catch his attention. Kitty sits in front of him, beside the open bathroom door. 

Oh. Right.

He peels himself from the door, flicking on the lights, squinting. Kitty waits patiently as he gets out her food, and he mutters an apology to her. Some owner he is. He watches her eat; she lets him do that, now. He watches her eat, and doesn’t feel much of anything at all.

This is how he’ll go to sleep.

MK isn’t a good person.

That much is apparent. Irritated and flighty, worrying everyone over nothing, snapping at people who don’t deserve it. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t keep it down. Maybe he hasn’t been trying his best at all. There’s always that thought, wouldn’t it feel good? Let go of his death grip on himself, unshackled, show everyone how horrible he really is, and maybe, maybe, they’d finally give up on him.

He can’t stand another concerned look. He doesn’t want them to think about him at all. 

He holds his arms, shivering through his coat. There’s a park in town, hiding a large lake, where Pigsy taught him how to swim. Something about that makes him want to turn around.

He comes to a stop, at the edge between land and lake. The water’s still, black. It’s quiet. For once the time and place feels fitting. As a bonus, even if he chickens out and swims back up, he can just die of hypothermia instead.

He’s heard it’s not very painful, not at the end, at least. It’s been described as almost peaceful.

He steps into the water. It’s freezing, but he persists. He’s felt worse. 

Clothes sticking uncomfortably, water rising with every step, his head begins to clear. Giddiness swells in his chest. It’ll all be over soon. 

It’s instinct, taking a deep breath, before realizing that defeats the whole purpose of this. He lets it go and plunges under. 

Icy cold stabs into him, a million needles over and over, until it starts to dull. He forces himself to keep walking, dashing any chances of escape, pushing against the water. His lungs squeeze, chest struggling, gritting his teeth as he fights against instinct to hold his breath. Moonlight wavers deep down, an oddly beautiful coffin. 

It takes everything in him to force his mouth open. He gets a lungful of water, body reacting to cough, gasp, only swallowing more and it burns. Wait, wait, no, no, no—

He stumbles back, body locking up as it pulls between stubbornly staying still and GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT he’s not going to be a coward, he’s not letting himself run from this again, if he can just hold himself down long enough he doesn’t want to die, not like this, not like this, coward, coward you want this you know you want this he’s not going to be a coward, there’s still so many things he wanted to do, he’s not going to be a coward, those can’t be the last words he ever said to people, he’s not going to be a coward, how would they feel fishing him out of the lake, he’s not going to be a coward, he wants his dad, he’s not going to be—

MK surfaces with a harrowed gasp. 

He hacks, water spilling out in droves as he climbs onto the cold grass. It’s all just burning, burning, tears blending with water. Clutching himself, he gulps up air greedily, crying through coughs. It builds, sobbing, unable to tell what it’s from anymore.

Why, why, why can he never… 

Coward.

He shudders, squeezing his eyes shut. 

He’s tired. So tired.

Distantly he recognizes his plan still worked. Everything’s going fuzzy. He accepts the idea of not moving, of freezing out here, and for once there is no screaming panic. Maybe this is what people meant, when they say it’s peaceful.

But when he looks back, his shadow wavers in the water.

All it says is, “Go home.”

…he does.

He’s shambling, teeth clacking as he reaches Pigsy’s Noodles. It’s all too bright, swimming around like goldfish, but he thinks he spots a bit of pink. Closer and closer, he makes out Pigsy, restless as always. It’s hard raising his fist to knock on the door, and what he achieves is more of a weird slam. It’s enough. Pigsy turns, eyes widening, and he rushes to open the door. 

“Kid! Yer soakin’ wet, what—”

His muscles finally give out. 

Pigsy catches him with a noise of surprise. “Kid—come on, come on.” He grunts, practically carrying MK inside. “Stay with me here, what happened?”

“Fffell,” he slurs. “Lake.”

“This close ta winter?!” When MK’s eyes close for a bit too long, he continues, “No, no, no, kid, stay awake! This isn’t good,” he mutters to himself. 

Pigsy tries to haul him up the stairs, but he suddenly finds the energy to squirm, resisting. “Too hottt,” he complains.

“MK, c’mon, don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

“Did you eat the sun…?”

“Up we go.”

“Noooooo,” he feebly whines, unable to stop Pigsy from dragging him up. 

“I’m tryna make sure you don’t die from hypothermia!” Pigsy fiddles to open his apartment door. 

“Whatsit even matter…” 

“…yer head’s not on straight right now.”

It’s warm inside. Really warm. He doesn’t have the energy to protest, well, not physically, audibly he makes a lot of sounds that are like he’s being herded to his death. He blinks and he’s on a bed. He really just sees a pink blur before something with a weird texture is rubbing against his skin. It’s searing. He’s caught between leaning into the comfort or trying to get away from it, unable to do either. He makes a low whine instead.

“I really gotta dry ya off, MK. Almost done.”

“‘s just… water…” he mutters. “Humans are… water.”

“Yeah, yeah, you can still drown, kid.” The sensation leaves. “Let’s get you into clothes that aren’t soppin’ wet. I think I got something…”

“Fishes with the swimminnn.”

Everything’s just fuzz and cotton, under a layer of film. That searing heat softens, wrapping around him. It only makes him more tired. He just wants to sleep…

Hands on his cheeks. “Kid! Don’t fall asleep!”

He blinks. “Whuzzup?”

“Okay, I know ya don’t understand what the hell’s going on, but if you sleep right now something bad could happen. Just stay awake a bit longer, ‘til I know you’re fine.”

