Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

One of Red Son’s earliest childhood memories was watching his father write on the palm of his hand. 

It had been about a decade since the Samadhi Fire was removed from him, and while Red Son was no less temperamental, he wasn’t actively incinerating everything in a twelve mile radius, so he was allowed to visit his father in his study. Red Son was sitting on the Demon Bull King’s lap, quietly watching him go over different maps and papers, annotating them with little notes Red Son was just old enough to pronounce but too young to properly read. He wasn’t bored by any means. Despite how little he could comprehend, Red Son was eager to see his father’s work as a demon king and future conqueror of the mortal realm. 

But then, his father paused, lifted up his brush, and began to write a small message on his palm. 

This confused Red Son greatly. He knew from his calligraphy lessons that he was not supposed to get ink on his hands, much less write there intentionally, but here his father was, writing in a small script on the heel of his palm, on purpose. 

“B’ba!” Red Son raised his hands to smack at his father’s massive forearms, trying to stop him from acting so strange. His father chuckled, low and warm, reverberating against Red Son’s back. 

“I’m speaking to your mother, ” His father told him. “Is there anything you’d like to say?” 

Red Son turned his head up to meet his father’s gaze and pursed his lips into a frown. Red Son wasn’t some baby ; he knew a trick when he saw one. Mother was on a diplomatic mission far off– so far off that it would be faster to wait for her return than bother sending a letter. There was no way that his father could be talking to her right now. And he certainly couldn’t be writing her a letter because he was writing on his palm and not the perfectly good paper right in front of him! 

DBK must have noticed his son’s stormy expression, because he moved the hand he’d written on closer to Red Son. “Your mother and I are connected,” he explained. “Anything I write on my hands, she will see. And if she writes back, it will appear on me.” 

Before Red Son could argue against it, he saw a streak of black appear just below his father’s fingers. Red Son’s eyes widened as letters began to form across his father’s hand. He recognized that handwriting. It was mother’s elegant penmanship, giving his father’s message a short reply. Red Son let out a little gasp, his tiny hands trying to reach out to his mother’s words. 

“Some demons are connected with another,” DBK explained softly as Red Son poked at his mother’s message. “Their minds and souls are so intertwined that our bodies are as one. If one is stained, the other feels it.” 

DBK chuckled proudly, his chest rumbling with such intensity it shook Red Son’s bones. “It is a sign of marital strength for a couple to be bonded this deeply. The two demons are equals in every respect, and their union reflects their strength.” 

Red Son could hear the wicked grin on his father’s face as he boasted. “And naturally, no union is more powerful than the one I have with Princess Iron Fan.” DBK laughed, and Red Son cackled along, trying to puff up his chest to make his voice reverberate across the room the way his father’s did. 

DBK huffed, the steam from his nose tickling Red Son’s forehead and making him squeal with glee. “It is a bond more powerful than words, so lesser creatures have tried to name it. The humans call it a ‘soulmate.’ A rudimentary term, which cannot even begin to describe the connection your mother and I have.” 

Red Son did agree that the pesky, insignificant mortals could never fully comprehend a bond like his mother and father’s, but he couldn’t help but replay that word over in his head. A soulmate. A mate for your soul. A friend and companion intertwined with your side. A connection so powerful you even shared the same marks on your skin. 

Red Son wanted that. As much as he loved spending his days with Mother and Father, it was rather boring wandering through the palace with no one but servants to talk to. And because the demons his age were too scared of him from the Samadhi Fire incident and Red Son’s generally volatile demeanor, he didn’t exactly have…well, any friends, really. 

Of course, everyone was below Red Son, and he would never stoop as low as befriending the riff raff, but he’d admit, it wasn’t always fun playing alone. Sometimes, the Demon Bull King’s palace was too big and too quiet for Red Son to wander through by himself. So the idea of having his equal intertwined with his soul excited Red Son. He would love to have someone’s hand to hold as he raced through the halls. 

A realization struck Red Son. If his mother and father were connected, then surely, he would be connected to someone too. It would only make sense that the son of the Demon Bull King and the Princess Iron Fan had a soulmate. Of course he would have a bond as powerful as theirs! 

Red Son needed to speak to his soulmate immediately. He lunged for the inkwell, nearly tipping it over if it weren’t for his father’s fast reflexes. Red Son heard his father curse and scold him, but he didn’t care. He’d gotten some ink on his fingertips, and in large, shaky letters, he tried his best to write his name along his arm. 

DBK sighed, annoyed by his son’s antics. “I’ll call a servant for your bath.” 

Red Son squawked in protest. A bath? For what?! Red Son just wanted to talk to the person he was connected with, and now he was getting punished?! Red Son pointed wildly between his mother’s crisp handwriting and his own shaky scribble, trying to explain his intentions to his father. DBK’s eyes widened as he realized what exactly Red Son was trying to do. 

“Most demons lack this connection,” DBK told Red Son, pushing him away from the inkwell he was still trying to shove his fingers into. “The chance you have this sort of bond with another is low.”

But…Red Son had to have a soulmate. He had to, right? Red Son’s brow furrowed as he looked down at his arms. If Father and Mother were bonded, then surely he would be bonded to a great and powerful demon he could play with. 

But, no one was responding to him. His arms were a mess of fresh ink If he had a soulmate, surely they would respond to him, wouldn’t they? Red Son's vision began to blur as panic set in between his shoulders. 

DBK must have seen the distress on Red Son’s face, because he quickly elaborated, bouncing Red Son on his lap to keep the toddler from crying. “It takes time for such a bond to manifest anyways. You’ll have to wait until the both of you are grown before you can speak to them. Writing now will do nothing but dirty your hands.” 

Red Son grumbled, his fear replaced with some frustration. He was perfectly grown, thank you–he was 65 and three quarters! But, fine. If he couldn’t talk to his soulmate for a couple centuries, Red Son supposed that he could wait until then. 

Red Son cuddled himself up in his father’s lap, letting the warm fur tickle his cheek. His father didn’t seem to mind the ink that rubbed off Red Son’s arm as he slowly fell asleep to the rise and fall of his father’s furry chest. 

Despite knowing it couldn’t show up on another demon yet, Red Son continued to write on himself for most of his childhood. When his parents questioned him, he explained that it was to prepare himself for the real thing; as a prince, it was important to be a charming conversationalist, and because Red Son would have much to tell his soulmate, he needed to practice. But secretly, Red Son liked to imagine he was talking to the demon on the other side, just so he could have a companion in his father’s court. 

Red Son would write about everything he could: his tutoring sessions, the bugs he found in the garden, his father’s plans to conquer the mortal realm, the snippets of courtly drama he heard from his mother, the suffering he endured when forced to take a bath. Red Son wrote about how he lived in a lavish palace, with servants and riches beyond a demon’s wildest dreams. He assured his soulmate that even if they couldn’t see that promise on their arms yet, he swore he’d take them there someday, so they could play and make the halls echo with laughter. 

And while love and marriage were gross terms which reminded Red Son about all the times he walked in on his mother nuzzling into his father’s snout, he did promise his soulmate that if they did want to get married, he would be the best husband in all the realms. Such a bond was a sign of a strong and prosperous union after all, so if that’s what they wanted, Red Son would be more than happy to oblige. 

Red Son was excited to wake up on his 400th birthday to warm words on his arm, just as eager to meet him as he was. He dreamed of a demon who was passionate and powerful, who wouldn’t get scared of Red Son’s fiery outbursts but would grab his hand even tighter. Day after day, Red Son fantasized about spending his life with the body he shared, his soul’s closest companion. If he shut his eyes tight and tried just hard enough, Red Son swore that he could see it–a wide grin, a warm hand, wild laughter. 

But then, his father was sealed away, and none of that really mattered anymore.

The court of the Demon Bull King fractured almost immediately after the imprisonment, their political allies either trying to slide into the empty power vacuum or turning against the Demon Bull Family completely. The servants were too frightened to go back to work, fired for their incompetence, killed for spying on the increasingly desperate Princess Iron Fan. She did what she could to consolidate her power, but with her refusal to remarry, it was getting harder and harder for Princess Iron Fan to find allies who didn’t run their hands through her hair. 

Eventually, Red Son left his childhood palace behind, Princess Iron Fan gripping his hand as she assured him they’d find another place to live. He took in the final images of his home–its echoing hallways, its massive windows, the flowers which grew in the pavilion that Red Son loved to play in–and he waved it all goodbye. 

It wasn’t until they moved into their new home–a much more modest abode–that Red Son realized that among the many treasures they abandoned, they had left his father’s inkwell and brushes behind. Red Son panicked, unused to bare arms and air that lacked the stench of ink. Even if no one responded, it was a comfort to pretend, and Red Son needed that comfort right now.

Red Son wandered to his mother’s bedroom, about to ask her if they could go back for them, but then, he saw her crumpled form underneath heavy blankets which had long lost his father’s scent. He paused at the doorway, watching his mother muffle her heavy sobs underneath expensive fabrics too large for her alone. 

He would worry about wide grins and warm hands and wild laughter later, Red Son decided. Right now, he had a mother to aid and a father to free. 

A few weeks later, Red Son asked for a toolbox, some scrap metal, and a coat with long sleeves. 

The centuries which followed couldn’t allow for such childhood fantasies of laughter and play and soulmates. Red Son spent his adolescence hard at work, building and creating in the name of his father’s freedom, only to fail over and over and over again. His work consumed him to the point that time seemed to melt away, months and years and decades passing by in a haze of failed inventions and botched alliances. With each passing century, those childhood dreams were as fuzzy as Red Son's memories of the sprawling palace, the brightly-lit study, his father's booming voice and bone-shaking laughter. 

Late one evening, Red Son returned to his bedroom, fully prepared to pass out, when he noticed a small box wrapped in a bow sitting on a pillow along with a letter. Red Son picked up the letter to see his mother’s elegant handwriting wishing him a happy birthday and apologizing for not preparing a proper celebration. 

Red Son knew his mother had no interest in such celebrations beyond their political implications, and while he was of marrying age now, Princess Iron Fan was too busy trying to bring her husband back to find one for Red Son. But truthfully, Red Son didn’t care that his mother forgot his birthday. He’d forgotten it too. 

Red Son had spent the whole day working on the prototype for an idea he’d been tossing around in his head for decades–a gauntlet powerful enough to lift the Monkey King’s staff–so birthdays were the last thing on his mind. If anything, he had to thank her–if it weren’t for his mother’s letter, Red Son would have completely forgotten he turned 400 today. 

Red Son opened the box to reveal a set of luxurious fountain pens with scarlet ink. There was no sentimentality to the gift. Red Son had mentioned off hand to Princess Iron Fan a week before that the technical drawing pens he used for drafting up new inventions were running out of ink. He supposed his mother chose a set of pens she deemed most worthy of a prince. They were a bit too ornate for drafting up machinery, but he would make use of them. 

As Red Son walked down the halls to his workshop with the pens in hand, he could hear his mother alone in her room. There were no servants to lean their ears against the crack of the door to listen to her, so she allowed herself to weep in her bed. Princess Iron Fan still insisted on buying a mattress far too big for her alone to match the ancient blankets she’d sleep in. It was one of the few material possessions she carried with her from that palace, making sure to lay it on every bed or floor she slept on.

Princess Iron Fan was politically savvy, and yet she stubbornly refused to remarry despite various worthy suitors, a choice which baffled ex-allies and enemies alike. But whenever Red Son saw his mother run her hands across that blanket, he understood her decision. Even if Princess Iron Fan kept her love locked away in an empty bedroom, she still wrapped it around her shoulders and used it to wipe her tears. Red Son could only imagine the pain she felt staring at hands which held no messages. 

Red Son slipped into his workshop, ready to simply toss the fountain pens into a random desk drawer and head back to bed, when a thought occurred to him. 

He’d be old enough to talk to them now. 

They might not be old enough yet, of course, but if Red Son were the younger demon, there was a chance he could actually…see if he had a soulmate. 

Red Son scoffed. Soulmates. A word for humans and a dream for toddlers. He opened the box of pens and pulled one out. I have more important things to worry about than whether or not I’m bonded to some other demon. He took the cap off the pen, testing it by scribbling on the corner of a blueprint. What does it matter anyways? A hollow laugh escaped Red Son’s lips. If I was bonded with someone, how could that possibly help me with freeing my father and bringing my family to their rightful place? 

I was so obsessed with the concept as a child that I covered myself in ink despite knowing it wouldn’t show up on anybody else. Why? Because I was lonely ? Please. Red Son rolled his eyes as continued to test the new fountain pen. A whole Demon Court with a King, and I wasn’t satisfied. His lip curled at the memory in repulsion. What a spoiled little prince he was, body covered in ink and mind deluded in fantasy. My childhood dreams won’t help me now. They can’t help me. 

The ink ran beautifully across the page, but it wasn’t the same feel as the brushes his father owned, long gone along with a plethora of other possessions taken for granted. And as much as Red Son loved his workshop, it wasn’t nearly as homely as his father’s old office, with its ornate furniture and sunny windows and fuzzy laps which Red Son could curl into to sleep. 

Red Son cursed as he pulled down his sleeve. 400 years old, and he was indulging his childhood fantasies. Maybe he hadn’t grown up at all. 

Red Son intended just to write Hello and wait to see if someone responded. But his mind must have been so exhausted that his thoughts blurred his reflexes, because what Red Son actually wrote was Help me. Or maybe, Red Son did intend to write that, because after a moment of staring at the words across his wrist, he threw off his jacket and began to talk to his soulmate for the first time in centuries. 

He had so much to tell them: who he was, what happened to his family, the failures that bunched themselves in the corner of his workshops, the robots he made with the vague silhouette of his father’s face, the fact that even though his home was nothing compared the palace he once knew, it still felt as big and quiet and somehow even more lonely. 

When the sun rose, Red Son’s arms were covered in ink. There were no servants anymore, and the bull clones had yet to test well with water, so Red Son cleaned his arms in the bath. After a solid twenty minutes of scrubbing, his arms were bare. No one had responded. 

Most demons simply didn’t have that bond with another. It wasn’t tragic enough to lament over forever. Over time, the sting of bare skin faded into the sort of dull ache of a bone broken in childhood. Soulmates were a child’s dream, and Red Son wasn’t a child anymore. He hadn’t been a child since his father's imprisonment, since he left his palace home, since he tugged the sleeves of his first long coat. 

Red Son tucked his childhood dreams away. He had more important matters to attend to.

When Red Son first felt the sensation of a marker running up his arm, he panicked. 

At first, he thought someone had broken into his workshop to attack him in the night. He’d immediately set his hands aflame as he tried to incinerate whatever had just touched him, but even as he moved to attack, the feeling remained, scrawling across his skin. 

Red Son pulled back his coat sleeve. There were some notes on there already that he’d written about fifteen minutes before; despite no longer trying to contact a soulmate, Red Son still had a bit of a habit of using his arm as extra paper. But right above his reminder to get more screws were large, clunky, orange letters in an unfamiliar hand that shouted out at him. 

HI!!!

There was no way. Red Son wiped his eyes, pinched his cheek, even slapped himself, but he wasn’t dreaming or hallucinating. Orange letters continued to babble down his arm, the cool felt tip of a marker tickling his skin. 

He was bonded to someone.

Red Son’s mind spun with questions. Who was this? Where had they been? What took them so long? It had been some time since Red Son first tried to contact his soulmate–had they just turned 400? It hadn’t been so long since Red Son’s 400th birthday that it’d be a distasteful age gap; Red Son was still just blossoming into adulthood. But, it had been long enough that Red Son had cast the thought of a soulmate to childhood fantasies, so it was a shock to see the bright orange words forming on his forearm. Why were those words only appearing now, when Red Son had abandoned those dreams? 

