Archive of Our Own

It’s November, and the air has started to turn a little too cool for comfort. It’s still warm enough to not wake up to ice on the ground, let alone any snow, but they’ve probably only got a few more weeks before the true cold really settles in and makes it uncomfortable to train outside.

The peach trees have all gone to sleep by now. Wukong and Macaque have already gone through and harvested what they had left to give for the summer, and they’re a limited time treat now since Wukong is pretty sure he could eat the whole stash in less than a week if he was operating on summer time. Yeah, he obviously eats other food, but come on. Peaches are his favourite.

Wukong has selected a really nice one from the stash to have today before MK is scheduled to arrive for his probably-last-one-before-the-cold-sets-in training session—well, his peaches are always nice, but this one is extra nice—and he’s eating it slowly and enjoying the warmth of the sunlight in the cold air when he suddenly hears the distinct hum of shadow magic and he opens his eyes mid-chew to see Macaque materialize beside him and take a bite out of his pre-workout snack without even bothering to take it out of his hands.

The audacity of some people. Wukong totally would have let him share if he’d just asked. Wukong snatches the peach away indignantly. “Hello??”

“Hi!” says Macaque cheerily, through a mouthful of perfect peach, a bit of juice running down his chin. He looks chipper, probably feeling more lively with the chill in the air. A few white streaks are showing in his hair, which means he’s slowly getting ready to put on his winter colours. Neither of them actually grow new coats for the cold months—though Macaque’s fur naturally seems to help keep him warmer than Wukong’s does—but Macaque usually glamours the white away when the weather is warmer for the sake of aesthetic, and then slowly strips more and more of it off as the snowy season gets closer. He could just take the whole thing off at once at the first snowfall, but he says it’s more fun to pace it out this way. More dramatic, he means. And he calls Wukong vain.

It’s not cute, or anything. “You have juice all over your face,” says Wukong childishly.

“Does it piss you off?” says Macaque, covering his mouth as he finishes chewing. “Does it make you wanna hurt me?”

Wukong tosses the half-eaten peach at him and Macaque catches it easily. “You take it, now that it’s got your slobber all over it.”

“Hey, alright,” crows Macaque, settling down next to Wukong with his prize. He raises it to his mouth and winks at Wukong. “Thanks for the peach...Peach.”

Despite the indignity of having his snack stolen, Wukong involuntarily sits up a little straighter when he hears their old special nickname for each other, and he clears his throat and looks away, trying to hide the flush on his face. “Winter’s gonna be here soon. How will you feel if I starve to death because you ate all our carefully harvested stock?”

Macaque leans against him. “If our stores disappear by December it’s not gonna be because of me,” he says with his mouth full.

He’s right, of course. “I’m not arguing with a thief,” says Wukong, crossing his arms pettily.

Macaque sits up, brandishing the almost-finished peach at him. “What did I steal? You gave this to me.”

“Under coercion,” grumbles Wukong, still trying to pretend he’s mad.

Macaque takes another bite. “Mmm, it’s sooooo juicy and sweet. You’re really missing out.”

That is quite enough of that, and Wukong makes a grab to reclaim the peach, but Macaque childishly holds it above his head, stretching out of Wukong’s grasp. “Alright, I’m revoking your privileges,” says Wukong, straining to grab it back as Macaque keeps leaning backward. “Give that back to me.”

Macaque refuses to relinquish it, just keeps holding it away and leaning back until his back is flat against the grass and Wukong is leaning over him, finally grabbing the peach and pressing both it and Macaque’s hand into the grass. Macaque grins up at him and leisurely trails a finger up Wukong’s chest like this was his plan all along, which, it probably was. “Hi,” he says, his soft voice not matching his mischievous eyes.

“Hi,” says Wukong back, rolling his eyes even as his gaze softens.

Macaque just keeps smirking up at him, not making any move to try and wriggle out of his grasp, so Wukong slowly starts leaning down, his eyes going half-lidded, before Macaque is melting down into another shadow portal and disappears. Cheeky bastard, not even allowing Wukong to kiss him. He’s left the remains of the peach behind, though, which Wukong still counts as a victory, even if he doesn’t get any kisses out of it.

Even if they don’t really have much time right now, Wukong wonders if he can coax him back out. “We can just hang out,” Wukong says, to the empty air, as he straightens up. “You don’t have to antagonize me into it. I like you, if you’ve somehow forgotten.”

He finishes off his peach and waits patiently until sure enough, Macaque is materializing beside him again, collapsing against him lazily. “But I like the drama,” he says, propping one leg over his knee and folding his hands in his lap, like he’s getting ready to take a nap against him.

MK is supposed to be arriving to train in another half an hour, and it’s not like Wukong really needs to prepare much for it since they always warm up together anyway, but he’s still trying to be mindful of the time like a good mentor. Macaque is clearly unconcerned about that; he hasn’t made any move to leave to let Wukong mentally get in the zone, even though today isn’t one of their joint coaching days. Wukong’s not really that annoyed, he likes spending time with him, obviously, but having Macaque slouching around like a cat in the sun is starting to make him a little too relaxed, which is not what he needs right now when he’s supposed to be sparring this afternoon. “Kid’s gonna be here soon,” Wukong says pointedly. “It’s not your day to help out in training, is it?”

“Nah,” says Macaque. “Too tired to do that.”

“Lazy,” scolds Wukong.

“Says you,” says Macaque, stretching leisurely and then turning and flopping down on his side, resting his head in Wukong’s lap and nuzzling his face into his stomach, seeking warmth.

“Uh, excuse you, how is this helpful?” says Wukong, trying to sound stern, pointedly not reaching down to run his fingers through Macaque’s hair and reward this behaviour even though he really wants to.

Macaque cracks one eye open. “Cuz you’re comfy. ‘s fine, I’m not gonna fall asleep or anything.”

“You better not, cuz I’m pushing you off the second MK gets here,” warns Wukong, even though he’s not really expecting him to; it usually takes a while for both of them to drift off. He leans back on his hands a bit, getting comfortable, careful not to lean too far so Macaque’s carefully arranged position isn’t ruined.

“Won’t be necessary,” mumbles Macaque, closing his eye again.

MK shows up right on time, forgoing his usual enthusiastic entrance since he’s still got about half a minute of the podcast he’d been listening to on the way over. He quietly walks up the mountain, taking his headphones off as the podcast finally ends, and when he looks up he spots Wukong and Macaque sitting quietly underneath one of the trees, not in the spot further up where Wukong usually meets him. Macaque is curled up with his head in Wukong’s lap, seemingly fast asleep, and Wukong is slowly carding his fingers through Macaque’s hair, staring down at his sleeping face with an expression so soft that MK definitely feels like he’s intruding on something.