“Mmmkay.”

Pigsy sighs. “Gonna give me a heart attack one day, I swear. I can, I dunno, read ta you. Like when you were younger.”

“Mmmm.” His head lulls into Pigsy’s touch. 

He doesn’t really pay attention to the words themself, just Pigsy’s voice, how it remains steady and low. He’d be okay dying like this, he thinks. Soft and warm, like falling asleep as a child and being carried to bed. 

But he wakes up in the morning, and nothing feels soft.

Something in him breaks, after that.

A raging inferno overtakes him, broiling beneath his skin, every second agonizing. He tries to distract himself, he really does. Throwing himself into training, deliveries, hangouts, all while his heart is being crushed. It feels so hard to breathe. He knows the others have noticed—how sluggish yet frantic he’s become, how his body shakes, the way he can’t really smile correctly. They’re always looking at him when they’re his next distraction and he’s sick of it. 

So he just won’t talk to anyone.

It’s not the right choice either, but he doesn’t know what is. Nothing feels good anymore. He says he’s sick when Pigsy tries to check on him and not much more. 

His phone blows up with notifications he doesn’t read. He just wants to sleep, his final try to get this to stop.

Well, there is a more permanent solution.

He rolls over, sighing. What would be the point? He’s tried, what, three, four times? It never works out. It’s like the universe wants to drag this out as long as it can, reminding him over and over that everything just leads to pain. It doesn’t matter if he tries to live or die. 

Unsurprisingly, none of that reassures him. 

“You need to stop moping.”

MK jolts. 

He whips his head around. There his shadow stands, flat against the wall. It isn’t looking at him, arms crossed.

He doesn’t know what to say to it. Sorry? Go away? I hate you? I don’t know how to feel about you? Why do you keep trying to help me?

So he just doesn’t say anything.

His shadow continues casually, “Isn’t your whole thing like, the power of friendship and love and hope and stuff? Where’s all of that?”

“Not really feeling it much these days,” he manages to mutter.

His shadow falls silent. It’s long enough MK thinks it left. 

Then, “You know we’re worrying them.” 

This shtick again. He doesn’t know what it means, really. “What’s it matter to you?”

“Shouldn’t you be talking to someone right now?”

“…I don’t wanna.”

“Well, that’s too bad, since Mei is coming up right now.”

“What?!”

“MK!” He hears Mei’s voice. He only has a moment to compose himself before she opens the door. “You in here—there you are!”

He blinks at her from his cocoon. 

“Hey,” she says, softer. 

“…hi,” he mutters.

“Heard you were sick?”

He’s felt sick for a long, long time. “Mm.”

“Your cat won’t get too upset, right? About me being here.”

He shrugs. “She likes you enough.”

True to his word, Kitty doesn’t even immediately dive for a hiding spot when Mei enters, though she does startle, eyes wide as they watch Mei intently. She’s in a box he got for her. He likes to think she looks less afraid nowadays, maybe more so just cautious.

Mei approaches, sitting on his bed. Briefly she places her hand on his forehead, then pulls back with a frown. “MK, um… I’m not trying to corner you, just… we’re all really… I’ve been worried about you, you know?”

“I know,” he mumbles, looking away. 

“You’ve obviously been going through something. But you don’t.” She pauses. “Talk about it, like, at all.”

“…don’t you know what it’s like to not wanna talk about things?”

He can imagine her chewing her lip. “S-Sure, but this isn’t about my problems.”

“Yeah, but like, everyone’s been going through something. Why am I the only one that has to talk about it?”

“You’re deflecting,” she says.

“Mmm.”

“Can you just tell me one thing? Anything? Then I’ll leave you alone.”

“One thing? You make a hard bargain. I guess I can do that,” he sighs. “If I must.”

“Hey, no jokin’ around right now.”

“Jokin’ around’s my middle name.”

He closes his eyes. What should he say? 

He’s just—

“I’m tired, I guess,” he says.

“Of what?”

“Of… everything? Life?” He shrugs. “It’s just… I wake up and, and go about my day but it doesn’t really feel like I’m doing anything. I blink and suddenly it’s been a week, a month, and—” He sits up, gesturing, heart hammering to spill every word. “And I don’t know where the time is going, it’s like I’m not actually there, I feel like such a nothing person, which is weird cause I have all these friends and work and training and I’m doing something every day but it’s like it doesn’t really matter?” Why is he still talking? He can’t stop. Desperate, urgent, he needs to get it out now. “I dunno what would matter, I keep trying to find some sort of, feeling, I don’t know what it is but I can never find it, it’s like I’m chasing something that I can’t ever have. I don’t know what to do with myself, I dunno what to do with my life, I don’t know what I wanna do, nothing really makes sense anymore and all the stuff I thought was important isn’t now, and it’s just when you were born to do one thing and it doesn’t happen you can’t help but wish you still had a purpose like that even though I hate the idea of destiny, but without it it gets really hard to figure out what to do.” The world’s swaying, a burning rising and rising. “A-and even when I’m doing all the right things, nothing feels good anymore and I don’t—I don’t know what to do, I don’t—”

Mei is hugging him. 

He gasps into the crook of her neck, desperately clinging back. “I-I don’t know what to do, I don’t know what to do, I don’t know what to do,” he sobs. “I don’t know…”

“It’s okay. It’s okay,” she murmurs. “We can figure this out together.”

“E-Everything feels bad, and, and I hate living like this, I don’t want to anymore!” 