Seemingly eager to speak to Red Son, (a notion he couldn’t even begin to comprehend right now) his soulmate actually scrawled over Red Son’s previous notes, handwriting so messy that Red Son had to squint just to make out what it said. 

I was really hoping I’d get a soulmate! My dad has one, and he kept saying not to get my hopes up because it’s kind of rare, and I tried really hard not to even though I wanted one, but now I don't need to worry about that because you’re here! You exist! And you need to get more screws!!

Huh.

Red Son honed in on that one word– soulmate. Red Son’s affection for the word was an odd quirk that came from a place of childhood nostalgia, but it wasn’t a term demons used to describe those select few bonds of body, mind, and soul. For demons, there wasn’t really a word for it. There were euphemisms, pretty poetic phrases about intertwined souls and bonds built beyond the flesh but shared through the skin, but there wasn’t a proper word for the bond at all.

But humans did have a term for it, even if they mainly meant it figuratively. A soulmate. And Red Son’s was using that word without any second thought. 

Red Son’s other arm jolted as words began to appear on his other arm. He pulled down his other sleeve to see his soulmate hounding him with questions. 

What’s your name? Where are you from? We should meet up, right? I can get you those screws you want. 

An orange line ran through the last sentence. 

That’s a terrible first gift, ignore that. 

Red Son couldn’t help the huff that escaped his nose. They were entertaining, to say the least. 

The orange words continued to form, unloading question after question. 

Wait, are we actually supposed to meet up immediately? Or are we supposed to wait and get to know each other before that? Oooh is there some mystic fate stuff that’ll bring us together? 

It was…endearing, that his soulmate was putting this much effort into doing things right. For all their spastic confusion and stumbling run on sentences, Red Son’s soulmate seemed…sweet. Enthusiastic. Perhaps not as refined or eloquent as a demon prince’s partner should be, but if they put this same amount of energy into learning courtly etiquette, they could be made presentable. If Red Son was completely honest, the lack of formality almost made them charming. He could imagine his soulmate writing on their arm with a wide grin, a felt marker in warm hands, wild laughter escaping their lips. 

There was a second where a smile curled up on Red Son’s lip as he sat down at his desk, watching the letters form across his arm with a slowly blooming fondness. He allowed himself, for just a moment, to let old nostalgic fantasies of eager words spreading across his skin excite themselves back to life, a childish glee beginning to pour out his chest as he saw his oldest dream coming true. 

But then, his soulmate asked a question which quelled any blossoming affections. 

I don’t really know the demon protocol for this sort of stuff, but maybe you could teach me? 

What did they mean by “not knowing demon protocol?” Beyond old superstitions of a prosperous marriage, two bonded demons could handle their connection however they desired. Why would a demon even assume there was a protocol, much less ask for Red Son to teach them? 

Unless, of course, this wasn’t a demon. 

… Oh.

Red Son covered his face and cursed into his hands. 

Demons weren’t always connected to other demons. The bond of two souls may connect the body, but those earthly forms didn’t necessarily matter as much as the connection itself. So, every now and then, a demon would wind up bonded to a non-demon. Sometimes, they got lucky like Father and got connected to a celestial, but when Red Son was a child in his father’s lap, DBK neglected to tell him that a demon could also bond to a human. 

It was a tragedy to be bonded to a human. If the demon chose not to ignore the marks on their skin, they’d either pine for a human who refused their fated connection or clung to the mortal until they withered away. But it was only so pitiful. A demon so weak that their soul was connected to a human could only be sympathized with so much when the bond was supposed to be defined by strength and prosperity. Of course human-demon bonds were destined for failure–if a demon was so weak their soul was intertwined with some flickering little mortal, their union was doomed from the start. Frankly, the real tragedy was the humiliation which followed from having a human bonded to you in the first place. 

Of course. Red Son’s lip curled into a sneer. It explained why it had taken Red Son so long to get a response. It explained why they had no idea how demons handled such bonds. It explained why they used the term “soulmate.” Maybe there was a reason Red Son clung to that rudimentary mortal word as a child. Maybe it was a sign from the beginning, that Red Son would be bonded with a weak little human. 

If Red Son wanted to at least pretend to be a respectable member of demon society, he couldn’t pursue this bond any further. And frankly, why would he want to? Red Son didn’t want to be stuck with a flimsy little mortal. There would be no strength or prosperity in this bond. It would bring him no security. It would just be another reminder of Red Son’s ineptitude, his weakness, for demons to whisper about behind his back for centuries to come. Even if Red Son chose political suicide to pursue this bond, it would be a fruitless endeavor. At best his soulmate would die before the century’s end, and at worst would be too terrified of Red Son to even consider loving him at all. 

Red Son stared down at his arms. His soulmate had finished rambling and was now drawing a cartoonish image of a waving monkey. As the human drew a small circlet around the monkey’s forehead, Red Son shuddered in revulsion. They just had to be a Monkey King fan. As if being a mortal wasn’t already the worst fate Red Son could have asked for. 

Red Son crushed the blooming affection in his chest. It was always a childish dream anyways.  

He tugged up his sleeves and went back to work, skin tingling at the cool felt tip of a marker running up and down his arms. 

Red Son desperately tried to ignore it. He wanted to hike up his sleeves and tug on his collar and wait the sixty to eighty years it would take to get such humiliation off his skin. But there was a problem.

His soulmate was chatty. Red Son didn’t bother reading what they had to say, the majority of it being long tangents about busy shifts at some peasant restaurant they worked in or raving over a new “video game,” whatever that meant. Red Son tried his best to ignore the writing, but his arms and legs still twitched whenever the cold press of a marker ran across them. 

It was made worse by the fact that Red Son still had a small habit of writing on himself to take note of something. Any time he’d scrawl something down about buying Mother a gift for her birthday or a reminder to get his coat tailored, his soulmate would immediately begin to write back, handwriting almost illegible from what Red Son could only assume was their excitement. He almost felt bad ignoring them, but not enough to actually respond to any of the prodding questions about what his mother was like and what kind of fashion he preferred. 

That wasn’t the actual problem though. His soulmate didn’t write nearly as much as they drew. 

Red Son’s soulmate was an artist, it seemed, and they were more than happy to use their own body as a canvas. Most of the time, it was small doodles ranging from abstract patterns to carefully detailed eyes to cartoonish animals, but some nights, Red Son would feel the felt tip of a marker running across his thigh or forearm for hours, bright colors exploding on his skin to create art which would stay there for hours on end. 

For all his childhood dreams of words running up and down his arms, Red Son had never considered the possibility of pictures. But now, his body had become a canvas for an ever shifting series of drawings that his soulmate drew, with an average had at least three doodles along Red Son’s arm and a detailed image scaling up his leg. 

Late one evening Red Son was brushing his hair. He could see a delicate orange hibiscus blossom on his knee, the felt marker tickling his skin for the past twenty minutes, when the drawing suddenly stopped. 

A few inches above the flower, his soulmate asked Red Son a question. 

Do my drawings bother you? 

The question surprised Red Son. He’d been ignoring his soulmate’s prodding questions and long tangents for some time, and they were seemingly unbothered by Red Son’s refusal to respond. Yet somehow, this is what made them hesitate?

Red Son dug through his desk drawers to find a fountain pen. For the first time ever, he wrote back to his soulmate. 

Draw as much as you want. It’s your body. 

It was their body, all the fawning poetry about two souls sharing skin be damned. Red Son’s soulmate could do whatever they wanted with their pesky mortal form. Plus, what right did Red Son have to demand them to stop? He completely ignored every attempt at conversation their soulmate would constantly make. And while he had no intention to stop ignoring them, Red Son wasn’t going to then turn around and demand they listen to him. They could obey him later, when the Demon Bull Family ruled the mortal realm with an iron first. 

Still though, Red Son’s soulmate didn’t seem satisfied by that answer. 

Well, yeah, it’s my body, but it’s on you too, right? I would feel bad if all my art just made your life harder. I like drawing on myself, and I’ve been doing it for forever, but it bothers you, I can just find some paper. 

Red Son scoffed. They’re willing to quit a lifelong pastime for an indifferent stranger? How moronic. Still though, it touched him that someone would care that much about his opinion despite Red Son doing nothing to deserve it. He tried to ignore the warmth that bloomed in his chest at his soulmate's foolhardy consideration. 

Red Son wouldn’t pretend that these drawings were unobtrusive. He’d frequently find himself tossing a coat over his shoulders before his mother walked in, or randomly shoving his hands in his pockets in the middle of dinner. He adamantly refused to let his mother discover his bond with a mortal, and it was hard to do that when there were smiley faces on the pads of his fingertips or ivy coiling around his biceps. His soulmate’s little drawings were a nightmare to hide.

But here was the problem. The real problem. The reason why Red Son couldn’t just hike up his sleeves and pretend the cold press of marker wasn’t there. Bafflingly, irrationally, infuriatingly, Red Son liked his soulmate’s drawings.  

As frustrating as it was to hide the dragon which curled around his calf or the monkey hanging around his wrist, Red Son couldn’t help but stare at them in awe alone in his room. From the silliest doodle to the most intricate painting, Red Son enjoyed seeing the art which sprawled across his body. 

And it was art. Despite being clearly stylized drawings, there was something about them that seemed almost alive. The colors were vibrant, almost popping off Red Son’s limbs. The line art was crisp and fluid at the same time, sloping against Red Son’s curves as if the images had been made to live there. Red Son could draw precise blueprints and the rare bored scribble, sure, but nothing like this. Nothing that looked like it could dance up Red Son’s limbs and leap off his skin. 

Red Son didn’t have a “smartphone” like some filthy mortal, but he had his own tech for taking photos and for saving things. He would catalog everything, from the smallest doodle on his palm to a sprawling painting across his chest, all within one of the thousands of files he kept. 

Some nights when he couldn’t sleep, Red Son would dig through those files until he found the one labeled “Drawings”-innocuous enough to not rouse suspicion and boring enough that his mother wouldn’t care what was in it–and he’d spend hours scrolling through the ever growing collection of art which flickered across his skin, hands tracing where the parts of his body where a masterpiece once lived. 

Red Son had a few theories for why he was so attached to these drawings. It could be a matter of those exhaustingly sappy romance stories being correct about fate drawing two souls together. Or maybe, Red Son’s appreciation for his soulmate’s objective skill overpowered any logic. It could just be that he was catering to the childish dreams he had of play and laughter, of excited conversations running up his limbs. 

None of these answers satisfied Red Son because they were all far too sappy, stupid, or heart-achingly vulnerable for his liking. But, he still snapped a picture of each completed artwork before his soulmate washed them away, a warm bubble in his chest as he added it to the collection. 

Red Son didn’t mean to smile as he wrote back to his soulmate, but he couldn’t help it. 

Keep drawing. I could stare at your art forever. 

Red Son knew it might be a cruel thing to say to a soulmate he chose to ignore, but it was true, wasn’t it? Regardless of why he liked those drawings, he did. And if his bonded person were truly worried Red Son didn’t enjoy them, he was perfectly fine with setting the record straight. 

That being said, he wrote an extra note, forcing the involuntary smile off his face. 

You can stop drawing the Monkey King though. He’s an eyesore. 

Red Son’s soulmate drew a “>:O” face followed by a series of exclamation points. 

You don’t like the Monkey King? How can you not like the Monkey King??? He’s strong and cool and handsome and he-

Red Son snorted, putting the pen down. He ignored the scrawl across his legs about the demon who ruined his family, instead opting to comb through the bird’s nest in his hair. He had been neglecting taking care of himself for the past few weeks. Red Son had been so busy lately working on that gauntlet to lift the Monkey King’s staff. After ages of working at it, he finally had a model with real potential. 

Red Son sighed as he tugged at a particularly nasty knot in his hair. The mortals were always so partial to that ape, even though he used to eat them with as much gusto as any other demon. They couldn’t understand just what Sun Wukong did. They couldn’t understand why the Demon Bull King had to come home. Even the chipper little artist who drew masterpieces on his skin would see Red Son as nothing more than a cackling demon, a villain who brought back the monster his beloved Monkey King sealed away. 

Red Son was fine with being a monster to the mortals. He was content with being written in human history books as a villain, so long as it was by his father’s side. Still though, he wondered how his soulmate would feel if they knew who loved their art so dearly. He wondered if they would stop making masterpieces on Red Son’s hands if they knew what he would do with them. 

The next morning, Red Son woke up to find the lengthy argument for why he should love the Monkey King was covered by an overgrown garden of hibiscus. Leaves curled around Red Son’s ankle, dark shades of green contrasted by red and orange blossoms that ran up his leg and framed a single question in the middle of his thigh. 

Do you have a favorite flower? I can draw it for you next time if you want.

Maybe it was so early in the morning that Red Son was delirious, but he grabbed the fountain pen from his desk to answer. 

Peonies. Red ones. 

Red Son was used to his plans falling apart at the seams. 

He was used to some minor miscalculation in his blueprints making his new weapon explode in his hand. He expected the wiring for his bull clones to trip up during a crucial moment. As much as Red Son despised these moments where his plans blew up in his face, he would brace for the inevitable each and every time. 

But how could he possibly expect this? 

His father was home–finally, finally home–but there was no cause for celebration. The Demon Bull Family had just barely tasted world domination when that peasant, that mortal, that Noodle Boy lifted up the Monkey King’s staff and wrecked centuries of planning in a day. They had been forced to return to the shambles Red Son called a base, deep within the crust of the earth, to lick their wounds like a pack of lowly street rats. 

Red Son sat in the corner of his workshop, hissing as he wrapped a bandage on a particularly nasty wound. He could barely see his own skin under all the gauze wrapped around his limbs and torso. It turns out getting pummeled by a high-tech jet-car was excruciatingly painful. Frankly though, Red Son cared less about the physical pain and more about the humiliation of failure which burned on the back of his neck. 

His soulmate was writing something to him. Red Son could tell by the speed of the scrawl that they were excited, but he didn’t care enough to pull back his bandages to read it. Chances are, they were telling Red Son all about the terrifying return of the Demon Bull King and the stupid little hero who saved them all. Red Son scoffed, pulling out a pen from his desk as he unrolled a new blueprint. 

With his family blocked from their world-conquering destiny, the Demon Bull Family’s plans were radically thrown off course. Before they could even begin making the mortal realm fall to their knees in submission, they would have to take care of that unforeseen obstacle which somehow stumbled his way into victory. 

And that’s what Red Son tried to do. He would stride into the throne room, confidently asserting his plans to destroy the Noodle Boy once and for all. His father would huff, steam escaping his snout as he sneered at Red Son to “Get it done then,” and with a flutter of his cape, Red Son would enact his plans to deliver his father the power he so rightfully deserved. 

But every single time, that grinning little peasant would show up and just-just-AUGH!

The Noodle Boy was becoming a bigger and bigger thorn in Red Son’s side than he could have possibly anticipated. Despite the peasant clearly fumbling his way through being the Monkey King’s successor, he somehow managed to keep beating Red Son. It was humiliating! Red Son knew he was up against an idiot, but that idiot also had the power of the Great Sage Equal to Heaven, and like his mentor he apparently had more than a few clever tricks up his sleeve, so time and time again, Red Son would limp back into his workshop to lick his wounds. 