Wukong clearly hasn’t seen him, so MK, as quietly as he can, tiptoes backwards until he’s out of sight and then starts forward again, stomping exaggeratedly and whistling so Wukong will hear him coming. When he rounds the corner again, both Wukong and Macaque are sitting up, Macaque rubbing his eyes and Wukong looking flushed and nervous. “KID!” Wukong cries, a little too enthusiastically, when he sees MK, leaping up and brushing invisible dirt off his pants. “Right on time! All set to go?”

“Ready as you are!” agrees MK, smiling to himself.

***

The weather getting colder means they’ve been spending more and more time indoors lately, which means they’ve been watching a lot of movies. They trade off picking which ones to watch, getting a feel for which ones the other person likes most, and after the first dozen nights it becomes very clear to both of them that half the time they’re merely putting up with the other’s tastes instead of actually enjoying them.

It’s Macaque’s turn to choose the movie tonight, which means it’s going to be another stupid horror movie that he’s going to go to great lengths to explain the deep symbolism behind while Wukong rolls his eyes and pretends he’s going to be able to sleep normally that night. Wukong enjoys a good horror movie from time to time, but he has standards. Sometimes the horror stuff Macaque makes him watch is good, but sometimes it’s completely inane, and this one really takes the cake. Wukong genuinely does not think he would be able to even tell what the characters were saying if not for the subtitles with how quietly they’re whispering. Not to mention the director has opted to put a disorienting filter over the entire thing that makes Wukong feel like he’s just watching a broken TV instead of a movie.

Despite his criticisms and how slow the plot (if there is a plot at all) is moving, the dreamy ambience of the film is admittedly making him just a little uneasy. There also hasn’t been a single jumpscare so far, which is only adding to the tension. Wukong knows how horror movies go, there’s always at least one moment where the director decides they need to startle their audience. Wukong can usually see those moments coming, but this movie is moving so painstakingly slowly that he can’t tell when it’s going to happen.

The only solace he feels is that he can definitely see that Macaque is tense too, but despite the fact that he’s hunched over and peeking at the movie over his knees, he’s clearly still watching the screen intently, seemingly enjoying being scared. Like a weirdo.

Wukong tries, he really does, to be nice about all of Macaque’s choices that he doesn’t quite get—or at least as nice as Macaque is about Wukong’s own penchant for action comedies with lots of explosions and dumb jokes—but he thinks if he goes another second without complaining he will actually explode. “This is boring,” Wukong hisses. “We’re literally just watching static.”

“It’s an artistic choice,” says Macaque, not taking his eyes off the screen. “You obviously aren’t cultured enough to get it.”

Wukong isn’t cultured enough? What is there to get? It is literally just static. And children whispering. They haven’t even seen what said children look like. The most that Wukong’s been able to make out are feet, and somebody’s back. The director didn’t think the audience would want to see somebody’s face from time to time? You know, like how a real movie is made? It feels like they’ve been watching for hours but they’re probably not even halfway through. Wukong just huffs and crosses his arms and slouches back against the couch, kicking his feet irritably.

Five minutes later, Wukong has also drawn his feet up off the floor and is curled into a ball, trying to not lean into Macaque too much and betray his unease. He’s clearly failing, because he eventually leans a bit too much into him and ends up pressing his forehead against Macaque’s arm, and he feels Macaque turning his head to peer down at him. “Are you gonna hide in my shoulder the whole time, Wukong?” he asks, sounding far too pleased at the prospect of Wukong being scared. “Or actually watch the movie?”

“I’m tired,” lies Wukong. “It’s so boring I’m falling asleep.”

Macaque wiggles his arm, dislodging Wukong’s face and thwarting his attempts to hide away. “You’re missing the plot.”

Wukong gestures to the screen incredulously, looking back and forth from the grainy scene to Macaque. “What plot?? It’s literally just STATIC.”

Macaque gives him an exaggeratedly eager smile, like he’s trying to convince a toddler to try a new vegetable. “But what’s in the static? You gotta look closer.”

Wukong does not want to look closer, because he is bored, not scared of something jumping out at him, but he turns back to the screen and looks anyway, scrubbing a hand down his face and pretending it’s out of exasperation and not because he feels safer watching through his fingers. There’s more white noise for a bit before the screen abruptly flashes to an image of a child with both her eyes and mouth gone, accompanied by a high pitched shrieking noise, and both Wukong and Macaque jolt in their seats, Macaque only making a sharp inhale of surprise while Wukong makes a very undignified yelping noise and immediately hides his face in Macaque’s arm again.

Macaque starts shaking a little, and Wukong can tell he’s very clearly trying to hold back laughter. “Really makes you think, huh?”

“I hate you,” Wukong says, muffled into Macaque’s arm.

***

November bleeds into December, and it brings an even deeper chill that hangs stiffly in the air even inside the house. It’s still technically autumn, but it’s getting to that time of year where the temperature fluctuates annoyingly overnight, where everyone will fall asleep perfectly comfortable and then wake up freezing. The mornings slowly start to become sparkly with frost, which then turn into thick blankets of snow. It’s the perfect weather for cuddling up with all your best buds in a warm restaurant and sharing bowls of noodles to counter the chill as the solstice draws nearer.

Pigsy’s restaurant is extra cozy in the cold weather, practically glowing with warmth. It’s after hours, and he’s allowed MK to host a casual gathering with everyone to share dinner. Somewhat reluctantly, in Wukong and Macaque’s case, but he doesn’t glare nearly as much as he used to, so that has to count for something. He’s keeping busy in the kitchen anyway, probably to avoid having to talk to them as much as possible. That suits Wukong just fine, he’s mostly here for his most specialist guy anyway.

“You doing anything for the solstice, kiddo?” Wukong asks, pushing his empty bowl away and eyeing Macaque’s only half finished one, wondering if he could steal a noodle or two when he isn’t looking. Macaque catches his eye and picks his bowl up to hold it closer to his body as he eats, effectively preventing Wukong from stealing anything from it. Wukong pouts at him, and Macaque just winks.

MK nods eagerly, his own bowl also polished clean. “Yeah! Pigsy’s gonna take the day off, and we’re all gonna cook together! Even Mr. Tang’s gonna help!”

“Against my will,” grumbles Tang, but he shoots MK a fond little smile, and it’s obvious he’s only being sarcastic.

MK nudges him playfully. “C’mon, you’re the reading guy, cooking’s basically just a bunch of reading,” he says encouragingly, laughing when Tang just sighs dramatically and slurps down more broth.

Beside MK, Mei sighs. “I wish I could help you, but I’m spending most of the day with my parents,” she says wistfully. Her face brightens. “But I’ll definitely be over later, like clockwork. Can’t miss out on seeing my favourite guy!” she sings, throwing an arm around MK and ruffling his hair affectionately as he laughs and squirms away.