“You don’t—” She pulls back a little, hands on his shoulders. “You don’t have to! MK, I swear to god, we can make things better. It doesn’t have to feel like this forever, it won’t feel like this forever.”

“I’dunno how t’ make it stop,” he cries. 

“You don’t need to yet! We’ll figure it out. We can help you. The… the first step to all of this is just talking about it, yeah?” Slowly, she pulls him back into the hug, breath against his neck. “I-I know it’s hard, I know this all sucks so much and I’m sorry. I wish I could just… wave my hand and make it better.”

“I hate feeling like this,” he murmurs. “I don’t remember what it’s like to not feel like this.”

“There’s people whose entire job is dedicated to, like, helping with stuff like that. There’s… you have options. I just… MK, I… I love you. I don’t know if that means anything to you right now, but I love you so much. And we all do, we all want to help you, you’ve never been a burden on any of us, gods, just—all I’ve ever wanted is for you to talk about this.”

“I’don like talking about it.”

“I know.”

“It doesn’t feel good.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Nothing makes sense anymore. I don’t know what I’m doing or what I want to do or what I should do or… I-I just…”

He doesn’t know how to explain it. He isn’t like how he used to be and he’s too much like how he used to be, nothing changed, everything’s different, this spinning carousel on and on, he looks at a stranger and hates himself for it, he looks at someone he can’t stop being and hates himself for it! He’ll be on this spiral until he dies, unable to understand himself or anyone or the world anymore, and maybe the only real thing he knows is—!

Whoever MK was died. 

And he, this joke of a replica that can’t escape itself nor be the person it’s meant to be, was supposed to die with the rest of him.

He doesn’t feel numb anymore, is the worst part. It’s all screaming inside him, gut-wrenching agony, more than ever showing him he can’t live like this. Forming into a blade, telling him what he needs to do. 

There was only ever one option.

Mei will stay until he’s stopped crying, and stay even longer still. When he goes to sleep he will have one singular thought:

It’ll all be over soon. 

5:

MK wakes up.

The morning is still and quiet. 

And he’s found his resolution.

He waved Mei away for the night, able to give her a genuine smile, for once, a sense of calm finally washed over him as he realized. 

He knows she’s probably going to check on him, so he has to get this over with before that. He doesn’t really register leaving the apartment, or going inside Pigsy’s Noodles with his spare keys, greeted by an empty restaurant. He remembers it needed to be cleaned up. Might as well do one good thing before he dies. 

It’s weird, you know? Mopping the floor when you’re about to kill yourself.

But it’s okay. 

It’ll all be over soon. 

Oddly enough, what he was most worried about—only worried about, really—was Kitty. She needs someone to love her. He’s just… he’s not good enough at that, is he? She’d probably be happier anywhere else, not in a stuffy apartment with someone who switches between depressive states and being too loud, unsure of how to give her the best life she could have.

He’s not sure why he ever thinks he can help anyone or anything.

It’ll all be over soon. 

He’s back in his apartment. He must have walked. Kitty is actually out, staring at him briefly, before wriggling underneath his bed. Her eyes peer out, locked on him. 

It almost makes him feel guilty enough to not do this. 

Almost.

It’ll all be over soon. 

He should leave a note, something. He didn’t write one yesterday. His hand just hovered over paper until he put down the pencil.

He… doesn’t know what to say. What is there to say?

Maybe something for Kitty. That’s—easier, then thinking about leaving a dying message.

So, he scribbles out TAKE CARE OF KITTY, listing when she’s fed, places she likes hiding in, make sure she always has somewhere small and reclusive to retreat to… he writes as many things as he can possibly think of, the next never feeling like enough. But he runs out of things to say, eventually.

There’s blank space at the end. 

What was the last thing he drew…? He doesn’t remember. Whenever he draws now, it devolves into him tearing the page with graphite, staring at a scribbled, dark mess. 

…he doodles Kitty at the end.

Feels like a fitting last thing to draw. 

Rips out the page, pins it to the wall. So that’s it, then.

It’ll all be over soon.

The world narrows in, blurring at the edges, unfeeling. He goes into the bathroom. Locks the door. A selfish part of him wants them to find his body. He opens the medicine cabinet. Grabs all his pain medication. Opens the caps. Gets a glass of water. 

It’ll all be over soon.

MK has thought many, many times about suicide, and failed many times at it. Some part of him is disturbed that it’s so… easy. After thinking of countless ways to die, trying to mitigate the amount of suffering he’d experience, it grew into something larger, grander. 

It’ll all be over soon.

Yet here he is. All it takes is just opening some bottles and taking some pills.

It’ll all be over soon.

He takes as many as he can, washed down with water, rinse and repeat. It’s hard swallowing them, but he persists until there’s nothing left. 

It’ll all be over soon.

And, with that, he’s done.

He slides down onto the tiled floor. It’s cool against his skin. He brings up his legs, resting his head atop his knees, and breathes his final breaths. 

His… his final…

He grips his hair. Where did it all go? He used to be so happy. Brushing off Pigsy’s scolding, playing arcade games with Mei, listening to Tang tell stories. He was just MK, the noodle delivery boy. Now he’s some… some thing. Someone who couldn’t even lay down and die when they were supposed to. He remembers the fear he felt, but more strongly, remembers that persistent, creeping thought:

It’ll all be over soon. 

He tugs and rips at his hair. Wukong was screaming for him, so viscerally. Mei’s cries. His dad. 

They love him. They love him, they love him, they love him and it’s not enough. 