Whatever. This time, Red Son’s plan would work. He knew that the key to the mysterious power source his parents had dug up was in the hands of the Noodle Boy. How the Noodle Boy got it he had no idea, but frankly that didn’t matter. All that mattered was that it would be in the hands of the Demon Bull Family soon enough. 

But of course, Red Son’s plans could never just work , and now he was stuck in the Noodle Boy’s depressing apartment, waiting for him to come home with that key. 

It was a tiny, cramped space, Red Son observed, less of an apartment and more of a room. The kitchen was just a couple yards away from the bed. As Red Son continued looking around the Noodle Boy’s home, he realized that no, room wasn't right either. This was a hovel. The sink was stacked with empty noodle bowls, there were clothes scattered across the floor, and worst of all, every inch of the apartment was covered in Monkey King merch. It took everything in Red Son not to incinerate the place immediately.

Red Son considered snooping around until the Noodle Boy came home, but frankly, rifling through laundry and Monkey King comics felt beneath him, so he just waited, tapping his foot impatiently as the grinning monkey clock ticked on. 

Sitting on the Noodle Boy’s bed was a monkey plush which stared at Red Son with a sewn smile. Maybe he was already irritated by how long he’d been waiting, but the cheeky little grin on the toy annoyed Red Son immensely. He pinched one of its ears between his fingers to pick it up and inspect it. 

He scoffed. It was an old toy–Red Son could tell by the fading colors and handmade stitches over tears. The Noodle Boy must have liked the Monkey King even before become his successor. Judging by the state of his hovel, he was the world’s luckiest fanboy. 

Red Son tossed the plush behind him with a snarl. He was about to deploy a bull clone to find the Noodle Boy when he noticed something on the bed. Underneath the monkey plush Red Son had unceremoniously thrown behind him was a large notebook stuffed with post-it notes.

Red Son picked it up, indulging his curiosity. Maybe it was some sort of journal? Judging by the various post-it notes that stuck out from the pages, that seemed to be the case. Scrawled across the slips of paper were little reminders about buying more erasers, about learning whatever “cross hatching” was, about “works in progress,” – perhaps additions to that mech the Noodle Boy only used once despite it being a clear powerhouse? 

Red Son filed through the post-it notes, wondering if the Noodle Boy was possibly stupid enough to write “PLANS TO DESTROY DBK” on any of them. He didn’t find anything like that, but one sticky note did stick out to Red Son, falling out of the journal’s pages and onto the blankets. Red Son picked up the little pink slip. Large red letters shouted out in all caps, “BUY PEONIES”

Red Son supposed it made sense the Noodle Boy would be interested in peonies. He had a plethora of houseplants in the house and on the fire escape, and they were surprisingly well cared for. There was nothing flowery, but maybe the Noodle Boy wanted to change that? Peonies weren’t really the sort of plant you could keep in a hovel like this one though. Then again, the roof of this atrocious noodle shop was barren; maybe the Noodle Boy wanted to make some sort of garden. 

Red son had a peony garden, once. Back when his family had a real palace, above the ground where the sun could let plants grow, they grew all sorts of different flowers. Not that anyone in the Demon Bull Family enjoyed flower picking or garden strolling, but Red Son’s parents figured a well kept garden was a symbol of their power and ability, so they grew a plethora of gorgeous plants throughout a sprawling courtyard. The poor servants had to constantly plant and replant the flowers which grew there because little Red Son would incinerate them without a second thought. As he grew older and the Samadhi Fire was removed, however, Red Son had learned to not immediately turn the just-planted plum trees into ash. 

He liked the peonies the most because they were just big and bushy enough for Red Son to hide in, and because the peonies were red, his bright crimson hair and scarlet clothes camouflaged nicely into the foliage. Red Son would slip into the peonies whenever the servants chased him down for another accursed bath. Apparently, it wasn’t appropriate for Red Son to write all the gossip his mother told him on his arms, especially when they were about to have a dinner party with the very demons his mother sneered over. 

Red Son would try his best to hide his giggles as the servants ran straight past him. He would have to show this part of the palace to his soulmate, so they could hide there whenever their antics raised a little too much trouble. But Red Son was all alone, so he would dig his feet into the soil and try his best not to spark from glee.

Red Son traced the lettering of the note, an old, forgotten ache within him now unearthed. He hadn’t thought about that garden in centuries. Red Son wondered what was in its place now. Maybe a new human settlement had bulldozed it, or the weather tore it down until it was nothing but rocks and plum trees. Or maybe, it was still there, overgrown peonies running up the halls.  

Red Son shook those thoughts away. He’d been waiting for the Noodle Boy for so long it was starting to drive him mad. Red Son was just about to flip through the journal to do away with thoughts of childhood and peonies and soulmates when he heard the sound of laughter. His head shot up to see the Dragon Horse Girl and the Noodle Boy cackling on the balcony. 

Finally! What took them so long?! For a pair of miserable peasant nobodies, they sure found ways to keep themselves busy. Red Son was hoping to be a bit more sneaky with this plan, but frankly, he was itching for a fight now. And plus, it was always fun to make an entrance. 

Red Son summoned his powers, eyes glinting with flames. The journal in his hands turned to ash as he burst a hole through the Noodle Boy’s hovel, thoughts of peonies and soulmates long forgotten.

Chapter Text

So, the ancient mysterious power source turned out to be…a bit of a miscalculation. 

Understatement of the millennia. 

The Demon Bull Family had the world at their fingertips, but there was no celebration to be had. Possessed by a force even his father could not overpower, the Demon Bull King was fully prepared to eliminate Princess Iron Fan and Red Son, his cruel accusations of traitor almost more painful than his blows. Red Son knew his father was a fierce and angry demon, but to see that fist come flying towards him was a terror he couldn’t have imagined in his worst nightmares. 

The Monkie Kid beat the canisters off the Demon Bull King, freeing him from the monster which held his body and mind hostage. But, with that mysterious power source gone, the bull clones had powered off to become hunks of metal. The Demon Bull Family's underground lair had begun to crumble at the seams from the battle. There was no chance they could hold their rein, and so in a flurry of wind, they let go of the throne. 

The Demon Bull Family were on the move westward, trying to find a new home turf so they could properly recoup. They didn’t have the resources to try and conquer the mortal realm for some time, but if Red Son were being completely honest, he didn’t think anyone had the morale for it at the moment. Despite the humiliation of defeat and the destruction of their stronghold, that loss wasn’t what loomed over the Demon Bull Family. 

Princess Iron Fan’s hands never left her husband’s side, constantly turning his face to check that he was still there, that he had stayed. They had all seen that power source leave DBK and slip through the cracks of the earth, but she still kept her husband close, murmuring too softly for Red Son to hear. He’d never seen such vulnerability from his mother before, her arms wrapped around the Demon Bull King’s neck as she stared up at him. 

His father was vulnerable too. He hunched up his shoulders when his wife spoke to him, leaning down so they were both at eye level. Even when defeated by the Monkie Kid, his father never looked as small as he did the days after that mysterious power source possessed him, rubbing locks of Princess Iron Fan’s hair between his fingers and pressing a kiss onto her bruised cheek. 

Or maybe Red Son was projecting his own feelings of fear and vulnerability onto his parents. Maybe he was the one who was vulnerable now, sitting in his workshop and shaking like a leaf at the memory of his father’s anger. 

He would never dream of leaving his parents' side. But, did that even matter? What, functionally, was the difference between a traitor and a failure? Both were obstacles to his father’s dream in the end. Both were to be promptly removed to ensure victory. 

It was quickly made clear that the power source had warped his father’s mind. The instant his father started throwing traitorous accusations at his mother , Red Son instantly knew something was off. But still, those words clung to him, sticky and bone-chillingly cold. He was right, wasn’t he? Red Son would leave the fortress with a flourish of his cape, and return with nothing but failures and disappointments. In the end, Red Son and his mother weren’t even the ones to save his father. The most they could do was aid the real hero, the Monkie Kid.  

Red Son wished he could be angry at himself for working with the Monkie Kid, for potentially placing himself and his family in the debt of the enemy. But secretly? He was thankful. That day, the Demon Bull Family was fractured and fragile. Princess Iron Fan and Red Son were already weakened from fighting DBK, and DBK was already enemy number one. With a few blows from his staff, the Monkie Kid could have gotten rid of Demon Bull Threat with ease. But instead, the Noodle Boy freed his father from his possession, destroying the canisters which had warped his mind. In a cruel twist of fate, the little thief kept their family from falling apart. 

And that was, perhaps, the most traitorous thought of them all. 

Red Son focused on trying to aid his parents however he could, rebuilding the broken bull clones and starting renovations on an old abandoned fortress on an ancient volcano they’d stumbled across. He wanted to believe his work was good, that it was helping, even if the memory of his father’s cold laughter rang in his head. What else could Red Son do but work and plan and work again? Do what he always did, even if it crumbled in his hands like always? This was the only way he could think of helping, from the first gauntlet, the first bull clone, the first weapon, the first blueprint he unfurled on the bedroom floor. He didn’t know how else to earn his keep. 

A doodle of a sleepy monkey napping on a rock formed on the back of Red Son’s hand. About ten minutes later, his soulmate wrote a note in massive, frenzied lettering down Red Son’s arm assuring him this wasn’t Monkey King fanart, but that there’s just this really cute monkey napping in front of me, and I just couldn’t resist drawing him, but my sketchbook got destroyed a while back and I haven’t had the time to get a new one-

Maybe it was the frantic scrawling trying to explain the art, or the serene expression on the monkey’s face, or just that modicum of consideration for Red Son’s request from months ago, but a bit of tension rolled off Red Son’s shoulders. They were completely moronic. If Red Son didn’t know better, he’d call them sweet.  But he did, so moronic it was. 

Red Son huffed, taking a photo of his hand and adding it to the file. He wrote a message back to his soulmate, dark red ink overshadowing the frantic message written in brown marker. 

It’s fine, calm down. I know it’s not the Monkey King. 

He resisted the urge to tack a peasant on the end there. 

Maybe, Red Son needed to take a different approach. His father had been so troubled by this particular failure, maybe what Red Son needed to do was give him a different goal. A fresh start, a clean slate, which his father could use to rebuild his power until he was ready to conquer the mortal realm once more. 

Red Son had faint memories of his father’s love for cooking, and he was more than capable of pulling a few strings to make a food stand, so why not try and lift his father’s spirits and cook together? Plus, it would be good father-son bonding, and while Red Son still wasn't sure DBK wanted to bond with him , Red Son’s heart warmed at the thought of spending his days with his beloved father. 

He had a small food stand set up for New Year’s, stocked it high with meat and spices, even made the recipes on his own. Princess Iron Fan had made plans with some allied demon courts, and because DBK disliked the stuffy dinners his wife so often attended, Red Son was able to drag the Demon Bull King away that evening. 

DBK was, regrettably, quite irritated at doing such lowly, servile work, but Red Son tried to hold on hope that he would have some fun playing street vendors for the day. At the very least, he hoped it would be a nice distraction from their recent humiliating defeat. 

But then, the Spider Queen of all demons captured DBK and invaded the city. Suddenly, Red Son’s silly albeit lowly New Year’s plans to cook barbeque with his father somehow turned into an alliance with the Monkie Kid’s little gang of heroes to steal from the celestial realm and save the world. 

Truly, nothing could ever go Red Son’s way. 

Luckily, they were all able to get the ingredients necessary for Spider Queen’s venom antidote with only a moderate amount of chaos. And while the Noodle Boy’s reckless handling of the ingredients was wholly unwelcome, the antidote was complete. Now, it was only a matter of time until the Dronecopter made its way back to Megapolis for the battle against the Spider Queen to truly begin. 

Red Son tried his best to keep away from the Monkie Kid’s little friends. The Pig, the Blue man, and the Scholar would stare at Red Son now and then, but thankfully they never tried to make threats or small talk. The Dragon Horse Girl popped up now and then to joke with Red Son about how “heroic” he looked staring out “all stoically at the ocean,” after a while she just focused on taking pictures of the blue cat. (Were cats…supposed to be blue? That couldn’t be healthy, right?)

But of course, Red Son couldn’t be left alone entirely. Red Son had been standing at the Dronecopter railing when he heard someone stride up next to him, cheap converse tapping against the metal deck. From his peripheral, he could see the Noodle Boy lean over the railing to look down at the ocean below the two of them, a contemplative expression on his face. Red Son could see that he would glance up at him every now and then, pursing his lips into a small frown. 

Red Son was about to find a different place to be alone with his thoughts when the Noodle Boy spoke up. “Can you swim?” 

Red Son wasn’t sure what he expected the Noodle Boy to say, but it certainly wasn’t that. “Of course I can swim.” 

“But wouldn’t it hurt, since you’re a fire demon and all?” The Noodle Boy asked, turning to look at Red Son with a tilted head. 

Red Son sneered. “I’m not made of fire. Water can’t actually hurt me, it’s just wholly unenjoyable.” He scoffed, waving his arms at the seas below them. “What, did you want to test it out?” 

“Wha-Oh, no no no!” Noodle Boy raised his hands in defense. “I didn’t want to like, push you in or anything, I just saw you were really close to the railing and I wasn’t sure if it was safe for you to be that close to–”

“I’m not a toddler, Noodle Boy.” Red Son leered over him with a curl to his lip. “I can be trusted not to jump into the sea.” 

“I know that!” The Noodle Boy yelled. “I was just worried! You have fire powers, so I thought that maybe being close to the ocean would I dunno, turn them off?” 

“Turn them-?!” Red Son sputtered, his hair flaring up in frustration. “If being near water negated my powers, how would any of our fights have occurred?!” Red Son shouted. “Megapolis is a seaport! ” 

Noodle Boy’s eyes widened, as if this was a startling revelation and not an incredibly obvious observation given how he was friends with a man who–according to the bullclone’s report– lived on a boat in the harbor.  

“Oh.” The Noodle Boy laughed, looking back out at the sea. “Yeah, that makes sense.” 

Red Son let out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose and leaning his back against the railing. Really? This was the idiot he kept on losing to? 

He supposed at the very least, it was… considerate of the Noodle Boy to be looking out for Red Son. Even if he was doing so like a complete dimwit. But then again, they were allies right now, flying at rapid speeds towards a fierce fight, so it made sense that the Noodle Boy was making sure Red Son was equipped for battle. Once the Spider Queen was defeated, Red Son fully expected things to return to the status quo. 

Red Son crossed his arms and scoffed. “If you want to defeat me, you’ll have to do more than take me to the beach. ” 

Red Son expected the Noodle Boy to point out the various times he had, in fact, defeated him, but instead, he frowned. Noodle Boy leaned further over the railing, standing on the tips of his ratty converse. 

“Do I still need to do that? Defeat you?” The Noodle Boy turned to Red Son. “Are we really still enemies?”

“Of course we are.” Red Son barked sharply, leering at the Noodle Boy over the rim of his glasses. “Just because we’re allies this time doesn’t make us allies permanently. The current circumstance is unique.” He moved a bit closer to the Noodle Boy, hissing his last sentence, “As it was the last time we worked together.” 

The Noodle Boy’s brow furrowed at this, looking at Red Son with an expression he couldn’t quite discern. For a moment, Red Son feared that bringing up the last time they worked together was a bad idea. Maybe the Noodle Boy would demand repayment from Red Son for aiding the Demon Bull Family, or use that moment of weakness to mock him. 

But, of course Noodle Boy didn’t do that. He was above such cruel petty acts that Red Son would stoop to. Instead, the Noodle Boy shrugged with a small smile on his face.  “Well, I think you’d make a great hero. So if you ever change your mind, let me know.” 