“You’re always welcome in our house, Mei,” Tang says warmly. “Right, Pigsy?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Pigsy says gruffly, from the kitchen, but it’s obvious he doesn’t mind Mei hanging around on the holiday. She’s practically family at this point, after all, and pretty impossible to dislike. Wukong likes her well enough even though he’s pretty sure that she doesn’t quite share the same sentiment.

Wukong leans back against the booth and puts his hands up behind his head, getting ready to relax after his meal. “Maybe if Mac and I aren’t too busy we’ll stop by too, to say hi. Or you could visit us, mountain’s always open.”

Pigsy looks up from his pot and levels Wukong with a sharp look. “Dongzhi’s for family, in case you’ve forgotten,” he says, his voice cold.

Wukong had only said it casually, not truly anticipating he and MK would meet up that day—Pigsy is right about it being a family holiday, after all—but he still falters a bit when Pigsy makes it clear that he’s not welcome if he were to try for it. MK winces a little apologetically, but doesn’t make a move to defend him. Wukong backtracks to reassure Pigsy he’s definitely not intending on overstepping. “Yeah, no I—I know,” he says, smiling sheepishly and holding up his hands in a placating gesture. “Cool your jets, pig, I’m not gonna crash your party. I got my own family.”

Pigsy nods, some of the tension leaving him. “Good. I’m glad,” he says stiffly, turning back to his cooking.

Wukong nods back, looking away and rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Macaque looking a little startled. Wukong assumes he hadn’t realized that Pigsy had never really come around to him after all this time. Wukong can’t even really blame him either; he’d certainly put MK through a lot, way more than he ever wanted to. Pigsy weirdly didn’t seem to take it as a consolation that Wukong had needed even more therapy afterwards than everyone else had.

“What?” Wukong says to Macaque. “You know he doesn’t like me.”

Macaque shakes his head faintly. “No, I—it’s not that,” he says. “You—never mind.” He turns back to his bowl and shoves the remaining noodles into his mouth before Wukong can question him again. Always another weird mysterious mood with this guy.

MK smiles a little too brightly, trying to steer the conversation back into something happier. “What are you and Macaque gonna do, Monkey King?”

Wukong glances back at Macaque, who just shrugs. “Eh, I mean, prolly just the stuff we do every year,” Wukong says. “Or, I mean, DID every year, before. Y’know.”

“Yep,” agrees Macaque, setting his empty bowl on the table. “Just gonna take it easy at home. Festivals aren’t really our thing.”

“Nope,” says Wukong, shaking his head. “I’m looking forward to a lazy day, eating a ton of good food and watching movies until I fall asleep.”

“Isn’t that what you do every day anyway?” says Mei.

Wukong looks at her, vaguely offended. “Wh—NO, I take care of the entire mountain! I don’t call myself the monkey king for nothing. And—I lesson plan! And train! And stuff.” He crosses his arms petulantly. “I just can’t do any of that now cuz of the snow.”

“Well, I think MK’s earned a break from training, anyway,” says Tang. “There’s no scary demon nonsense on the horizon—that we know about, anyway—and it’s the cozy season! That’s truly all anyone should be doing this time of year. Staying inside and eating delicious warm food.” He stares down at his empty bowl and turns around to look at Pigsy, batting his eyes innocently. “Ehm, Pigsy, if you wouldn’t mind...?”

Pigsy is already coming out of the kitchen, setting a new bowl of noodles before him and taking his empty dish. “Here you go, you freeloader,” he says, his words harsh but his voice gentle.

Tang picks up the bowl with a smile and a sigh. “Love you too, Pigsy.”

It’s sweet to observe them and see how they both clearly know each other so well that Tang knows exactly when Pigsy is just being silly, and has no problem showing his affection openly. Wukong kinda wishes Macaque was okay with him showing him affection in public like that. Macaque had seemed to stop enjoying the flirtatious sentiments and casual touches when the brotherhood came along and any of them happened to be present when Wukong made a move, even if both of them knew he never meant it in a romantic way. Wukong never really figured out if it was a distaste for PDA in general or if Macaque just didn’t like being snuggly in front of the brotherhood specifically.

Beside him, Macaque shifts a little in his seat, ending up closer to Wukong. Still preoccupied with his thoughts, Wukong obligingly shifts away so he won’t make Macaque uncomfortable with any too-close contact in front of their friends. He hears Macaque sigh a little and Wukong looks up and notices, with surprise, Macaque looks kind of disappointed.

Was he trying to hint that he wanted Wukong to move closer? Maybe enough time has passed that he wouldn’t care if Wukong tried to be affectionate with him in front of their new friends. Had enough time passed that he actively wanted him to?

“We’re gonna eat so much we’ll have to hibernate for the rest of the winter,” Mei says excitedly, interrupting Wukong’s internal dilemma. “We’ll have to build blanket forts and live in them until spring.”

MK’s eyes light up. “OOOHH! If your parents let you, do you wanna have a sleepover??”

Mei gasps loudly. “Oh my goodness YES. We can watch holiday horror movies!!”

MK punches the air. “Yes!! A holiday sleepover classic!!”

Macaque turns to face Wukong. “Wow, look at how supportive MK is of Mei’s movie choices,” he says pointedly.

Wukong knows he’s just saying it to get a rise out of him but he feels the need to defend himself anyway. “I like horror movies! You just keep picking weird ones!” protests Wukong. “It’s not fun watching static and distorted audio for two hours while nothing happens!”

“That’s because you have no taste,” says Macaque. He smirks, daring Wukong to shoot back.

Wukong considers how to respond and then decides to put his new theory to the test. He leans back in his seat a bit so he can give Macaque a very dramatic once-over. “I mean,” he says, slowly and deliberately, watching Macaque’s face to see how he takes it, “I obviously have some taste.”

Macaque’s annoying smirk morphs into surprise, and to Wukong’s delight, the surprise does not give way to annoyance, but instead a bemused little smile. Macaque quickly looks away, his hand coming up to his face like he’s trying to hide his expression, which, coupled with the way Wukong can definitely still see his tail wagging, means he liked it. Got him.

Wukong smirks at his victory in silencing him while ignoring Mei pretending to barf across the table. “I do so much for you and you have the audacity to act like it means nothing,” says Wukong, pretending to be mad to keep the teasing going.

“You killed me,” says Macaque, turning back to face him and immediately breaking out the pettiest argument he’s got.

“You got me sealed under a mountain for 500 years,” counters Wukong easily.

“That was an accident,” says Macaque with a straight face.

Wukong raises an eyebrow. “Killing you was also an accident.”