Tears bead in his eyes, breath quickening. When did… everything become so hollow? Listless? Without meaning? He knows they’d be devastated. He has no doubt in their love for him. But it doesn’t matter. None of it ever mattered. 

He should have just died back then. Gone out like a hero. Instead he’s pathetically crying in his bathroom. 

It’s my choice, he thinks feverishly. Maybe it’s the only real choice he’s ever made. 

His vision is blurring more and more, a rising heat in his body. Time warps, sludge-like, fluorescent light beaming down. He can’t tell how long he sits there, head aching, fuzziness spreading through his limbs, everything tilting.

This is what dying feels like. 

He’s hyperventilating, fully crying now, trying to keep himself quiet. He wants to shut his eyes and never wake up, because at least if he was asleep he wouldn’t be able to think about—

Think about the fact he doesn’t want to—

His, his friends, his family, he… he loves them so much. That’s why he needs to do this, right? It has to mean something. It has to do something. 

How much is he throwing away? He’s barely in his twenties. He never really figured out what he wanted to do with his life. The universe had a path for him, but now it’s over.

No. No, no, no, he has to do this, he has to, he has to, he—he—

His shadow morphs into a blurry silhouette against the wall. 

It doesn’t say anything. He gasps, choking through a whisper, “G-Go on.” He’s shaking. “Taunt me. Go on,” he says, desperately. 

Call him an idiot. Call him selfish. Yell at him, something, or even better accept that this is the best decision in the long run and tell him he deserves this, god, please.

He can’t make out its expression. Finally, it opens its mouth: “Why are you doing this to yourself?”

Bile rises in his throat and he shoves it down. He’s doing this because he has to. Because nothing ever, ever, ever gets better for him. He can fake it as long as he wants, but he knows he never believes his words, deep inside. He doesn’t want to live like this. He can’t live like this. He has to do this.

“…we both know that’s not true.”

Then what is he supposed to do?! He wants to scream, but he can’t. How does he fix this, how does he make it better how, how, how, what is he supposed to do?! Every second of existing is agony, tearing through him until it’s all he is. The thought repeats over and over in his head, I want to die, I want to die, I want to die, no more room for anything else. As much as he tells himself his friends and family will be better off without him, he knows the real reason behind this and every attempt before: to get rid of the endless pain.

It sounds… sad. “We don’t want to live like this. We don’t want to die like this, either.”

He—he—

Black spots overtake his vision. He wants this, right? Come on. He’s tried so many times, if he doesn’t want this then what does he—

He just wants out.

When did this start feeling like the only option?

His tongue is numb. He’s slipping away. A sharp, instinctual fear tries to claw its way up, but it only gets drowned out by the pounding in his head. There’s no cliff to fly back from. No rope to break. No lake to swim out of. 

He did it. He got what he wanted.

It’s getting harder and harder to keep his eyes open. He’s not sure why he’s even trying. Maybe some sort of morbid fascination in watching how he dies, this awful concoction of pain and dizziness slowly washing away, away. His panic, tears, all the things screaming inside him, it just… stops. 

He can’t move. It’s hot white, sparks bursting beneath his eyes as he slouches.

He… hears… something.

There’s not a moment to think about what it is before the world and his mind

goes 

dark.

+1: And The Universe Said

Everything’s all blurry, in and out.

He’ll blink and it’s like he’s in a different place, different time, different reality. He succumbs to darkness more often than not, briefly getting moments of light and sound that feels like parchment paper is sticking to it. 

The first few times he wakes up with something lodged down his throat, indescribable pain. He barely has a moment to try and frantically rip it out, falling back to nothing as someone’s tearing his hands away.

His head pounds and everything’s always too bright. He doesn’t understand where he is, what’s happening, is he dead, is this death? Maybe he asks that—he’s not really sure what he says. 

Sometimes there’s a million knives stabbing inside him, behind his eyes, into his head, or sometimes there’s nothing but white, white, white. He doesn’t feel scared. He’s not sure he feels anything at all.

The only thing that really catches him, sticks in his head, is every moment, it feels like his shadow is watching over him.

Until at some point he just… wakes up. For real.

He blinks. He’s laying on a hospital bed with something that barely counts as a blanket, an IV in his arm, and he’s hooked up to some type of monitor.

He’s not dead.

He breathes out, sliding down the bed, something blooming in his chest.

A nurse comes in, eventually. She asks him some questions, what year is it, where is he, how he’s feeling, does he still want to die etc etc etc, checking vitals and making sure he’s not about to spontaneously combust. It’s all boring hospital nonsense. Live or die, he wasn’t really expecting to be bored. It feels weird.

“There’s a group of people waiting for you,” she says. “Is there anyone you’d like to see in particular?”

He resists the urge to yell no one and leap off the bed and run away and never come back.

“I wanna see everyone.” He does not want to explain himself twice, or thrice, or… frice? Rice? He’s not going to explain himself rice.

She looks mildly guilty. “Sorry, only two visitors at a time are permitted here.”

Hmmm.

“Mm… can you tell them I wanna see them all at once anyway?”

The nurse raises a brow. “Alright.”

He closes his eyes and waits.

He can’t help but smile when he hears a series of crashes, followed by yelling. Someone screaming, “SIR, SIR—” and Wukong’s voice amidst the chaos, snarling, “HE WANTS TO SEE ALL OF US!” 

The scuffle continues until he hears the patter of feet draw closer. Someone’s still trying to get them to stop, and he hears something slam—Pigsy’s voice, “WE’VE HAD TO DEAL WITH YOUR STUPID RULES THIS ENTIRE TIME, AND NOW YOU’RE GONNA KEEP HIM FROM THE ONE THING HE WANTS?! IF HE WANTS TO SEE ALLA US, HE’S GONNA FUCKIN’ SEE ALL OF US!”