Red Son sputtered, flames shooting out his ponytail like a flare. “Why do you and the Dragon Girl keep insisting I’m hero material?!” Red Son leaned closer to the Noodle Boy. The tuft of hair which grew from his widow’s peak was so hot a part of him wondered if it’d set that stupid bandana on fire. “How many times do I need to make it clear that I am a villain?! ” 

“Okay, but have you considered, you could be a hero, and that would be super cool?” the Noodle Boy said, unintimidated by the snarling fire demon looming over him. “I mean, I’m not gonna lie Red Son. You’re doing some pretty heroic things right now.” 

Red Son cursed into the air, flames shooting out from his hands. He already had to deal with this conversation back in the peach gardens with the Pony Girl, and he hadn’t exactly changed his mind in the few hours since. 

“There is nothing about what I’ve done today that makes me a hero. ” Red Son snapped. “If you all hadn’t destroyed my jet-”

“What do you mean ‘destroyed my jet,’ you flew into our ship-!” Noodle Boy tried to object. 

“IF THE BLUE MAN HADN’T COMPLETELY OBLITERATED MY JET-!” Red Son shouted over him, “Then I would have done exactly what we just did: steal the ingredients, make the antidote, and save the world for my family to rightfully conquer. So tell me, Noodle Boy,” Red Son crossed his arms. “How does any of that make me a hero? ”

“How does any of that make you a villain?” The Noodle Boy retorted. “I mean, if anything, isn’t it heroic that you’re doing all this to save your dad?.” He tilted his head, as he leaned back against the railing. “And considering you do all your villain stuff because you love your parents, doesn’t that kind of make you a good guy?” 

Red Son nearly stumbled off the Dronecopter. “I'm what?!"

“I mean, yeah, you’re a villain because you try to like, ‘conquer the world for the Demon Bull Family’ and ‘incinerate all who stand in your way’ or whatever,”  The Noodle Boy shook his hands at the phrase, pitching his voice for a downright offensive Red Son impersonation, “But you’re not like, a bad guy. You just help your parents do bad things because you love them. And while you’re still doing villain things, that’s not really a villain motivation , y’know? I mean, don’t get me wrong, if you try to help your parents take over the city, I’m going to fight you, but, I don’t know.” He shrugged. “You’re not really a villain the same way they are.”

Red Son was now seriously considering jumping into the sea. 

“Earlier, you were talking about how the Spider Queen took your dad, and how you needed to save him, and even though it totally wasn’t cool of you to try and steal our ship, I kept thinking about it, and I realized something.” The Noodle Boy said to a slack-jawed Red Son. “You’re too…too…ah dang it, what’s the word? I had it earlier.” 

The Noodle Boy stroked his chin like it was a beard, furrowing his brow as he tried to think. Red Son could almost see the two brain cells in that thick skull of his rubbing together to form a single thought. After a few seconds of thinking, the Noodle Boy snapped, pointing his finger up into the air. “Loving! That’s it.” He pointed at Red Son with a grin. “You’re too loving to be a villain.” 

… Loving? 

Red Son had never had anyone call him loving before. His father and mother weren’t one for such overly sappy compliments. He never considered himself loving either. He could build armies from scrap metal, he could steal peaches straight from the garden of the Queen Mother of the West, he could spend centuries tinkering away in a workshop to free his father, and while those were ways Red Son showed his love, was that loving? 

“Loving” was something bright and soft, powerful and gentle. It was enthusiastic support, tender shows of affection, love without any subtlety or fear. It was holding hands as you ran through the halls, stifling giggles in the peony bushes. It wasn’t Red Son. 

The Noodle Boy was loving. Red Son had done almost nothing but fight him, but even he could see how unabashedly affectionate he was to his friends. They were loving too–all tight hugs and unashamed floods of support–but the Noodle Boy was a cut above the rest. He loved with the same blunt force he used to save lives and thwart Red Son’s plans. As much as Red Son hated to admit it, that was what made the Noodle Boy such a good hero in the first place.  

An odd realization snaked up Red Son’s spine. In a weird way, that blunt force love was even directed toward him. Red Son had spent the past few months trying to destroy the Noodle Boy, and now he was cheerfully expressing his hopes for Red Son to join his side. The whole reason the Noodle Boy was talking to him now was to make sure his powers weren't affected by the massive body of water they were flying over. Love, perhaps, was a strong word for how the Noodle Boy felt towards him, but he had to view Red Son at least somewhat amicably, didn't he?

Red Son wasn’t sure how he felt about that. It bothered him that he didn't hate it immediately.

Red Son tried to push away the thought before it bordered on traitorous. “Villains are as capable of love as heroes are capable of hate.” He snarled. “My father and mother adore each other, but I don’t see you calling them heroes. ” 

“Yeah, but, that’s different. They actually want to conquer the world.” The Noodle Boy sat himself down on the railing as he spoke. “And you just want to help them.” 

“How exactly is that different?!” Red Son snapped. 

“Well, if your parents didn’t want to conquer the world, would you still want to?” Noodle Boy asked.

Of course, the very question was foolish–his parents were demon royalty, naturally they would want to expand their territory and shape the world as they saw fit. But if one morning, the Demon Bull King announced he had grown tired of trying to make the mortals bend to his will then obviously Red Son would…he would…

What would he do?

Laughter brought Red Son back to reality. The Noodle Boy was grinning at Red Son, but despite him clearly being the enemy, Red Son didn’t feel mocked in the slightest. “See? You’re not a villain. You just go where your love leads you.” 

What a horrifically sappy line to escape the Noodle Boy’s lips. Red Son’s cheeks flushed at the words.  

“And from what I’ve seen, when you’re being a hero, you’re great at it!” The Noodle Boy waved his arms around in excitement, looping his legs around the railing so he wouldn’t fall. “I’m gonna be honest, I had no idea how we were going to defeat the Spider Queen, so it’s kind of a miracle you flew into our dronecopter and busted your jet.” 

“ I didn’t bust my jet-!”  Red Son tried to shout over the Noodle Boy, but he kept talking with a wide grin. “Now, we have an antidote, we have a plan-“ Barely! Red Son wanted to snap - “and we have an actual chance at saving the world! And it’s all because of you.” 

To Red Son’s horror, the Noodle Boy’s expression melted into something soft and relieved, which was completely irrational because there was no good reason for him to look at Red Son like that.  

“Honestly? Even if you saved the world on your own, that wouldn’t be any less heroic of you. You still want to rescue your dad, and you’d still fight the Spider Queen to do it.” The Noodle Boy laughed. “Even if it is just so your family can conquer the world next month.” He was seemingly oblivious to the effect his words were having on Red Son, who was praying to the ever merciful Guanyin that the Dragon girl wasn’t hiding somewhere recording this. 

“So yeah. You’re a villain because you love your parents. But, maybe one day, you’ll love your way into being a hero.” Noodle Boy turned to look at Red Son with a smile. Red Son forced himself to look away, coughing into his fist and hoping the ends of his hair weren’t smoking. Who said these kinds of things without any shame? 

The Noodle Boy chuckled, scratching the back of his head. “To be honest, I hope you start doing that soon, because the closest thing we have to a strategy guy is Tang, and half the time he wants us all to lay down and play dead.” 

The Noodle Boy gave Red Son a wide grin, the sort of grin Red Son associated more with the word loving than anything he’d ever done. Red Son hadn’t summoned any of his powers, but something hot still swirled up his neck and burned the back of his ears. 

“Don’t start getting delusional! ” Red Son snapped, trying to brush off the heat off his back with a smarmy retort. “Even if your little love hypothesis is correct, it wouldn’t somehow lead me to become a part of your little crew . My parents have no plans to start allying with the Monkey King and Noodle Boy who keep ruining our plans.” 

Red Son leaned over the railing to look down at the sea. There was nothing particularly interesting about the ocean, but from the corner of his eye, Red Son could see the Noodle Boy staring at him, and there was something so intense about his gaze that Red Son couldn't bring himself to look back.

Technically, Noodle Boy wasn’t the first one to suggest they work together. No, that honor went to Red Son. His mother had hurled cutting winds at his father, explained to the Noodle Boy the nature of the canisters, but in the end, Red Son was the one who raised his arm to stop the Noodle Boy, who snarled with flaming fists that This time, we fight with you. 

It was a snap decision on his part. Red Son and his mother were already trying and failing to keep the Demon Bull King at bay, so they would make a solid distraction while the Noodle Boy dealt the final blow. At that moment, Red Son wasn’t thinking about heroes and villains, allies and enemies. He was only thinking about his father’s amber eyes frozen into an arctic blue, the bruises on his mother’s cheek that smudged her always-perfect lipstick. So, it was decided. He’d fight his father alongside the Monkie Kid. The Noodle Boy was too heroic or too stupid to use that moment of weakness against him, but even if he had held it over Red Son’s head, he would have gone into the Monkie Kid’s debt a thousand times over if it meant bringing his father back again. 

The back of Red Son's neck burned. He wasn't a traitor, but maybe he was easier to bend than he'd previously thought.  

“That being said,” Red Son stammered, “Should we continue to have… common enemies obstructing our goals–goals which are and will continue to be completely incompatible !!” He jutted his finger into the air to emphasize his point, his ponytail sparking. “Then I-” 

The words clung to his throat, begging not to leave, but Red Son forced them out, choking on his own sincerity, “I would not be entirely opposed to working alongside you again.” 

The silence was suffocating. Red Son’s skin burned in embarrassment with each second the Noodle Boy didn’t respond. Of all the times he shut up, did it really have to be now?

“Well? Say something, Noodle Brain, don’t just-!” Red Son snapped his head over to glare at the Noodle Boy, but was stunned into silence. The Noodle Boy was staring at him, eyes wide. Red Son had never bothered taking notice of the Noodle Boy’s eyes, but right now, all he could think about was how they captured the rays of the sun, warm brown now a molten gold.   

A grin formed on his face, so wide and toothy that Red Son honestly wondered if it hurt. “Aww, Red Son!” Noodle Boy exclaimed, kicking his feet up excitedly. “You DO like uh-uAH-AAAH!”

The force of the Noodle Boy’s legs kicking made him lean a little too far back, and he began to slip off the railing. Red Son acted before he could think, gripping the Noodle Boy’s shirt collar and yanking him back up. 

“You absolute NOODLE BRAIN! What is WRONG with you?!” Red Son shouted. “You came here worried I was in danger when you’re practically leaping into the sea! How can someone more inept than a child CONSTANTLY ruin my plans?! ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING?!” 

The Noodle Boy clearly wasn’t. He was too busy staring up at Red Son with those wide, golden eyes. Was that why his gaze held such warmth? Such intensity? Because they could melt the sun? 

Red Son almost gagged at his own train of thought. Was Noodle Boy's sap rubbing off on him now? 

“You just saved me.” The Noodle Boy breathed the words more than he spoke them. “Do you know what that means?” 

Red Son’s brow furrowed. Shit. He did just save him, didn’t he? Why did he do that? Red Son could have just let the Noodle Boy fall into the sea and watch the thorn in his side die, but his hands had moved faster than his mind and pulled the Noodle Boy to safety. Or maybe, Red Son’s hands worked completely independently from all rational thought, because he was still holding onto his shirt, gripping it so hard he could feel his fingernails brush against his hand. 

Before Red Son could begin to spiral about the implications behind saving the Monkie Kid’s life, the Noodle Boy’s golden eyes glittered, his grin as smug as his mentor. “You’re not just a hero. You’re my hero- !” 

Red Son tried to shove the Noodle Boy off the Dronecopter. 

Regrettably, Red Son’s attempts at murdering the Monkie Kid failed. The Noodle Boy grabbed his arms, babbling all sorts of pleas for mercy, but he clearly didn’t see any real threat, grinning and giggling as he gripped Red Son’s coat sleeves. Red Son tried to shake him off, but the Noodle Boy clung to his clothes, laughing so hard at one point his head smacked against Red Son’s chest. Despite Red Son very much trying to toss the Noodle Boy into the sea, he grinned like it was a game, free of any real danger.

And maybe Red Son treated it more like a game than he thought, because eventually, he stopped trying to push the Noodle Boy off, letting him stand on the dronecopter’s deck beside him. The Noodle Boy didn’t try to climb onto the railing again, leaning against it to catch his breath from how much he’d been laughing. 

Red Son watched him with much less irritation curdling in his stomach than he expected. Despite the Noodle Boy’s insufferably childish ways and the battle which loomed over them, there was something traitorously peaceful in that moment, the absurdity of their antics a distraction from the chaos of the day. 

Red Son leaned his elbows against the railing, shutting his eyes and letting a tension he hadn’t realized was there roll off his back. He tried not to wonder what it all meant. 

Eventually, the Noodle Boy had calmed down, his laughter fading away into a soft sigh. There was a moment of silence between the two before Noodle Boy piped up again. “Are your parents soulmates?” 

Red Son opened his eyes and raised his brow at the Noodle Boy. He seemed to take this as Red Son asking for elaboration. “Like, y’know, soulmates? Write on one hand, it appears on the other?” 

Red Son rolled his eyes, looking at the Noodle Boy properly now. “ Soulmate is a word coined by humans who couldn’t possibly begin to understand the bond that few of them had with some unfortunate demon.” 

Noodle Boy laughed. “Yeah, Pigsy mentioned that ‘soulmate’ wasn’t really a word demons used, but he always did, so I guess it just kind of stuck.” He turned to Red Son and tilted his head with a smile. “ Do demons have a word for it?” 

“No,” Red Son responded. He figured if he just gave the Noodle Boy a proper answer he could end…whatever this conversation was supposed to be. “There’s certain phrases, of course, that let us understand that particular connection, but there’s no proper word for it. ‘Intertwined souls’ and ‘shared skin’ have always been popular euphemisms.” 

The Noodle Boy made a face like a toddler eating bitter melon. “Ewww. Shared skin is gross and you should never say it again.” 

Red Son couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his throat. He agreed. For all the embarrassment he felt for his affections for the word “soulmate,” Red Son much preferred that over describing the human he was bonded with as his “shared skin.”

“To answer your question, however, yes. They are.” Red Son told the Noodle Boy.

“That’s cute.” He smiled, moving closer to Red Son. “How did they meet?” 

The question threw Red Son off. For one, he had no idea why the Noodle Boy was asking how his parents met of all things. There wasn’t much information to use against the Demon Bull Family from an old love story. But secondly, and more importantly, was the startling realization Red Son wasn’t actually sure.

His parents most likely told Red Son when he was a child, but those memories were fuzzy. He could recall a handful of things,–the safety of his father’s chest, the smell of ink on his fingers, the ripe plum trees and blossoming peonies–but none of them explained how his parents met. And once the Demon Bull King was imprisoned, Red Son tried his best not to bring his father up for nonsensical things, so he’d never asked his mother.  

Obviously though, he wasn’t just going to let the Noodle Boy he didn’t know something like that. So instead he huffed, crossing his arms. “And why do you want to know?” 

The Noodle Boy shrugged, scratching the back of his head. “I just wondered if there’s like, I dunno, some demon ritual for that sort of stuff. Like, do you guys try to meet up immediately, or wait a while, or what?”

Red Son scoffed. Humans were so wildly ignorant of demon customs, but he expected the Noodle Boy to know a modicum more than the average miserable peasant. Wasn’t that pig demon his father? Why didn’t he teach him these things?! 

“There’s no ritual.” Red Son sneered. “There’s no specific time you need to wait. How or even if two soul-two bonded demons meet is entirely up to them.” 