Macaque rests his head in his hand and grins. “Touché.”

“You guys are so weird,” says Tang, looking between them them with irritation over his bowl.

***

Though the mountain is plentiful, with the continued snowfall, food has become more scarce. Not so much that it really poses a problem, the monkeys are content foraging for bark and grubs, but as long as they have Wukong, he’s gonna do his kingly duties and make sure they’re well-fed even if they run out of luck foraging.

Wukong bundles up tight in preparation to leave the house to check up on the food stores, tugging on mittens and wrapping a nice warm scarf around his neck. He looks to Macaque to see if he’s also finished putting on his outdoor clothes and frowns when he sees Macaque is still sorely under dressed for the weather. He’s basically just thrown a hoodie on top of his regular outfit and layered his usual red scarf on top of it. Macaque is just standing idly as he waits for Wukong to be ready, but he frowns when he sees Wukong glaring at him. “What?”

“I know you love it when it gets sub-zero but are you sure that’s gonna be enough?” says Wukong, crossing his arms sternly.

Macaque rolls his eyes. “We aren’t gonna be out for long. I’ll be fine, Wukong.”

Wukong is not satisfied with this admission, and steps forward to tuck Macaque’s scarf a little closer around his neck, backing off only when Macaque swats at him. “’kay, but don’t come complaining to me when you’re freezing,” Wukong says, wondering if it’s worth it to start an actual argument about this.

“The only one who complains about being freezing is you,” points out Macaque.

“At least wear gloves,” says Wukong, ignoring that annoyingly true statement.

Macaque sighs noisily and summons a small portal beside him, sticking his hand inside and rummaging around a bit before pulling out a pair of gloves. “Fine. If that’s what it takes to shut you up.” He tugs them on, and Wukong notes that they’ve got no fingers; artful fashion statement as they are, they’re probably barely going to actually keep him warm. Macaque finishes putting on the practically useless gloves and wiggles his exposed fingers at him. “Happy?”

Wukong squints at him judgmentally. “Why is your dumb cool-guy factor more important to you than staying warm?”

Macaque smirks at him as he reaches for the doorknob. “What can I say, Wukong?” he sighs, opening the door and sending a burst of icy wind flowing into their livingroom. “I’m really vain.” He winks at him before stepping out into the elements, and Wukong sighs heavily in defeat and follows him, shutting the door snugly behind him.

They head down one of the more scenic routes around the mountain as the snow softly falls around them. The air feels so still, a specific kind of peaceful that is rare most of the time. There’s no distant hum of birds and insects, just pure silence, only broken by the crunch of the snow under their feet and the occasional babble of one of the brooks that hasn’t frozen over, but even the water doesn’t seem to echo as much as it usually does. It’s really amazingly peaceful. As much as Wukong doesn’t care for how cold it is, the tranquility the snow brings is something really special.

Macaque always liked it too. He was usually the one urging Wukong to come outside with him during the night when it snowed. It was always oddly bright at night after a snowfall, even nearing 3am, and Macaque always thought it was fun to just exist in it. Wukong always grumbled at being dragged out when he was trying to sleep, thanks, but he had to admit, the odd atmosphere was kind of fun. And it only happened once a year anyway, so why not indulge him? He liked seeing him happy.

Macaque really should take his glamours off more often. The white of his fur practically sparkles in the snow-light. Or maybe it’s just the snowflakes caught in his fur. Either way, he’s unfairly pretty.

They arrive at the waterfall caves where the monkeys have taken shelter, and a few of them scamper out to greet them, but most of them stay huddled up inside. Wukong pushes open the heavy doors that block the main cave from the frost and heads into the connecting cave that’s housing the backup food stores. He nods in approval when he sees there’s still plenty left, more than enough to make it til spring even if foraging proves unsuccessful. There’s more variety than winter usually would offer; bags of nuts and seeds sit stacked beside mountains of fruit, blessed with a spell to increase their longevity so they don’t rot within a week. Wukong picks up a peach and inspects it, and nods in satisfaction when he sees the magic is still holding up nicely. “Alright, fruits are still lookin’ good!” He sets the peach back on the pile and turns around to survey the monkeys through the cave entrance, doing a quick headcount. “Wonder if we could make enough dumplings to share with everyone,” he muses aloud.

“What, you mean you don’t spoil them with home-cooked food every solstice?” teases Macaque.

“I don’t home cook,” scoffs Wukong. “I’ve got infinite money and hair that can turn into anything I want. Why waste the time?”

Macaque steals a plum from the fruit pile and idly tosses it from hand to hand. “I do hope that isn’t what you’ve got planned for Dongzhi. Cuz unlike you, I am actually capable of cooking just fine, and I’m not celebrating my first holiday back by eating your hair.”

Wukong splutters indignantly as Macaque sets the plum back on the pile. “I am so capable of cooking—we cook all the time! Now! I just only do it for special occasions. Like holidays.”

Macaque sticks his hands in the pockets of his hoodie and heads for the cave exit as Wukong trails after him. “Really? That’s not what MK told me about the last time he spent new year’s with you.”

Wukong doesn’t really see the fuss about that; MK had been enjoying his totally-acceptable-as-real food until he realized it was technically fabricated, that just meant it was only a mental thing holding him back from liking it, not the quality itself. Plus, Wukong had known when inviting him that there was a chance MK wouldn’t have accepted; he’s aware MK has his own family who he cherishes far more than he does his mentor. Frankly it was a little surprising—though immensely gratifying—when MK decided to stay.

“Well, what’s the point in cooking when it’s probably just gonna be me?” says Wukong, and it comes out a little more strained than he intended. “It’s not really...not really worth the effort, is it.”

Macaque pauses at the entrance to the cave, one hand poised on the door, looking back at Wukong with a sort of sympathetic expression on his face. “It’s not just gonna be you this year,” he points out. “Is there a point in cooking for two? Or six?”

“Don’t act like I never help you cook,” scoffs Wukong, pushing past him and back into the cold. “And the pig already let us know we’re not welcome, which is fine, I really wasn’t expecting it anyway. Also you’re missing one, unless you’re not counting yourself as part of the group for some reason. There’s seven of us. Eight I guess if you count the cat, can cats even eat dumplings?”

Macaque looks slightly confused to hear this. “No, I—I meant your friends,” he says.

Wukong stops walking and turns to stare at him. He thinks he knows what Macaque is implying, but it’s kind of a shock to hear it, to be honest. “...my…?”

Macaque looks even more confused, like he doesn’t understand what Wukong is so confused about. “I’m assuming you pray for them?” he prompts, tilting his head a bit. “And set out offerings?”