“Sir, you’re going to be fined for property damage and—”

“SHUT UP!!!” Mei yells. 

“You can’t bring a sword into the—”

Sorry for siccing my family onto you, he thinks, but I want to be selfish, one more time.

More banging, yelling, until they’re right outside the door. 

He watches the knob turn. Upon opening, everyone flails into the room, spilling out in a heap. 

Inhale. 

They all look at him.

Exhale.

Immediately his body locks up, tongue tying itself together. That half second, staring at each other, feels like years.

Then Mei is running forward so fast she’s a blur, yelling, “M!!!” She throws herself around him. “K!!!” Her grip is crushing, tears sprouting in her eyes. “You’re alive!” she gasps, looking at him like she hasn’t seen him in years. “You’re alive, you’re alive, you’re alive!!”

He suddenly realizes he has no idea what he’s supposed to do right now. Thankfully, he doesn’t need to know, because everyone else does the job for him by crowding around him in a blur of reaching arms and tears. MK, oh god kid, we’re here we’re here we’re here, I love you, we love you so much—they pull and gather him up into a hug from everyone, from the world. 

Some part of him was worried he’d feel nothing about it. It turns out he didn’t need to be. 

He grips back like a lifeline, horrible burning seeping out of his eyes as thick tears, and he sobs. It tears out of him like ripping off strands of gunk, each breath serving to rid himself of everything that was once weighing on him. 

“I-I, ‘m sorry, I—”

“Don’t apologize!” several people shout at once. 

Mei pulls back, cupping his face. “MK, none of us are upset with you!”

“I-I know, it just… feels… embarrassing,” he mutters. 

“Nothing embarrassing about needing help, kid,” Wukong says. 

He rubs his eyes a little. “Um. B-Before you guys do… say… stuff, I need to ask—and I dunno how else to phrase it so don’t get upset—how am I. Like. Alive?”

A pause. Mei quirks her mouth. “I came to check on you. Kicked down the bathroom door, since you… weren’t responding.”

“You broke my bathroom door?” He squints. “You’re paying for that.”

“And I’m gonna be paying for everything else in the future forever and ever!!”

“Wait, I was joking, sort of, kind of, actually not really you are paying for the door but you don’t need to do anything else—”

“I want to!” she exclaims.

“Kid, we’re gonna coddle you whether you like it or not,” Pigsy says, sniffling as he smiles through tears.

“Unless you really really really don’t want us to,” Mei adds. “But I feel like that’d just be cause you don’t think you deserve nice things.”

“I don’t think that I don’t deserve—” he stops. Mumbles, “Yeah, okay.”

“You deserve every nice thing. All the nice things,” Mei says very seriously. “MK, I—you’ve been my best friend for fifteen years, I can’t imagine a life without you. You were with me through everything! I… I don’t know how to tell you. You mean everything to me.” She bumps her head to his arm. “You’re my favorite person ever.”

His tears spring back, chest twisting. “You’re mine, too.”

“I wouldn’t have been happier without you,” Pigsy starts, “and I still wouldn’t be! Are ya kidding me? MK, you’ve been the best fuckin’ thing that ever happened to me. I was a miserable sad sack, but havin you—you’ve always made the world brighter. Made my life a whole lot brighter, too. I love ya. I’m sorry I was bad at showin’ it for so long.”

“I-I love you too,” he smiles. 

“We’d do anything for you,” Tang says.

“We’d hide a body for you,” Mei adds.

“Don’t do that,” he says.

“But we would!”

“We would.” Tang nods solemnly. “MK, I never really expected to have a family, but I’ve always been grateful for you. That feeling’s never changed, and it never will. You’re an extraordinary, kind, talented person, and you don’t deserve to die this young.”

“We love you,” Sandy says. “MK, you’re one of the bestest people ever. I know you don’t see yourself the way we do, but it’s true, and we’re always gonna have your back.”

Everyone’s been relieved, teary-eyed, but Wukong in particular is beaming in relief with devastated eyes. He can’t meet MK, hands wringing. “Kid, I…” He glances at MK. “You’re everything. I’m never going to want you gone.”

He wipes his eyes. “I know.”

“…but knowing wasn’t enough.”

He sniffles, unable to keep eye-contact himself. 

“I know you don’t like talking about all of this, but…”

“No, y-you’re right, I should talk about it.” He tries to compose himself. “Even if I don’t want to. And for the record, I don’t want to. So congratulate me for being brave.”

Mei starts clapping, which everyone follows. “You’re doing so good!!”

“Thank you, thank you.” He bows. Okay, serious time. “I, uh… I don’t know where to…” 

He looks around the room, at his friends and family’s faces.

“…I told myself that you guys would be happier without me, but I don’t think I ever really believed that,” he says. “I-It’s just, knowing you loved me, it… it’s like it didn’t matter. It couldn’t measure up to how I felt every day. I was nauseous from anxiety most of the time, angry at everyone and everything, I wanted to crawl out of my own skin, just, existing felt bad. No matter what happened, no matter what I tried. A-And it’s not like I didn’t try! But that—but it… also didn’t matter.”

Mei’s leaning against him. “If loving someone could fix all their problems, we’d live in a much better world.”