“But, wouldn’t it make sense to try and meet your soulmate? Especially if it’s like, good luck for your marriage or whatever?” The Noodle Boy crossed his arms. 

“No,” Red Son responded. “You don’t need to meet them at all.” 

The Noodle Boy nodded, quiet for a moment as if deep in thought. (Or, well, as deep in thought as his sad little noodle brain could get) The Noodle Boy gripped his left bicep absentmindedly, and Red Son’s own left bicep itched watching him. 

About a week before, the branches of a peach tree had grown there, the stone fruit so gorgeous Red Son wanted to pluck it straight off his arm. He’d stared at it in the mirror for so long that evening he only got a few hours of sleep before a bull clone dragged him away for breakfast. His plate was stocked high with apples, persimmons, and grapes, but as he sunk into his workshop, Red Son was still hungry. 

After a moment, Noodle Boy spoke up again. “Pigsy’s soulmates with Tang. The uh, the ‘pig’ and the middle aged guy with glasses,” He clarified for Red Son, which he did appreciate, even if he could have assessed who Pigsy and Tang were rather easily (It’s not like the massive blue man would be called Pigsy ) 

“They didn’t know until like, years after they met that they were soulmates. And they’re super happy about it, but Pigsy told me that normally, demons don’t want to be bonded with a human. So, if a demon does have a human for a soulmate,” the Noodle Boy turned to Red Son, “What do they do?”

Peaches were never his favorite fruit, but that day, Red Son had a bull clone bring him one to eat while he worked. He devoured it ravenously, the pit cleaned dry and the juices licked off his fingers, but somehow, it didn’t satisfy him. He continued to stare at the peaches on his arm until they were washed away by the artist on the other side of the marker. He stared at it again later that night, only stopping when he felt a ballpoint pen swirl against his ankle.  

“If you have any good sense? You ignore it,” Red Son gripped his bicep. “And pretend your skin isn’t proof of your inadequacy.”

“Oh.” Red Son was surprised to see the Noodle Boy’s smile flicker at this. “That’s…huh.” The Noodle Boy buried his head into his arms, brow furrowed with some restless, negative emotion that Red Son couldn’t quite place. 

For a moment, Red Son wondered if all this bombardment about how demons dealt with soulmates came from somewhere deeper than simple curiosity. Maybe the Pig wasn’t as happy with his soulmate as the Noodle Boy led on? Or, maybe he had issues of his own? Did the Noodle Boy have a soulmate? 

Before Red Son could even chide himself for caring enough to ask these questions, all those emotions which poured out the Noodle Boy vanished as he turned to Red Son. “Do you have a pen?” 

The Noodle Boy was atrocious at changing topics. “Why would I have a pen?” Red Son sneered.

“I don’t know, Tang carries pens around all the time, so I thought maybe you–actually, I’m gonna go look for Tang right now.” The Noodle Boy dashed away from Red Son, but not before looking back and waving at him with a grin. 

“Thanks for saving my life again!” He winked at Red Son and pointed two fingers from both his hands at Red Son, an odd human gesture, surely. “You might not think you’re a hero, but you’re still mine!”

With that, he left Red Son standing at the railing, completely and utterly baffled. 

Even as the city of Megapolis and the battle ahead appeared on the horizon, that conversation played over and over in Red Son’s head. He thought about the grin on the Noodle Boy’s face as he told Red Son his ridiculous theories about why he was a “hero,” the grip of his hands on Red Son’s forearm, the clouds that flickered over his sun-melting eyes when Red Son spoke of soulmates, opening a curtain to some deeper part of the Noodle Boy that Red Son knew was there logically, but actually seeing made his mind buzz with questions. 

The feel of a ballpoint pen itched across Red Son’s wrist, pulling him away from the myriad of thoughts swirling in his head. He tugged down his sleeve to see his soulmate writing a little message in black ink. 

I hope you’re okay right now. 

That little mortal was so considerate of him, despite Red Son being the worst soulmate possible. He wondered if his soulmate was a citizen of Megapolis, hiding within the dark alleys and frantically sending a message to a soulmate they weren’t even sure lived there. Maybe, they lived somewhere else entirely, in the midst of a different disaster. Or, it could be that there was no threat to them at all, and that Red Son’s soulmate just wanted to make sure he was okay. 

They couldn’t even fathom what lay ahead of Red Son now–a battle against a cackling queen with uncanny henchmen and a battalion of slaves at her command. But really, they couldn’t understand how hollow their words rang to Red Son at all. “Okay” was a far off, distant thing that existed before the Spider Queen invaded, before the Monkie Kid picked up the staff, before his father was imprisoned. “Okay” would only exist once his family held the world in their hands, once their dream– his dream –was finally fulfilled. 

Humans had such tiny lives, with tinier perspectives. They could never see the scars on Red Son’s hands from centuries of tinkering, the bags under his mother’s eyes which she hid under careful glamours, the way his father scratched his arms, mourning the hair which once grew there. They could never see Red Son, not really. 

In the distance, Red Son could hear the Noodle Boy’s laughter. Or maybe it was just the wind tricking his ears, heating the nape of his neck again. 

Red Son scoffed, hiking up his sleeve. His soulmate knew nothing about him at all. They never would.

Chapter Text

Red Son desperately wanted to ignore it. He wanted to bury his head in his work and push his memories away and go back to preparing for the Demon Bull King’s inevitable conquest of the mortal realm. There was, however, a problem. 

The Noodle Boy just kept clinging to him. 

Not literally, of course–Red Son hadn’t seen Noodle Boy for over a month now. The Demon Bull Family had only just begun to recoup from the, erm, unfortunate miscalculation that was the ancient mysterious power source, and considering they couldn’t defeat the Noodle Boy with all their firepower, they certainly weren’t going to try their chances at defeating him without it. So until the Demon Bull Family was ready to conquer the world, they needed to rebuild. And what was Red Son better at doing than rebuilding after catastrophic failure? 

Red Son had a thousand tasks to juggle now between renovating his family’s fortress, building new vehicles for the rocky terrain, and rewiring the bull clones on the off chance that mysterious power source still clung to his machinery. He barely had time to eat or sleep, much less plan the Noodle Boy’s demise. Red Son figured that it would be some time before he saw the Monkie Kid in battle again. 

And yet, their last conversation on the Dronecopter clung to Red Son, sappy and sticky and nauseatingly sweet. 

Red Son couldn’t drown his thoughts out with the drones of machinery or the clatter of construction. He couldn’t will them away with diligence or mediation. And try as he might, he couldn’t just ignore it. It was increasingly clear to Red Son that he was incredibly bad at ignoring things–especially when he’d be better off pretending they never happened. So everyday, he would find himself haunted by the Noodle Boy.

Red Son would be making plans for a new wing in the fortress only to remember the Noodle Boy’s smile, soft and relieved to have Red Son on board. When going over safety procedures with his new dune buggy, Red Son could feel cheap t-shirt fabric between his fingers and the gaze of brown eyes which melted the sun into gold. One time, one of the shut down husks of a bull clone slumped over onto Red Son’s shoulder and he froze for a solid minute, suddenly overwhelmed by the memory of Noodle Boy’s head smacking against his chest as he laughed.  

But it was his words which seemed to linger the most, replaying in the back of Red Son’s mind over and over like a broken record. The Noodle Boy was one for impassioned hero’s speeches about hope and friendship, so maybe he was just that horrendously cliche in everyday conversations. Maybe he said things like you just go where your love leads you or you might not think you’re a hero, but you’re still mine to everyone around him like those were normal things to say. But such words were not normal to Red Son, and despite how long it had been, they refused to leave his head. 

He was going insane, surely. It was the only reason Red Son had spent so much time preoccupied over his last proper conversation with the Noodle Boy. And yet, as he lay in his bed, the Noodle Boy’s eyes and smile and his infuriating words dug into his mind, swirling around him in a traitorous fog Red Son couldn’t dispel. 

Now, it wasn’t that the Noodle Boy was haunting Red Son because he had been kind or friendly. It wasn't that Noodle Boy had sent his blunt force love Red Son's way. Of course that wasn’t the problem. Red Son insisted that wasn’t the problem. He could not live with himself if that was even a little bit of the problem. No, what really bothered Red Son as he laid in bed at night was the slow, mortifying realization which sunk into his bones with a humiliated groan. That day on the drone copter, the moron who forgot he lived by a harbor had somehow read Red Son like a billboard. 

Noodle Boy had told Red Son he was too loving to be a villain. That despite Red Son clearly doing terrible things, he had no real desire to conquer the world beyond his parent’s own happiness. He even seemed to imply that it was possible for Red Son to become a hero if that’s where his love led him. And it bothered Red Son how difficult it was for him to refute that. 

Red Son technically had worked with the heroes in the name of his father’s safety, twice now. He would do it again if that’s what it came down to, and he wasn’t exactly ashamed to admit that. In Red Son’s opinion, it was what any half-decent son would do. But didn’t that just prove the Noodle Boy’s point? If Red Son’s priorities lay less with being a good villain and more with being a good son, wasn’t that just proof of how allegedly “loving” he really was? That his villainy was just a byproduct of his love rather than its own motivation?

Red Son had always viewed himself as a driven demon, and as such he strived to become stronger, so of course world conquering and power nabbing enticed him. But in the end, when Red Son imagined a world shaped how he saw fit, it was always as a gift to his parents rather than a prize for himself. If his parents didn’t want to conquer the world, Red Son wouldn’t think twice about stopping. He might worry that something had possessed his parents, but if that was truly their will, it’s not like he’d pick up that mantle in their stead.

Red Son had accepted that he would be seen as a villain once he freed his father. He knew the mortals would look upon him with terror. And he took on that role with so much enthusiasm that he failed to question if he was a villain in the first place. But the Noodle Boy challenged that with a happy-go-lucky little grin, and now Red Son’s whole worldview seemed to melt around him.

But here was the problem. The real problem. The reason why Red Son couldn’t just push those thoughts of wide grins and golden eyes away. The Noodle Boy’s probing begged a question that bafflingly, irrationally, infuriatingly, Red Son couldn’t find an answer to: If Red Son didn’t want the world, what did he want? 

Of course Red Son wanted the Demon Bull Family to be the rulers of the mortal realm, but those were his parent’s dreams, weren’t they? It’s not like he fantasized about ruling the world without them. And while having the puny humans fall to their knees at his family’s might was a future he’d spent ages working for, it wasn’t necessarily something he wanted for himself .

He couldn’t remember any goals from his past either. Everything Red Son did had that unyielding mountain with the Monkey King’s staff in mind. His father’s emancipation had defined his life for centuries, but that wasn’t a want, really. The only reason Red Son dreamed of freeing his father was because he was imprisoned in the first place. If the Monkey King hadn’t locked the Demon Bull King under a mountain, what would Red Son have done with his life? 

What was he doing with it now? His parents’ plans for world domination were now on hiatus, and Red Son busied himself with a multitude of tasks to consolidate their power, but beyond that, what did he do with his time? Meditate? Stare at his guilty little art collection? Try and fail not to think about the Noodle Boy’s grin? 

Red Son had always touted himself as an ambitious demon, but that drive had never been for him alone. Even in his wildest fantasies about the Demon Bull Family taking over the world, Red Son could imagine no greater joy than staying by his parents’ sides. But, shouldn’t he? Red Son built cars, jets, armor which could bend the Monkey King’s staff to its will, gauntlets which could free his father from the crushing force of a mountain, but he couldn’t even begin to draft up some image of the future just for himself. 

Red Son tried to push all these worries to the side. There was nothing wrong with his motivations revolving around his parents. It showed that he was a good, loyal son. In a way, being a good son was his goal, wasn’t it? It was why he raised armies out of scrap metal. It was why he snatched a peach straight from the Queen Mother of the West’s peach orchard. It was why he spent so much of his life tinkering away in his workshop, shelves stuffed with blueprints and prototypes. Even if it did confirm the Noodle Boy’s ridiculous theories and sappy one liners , Red Son didn’t mind being defined by the people he loved. 

But still, the question itched at the back of his throat, curling around his neck as he made adjustments to an old car engine. Did Red Son truly want nothing more than to be a good son? Had he really never had his own wants to work towards? 

The door to Red Son’s workshop swung open. He jolted a bit at the intrusion. Princess Iron Fan almost never visited Red Son while he was working, but now she stood in front of his workshop’s doorway with a frown. 

“Mother!” He tugged off his welding mask, tossing it onto his workshop table. “What a surprise!”

“I won’t be long.” Princess Iron Fan said in a flat tone. “The bull clones in the kitchen are malfunctioning again. Your father is fine with cooking for the next few days, but regardless, I want it fixed as soon as possible.”

“Of course, Mother,” Red Son stated. “I can have it fixed before breakfast tomorrow.” 

“Good. Dinner will be in an hour’s time.” She narrowed her eyes at Red Son. “ I know you’re busy with all your little projects, but don’t be late again.” Red Son nodded frantically.

Princess Iron Fan turned around, about to walk away from Red Son’s workshop when she suddenly stopped. She tugged down her sleeve, scanning her arm. From Red Son’s position, he could see a scrawl of black ink form along her arm. Princess Iron Fan ran over those words with the pad of her thumb, a soft, fond gesture she probably only did because she thought Red Son couldn’t see it. 

Princess Iron Fan looked back at Red Son, whatever softness she had before now veiled in stern neutrality. “Your father also wants you to raise the ceiling in the kitchen. He shouldn’t have to slouch in his own home, hmm?” She raised her brow with an amused expression. 

“Of course not!” Red Son’s voice hitched up in volume. “He should stand tall in his own fortress. I’ll look to have it renovated as soon as possible.” 

Princess Iron Fan nodded as she turned around again to leave. Her arms were behind her back, and Red Son could see the subtle way his mother caressed her wrist, like she was trying to touch the words underneath her long sleeves. 

He spoke before he thought. “Mother?” 

Princess Iron Fan returned to the doorway, tilting her head and looking at Red Son with a raised brow. “Yes?” 

His cheeks began to flush. “How-” Red Son stumbled over his words, suddenly embarrassed by his own question. He forced the words out before humiliation clamped his mouth shut. “How did-how did you and father-erm-how did you meet? ” 

Princess Iron Fan snorted, a hand on her hip. “Shouldn’t you know this already?” She sneered. 

“I know I should!” Red Son’s hands scrambled up in defense, face burning in shame. Maybe he should set some time aside to plan the Noodle Boy’s demise. If it weren’t for him and that stupid haunting conversation, he wouldn’t have bothered asking in the first place. 

“I just wanted to hear it again. I haven’t heard the story of how you met in…” Red Son scratched the back of his neck, digging his fingers under his turtleneck. “I haven’t heard it in a long time.”

Princess Iron Fan stared at Red Son with pursed lips. Her expression was analytical, careful, precise. Irrationally, Red Son wondered if his mother had somehow discovered the distraction which hung over his head in a golden sappy fog and was about to expose him for it. 

Eventually though, Princess Iron Fan sighed, crossing her arms. “Your father was sworn brothers with Sun Wukong. I was a member of the Jade Emperor's court. Their whole band wanted to take down the Jade Emperor, and as a celestial maiden I was obligated to battle against them. 

She leaned against the door frame “I fought your father and beat him. He claimed it was love at first sight. After about a decade of courting, I accepted.” Her lip curled into a snarl. “We eloped quickly.” The bite in her tone made it clear that she would not elaborate. 