Of course Wukong prays to the pilgrims every year. His routine usually consists of spending some time at the shrine dedicated to his old friends and sharing some hair snacks. Earlier in his life, closer to their deaths, he’d taken the effort to cook, but as the years passed, he slowly fell out of habit. It’s not like their spirits ever actually visited him. It was more just the sentiment of it all. The last few years Wukong’s begun to wonder if it’s even worth it to hold onto that tradition, since every year gets marginally more melancholy as it’s clear he’s once again going to be spending it alone.

He supposes that is kind of the point, though. He can never really bring himself to forgo it when winter rolls around, even if it does make him sad.

But here is Macaque, acting like it’s common knowledge that...what, he wants to join him? “No, I—yeah, I do,” says Wukong hesitantly. “I just...are you offering to...pray with me?”

Macaque looks a little embarrassed, and he averts his eyes nervously, like he’s realizing he’s overstepped somehow. “Well, I—just thought that—” He shakes his head and starts walking past Wukong, not looking at him. “Never mind, you’re right, it’s stupid, it’s not like I ever really met them—”

Wukong catches his arm as he passes, rushing to reassure him. “No, no, it’s—I just didn’t—think you’d…” Want to? Care at all?

Macaque pauses and sighs. “I wasn’t really fair to them,” he admits, turning slightly but still not meeting Wukong’s gaze. “In my own mind. Might be nice to meditate with them on it, y’know?”

Wukong supposes it really wasn’t Macaque’s fault that he never got to apologize for what went down that day, but it hadn’t occurred to him that Mac would ever be interested in...knowing them. Spending time with them. It still felt like a bit of a sore spot, since he knows his friendship with them had been the final straw for Macaque’s feelings of betrayal. But they had talked about it, when they’d made up, and Macaque had definitely seemed like he’d worked through some of his internal trauma by then. Just not enough to voluntarily bring them up.

Macaque turns to face Wukong fully, and finally looks at him directly. “They were good for you,” he says simply. “I’m glad you had them.”

Macaque really has changed. There’s a new sort of security that he carries himself with, and it’s comforting to see. Wukong feels a stupid little swoop of adoration in his chest, thoroughly touched at the offer. “You do know we’ll probably just end up eating the offerings after so we will only need to cook for the two of us, right?” he says, instead of something embarrassing like I would love that and I love that you offered and also I love you.

“Or we could go crazy and make enough for the whole troop like you suggested,” points out Macaque. “We got all day.”

“All day to be lazy,” says Wukong, though in all fairness that does sort of sound fun, and the monkeys would surely appreciate it. “We’re supposed to be relaxing, not spending hours making enough food for an army.”

“What else are we gonna do?” teases Macaque. “Fight over what movie to watch?”

He smiles and turns away to start heading back to the house again, but Wukong still catches the way he shivers, just a little. Wholly unsurprising, but Wukong’s exasperated anyway. “Still not cold?” Wukong asks pointedly. Macaque doesn’t say anything, refusing to make eye contact, and Wukong catches one of his hands, pressing it against his cheek, and yup, sure enough, Macaque’s fingers are as cold as ice. “I knew it,” says Wukong. “Would it kill you to admit that just cuz you run hotter than me doesn’t mean you’re immune to getting cold at all?”

“It’s not a big deal,” grumbles Macaque, but he doesn’t try to tug his hand back. “I have pockets.”

“Doesn’t work if you don’t use them, genius,” chastises Wukong, tugging off his mittens and forcing Macaque’s hands into both of them, holding them between his own hands and rubbing very fast to try and generate some extra heat. “Does this help?”

Macaque nods silently, and his face looks a little flushed, probably also from the cold. “I—yeah,” he says. “That’s good.”

***

The mountain serendipitously has a few hot springs tucked away near the base, and they’re always a hot commodity in the winter. The cleanliness is debatable since the earth monkeys aren’t really up to the same standard as celestial ones, but Wukong still goes in them time to time when it snows. What he always seems to forget is that while they’re heavenly for the entire time he’s in them, getting out and having to dry off and get dressed amidst the heavy snow is what he could only call completely devastating.

Macaque hasn’t joined him, since they still need to go grocery shopping to prep for tomorrow, and he kindly decided to let Wukong sleep in while he went out alone. Mac is the one who’s the best at haggling for deals, anyway, plus this leaves Wukong open to do a little last-minute movie research on his phone, so it works out well.

He’s sitting with only his head and hands above the water, scrolling through his phone and occasionally watching the other monkeys groom each other, wondering if it was possible to just sit here for the entire rest of the winter, when Macaque finally shows up. He crouches down beside Wukong and tilts his head. “Mind if I join you?”

“Please,” says Wukong, gesturing to the wealth of real estate that has yet to become too crowded for comfort and turning his phone off, shoving it underneath his pile of clothes next to the hotspring.

Macaque straightens up and digs in his pocket, pulling out a mandarin and tossing it to Wukong. “Brought you a snack from the market.”

Wukong catches it and starts peeling it gratefully, flicking the bits of the peel in the water and watching them float away. Some of the monkeys grab at them and curiously sniff them before discarding them and going back to grooming their friends. “How’d the shopping go?” Wukong asks, peeling off a section of the orange and popping it into his mouth.

“Easy breezy,” says Macaque, removing his scarf and neatly folding it, setting it down beside Wukong’s own pile of clothing before getting undressed. “The food colouring was on sale, too.”

His glamour has fully come off by now; every inch of his fur is pure sparkling white, like the snow, contrasting beautifully with his brown skin. He barely shivers as he finishes stripping down and delicately steps into the hot spring, sinking down beside Wukong with a sigh. “I missed coming down here,” he says, accepting the piece of orange that Wukong offers to him.

“It’s nice,” agrees Wukong. “Would be nicer if I wasn’t gonna freeze my butt off getting out.”

Macaque nods sympathetically and then pretends to cough into his hand. “Skill issue.”

Wukong’s mouth drops open in offense as Macaque snickers into his fist. Now he’s just flaunting his own genetics that he had no say over. Wukong didn’t choose to be a warm weather monkey, he was just born that way. This completely unfair insult needs an equally as cutting insult in response. “Your hair looks stupid,” says Wukong.

Macaque lets the completely false comment bounce off him easily and just takes a bite of the orange slice, smiling smugly at Wukong as he does so. “Do something about it, then,” he says.

Wukong shoves the rest of the orange in his mouth and shifts around so he’s facing Macaque, obligingly beginning to paw through his hair. Macaque closes his eyes and sinks a little further into the water as Wukong carefully grooms him. Wukong works quietly, the silence only broken by the occasional chirp of one of the monkeys. It’s a tranquil scene, one that he sorely missed. The energy of the hot spring is relaxed as the earth monkeys bask in the warmth and keep an eye on their children.