“Hah, yeah. I guess I didn’t really try that hard, just… I dunno, the stuff I’ve seen, it shows suicide like it’s giving up, or something. It didn’t feel that way for me. It was… it was a solution.” He grips the blanket, remembering something about permanent solutions are unwise for temporary problems. “I know it wasn’t, actually. But it was hard to—I don’t know, I… it… just felt like nothing was ever gonna get better. Didn’t feel like I was making any sort of progress, honestly, I just got worse. Mean. I-I didn’t like how I was acting, but I couldn’t stop, which just fed into the whole ‘nothing’s going to get better’ thing.”

“We don’t hold it against you,” Wukong says. “We know you’ve been having a hard time.”

Some part of him yells, you should you should you should why aren’t you mad why aren’t we mad? Instinct is to shove it down, but then he remembers this is a feelings conversation, so. Gotta… be honest. 

“Feels like you should, though,” he mutters.

“Well, we don’t.”

He stares at his clenched hands. “But—I-I don’t. I don’t understand how you guys are still around, I haven’t felt like a good person for, like, a while now.”

“MK, of course you’re a good person!” Tang exclaims.

Do good people think the things he does? Does a good person need to fight against themself just to be halfway decent?

“You’re incredible, kid,” Wukong says, soft. MK wants to believe it. God, he wants to believe it.

“You do so much for everyone!” Mei says. “We’ve saved the world, like, a million times, and we couldn’t have without you.”

“…but would those things even have happened without me?” he mumbles. “I don’t know, I-I don’t know, I don’t believe in destiny or fate or purpose or whatever, but… I was made for a reason. And I did everything I was ‘supposed’ to, until the end. I didn’t die. Did I always have a choice? Could I have done anything differently? …I don’t know what answer scares me more.”

“I dunno about all this destiny stuff, or how the universe works or doesn’t work or whatever. But, kid, all that stuff? It’s in the past now. You can go in circles thinkin’ about what you could have done differently til ya die, but all that dwelling doesn’t actually change what happened, so what’s the point?” Pigsy says, not unkindly. 

“I guess, I… think I’m just gonna have a hard time actually, like, thinking that, for a while.”

“That’s okay,” Mei says. “We’ll be here every step of the way.”

“Do you really think things can get better? …do you really think I can get better?”

“I know something’s telling you you can’t. You gotta be nice to those thoughts,” Sandy says, “but you also gotta tell them they’re wrong. It’s not easy, it ain’t quick, sometimes it feels impossible. But you, everyone, anyone, can do it. And even if you can’t believe that yet, we’ll just believe it twice as hard for you.”

“Things will get better,” Mei says. “I know I already told you, but, there’s people whose entire job is helping stuff like this. And we’re gonna be here too.”

“Oh, you are absolutely seein’ a therapist after this,” Pigsy says. “And a watcha-you-call-it…”

“Psychiatrist,” Sandy and Tang say.

“That. And you ain’t allowed to say no.”

He laughs a little. “That—um, yeah. Fair enough.” Breathes in, and out. “Thank you, everyone, for… just… for everything.”

“Course. We’re glad you’re alive, kid.” Pigsy smiles. 

He smiles back. 

Mei wrings her hands together. “I don’t know if this is appropriate to ask, but…”

“Mei. You’re talking to me.”

She huffs. “Still! If you want me to drop it I will, but I just… can I ask something about the, um, attempt itself…?”

Not where he thought that was going. “Sure.”

“…did it hurt?” 

He pauses. “Kind of. Wasn’t as bad as—” He stops, realizing what he’s about to say. 

“As bad as… what?” Pigsy asks.

Shoot. “Uh.”

“As bad as what?”

He grimaces, looking away. “Just, um. You know. Wasn’t as bad as… the…” Come on. Just say it. “Wasn’t as bad as the other attempts.”

The room falls silent.

Mei asks, very quietly, “…how many times?”

The cliff. The rope. The lake. Should he count when he tried to cut his shadow out of himself? And, of course, this time.

“Counting this time, um…” He squeezes his eyes shut. “Five.”

He can’t bear to look. There’s a gasp from someone, a mumbled shit, a complete lack of movement—only standing in horror. 

“F-Five?” Mei utters.

“Oh, kiddo…” Wukong says. 

He doesn’t want to say this. But he doesn’t want to keep these secrets to his grave. They need to be set free. “There was… I tried a cliff, but I got scared and flew back up. And a rope, but it broke.” His voice quiets for this one, keeping Pigsy out of sight, “The… the lake, but I got scared again. But the first time was when I… I…” 

He grips his head. Thinks about the blood he had to clean up, how he vomited from the stench, the feeling, sitting in his bathroom for hours trying to breathe. Crying when despite it all, his tail just reformed like nothing happened. That day cemented in his head as one of the worst ones he’s ever had. Sure, there were no battles, or monsters taunting him, or anyone getting hurt, really—except for him. But he can’t describe how… the way he felt… that sinking, all consuming pit in his stomach, swallowing him whole as he realized that he would never, ever, ever have his body the way he wanted. 

He doesn’t realize he’s started hyperventilating until Pigsy’s in his face and saying, “Woah, woah, kid, let’s calm down.”

“I-I—” He’s starting to cry again. “I can’t—”

“Breathe with me! You don’t gotta talk about it yet—”

“No, I have to, I have to,” he cries. “O-Or I won’t ever say it.”

With Pigsy’s guidance, he manages to wrangle his breathing to a manageable state. He’s still shaking, but he’s not sure he can stop right now. 

He hugs himself. Mei offers her hand. He takes it, squeezing.