The story, for all its bluntness, was starting to sound familiar to Red Son now. His mother didn’t speak much about her time in the Jade Emperor’s court, nor did his family talk about the time before Sun Wukong had become their enemy, but he knew enough about their pasts that none of it was particularly news to Red Son. And while he couldn’t remember being told this story to him, none of it was all that shocking, so maybe it was something his parents told him a lifetime ago. 

Still though, Red Son found himself baffled by a part of his mother’s story. Or rather, he was confused that she hadn’t mentioned it at all. 

“That’s it?” Red Son blurted out. He slapped a hand over his mouth. He was going to turn that Noodle Brain into barbeque. 

Princess Iron Fan’s eyes widened in surprise. She barked out a laugh. “Did you find my life story lacking?” 

“No, no, of course I didn’t, Mother!” Red Son scrambled around his work table and approached his mother with clasped hands, voice half an octave higher as he scrambled to amend his statement. “I-I’m just surprised that the bond you have with Father didn’t play a bigger role in your courtship!”

Princess Iron Fan raised her brow. “Bond? What are you-” The moment she realized what Red Son was referring to, she snorted. “Oh, that? Please. We didn’t discover we shared skin until after we’d gotten married.” 

The floor seemed to tilt five degrees. Red Son grabbed a nearby shelf of blueprints for support. “You didn’t know?” 

Princess Iron Fan scoffed. “How could we have known? Your father was covered near head-to-toe in fur, and I would never get ink on my person.” She said all this like it was plainly obvious and not completely shocking news to Red son. “Your father figured he had no bond and when I was in the Jade Emperor’s court, I wouldn’t have even considered a demon for a partner, much less assumed I’d have my soul intertwined with one.” Princess Iron Fan shrugged. “During our courtship, neither of us even entertained the thought.

“We only discovered we were bonded because a servant knocked some ink onto my hand.” Princess Iron Fan recalled the story as she picked at her nails. “Your father was worried that the dark spot that formed on his hand was some sort of curse, so he sought my counsel on how best to get rid of it. He burst open my study to see me yelling at some servant for knocking my inkwell over. Demon Bull King took one look at the mess on my hand and realized we were bonded.” 

She sighed. “Your father was always the romantic. Once learning our souls were intertwined, he insisted that fate had brought us together to take on the world. He used to write to me so often my palms looked black. And for all his complaining about the loss of his fur, your father loves to cover my arms in words.” She rolled her eyes, a small and surely involuntary smile on her lips. “I love him enough to humor his sentimentality.” 

Red Son’s mouth bobbed, shocked at all this new information. He had always assumed that the bond his parents shared was of deep importance to them both. Wasn’t that why Princess Iron Fan wrapped herself up in ancient blankets and smacked the hands that tried to touch her hair? 

Red Son tried to collect himself the best he could, but his voice still came out a bit too high pitched. “So then, if you and father weren’t soulmates-” 

Red Son was cut off by a laugh. “I thought you’d have grown out of your attachment to soulmates by now.” Princess Iron Fan smirked behind her hand. “And you still use that human word?” The back of Red Son’s ears steamed in embarrassment. 

Despite her teasing, Princess Iron Fan did answer Red Son’s question. “Our bond was irrelevant to my courtship, and it was irrelevant to my continued loyalty to Demon Bull King. If our souls weren’t intertwined, the only thing that would change is that my skin would look cleaner.” 

Princess Iron Fan looked down at her arm, tugging down her sleeve. She sighed, speaking to Red Son in a low, gentle voice now. “When your father courted me, he told me his plans to make the mortal realm submit to his rule. He told me of machinations he’d spent centuries planning in secret. And he told me that once he met me, he couldn’t imagine any of his successes if I wasn’t by his side.” 

Princess Iron Fan brushed her husband’s note with the pad of her thumb, a careful tenderness to her touch. “He offered me a future beyond the Jade Emperor’s court. And I accepted it.” She murmured. 

Her grip on her arm tightened, nails digging into her skin. “I could have married any demon I desired after the Monkey King imprisoned my husband. The fact that we shared skin was irrelevant; his imprisonment might as well have widowed me.” She rolled her eyes and sneered.  “And plenty of demons would love a celestial maiden as their consort.” 

Red Son remembered the demons who ran their hands through her mother’s hair–kings with glorious riches, vast armies, great demonic strength, who would whisper in her ear and plant unwelcome kisses on her cheek. 

“But, I didn’t remarry.” Princess Iron Fan looked up at Red Son with a tired look in her eyes as she spoke. “I could not imagine any of my successes without him by my side.” 

Yes, Red Son remembered his mother’s suitors well. He also remembered having the first bull clone prototypes clean their fingers off the ground, severed by the cutting winds of his mother’s fan. 

“Now, is that all you wanted to ask?” Princess Iron Fan pulled her sleeve back up.

It wasn’t, but before Red Son could even begin to speak, she nodded her head. “Good.” With a sweep of her dress, Princess Iron Fan walked away from Red Son’s workshop, leaving him alone with her story. 

Later that night, Red Son watched as his mother whispered into his father’s ear during dinner. DBK laughed, his booming voice making the plates shake. Princess Iron Fan grinned at this, whispering more to coax that laughter out of her husband’s chest. It was a near endless cycle of Princess Iron Fan’s salacious gossip making the Demon Bull King howl, a noise which only encouraged her to tell him more delicious scandals. 

The memories Red Son had of his parents took on a different hue now as he stared at them. He had chalked their bond up to the power of an intertwined soul, but in retrospect, that was a childish way to look at love, wasn’t it? There was a reason why Princess Iron Fan had left her husband’s inkwell behind but took their blankets wherever she traveled. She could live without messages scrawled up her arms and the stench of ink in the air, but not without her husband curled into her side each evening. For all the pretentious poetry and old traditions of prosperous marriages, it wasn’t enough to be intertwined. Shared skin alone meant nothing. 

Red Son should’ve known that more than anyone. 

The sensation of marker against Red Son’s skin should have been familiar now, but it jolted him out of his thoughts. Red Son placed his hand over where he could feel his soulmate drawing, right over his left pec. It was surely an awkward position to draw from, but then again the drawing across his skin would pop up in weird places now and then. Red Son supposed his soulmate must have been using some sort of mirror to properly draw. It had to be difficult from whatever contorted angle they were using to draw on their own chest. 

A curious part of Red Son wanted to question his soulmate about their methods, but he knew better than to bother with that. Even if he allowed himself to make such pleasant small talk, he didn’t have the time for it. Red Son’s workload had just grown, and the night was still rather young. He excused himself from dinner early, thanking his father for the meal and stealing one last dumpling before getting to work. 

Even accounting for the new errands, Red Son worked far later into the evening than he’d expected. The bull clones in the kitchen seemed to be affected by the steam, which corroded their circuit boards. Red Son had thought he made the bull clones more water resistant, but he supposed he still had work to do. 

Then he had to go through the old floor plans to make sure lifting up the kitchen ceiling wouldn’t accidentally take out the floor of a different room or mess with the piping throughout the fortress. Not to mention Red Son’s renovations might accidentally trigger one of the many traps set throughout the fortress, so he had to make sure not to get impaled while working.

This, of course, was already on top of his plans that evening to finish tinkering with his old car engine. Red Son had just finished the blueprints for an all terrain race-car, so he had been going through old scraps to see if he could cobble something together with them. And of course, these tasks were on top of Red Son’s typical nightly maintenance checks with the bull clones and their artillery. 

Red Son didn’t mind working late into the night though. He liked when he had just a bit too much to do. There was something satisfying about crashing onto his bed as the sky turned a dull shade of azure, his duties complete until the sun rose but a few hours later. It wasn’t the healthiest lifestyle, but it was one Red Son had grown accustomed to.

Red Son’s ventures into architecture were novel, and therefore required more of his attention, but everything else was so routine from centuries of tinkering that he barely had to focus on it at all. So as Red Son worked, his mind found itself wandering to two distractions. 

The first, of course, was what had been haunting him for weeks now– that final conversation with the Noodle Boy that had thrown Red Son into near-existential crisis. But frankly, if Red Son had to think about the Noodle Boy for another second, he’d throw a fit, and he didn’t want to do that around a bunch of glitching bull clones. So, he forced himself to linger on the second distraction, even though it was arguably more destructive than the first. That night, Red Son indulged in the sensation of his soulmate drawing on their skin. 

Every now and then, his soulmate would draw late into the night. Most nights they stopped about an hour after midnight to continue the next day. There were the rare evenings where Red Son woke up with a masterpiece across his skin as well. Tonight, however, Red Son and his soulmate were both awake far later than they should’ve been, the two of them intensely focused on their respective work. 

He could feel them drawing across his chest, the press of the marker traveling from the center of his sternum to the ends of his clavicles. Every now and then, the marker would graze across a ticklish area; Red Son would hike up his shoulders and try not to giggle at the foreign sensation. It was a detailed work to be sure–Red Son could tell by the careful, precise strokes along his ribcage. They didn’t pause to nap or even rest their hands. His soulmate drew carefully, relentlessly, deep into the night. 

As Red Son finished cleaning his work desk for the evening, all his tasks finally completed, he was surprised to feel his soulmate still diligently drawing. Red Son grazed his fingers against his chest, the freshly-drawn lines just beneath his turtleneck. 

It was so late at night it was practically morning, and Red Son had been doing nothing but work for hours on end. He’d spent the better part of the evening indulging in the feel of felt-pens, and he was too exhausted now to think rationally. Curiosity got the best of him. 

Red son pulled a fountain pen out of his work desk, tugged down his sleeve, and for the first time ever he asked his soulmate a question.

How can you draw on your chest? Wouldn’t it crane your neck to look down that long? 

It took a few seconds for Red Son to get an answer in bright red marker. 

HI!!!

Despite how late it was, Red Son could feel the same overwhelming energy his soulmate had spilling from their words. 

You’re up really late! I mean, I’m also up late so I can’t judge, but I sort of didn’t expect you to also be up. I also didn’t expect you to write to me first?? Or at all, really. That was kind of mean. But also, I don't really expect you to write, so maybe it's not mean at all? I'm really tired. 

Red Son’s soulmate replaced the thick red marker with a smaller technical pen halfway through their ramblings. He honestly wasn’t sure why his soulmate hadn’t switched sooner. The marker was so blocky that it took up a large chunk of space across Red Son’s arm. But then again, why did Red Son care? Wouldn’t it be better for Red Son if his soulmate wasted the space on their arms so this conversation could end quickly?

He shook those questions away to read. 

Okay but to answer your question, I don’t just crane my neck to draw. Sometimes I’m inspired to draw somewhere specific, but it’s sort of hard to look at, so I have a couple mirrors to make it easier to see. I’ve got this whole set up on my bed right now. 

Red Son must have been more exhausted than he thought, because his refusal to properly acknowledge his soulmate was beat out by the irrational desire to keep asking questions. 

Wouldn’t it still be uncomfortable to draw on yourself like that? 

Red Son’s soulmate responded after a short second. 

I mean, sometimes I’ll wake up after drawing somewhere hard to reach and my arms will still hurt, but I think it’s worth it. I’m usually pretty sore throughout the day from work and stuff anyways. The pain all kind of blends together. 

Red Son snorted, considering for a moment whether or not he should recommend his soulmate to a masseuse. Instead, he got up from his chair, scrawling across his arm. 

I was surprised you were still drawing by the time I was finished with my work. It’s so late it’s basically early.

His soulmate had just begun to write What are you working on, but they crossed it out before Red Son had even finished his sentence. That relieved Red Son. He wasn’t exactly sure how he felt about telling his soulmate he was repairing bull clones for a future Demon Bull King conquest. 

Red Son took his pen with him as he exited his workshop. His parents were both asleep, so he let himself pull down his coat sleeve to read his soulmate’s writing. 

Yeah, to be honest, my sleep schedule’s been kind of terrible lately. I want to be better, but it’s really hard. I already had work before, but now I’ve got training so my schedule’s even MORE full. I just want to sleep for a million years ;n;

Red Son snorted. His soulmate was the self destructive type it seemed, juggling a plethora of responsibilities to the point of exhaustion. (What did a human need to train for anyways?) Not that Red Son could particularly judge, seeing how he was trudging up the steps in the dead of night, eyelids heavy and arms aching. 

Red Son stopped in the middle of the steps to ask a question. 

If you want to sleep more, why would you stay up this late to draw on yourself?

He really wasn’t sure why he was being so chatty, but he didn’t have the brain power to stop it, focusing on the words which etched across his skin. 

I love drawing! And because I don’t have time in the day, I have to do it now. I don’t want to have to stop doing something I love just because I’m busy. 

Red Son supposed that made sense. Some of the vehicles he built admittedly leaned more towards a passion project than Demon Bull King asset, but he still made time to work on them simply because he enjoyed the process of inventing. 

His soulmate seemed to pause for a moment, marker hovering just close enough to their skin that Red Son could feel the tip against his goosebumps. For a moment, Red Son wondered if his soulmate had actually fallen asleep, but then more writing appeared on his skin. 

And honestly, drawing is a really good distraction from everything. 

Everything? Red Son wondered as he entered his room. His soulmate must be going through something difficult at the moment. Maybe they were using this late night art session as a distraction.

The hand which held his pen twitched, almost tempted to ask them to elaborate. Red Son slapped that hand, hard. He really had to be sleep deprived. Red Son didn’t care about whatever puny mortal struggle his soulmate was going through, and he certainly didn’t want it staining his skin. 

With a flick of Red Son’s hand, he turned on a couple candles strewn throughout his room. He’d been staring at bright screens in his well-lit workshop all evening, so he needed his eyes to rest. However, his soulmate was still writing along their forearm and against his all rational judgment, Red Son wanted to read what they had to say. 

Luckily, his soulmate didn’t bother elaborating on what was wrong.  As Red Son threw his coat onto a nearby chair, they continued to write in that same perky, overly energetic style they always used. 

Plus, I’ve been meaning to draw this for FOREVER but so many things just keep happening that I keep forgetting to do it. It’s basically done now though,so I think I’m gonna pass out soon. 

After a second, his soulmate wrote in tiny letters near the inside of Red Son’s elbow. 

I really hope you like it. 

Red Son couldn’t help the small involuntary smile growing on his face. His chest felt warm as he wrote back. 

I’m sure I will. I always do. 

With Red Son’s forearm being nearly completely covered, his soulmate continued to write elsewhere, the words forming on the back of Red Son’s left hand. 

Okay, but I REALLY want you to like this one. I made it just for you. 

Red Son paused at the last sentence, staring at it with narrowed eyes. What exactly did they mean by making it just for him? 

There was a large mirror which hung against the wall of Red Son’s room, some of the lit candles standing around it and giving the reflective glass a dim glow. As Red Son stepped closer to the mirror, he could feel his soulmate writing alongside the back of his right hand. He disregarded it to tug off his turtleneck and throw it alongside his coat. 

There were dozens of bright red flowers blossoming on Red Son’s chest. 

They bloomed out the center of his sternum, growing across his ribcage and up his collarbone, leaves dancing along the edge of his clavicle. The petals looked soft against Red Son’s skin, the coloring and shading so carefully done that he could almost mistake them for being real. Red Son stepped closer to the mirror, wrapping his arms around his chest. 

I know what these are. The realization suddenly shot through the back of Red Son’s head as he stared at what his soulmate had been carefully drawing for the past hours. When Red Son crossed his arms, it looked as though he was holding a massive bouquet of peonies, the flowers so large and bountiful they looked as though they were spilling out from his grasp. 

Red Son looked down at his soulmate’s newest message. It was written in slightly shakier handwriting, like they were using their nondominant hand to send the message. 