“So what’s the plan for us tomorrow, besides cooking?” asks Macaque after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

“Nothing too crazy,” says Wukong, picking a stray bit of bark out of Macaque’s hair and flicking it into the water. “We’ll sleep in and cuddle in bed all morning, then take care of all the cooking, have family breakfast, and I’ve spent the last few days lovingly and carefully choosing some movies that I think you’ll like so we can spend the whole day snacking and napping on the couch.”

“If we’re gonna share with the mountain we can’t sleep in that late,” says Macaque. “It’s a LOT of food.”

“Ugh, how early are you gonna make me get up?” groans Wukong. “On a holiday?”

“I’ll let you sleep in,” says Macaque, not really answering the question. “You’ll get your full eight hours, don’t worry.” Neither of them are particularly early risers anyway, so Wukong just hums, satisfied that he isn’t going to be unceremoniously woken up at the crack of dawn.

There’s a bit of splashing somewhere to Wukong’s left, and he looks up instinctively. One of the moms has got a couple of her babies perched on her back, the two of them still relatively small but big enough that they don’t quite fit on top of her. One of them has slipped off and is now clinging to its mother’s arm as it adjusts to its new position floating in the water. The other baby has only spared a glance for its fallen sibling before going back to its previous task of clinging to its mother and staring in fascination at the flumes of steam wafting up from the spring. As its gaze is drawn higher, its attention is caught by the snow that’s still lightly falling, and its big eyes shine with wonder as it carefully detaches one hand from its mother and tries to catch a snowflake. It’s maybe one of the cutest things Wukong has ever seen.

Macaque feels Wukong’s hands pause in his hair and turns his head. “What?” he says, when he notices Wukong is pouting and staring at the baby.

“I just—they get so small,” says Wukong. “I can’t stand it, it’s too cute.”

Macaque follows his gaze and laughs under his breath as the baby almost loses its balance and just barely manages to keep itself from nosediving into the water with its sibling. “Yeah,” he agrees, shifting a bit so he can lean against Wukong’s shoulder. “Almost makes you wish for some of your own, huh?”

Wukong pulls back and stares at him. Macaque stares back, lips twitching.

They hold each other’s gaze for about two seconds before both of them explode into laughter, so loudly that the baby jumps up in shock and promptly slips into the water with a splash. Every other monkey in the hot spring also startles, and whirls around to glare at them, some of them screeching in annoyance before grumbling and settling back down again as Wukong and Macaque both start coughing from how hard they’re laughing, trying to reel it in so they can stop completely disturbing the peace.

“Yeah, we can barely teach,” giggles Wukong, finally getting his laughter under control. “Oh man, we’d be awful parents.”

“Speak for yourself, I’d be amazing,” snickers Macaque. “I just simply have better things to do.”

“Like what?”

“Uh, like snuggle with you under a pile of blankets for an hour after we get out of here because you’re gonna be annoying as hell about how cold you are the entire walk back to the house,” says Macaque.

“You think it’ll only take us an hour,” says Wukong, going back to grooming Macaque’s fur, and Macaque rolls his eyes in exasperation as if he isn’t looking forward to it just as much.

***

Wukong wakes up on December 21 far earlier than they actually need to get up, blinking sleepily and shivering as he realizes how dark and annoyingly cold the bedroom is. One would think that being trapped in a magical furnace for 49 days would affect one’s body temperature, but it hadn’t much at all. Wukong runs cool, perfectly content in the warmth of the summer, but irritable when he wakes up and his comforter is not doing its job like it’s supposed to.

Thankfully, he now shares sleeping arrangements with someone who was made for the winter, and he immediately starts pawing around blindly without bothering to keep his eyes open, searching for him. Macaque is only lying a few inches away, still asleep on his stomach, and Wukong drowsily tries to wrap his arms around him, shoving his face in his shoulder. He’s comfortingly warm, but not as warm as he could be if he wasn’t in the worst possible position for cuddling.

Macaque shifts a bit in his grasp, and one of his arms clumsily worms its way around Wukong’s waist, holding him loosely. “You’re gonna make me overheat,” he mumbles, making no move to push Wukong away.

“Tough, I’m freezing,” Wukong grumbles back, lightly shoving Macaque’s shoulder in a feeble attempt to roll him over so he can snuggle into him properly. “Gimme your body heat.”

Macaque doesn’t move. “Can I get a please, your majesty?”

It is far too early for banter, and Wukong gives in immediately, rubbing his face against Macaque’s shoulder and whining impatiently. “Pleeeeeease roll over and cuddle me so I can warm up.”

Macaque slowly shuffles around til Wukong can tell he’s rolled over on his side, and Wukong ducks into his arms immediately, tucking his head under his chin and sighing in relief as warmth envelopes him. Macaque encircles him in his arms and Wukong wriggles his legs around til one of them is nestled between Macaque’s thighs and the other is hooked over his hip. Wukong smiles contentedly against Macaque’s chest, nuzzling a little more into him, and Macaque pulls him against him a little more, and yeah, this is perfect. Wukong is so warm and cozy now that he can feel purrs starting up in the back of his throat, unbidden, and he’s not even embarrassed about it.

“Theeeere we go,” says Macaque sleepily. “Was that so hard?”

“Yes,” says Wukong, not appreciating the teasing at this hour. “Be nicer to me.”

“I could just get up and leave,” says Macaque. “Get a head start on cooking.”

It’s an empty threat and they both know it, but Wukong tightens his grip on Macaque anyway and growls, “No.”

Wukong feels Macaque laugh a little, and then feels a kiss being pressed into his hair. “Clingy,” mumbles Macaque affectionately.

“’n you’re warm,” Wukong says back, thoroughly comfortable, slipping back into sleep the second the words leave his lips. They can afford another few hours.

The next time he wakes up there’s light shining out from underneath the curtains. Macaque is still nestled against him, seemingly asleep, but Wukong can tell he’s already awake by his breathing. When Macaque realizes Wukong is no longer asleep, he raises his head from Wukong’s chest and briefly nuzzles his face in greeting. “Happy solstice,” he says sleepily. “Ready to be lazy today?”

“Uh-huh,” Wukong says, wrapping both arms around him and nuzzling him back, closing his eyes again and wondering if he could try for another few hours of sleep before they have to start preparing the food. He’s half-expecting Macaque to pry him off and insist they get up so they can make the most of the day, but he doesn’t, just relaxes and lets Wukong pull him closer. They don’t manage to fall asleep again, but just lying there together as the light behind the curtains slowly gets stronger is cozy enough.

Despite the admission to be lazy today, Macaque only gives them another hour before he starts pushing Wukong to get up. “You know how dumplings are, it takes forever to make a decent amount,” he says, rolling his eyes when Wukong whines and tries to pull him back to keep snuggling in their very warm and cozy bed until noon. “And if we’re cooking for the troop it’s gonna take a while.”