“I… I don’t like my monkey form,” he starts. “I don’t like that it’s… part of me. It scares me. I-I wanted it out. I tried everything I could think of, from just willing it out to—to…” He grips his blanket. “To… cutting it out. But my tail just grows back,” he mumbles.

He expects the silence this time, but it doesn’t make it any better. He still can’t look at them.

Then warm arms are wrapping around him.

His breath hitches around a sob. He grabs back like they’re his savior, and maybe they are, hands held out to him at the bottom of his grave. 

“Oh, god, kid, I never shoulda pushed you—”

“It’s not your fault!” he cries. “None of this is any of your guys’s fault. I didn’t—I was the one who—”

Wukong grabs his face, snapping him out of his thought spiral. “It’s not your fault either!”

“B-But—”

“It’s not. It’s not your fault this happened, it’s not your fault you’re struggling, it’s not your fault that accepting help was hard.” He leans in closer, somehow. “Now say it’s not your fault.”

“It’s not my fault?”

He pulls away. “Gotta work on the confidence, but that’s a start.” His face softens. “Really, though, we don’t blame you for anything. So… you stop blaming yourself, yeah?”

MK wipes his eye. “I’ll try.” He’s not sure what he’s about to say, maybe nothing, but. “Wait.” He realizes something very extremely important. “Wait, wait, how’s Kitty? Has anyone been feeding her? Oh, no—”

“I have been, I have been!” Mei reassures. “Your list came in handy.”

Thank god. “I forgot I wrote that.”

“Very MK of you to leave a dying message about your cat instead of literally anything else.”

“I didn’t know what to say!” he defends. 

The sound of a knob rattling. Everyone turns to look, a poor nurse looking at the group with a pained expression. 

“Are you all, um. Done?” she asks.

“Pretty much,” MK says, with a chorus of yeah, yep, mhm, around him.

“Right… can you… exit, now? There’s, only two visitors are allowed and, um…”

“Sorry about that,” MK says, not very sorry at all. 

MK immediately chooses his parents to stay. The others are herded out, waving at him until they’re out of sight. 

“Everything’s mostly been looking good,” the nurse says. “You haven’t suffered any brain damage, but many of the pills entered your system before we could get them out, so there’s some liver damage…” At his expression, she clarifies, “It sounds scary, but it’s not life-threatening. You’ll be okay.”

“Um. Do I have to… do… something about it?”

“The best we can do is simply prevent any more damage, and wait for it to heal. Other than that, you’ll be feeling nauseous for a while, and tired. So don’t push yourself too hard on any physical activities.”

He thanks whatever that he didn’t wake up nauseous. Pigsy grunts, “Yeah, we’re on it. If he pushes too far I’m dragging him into his room.”

“Pigsy!” he exclaims. “I can rest! I can relax. You don’t need to do that.”

Everyone looks at him skeptically.

“I can!!” he defends. “How hard could it be?? You just do nothing! Doing nothing is the easiest thing ever!” 

“For some, it isn’t innate,” the nurse says. 

He huffs, crossing his arms. Something’s bugging him, though… why was brain damage even on the table? Are they just being cautious? 

“Can I. Ask. How bad it was?” he gets out. 

Silence. Tang looks at his hands, folded over his lap, and Pigsy glances away. Then he sighs. “Kid, Mei had to give you CPR. It was bad-bad.”

“Oh,” he utters quietly. 

“You’re very lucky they found you so early,” the nurse adds. “Without the immediate attention you received, you would have brain damage, among other things.”

If he was even still alive.

He almost died. Like, for real. No turning back. There wasn’t a pillar to leave, a rope to break, half a mind to swim out of a freezing lake. The moment he took those pills he sealed his fate. Why, why was it so… easy? He’d be dead right now if Mei had been a couple minutes late. Taking some pills. That’s all it was. 

Why was it so easy?

After some medical nonsense, he’ll be allowed to leave, he’s told. While waiting, Tang rambles on, stories that remind MK of being a child. Pigsy barely says a word, but he holds MK’s hand the entire way through. 

And then he’s out. 

It’s kind of weird, pulled along by his friends and family, feeling lighter than he has in months. He’s happy, being with them again, happy, by the stupid things they say, happy, that the sun seems to be cheering itself, happy, that he didn’t die.

He’s not sure why this wasn’t enough, before. Everything feels different now. For once it’s not a bad thing. 

“MK is too good for the ground!” Mei declares, hoisting him up once they reach Pigsy’s Noodles. 

“Wh—Mei!!” he laughs.

It doesn’t stop there. The moment they enter, he’s greeted with a blast of confetti and balloons, colorful banner reading WELCOME BACK, MK!

He makes a sort of whwuwh noise, heat rising in his cheeks. “Guys! You didn’t have to do all of this!” He can’t stop smiling, touched and embarrassed and he loves all of them so much, wow.

“Yes we did,” Mei says sternly. 

“It was actually legally mandated,” Wukong says. 

“D’ya smell that?” Pigsy asks with a rare Pigsy-grin. 

“Huh?” He sniffs. “Uh… beef? Wait.” Oh my god. “You didn’t.”

“Yep. Been stewin’ since last night.”

“The type of beef I like that’s really expensive and also hard to find??”

“Mhm.”

“And an egg—?”

“And hardboiled eggs.”

He’s smiling so hard his face hurts. “How did you guys even have time for all of this?” 

“There’s secret extra hours to the day. It’s called staying up until 3am,” Mei says. 

“Mei!! You guys didn’t have to—”

She bats at him. “Nuh-uh!”