You said your favorite flower was peonies a while back, so I bought a few and learned how to draw them. Do you like it? 

Oh. 

A laugh escaped Red Son’s lips. It sounded more like a wheeze. 

His soulmate was an idiot. An absolute moron. They spent hours drawing something for Red Son–hours they could have spent getting some well needed sleep– when he couldn’t even bring himself to ask if they were okay. Why would they put in that much time and effort for him?

Red Son grazed his hand across one of the flower’s petals. In the mirror and the dim light of his bedroom, the flowers almost looked real, like Red Son could dip his hand into his skin and pluck their petals. When was the last time he had held a peony in his hand? Since he was a toddler, giggling behind bushes and dreaming of a soulmate to laugh with? 

That’s something I wanted. The thought occurred to Red Son as he stared at his chest and the garden which bloomed across it. I wanted a soulmate for myself. Honestly, it’s the first thing I can remember wanting. Not a particularly ambitious dream, but it was mine. 

He chuckled to himself. Father tried to keep his inkwell up on the highest shelf, but I always found a way to get to it. I practically tortured the servants in charge of keeping me clean. Red Son’s laughter was warm, nostalgia melting in his chest and making him smile softly. All I wanted was to wake up to their words on my skin. I wanted someone to talk back to me. 

But then, Father was sealed away. Red Son’s smile faded away. And after that, I… Red Son ran a hand across the garden on his chest. For how soft the flowers looked, they couldn’t imitate the feel of peony petals between his fingers. I didn’t have time to want anymore. 

He snorted as looked at himself in the mirror. I might have wanted it as a child, but I can’t pursue my soulmate now. But, it’s not like I’d want to anyways. They're human, after all. Red Son’s lip curled into a snarl as his fingers grazed one of the leaves against his collarbone. They might be eager to speak to me, but if they knew who I was, they wouldn’t let a drop of ink touch their hand. 

Even if they did accept me–and that’s an impossible if–It’d be less than a century together for millennia of humiliation throughout every demon court. It wouldn’t be worth the trouble. Red Son dug his nails into his skin, trying to pluck a peony off his chest. He only scratched against his skin. I get reminded of my weakness enough without them. 

Red Son sighed. Soulmates were always a word for humans and a dream for toddlers. I was a spoiled, naive little prince back then, but I know better now. I’m used to plans never going my way. I’ll just find some other thing to wa-

A drop of water fell onto Red Son’s arm, stirring him out of his thoughts. For a moment, he wondered if his ceiling was leaking, until he realized his vision was blurred and his cheeks were steaming. At some point, Red Son had started to cry. 

“Oh.” Red Son took off his glasses to wipe his tears with the heel of his hand, but for some reason they just kept falling. 

Red Son wrapped his arms around his chest as his breath began to quicken, gasping for air. The ache in his chest was painful, like thick roots were coiling between the bones of Red Son’s ribcage. Red Son choked on his own tears, beginning to properly cry now. He had made the mistake of glancing in the mirror to see the bouquet of peonies overflowing from his arms. reminding him of the goal that had unknowingly slipped through his fingers, and it made him sob. 

The tears which fell from Red Son’s eyes steamed his cheeks and ran down his chin. As he crumpled onto the floor, they landed on his chest and watered the peonies. But they couldn’t wash them away, no matter how much it hurt to feel their roots dig into Red Son’s lungs. Those flowers were drawn by a hand Red Son would only know through felt-tip markers and ball point pens. By another soul, talented and long winded and unfortunately intertwined with his own. 

And as much as the petals made him want to pull out his hair and cry even more, Red Son knew that he’d take a picture of them all the same, to file under “drawings” and stare at when he was alone. He was just so bad at ignoring things. 

Red Son sat on his bedroom floor, sobbing into the garden which grew on his chest and stretched across his collarbone.

Chapter Text

At some point, Red Son finished renovating the fortress. The bull clones were in top shape and the engines of his vehicles roared beautifully. The Demon Bull Family still needed time before they began to attempt world conquering, but it was less a matter of resources and more a matter of opportunity. 

His parents seemed content with their hiatus from world conquering though. They were taking their time to rest and recoup, allowing themselves to get comfortable in their new home. Right now, Red Son’s mother and father seemed less focused on their ambitions and more focused on simply being together. 

The Demon Bull King had been imprisoned for so long that much of the world’s new technology fascinated him. He seemed to enjoy television at the moment. Red Son could hear the TV he installed in his parent’s bedroom blasting even in the dead of night, his father amazed by what was on the screen. He could hear his father’s impassioned rants about his favorite baking show intercut with his mother’s laughter echoing down the halls. It was a welcome noise, which made the gaunt fortress feel just a bit more homely. 

Red Son, however, wasn’t quite as content to spend his days watching tv. For all his royal blood, he was a worker at heart, and when he had nothing to do with his hands all he could really do was sit and think. And lately, all of Red Son’s thoughts just traveled to the same miserable places– the smell of ink on his skin, the picture of peonies on his collarbone which he saved and stared at nightly, the Noodle Boy’s grin as he called him my hero. They were all subjects which Red Son spent far more time on than he liked, and he wished he could distract himself with something to do already. 

But, he had finished all his major projects, his parents weren’t making any plans for attack, and as much as Red Son hated to admit it, the Noodle Boy was right–he didn’t care enough about world conquest to do it on his own. So despite the frustratingly boring days and existentially miserably nights, Red Son made the best of it, passing platters of duck across the dinner table as Princess Iron Fan spoke about the latest politics to her husband and got him back on track with the juicy gossip. He popped a lotus root into his mouth as he listened to his parents’ snide remarks about the newest drama in the celestial realm, trying to quell the shaking in his leg. 

When the Lady Bone Demon returned, his mother just sighed, placing her chopsticks down. “There is little we can do about her return, beyond hope she does not reenter our lives.” 

The Demon Bull King’s grip on his cup was so tight it dented the cup. 

Princess Iron Fan cleared her throat. “My love, where did you get this dumpling recipe? Was it from that new cooking show you’ve been watching while I sleep?” 

The topic shifted suddenly as DBK began to discuss his midnight binge of Cooking With Chang’e. Watching his parents force such meaningless small talk, Red Son realized that there was an unspoken agreement within the air. The Demon Bull Family would not allow themselves to get involved with her again. 

Maybe it was because Red Son had been itching to do something now that all his major projects were finished, but this bothered him. Megapolis was supposed to be their capital, wasn’t it? The Demon Bull Family was supposed to shape the world as they saw fit. The Lady Bone Demon was tearing through it–through everything– without any obstacle. And it was only a matter of time before the ice blue fracture which tore through the countryside reached their doorstep. Shouldn’t they try to stop her?

But that was hero talk, wasn’t it? Trying to take down a merciless plague which was ripping through the lands wasn’t exactly a villainous thing to do. Or maybe it wasn’t that Red Son was a hero, but that he was just too loving, trying to take back the world for his parents to hold. 

Red Son stuffed his face with rice, grumbling to himself. 

Red Son was surprised the Noodle Boy hadn’t tried to stop the Lady Bone Demon yet. Surely, the Monkie Kid should be able to defeat her with ease. And yet, there was no news of a grinning little mortal taking her on. 

Late at night, as he stared at his collection of ever shifting art, Red Son wondered if maybe the Noodle Brain had already perished at the Lady Bone Demon’s hand. Maybe, the Noodle Boy was one of the first casualties from the conquest of Megapolis. Unease coiled up his spine at the thought. The Noodle Boy was his enemy, but he shouldn’t have to die like … well, like that. 

But then again, why should that bother Red Son at all? Even if he couldn’t claim victory over his family’s enemy, shouldn’t he want the thorn in his side to finally disappear? 

Red Son didn’t like thinking about what he should want or did want. Not when peony roots still coiled themselves around his ribcage. 

He tried to put all his muddied feelings aside when morning came. Today was going to be a good day. Red Son had finally finished the test runs on his all terrain race car, and now it was time to really give it a spin. Red Son always eagerly anticipated the first proper drive of whatever jet or car he had finished building. The joy he felt against a wheel of his own creation, cruising through the land or sky with ease? It was practically unmatched. 

As Red Son tore through the sandy dunes of the desert, he put aside his worries about the fractures across the countryside, the fallen capital the Demon Bull family wanted to call theirs, the peony roots which still curled around his ribcage, golden eyes and wide grins he hadn’t seen in months, allowing himself to take pride in his creation-

Wait, wasn't that the blue guy? 

Red Son narrowed his eyes up ahead at the large blue spot in his way. That…that was the blue guy, wasn’t it? The big one, with the clearly unhealthy cat, who hung around the Monkie Kid? Why exactly was he here? 

As Red Son drove closer, he began to make out a second figure lying next to the blur guy. He scowled. Red Son could recognize that green letterman jacket anywhere–it was the Dragon Girl, face down in the dunes. 

But if she was here, and that blue guy was here, that would have to mean the miserable sweaty human lying on the blue guy’s chest had to be-

Red Son stopped the race car and leaped out. Sure enough, the Noodle Boy was laying on top of the Blue Guy, groaning. He blinked hazily at Red Son, a groan escaping his lips. Red Son stared down at him with a sneer. “Noodle Boy.” 

There had to be some sort of cruel god or cackling trickster demon who enjoyed making Red Son suffer. That had to be it, right? Of all the things Red Son stumbled into in this massive desert, it just HAD to be one of the only people he didn’t want to think about. How did they even GET to this desert?! Megapolis was miles away!

Red Son climbed back into the race car, fully prepared to drive off and have the Monkie Kid eat his literal dust, when suddenly he heard the Noodle Boy groaned again. He had been lying on top of the Blue Guy before, (What was his name again? Something with an S? Sunny?) but he was nearly slipping off now as he blinked at the race car. “R..red?” 

The Noodle Boy’s voice sounded dry, as if the desert sand had caked his throat. He looked, frankly, terrible, His lips were cracked. His tank top was so sweaty it clung to his back. Despite facing Red Son, his eyes barely had the energy to open and actually look at him. 

It occurred to Red Son suddenly that the pig and his soulmate weren’t here, and neither were any of the shambling hunks of metal their gang called vehicles. The three of them must have walked through the desert for who knows how long, given their sorry states. 

Maybe a few months ago, Red Son would have reveled in the sight of the Noodle Boy laid low at his feet, but there was something…pitiable about it now. Something which made Red Son’s hands twitch against the wheel. That unfortunately familiar unease coiled up Red Son’s spine. He disliked the thought of the Noodle Boy dying at the Lady Bone Demon’s hand. Could he stand to let him die in the desert? Shouldn’t he be able to? 

And yet…yet…

Red Son groaned, smacking his head against the steering wheel. Maybe the real answer was that he personally wanted to kill the Noodle Boy. That logic, at the very least, didn’t make the back of Red Son’s neck burn in embarrassment. And he could kill them off right now, if he wanted to. They were too exhausted to stop him. But Red Son could still feel that cheap fabric between his fingers, could still smell the salty sea, could still feel the gaze of golden eyes twinkling at him. He knew that wasn’t the real reason at all.  

Red Son still wasn’t sure why he saved the Noodle Boy then, and he wasn’t entirely sure why he hopped out his race car to save him again. Maybe all that sap and sweetness from the Noodle Boy snuck itself into Red Son and made him grow soft. Red Son didn’t want to believe the Noodle Boy had that much of an effect on him, but how could he possibly say that with his chest when the Noodle Boy had been haunting him for months now? 

It was a struggle to stuff the Monkie Kid and his friends into Red Son’s race car. Red Son was nearly flattened when trying to pick up the Blue Guy. (Salty? Because he lived on the boat?) But eventually, he had everyone tossed into the race car as he drove back to the fortress. His parents would most likely be out for some time before dinner, so chances are he could give them some food and water before kicking them out again. He’d rather not have to explain to his parents why he chose to bring the Monkie Kid to their fortress. 

Once Red Son parked his race car in the garage, he had some bull clones fetch him some water and wet towels. They returned with a tray that contained a large pitcher of water, three tall glasses, and a set of ice cold towels. 

“Have the bull clones in the kitchen make something for them to eat,” Red Son said, taking the tray in his hand. “It doesn’t have to be good, it just has to give them enough energy for them to leave without dying on our territory and quick enough for the bull clones in the kitchen to finish cooking before my parents return.” Red Son tilted his head as he stared at the Noodle Boy, who was drooling on Red Son’s faux-leather seats. “Maybe noodles.” 

The bull clones nodded, giving him a quick salute before heading out. 

Red Son threw the cool damp towels at each person in the race car. It hit each of them on the forehead with a wet smack. None of them seemed to mind Red Son’s delivery method, digging their faces into the cold fabric with a half conscious groan. Red Son rolled his eyes as he filled each glass with water. 

“Red Son?” The Noodle Boy was slumped over the race car, nearly falling out of it to stare at him with narrowed eyes. 

Red Son shoved a glass of water into the Noodle Boy’s hands. “Drink up. Your voice is somehow more grating on my ears than usual.” He kept the other two glasses on the tray for the Dragon Girl and Blue Man (Sandy? No, that couldn’t be it.) The two were completely passed out, but they were in better shape now than they were in the sweltering desert heat. 

Red Son could hear the Noodle Boy chugging the water only to start coughing. “Don’t drink so fast you choke, you idiot.” he snapped. “It’d defeat the whole purpose of me dragging you out of the desert if you died in my garage.” 

The Noodle Boy let out one more hack before turning to Red Son with wide eyes. “It really is you.” He said, almost awestruck. “I thought I was just hallucinating again.” Again? How long were they in that desert for the Noodle Boy to have seen a mirage? 

“I was convinced I had to be seeing things.” The Noodle Boy babbled on. “I mean, why would you be in a desert? And when you threw us into your race car, I thought I was going crazy, or I was being carried off to the afterlife, or, or something! I don’t know! I thought…” He stared down at his now empty glass. “I thought we were goners.”

Red Son grabbed the pitcher to pour the Noodle Boy more water. The Noodle Boy stared as his cup was refilled, slowly looking up at Red Son. 

“You saved me.” He whispered reverently. “Again.” There was no sunlight for his eyes to melt into gold, but the overhanging lights of Red Son’s garage made the Noodle Boy’s eyes sparkle nonetheless. 

A smug smile snaked up the Noodle Boy’s face. Even dehydrated and exhausted, he couldn’t help grinning like a moron. “You really are a hero-” 

Red Son grabbed the towel that had begun to slip off the Noodle Boy’s head and used it to smack the nape of his neck. 

The Noodle Boy yelped, but let the cold towel hang around his neck. “This is not– it was just–I am not a hero!” Red Son cursed, hair igniting in frustration. 

“Well you’ve saved my life, so you’re definitely a hero to me.” The Noodle Boy laughed. “Are you sure you want to keep being my enemy?” 

“Completely.” Red Son sneered, refilling a bit more of the Noodle Boy’s water. 

“Well you’re doing a pretty bad job of it.” The Noodle Boy sipped the water slowly now. “I feel like being enemies and saving my life multiple times doesn't really match up.” 

Red Son groaned, setting the tray down on a nearby worktable in the garage. “Look, I didn’t  rescue you because I want to be your friend or your ally, if that’s what you’re thinking. And if I tried to explain my reasoning to you, it would stir fry your sad little noodle brain. So don’t worry about it.” 

Red Son was, of course, lying through his teeth. He would rather die than admit that there was no real rationale for saving the Noodle Boy’s life beyond a vague desire to not see him die. Why that desire existed at all, Red Son had no idea, but frankly, feeling genuine discomfort at the thought of a hero dying to the point of actively saving them and their friends wouldn’t exactly support Red Son’s argument, so he wasn’t going to bring it up. 