“Fine,” grumbles Wukong, very reluctantly letting him go and sitting up, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. “Speak for yourself, though, I can mince things so fast.”

It’s snowing lightly outside, which is nice. The house feels extra bright like this. Wukong, true to his word, minces the ingredients for the filling like a pro, thank you very much, but it still takes a while for them to actually form the dumplings. It’s kind of calming, though, watching the snow fall outside and making idle chatter as they keep warm and work inside. And Wukong has to admit, it really is kind of fun taking the time to cook when you actually have someone to do it with.

After what feels like hours, they’ve got a nice amount of dumplings nicely wrapped up, that will surely be enough to split between them and the troop. “How about you cook these and I’ll take care of the tangyuan?” Wukong suggests casually.

“Sure,” agrees Macaque easily. “You were always better at it than me, anyway.”

Despite Macaque being the one that always had more patience for small fiddly crafts between the two of them, he somehow could never get the hang of making tangyuan. The dough would always turn into an unforgiving paste that took an embarrassingly long time to pry off his hands. The instructions are easy enough to follow, it’s really basically the same as dumplings in theory, but Wukong has a secret plan to get a little fancy with it this time. He’s never done it before, especially since there’s no point in spending extra effort on just himself, but now that he has someone to cook for, he wants to be cute about it. Not that he’s not cute about everything, but still.

“Aww, don’t feel bad, I was better than everyone,” says Wukong, rummaging through their cupboards and grabbing what he needs.

Macaque rolls his eyes. “Nice to see you’ve still got your humility after all this time.”

Macaque starts boiling water as Wukong gets to work making the dough, pulling two small pieces off the main lump to colour. Macaque watches as he kneads pink into one of the pieces and green into the other. “The ratio’s a little off there, bud,” he says, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m doing a thing, mind your own business and let the chef work,” retorts Wukong, trying to angle his body to block his workstation from Macaque’s sight. It’s not gonna be as fun if he can’t surprise him. Macaque just rolls his eyes again and obligingly leaves him alone, scooping the first round of dumplings into pot. He’s gonna be there a while; they really made way too much.

Wukong focuses carefully on shaping the first tangyuan, tucking the dough around a little blob of red bean paste and delicately pressing small pieces of the green dough into the top. He uses a toothpick to add details and then stands back and looks at his first creation. He’s made a tiny little peach. The white and pink dough make up the bulk of it, while he’s used the green to form two tiny little accent leaves, with tiny little creases to mark the veins. It’s not perfect, but it’s still pretty cute. It’s so unnecessary for something that’s going to be eaten in a single bite, and making a dozen more of them is probably going to take him a while, but it’s a holiday, why not get fancy with it?

And if he’s being honest, he’s pretty much only doing it to try and impress Macaque. Which, who knows how impressed he’ll be since he’s never seemed too interested in cute food, but it’s the thought that counts.

Wukong waits for Macaque to finish spooning out the first round of dumplings and replace them with fresh ones before holding out the little peach tangyuan to him. “Ta dah. I thought I could make you peaches this time,” Wukong says, almost nervously, as Macaque stares at it. “Since the real ones are out of season. I mean, they—don’t taste like peaches, they’re just red bean, but. Y’know. Thought it’d be. Cute.”

Macaque stares at it for a little longer before looking back up at Wukong. “It is cute,” he says. “I love peaches.”

Wukong already knows this, it’s why he made them in the first place. Macaque is looking at him a little too intently though, like there’s a hidden meaning to his words. “I know,” says Wukong, and then realizes what Macaque is actually saying. “I love peaches too.”

Macaque gives him an uncharacteristically shy smile and quickly looks away, his tail flicking restlessly. Cute. Wukong smiles and sets the tiny peach down and gets to work making another.

Assembling the rest of the tangyuan takes Wukong a while, but because they’ve made so many dumplings, he finishes up around the same time Macaque is done cooking them. Macaque surrenders the burner to Wukong so he can boil the meticulously crafted peaches and turns on another so he can quickly make a simple syrup, and then they’re both finished and honestly, everything looks really nice. Wukong hopes the dumplings go over well with the earth monkeys.

But they have something very important to take care of first.

Wukong carefully selects some nice looking tangyuan and spoons them into one of their nicer bowls, while Macaque does the same for the dumplings. When Wukong’s satisfied with both bowls, he and Macaque carry them into the other room where he keeps the small shrine dedicated to the pilgrims. Both of them set the bowls down beside the little origami figurines and kneel down in front of it. Macaque watches, a little unsurely, like he still doesn’t know if he’s allowed to be here, as Wukong fits a new stick of incense into the burner and lights it, and then they both sit back and watch as the smoke lazily crawls higher into the air.

Wukong does this every year. It shouldn’t feel monumental.

He glances at Macaque, and both of them exchange a tentative little smile before turning back to the shrine and closing their eyes. Wukong feels a bit self conscious, like the origami figures are watching him a little too closely today.

Hey, he thinks. Happy solstice. Wish you guys were here to spend it with us. Hope you like the dumplings, anyway, we picked the nicest ones for you. Uh, and yeah, this year I brought a friend. Remember him? I know you guys didn’t really get to actually meet each other for real, but—I mean, you saw how I was after. You know he’s important. It’s a whole thing, I know I don’t talk about it. But we’re better now. And he wanted to say hi to you guys, and apologize for the awful first impression. So be nice to him, please. He wants to try.

Time passes idly as Wukong finishes up and says goodbye, and when he opens his eyes again Macaque’s are still closed. Wukong waits for another few minutes before Macaque finally opens his eyes, looking a little more relaxed than he did when they first sat down. Wukong wonders what he said to them.

“Nice chat?” Wukong asks softly.

Macaque nods. “Yeah,” he says simply.

Wukong reaches over with his tail to brush against Macaque’s, and Macaque doesn’t twine them together, but he does brush back against Wukong.

Wukong turns back to the shrine before he says anything overly sappy and stupid and blows out the incense. “Anyway, you guys don’t mind if we eat these, right?” Predictably, the origami figures do not answer, and Wukong picks up the bowl of dumplings, picking up one of them with his fingers and tossing it into his mouth. “Thanks.”

He offers the bowl to Macaque, who also grabs one. “We coulda brought our own bowls.”

“We’re sharing with them,” Wukong says with his mouth full. “Family breakfast. Brunch. Whatever.”

Macaque shrugs and holds up the dumpling to the shrine in a sort of salute before taking a bite.

It’s well past noon by the time family-breakfast-brunch is finished, but the stacks of food still sitting in the kitchen are still warm. Wukong and Macaque both grab a large serving bowl each and make their way down to the caves to deliver the meal to the troop.