He bats back, giggling again. She rests him on one of the seats, where MK smiles at everyone. “Seriously, thank you guys,” he says, soft. “I dunno what’d I do without you all.”

“MK, of course,” Tang smiles back. “It’s the least we can do.”

His favorite ever noodle recipe, courtesy of Pigsy, looks as amazing as it smells. He restrains himself for all of five seconds before just tearing into it like a ravenous beast. He realizes, very suddenly, “Oh god I’m so hungry.”

“You were out, like, an entire day,” Mei says. “Though you didn’t eat much the day before, either… when’s the last time you had an actual meal?”

He pauses.

“MK!!!”

“Look,” he says around a mouthful of noodles, “I was distracted.”

“With what??”

“With ruining my life?” he says, aware she’s not going to like this answer.

She throws out her arms. “That’s not a good reason!”

“Hey, I didn’t do it on purpose! The not eating thing.” He absolutely did the ruining his life thing on purpose. “‘m eating now, anyway. Sho good.”

With everyone else getting a bowl, they chat and eat away. About halfway in is when MK suddenly hears a voice behind him.

“Hey.”

MK yelps, near falling off his chair, just for something to pull him back. That ‘something’ turns out to be Macaque. 

“M-Macaque???”

“Kid,” he returns. 

“You are way too good at being stealthy,” he says. “Which I know most of that is weird shadow stuff, but—”

Macaque reaches out, placing his hand on MK’s head. MK pauses as Macaque proceeds to affectionately(???) ruffle his hair. 

“I’m glad you’re still here, kid,” Macaque smiles. 

MK, who has never received physical affection from Macaque or even seen him do it with literally anyone else, has to recover from shock. He laughs, startled, and manages, “Y-Yeah. Me too.”

It’s nice, really nice, people half inside and half outside, moving about, but they always come back to MK. Mei doesn’t leave his side, looking at him in a way he doesn’t think he’s ever seen, from her. 

Ironically, Mei remarks, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile like this. Not in a bad way! It’s just, really… it’s nice.”

God, if he doesn’t get that. “It is.”

They talk about nothing that matters, except, being right here and now, everyone around him, matters more than anything else. 

Pigsy takes his empty bowl to wash, MK joking if you keep doing everything for me I’m gonna get really bratty, only to end up feeling embarrassed and loved again when Pigsy just says kid, ya deserve to be bratty. He’s loathe to leave the group, especially right now, but… there’s two important things he needs to do.

“I need to see Kitty,” he says, looking at everyone from the stool he sits on. When they don’t understand yet, he tacks on, “…alone.”

Everyone gives him their best wet beast eyes. 

“I’m not gonna somehow kill myself in the two minutes it’ll take to do that.”

Mei sighs. “Okaaay. But if you’re not down in five minutes I’m coming up there,” she grumbles. 

“Yeah, yeah.”

He heads upstairs, reaching his floor. When he opens his apartment door, everything’s where he left it. It’s like nothing ever happened at all. 

He quietly shuts the door behind him; then slides down, just… breathing.

Yellow eyes shine from under his bed. Kitty squirms out. For a moment, it seems she’s content staring at him from afar, but then approaches, tail held… high…

“Did,” he starts, suddenly having a hard time speaking, “did… did you miss me?”

He reaches out his hand, tentative. She sniffs it, and, slowly, slowly, he places it on her little head. 

She lets him.

“Heh…” His voice grows thick, sob building up. Tears blur his vision, and he wipes them away, laughing through them. “I-I’m sorry I tried to leave you,” he says, shakily. He gets it now, he thinks. He’s the only one who can love her like this. “I won’t ever do it again.”

She doesn’t let him pet for long, pulling away shortly, but he doesn’t mind, trembling smile. He composes himself, taking a deep breath. Kitty wasn’t the only thing he’s here to see.

“You can come out, you know,” he says.

Silence.

Then, “Don’t do that ever again.”

His shadow is still, voice carrying an emotion he can’t quite place, squashed under a flat board. Anger, maybe, or relief.

“Yeaaah, I’m not planning to.” He sits back, rubbing his neck. “I… I know you’re part of me, so, I guess I’m talking to? Myself? But.” His hands grip his pants. “I’m sorry. For what I said, back then. You… you don’t deserve to die.”

It’s looking away.

“…and check the bathroom,” it mutters, and then it’s gone. 

Huh? 

He looks at the bathroom door, same as it ever was… wait, isn’t it supposed to be broken? Curious, he stands, placing his hand on the knob. 

Hesitates.

3, 2, 1—swings open the door. 

Oh. 

Dozens of colorful sticky notes, plastered around his mirror: we love you, you made my life better, you deserve nice things!!, you’re kind & thoughtful & funny, remember You Are So Awesome, you’re the best friend ever—more than he can count, some sort of feeling swelling in his chest. 

Any evidence of his attempt is gone from the sink, replacing it a fake plum blossom, along with a gift basket. Oh my god, they got him the White Rabbit tiramisu candy. Ginger tea, black sugar, dried mandarin oranges, a bath bomb, premium ginseng soap??, lip balm. The real kicker is a pair of black, fuzzy socks, which upon opening he finds that they look like cat paws, toe beans on the bottom and all. 

“MKKKK?” Mei calls. 

He brushes his budding tears away. “Coming!” 

It’s not all sunshine and rainbows, fragmented as he is. He doesn’t like himself, not yet, and he’s afraid of what’s in the grave of his mind. Something is lurking. Maybe he already knows what it is.

But.

As scared as he is, as impossible as it seems, he wants to try to live, this time.