Wukong whistles to coax the monkeys out, and a few pop their heads out of the cave and perk up in delight when they see the food. “Hey everyone! Happy first day of winter! Brought you guys a treat!” He sets his bowl down in the snow as Macaque side-steps them and heads into the cave to set down the other bowl so it can keep mostly lukewarm until the evening. More monkeys pour out of the cave and swarm them, grabbing handfuls of dumplings and chattering their thanks before retreating so another can replace them and grab their share as well. Wukong laughs a little as he watches the contents of the bowl rapidly decreasing. “This should be enough for both lunch and dinner so pace yourselves, ‘kay?”

By the time Macaque steps back out of the cave the bowl has been emptied, and the last remaining monkeys are retreating back into the cave with their spoils. He holds open the door for the last few monkeys to scamper past him and back to the warmth of the cave, a fond little smile on his face. He really looks so nice against the snowy scene with his pure white fur. It’s still the only glamour he’s let down; he doesn’t usually drop them all unless it’s a practically sacred moment, which is honestly a shame. Wukong can understand wanting to hide the scar, but his ears? Come on, they’re cute. They’ve always been cute. Wukong misses seeing him like that.

“You should take your glamours off more often,” Wukong calls to him. His voice comes out strangely loud against the muffled stillness of the snow.

“Well then it wouldn’t be as special,” says Macaque, closing the door and making his way back to Wukong, stopping on the other side of the empty bowl still nestled into the snow. “Besides, I look better in black.”

“I meant all of them,” says Wukong, glancing at Macaque’s ears. “I like seeing you as you are.”

Macaque huffs out a little laugh. “My glamours are still me, Wukong. Also, hypocrite much? Mr. Red Eyes?”

Wukong falters a little. That’s not really the same thing. He wasn’t born with them, they were changed completely against his will. He liked his eyes the way they were. Plus the red’s not very attractive. Intimidating, maybe, but he’s plenty intimidating even without them. “Yeah, whatever,” he deflects. “That’s different.”

“Not by much,” says Macaque. “I like your eyes.”

He’s looking at Wukong intently, like he’s trying to catch a glimpse of them through the magic. He slowly walks around the bowl to stand inches away from him, not taking his eyes off of him. Waiting for him to make the next move. There’s a part of Wukong that does believe him, really, he does, but there’s a bigger part of him that balks at dropping the facade. He’s not used to feeling self-conscious.

“They’re bloodshot,” murmurs Wukong. “They’re burned.”

“They’re like star fire,” Macaque counters. “They’re beautiful.”

Wukong has never had anyone compare his eyes to stars before, and it’s completely disarming. He looks away nervously for a second before finally caving; blinking once, closing his eyes on gold and opening them with red. Wukong still hesitates before glancing back at Macaque—perhaps he’s still half-expecting him to make a joke about it—but he needn’t have worried. Macaque is still watching him with wide eyes, quiet wonder alight on his face as he takes him in. He’s looking at him like Wukong is the most beautiful thing that exists. Like he’s the only thing that exists. He slowly brings a gloved hand up and cups Wukong’s cheek, thumbing at the skin under his eye gently.

“There he is,” murmurs Macaque.

Wukong is bundled up so tightly in warm clothes and yet he still feels naked under Macaque’s gaze. The stillness of the mountain only seems to amplify how exposed he feels. He’s somehow still not used to being on the receiving end of that soft smile, after all this time. The reverence Macaque is watching him with proves too much for Wukong to take today; he closes his eyes against it, hoping Mac isn’t paying attention to how fast his heart is beating. He feels Macaque tilt his head down slightly, and then there’s feather-light kisses being pressed against both closed eyelids. Sap.

When Wukong opens his eyes again, he opens them to the sight of six ears, and Macaque’s adoring smile has shifted into a more playful one. Wukong half-wants to tease him for being dramatic about dropping the rest of the glamour while his eyes were closed, but it feels wrong to speak right now. Instead, Wukong raises both mitten-clad hands to Macaque’s neck and thumbs at the bottom set of his ears affectionately, and Macaque hums and leans into it. Wukong tips his head forward and presses his forehead to Macaque’s, and they just stand there together, collecting snowflakes in their fur. It’s freezing, but somehow Wukong doesn’t really feel the need to rush back this time. He’s content to savour the snowy silence of the mountain around him and hold his best friend close. He wonders if he’ll ever truly grow tired of being able to touch him like this.

Eventually Macaque pulls away and leans down to pick up the empty bowl, wiping the snow stuck on the bottom and tucking it under his arm. “C’mon, your face is already freezing,” he says. “Let’s get you back inside before you die of frostbite.”

Wukong thinks his face is pretty warm after receiving soft kisses, but as soon as Macaque moves away it seems to hit him all at once how cold it really is. The chill in the air is undeniable, and he does want to hurry up and get back inside so they can relax. He shoves his hands in his jacket pockets as he and Macaque start heading back to the house. “Impossible, but yes, please. We’ve earned our rest time. No more effort being made for the rest of the day.”

Macaque glances at him. “We never cleaned up the kitchen—”

“Clone job,” dismisses Wukong instantly.

Macaque smiles. “We’ll have to come back for the second bowl—”

“We can do that tomorrow,” says Wukong.

Macaque hums. “What do you wanna do for the rest of the day?”

Wukong pulls his hands back out of his pockets to count on his fingers, though it doesn’t look as dramatic with his mittens still on. “Sit on the couch, eat our snacks, watch a bunch of movies from the list I carefully curated to include a bunch of horror movies that have snow in them just for you so you can enjoy being scared and we can still stay festive, cuddle.” He looks up and laughs at the way Macaque’s face lights up at the mention of more horror movies. “Sound good?”

Macaque shrugs, trying to be casual, but his tail betrays him, swishing through the air happily behind him. “Sounds like what we do pretty much every day,” he says, though he’s still got a soft smile on his face, clearly looking forward to it.

And this time, in new context, Wukong feels his heart swell a bit at that thought, because it really is. After so many years spent fighting, and arguing, and tiptoeing around each other before making up, they’ve finally made it to the point where every day of theirs really is like this. Completely mundane, waking up in each other’s arms, sitting on the couch, eating food that they made together. And then waking up the next day to do it all over again. Completely secure and content and together like they always wanted.

Wukong throws an arm around Macaque’s shoulders and tugs him close, turning to nuzzle into his hair and press a kiss into the side of his head. “Yeah,” he beams. “Isn’t it great?”

Macaque leans into him and wraps his free arm around Wukong’s waist. Wukong feels him brush his tail against his until they’re twined snugly together.

“Yeah,” Macaque says softly. “It is.”