“My parents are not to know of your arrival, obviously.” Red Son stated. “So, you will have to leave before they come home. The bull clones are preparing a meal for you and your friends, so once you’ve all regained your strength, you can go back to-well, whatever you were doing in the desert.” 

The Noodle Boy sputtered mid-drink. “Wait, you’re just gonna throw us back into the desert?” He leaned against the racecar door to look at Red Son. “Can we at least get a ride or something?” 

“No you can’t get a ride!” Red Son snapped. “You think I have nothing better to do than drive you around?” 

“I mean considering you had nothing better to do than drive around in the desert, maybe!” The Noodle Boy exclaimed, putting his drink into one of the cupholders. His tone suddenly shifted as he cradled his chin between his thumb and pointer finger, using his free hand to run it along the race car’s door. “But hey, if you don’t want to drive us, that’s cool. You could always let us borrow this sweet car-” 

Red Son scoffed, so offended a plume of fire shot up his ponytail. “Absolutely not! I just finished the test runs on this car ! Frankly, why would you think I'd lend you any of my vehicles?!” Red Son smacked the hood of the race car to emphasize his point. He leaned over to sneer at The Noodle Boy. “And for your information, I wasn’t driving around the desert because I had ‘nothing better to do.’ I was trying to enjoy the fruits of my labor, when I was rudely interrupted by the three of you dying. ” 

Noodle Boy blinked, furrowing his brow in thought. “Uh, quick question,” he looked up at Red Son with a baffled expression, his gray matter surely struggling to jumpstart any cohesive thought. “Why are you talking about this car like you built it?” 

“Because I did?” Red Son crossed his arms with a huff. “I’ve built everything in here.” 

The Noodle Boy lifted his head up to take in Red Son’s garage and the litany of vehicles which filled them. His eyes widened to the size of noodle bowls as his neurons finally sparked into motion.  

“YOU BUILT ALL OF THESE?!” The Noodle Boy leaned across the car door to shout at Red Son. 

Red Son stepped back, the Noodle Boy far too close for comfort. “Of course I did!” 

“Wait, wait, wait, wait,” The Noodle Boy started to clamber out the race car now, stumbling to the ground before jumping back up. “Did you build the other stuff too? Like, like, that big car with the complex transformation that you chased me down with when we first met,” The Noodle Boy’s hands moved frantically as he tried to come up with more examples. “Or your sports car you used during that one race, or the jet you definitely crashed into the drone copter-” 

Red Son covered his face with his hand and groaned. “Of course I built those. Who do you think made them?” 

“I DON’T KNOW!” The Noodle Boy shouted. “You’re a demon prince, I figured you just commissioned some guy, or had the bull clones make it–”

“Who do you think made the bull clones?! ” Red Son retorted. He really wasn’t sure why this was a surprise, but he supposed that his mechanical expertise hadn’t exactly come up very often in their fights.

The Noodle Boy, however, seemed absolutely floored by this information. “So you made all the bull clones and all your cars and jets and-and-?!” 

“Yes, I’ve built all of it, Noodle Boy.” Red Son pinched the bridge of his nose. A realization occurred to Red Son as he looked up at the Noodle Boy, dumbfounded. “You really shouldn’t be shocked by this. Weren’t you there when I freed my father with the gauntlet?” 

“Okay, but I was kind of distracted trying not to fall on top of–WAIT, YOU MADE THAT TOO?!” The Noodle Boy shouted, tripping over his feet as he ran over to Red Son. 

Red Son sputtered, taking a step back to move away from the Noodle Boy. His lower back bumped into the table, the water within the other two glasses spilling just a bit onto his sleeve. “YOU KNOW I MADE THE GAUNTLET! I HAD JUST FINISHED BRAGGING ABOUT MAKING IT WHEN YOU FELL ON TOP OF ME AND RUINED MY MOMENT!” Red Son glared at the Noodle Boy, tempted to tack on and my life at the end there. 

“OKAY WELL I FORGOT YOU SAID THAT!” The Noodle Boy admitted without a hint of shame or embarrassment. 

“Well it’s not my fault your memory’s worse than a goldfish!” Red Son hissed. 

“Hey!” The Noodle Boy scrunched his face up into the least intimidating scowl Red Son had even seen. “I'm way better than a goldfish.” He said this like a goldfish had personally offended him. 

The Noodle Boy began to pace around the race car, inspecting it as he continued to unravel. “So then, if you made all that, you definitely made the suit of armor DBK used to destroy the city, right?”

Red Son didn’t even dignify that with a response. He just gave the Noodle Boy an exasperated look. 

“Okay, is there anything ELSE that you’ve made that I should know about?!” The Noodle Boy waved his arms. Suddenly, his frenzied pacing skidded to a halt. “Wait. Earlier, I thought I saw this huge fortress when you were driving us, so, we’re probably in there right now.” The Noodle Boy strode over to Red Son. “Your old base got wrecked from when your dad took over the city, so then this is probably your new home. And it’s super far from Megapolis, which explains why you haven’t been around, and-”

For a solid fifteen seconds, The Noodle Boy started murmuring to himself, rubbing his temples as if he could somehow warm what few brain cells existed in his thick skull to form a coherent thought. However, the process seemed to work, because he suddenly gasped, slapping the sides of his face. 

The Noodle Boy gripped Red Son's shoulders. Red Son tensed up immediately at the sudden touch, but the Noodle Boy didn’t seem to care. He stared straight at Red Son as he asked him in a low, shocked tone, “Red Son, did you build this fortress? ”

“Of course not! ” Red Son snapped, trying to jerk the Noodle Boy off but failing miserably. “This place was abandoned when we found it, so we moved in. I didn’t build it from the ground up.” Red Son rolled his eyes and turned his head from the Noodle Boy, trying to ignore his intense stare. “I just oversaw several major renovations to the original structure.” 

The Noodle Boy stared at Red Son like he just admitted to being the Jade Emperor. 

The Noodle Boy’s hands slipped down off Red Son’s shoulders to hold his biceps. Red Son twitched involuntarily at the feel of the Noodle Boy’s fingers. Even with his coat sleeve between them, the touch made Red Son feel horrifically exposed. 

It was at this moment Red Son began to realize the precarious position he’d placed himself in. In saving their lives, Red Son had made the completely moronic decision to let the enemy into his own home . His parents were out, and the bull clones were carrying out their duties. And to top it off, Red Son’s back was up against the table, the Noodle Boy’s hands gripping both his arms.

Red Son could summon his powers for a fight, but the Noodle Boy seemed to have regained his energy. Plus, he couldn’t defeat the Noodle Boy back when he was fighting regularly, and judging by the grip the Noodle Boy had on his shoulders earlier, he wasn’t slacking off on his training. Not to mention, if the Dragon Horse Girl or the Blue Guy woke up, Red Son would have to fight all three of them on his own, and as much as Red Son hated to admit it, he wasn’t confident he would win that battle. 

Adrenaline began to race through Red Son’s body, his palms growing hot and his eyes darting around the garage for some sort of escape. His mind began to scramble as it searched desperately through his brain for a plan. Red Son’s hands began to subtly reach behind him for the water pitcher to smash over the Noodle Boy’s head in a futile effort to knock him out when he spoke. 

“Red Son.” The ceiling lights glittered like stars in the Noodle Boy’s eyes. “That’s so cool! ” 

Uh. Those weren’t fighting words. 

“What, what-?” Red Son could barely get out his words before the Noodle Boy’s grip tightened, making Red Son jolt. “You built all that crazy powerful stuff?!” The Noodle Boy shouted. “And by yourself?!” 

“I-um-yes?” Red Son stuttered. He often had bull clones pitch in to help him work, and bull clone production itself had become manufactured. but Red Son still very much got his hands dirty. He was the one making new models and doing routine maintenance on his works. So yes, he supposed he was technically building all of these things by himself. 

“That’s awesome, Red Son!!” The Noodle Boy exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. Red Son could barely feel relieved at the freedom from the Noodle Boy’s touch. Not when the word awesome rattled in his skull and made his head spin. 

“I can make cool mechs and stuff with the staff, but that’s mystic monkie powers. I just kind of think about whatever new thing I want and wave my staff around until I get it, that’s not me actually knowing what I’m doing.” The Noodle Boy admitted. There was a perfectly reasonable insult just laying there for Red Son to take, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak. 

“You know how to actually build this stuff though!” The Noodle Boy yelled with a grin only for it to quickly disappear as he leaned a little too close to Red Son's face. “Unless, you do have some magic tech power? It’d still be super cool, just in a different way.” 

Red Son coughed into his fist, trying to make himself sound collected. His voice came out shrill and tiny. “No. I do not have ‘magic tech powers.’” He couldn’t even bring himself to tack on the typical Noodle Brain at the end there. Not now when he was staring at Red Son with such glee. 

“Ohhh, so you’re super smart and super powerful, got it.” The Noodle Boy nodded affirmatively. Smart and powerful rang in Red Son’s ears as the Noodle Boy continued to ramble, running around the race car and even leaping into it. “I can’t believe I didn’t know about this! You should brag about this all the time. If I made half these things, I’d never shut up about it. They’re incredible- you’re incredible!”

Red Son wanted to tell the Noodle Boy that he had, in fact, bragged about building the gauntlet, and probably bragged about building other things too, but the moment the Noodle Boy called him incredible, whatever smarmy retort Red Son had shriveled up into an undignified squeak . He would have worried about the Noodle Boy hearing him except he was too busy somehow still talking. 

“Whenever you talked about how stupid I was, I thought you were just being mean because we’re enemies, but honestly? I get it now.” The Noodle Boy popped his head out the car to look at Red Son with a horrifically bright smile. “You’re a genius!” 

Look, Red Son knew he was smart. Or at the very least, he knew he was capable of inventing advanced technology that most beings could barely fathom, much less replicate. But the Demon Bull Family cared about results, which Red Son more often than not failed to show, so while he was aware of his intelligence, it wasn’t exactly something he got much praise for. So Red Son would admit, when his parents did show pride in his work, he had a tendency to get…a bit jelly-legged.

But that was his parents complimenting him for his hard work. He didn’t expect to have this kind of reaction from Noodle Boy complimenting him. But then again, the Noodle Boy wasn’t complimenting Red Son as much as he was showering him in so much praise that it shot right through his usual arrogance and pomp to make his brain steam.  

Red Son ran a hand through his tuft of hair. It was frankly a bit humiliating how overwhelmed he was by all this. A couple compliments about how smart and powerful he was and now Red Son had to keep himself from melting onto the floor. Red Son didn’t think flattery would be his weakness and yet here he was, struggling to even think straight as the Noodle Boy continued to enthusiastically sing his praises. 

Red Son gripped the ledge of the table, leaning against it for support. This was worse than fighting. Could they just start fighting? Red Son already felt hot, cheeks burning and neck so warm that he wondered if steam would puff out his high collar, so it wouldn’t be all that hard for him to light a flame and start a fight so they should really start fighting right now instead of talking, merciful and compassionate Guanyin, why was he still talking?

“Is this why we haven’t seen you in a while? Were you making all this??” Noodle Boy gasped loudly, eyes wide and sparkling with glee. “Oh, oh!! I wanna see what you’re working on!” His hands flew so quickly around the air it was hard for Red Son to keep track of them. “I bet it’s all big and red and flamey and cool, and that it’s got all sorts of rockets and fire stuff!” 

The Noodle Boy wasn’t at all refined or eloquent in his praise. “Flamey” wasn’t even a real word. Yet somehow, the stumbling run on sentences that amounted to the Noodle Boy’s compliments were actually affecting Red Son. Red Son covered his face with his hands, groaning. He should have left him for the vultures. 

“WAIT. I just had the BEST idea.” The Noodle Boy almost flung himself across the race car’s hood. Wasn’t he dying in the desert a half an hour ago? Where did he get all this energy? 

The Noodle Boy bunched his fists together to pump excitedly. “We should totally build something together.”

Red Son’s grip on the table was so tight he honestly thought he might snap a piece off. “What?” 

The Noodle Boy’s hands danced in the air as he raved. “We could build a giant robot or a super powerful mech–well, a mech and a robot aren’t super different. Are they different? You’d probably know that. But that’s not the point!” 

He looked up at Red Son with a wide grin stretched across his face. “You can do all the super smart engineering stuff, and I can help get supplies using the staff, and we can build something cool! I could even do the paint job!”

 Ah. Red Son’s grip on the table loosened as he began to compute what the Noodle Boy was saying. That was his game. These compliments came at a price. 

“You fight dirtier than I thought.” Red Son crossed his arms, moving away from the worktable to the Noodle Boy, finally sobering up to reality enough that he trusted his legs not to give out on him. “Do you really think a couple compliments will make me betray my parents?” 

The Noodle Boy blinked. “Uhhh, what?”

“I’m not that easy to buy, Noodle Boy.” Red Son sneered as he stepped closer to the racecar. “No amount of praise will make me tolerate you enough to work with you.” 

“That wasn’t what I-” The Noodle Boy tried to protest, but Red Son cut him off, leering over him. 

“Frankly, you of all people should know that already. Weren’t you the one with that nonsensical hypothesis about my motivations?” Red Son tried to pretend it was a fuzzy memory for him, and not a haunting image which still whispered in his ears. “You would think a hero would like you would believe that love was more powerful than a few pretty lies.” 

The Noodle Boy frowned. “I wasn’t trying to get you to join me. I mean, I still think you’re totally hero material, but even if you weren’t, I’d still think it’s cool that you did all this.” He waved his arms around to gesture to Red Son’s various creations. “Plus, why would I lie to you about finding this stuff cool if I wanted you to join me? Wouldn’t I want you on my side because you’re a genius?” 

Red Son sputtered, trying to find a way to respond, but he couldn’t come up with any real retort. 

The Noodle Boy sat up properly on the car hood as he spoke. “Look, I still don’t think you’re that much of a villain, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to lie to you.” He looked up at Red Son with such sincerity that Red Son worried his legs would start to fail him again. “All this? It’s amazing. And you’re amazing for making it.”

Red Son crossed his arms and cursed under his breath, unable to look the Noodle Boy in the eyes. He was supposed to be dumber than this. He was supposed to be an idiot with dust particles where gray matter should be. But somehow his words always dug under Red Son’s skin, leaving him feeling vulnerable and exposed and angry at himself for not being angrier over such humiliation. 

Red Son forced a scoff out of his mouth. “You should really rework your ideas about villains and heroes if you still think I could be one. ” He sneered. “Almost every build you’ve been praising I’ve used to help my parents try to take over the world.” 

“I never said you did hero stuff. Just that you have hero motivations.” The Noodle Boy pointed out. “I mean, if you loved someone who wasn’t a super evil demon king who wanted to take over the mortal realm, you wouldn’t be a villain anymore, right?” 

“That hypothetical isn’t even worth considering.” Red Son turned away from the Noodle Boy with a snarl. “I’m not going to love anyone else.” 

It was a blunt sentence, heavy and leaden as it left Red Son’s mouth, but it was true, wasn’t it? He had his father, his mother, and the husks of metal whose wires he reworked every evening to distract him from his thoughts. There was no one else he could even consider loving. 

Red Son’s hand grazed over his coat, its fabric the same bright shade of red as the peonies which once blossomed underneath it. The last time his soulmate had drawn anything was a week before the Lady Bone Demon’s return, a scuffed doodle of a grinning pig on his ankle. 

With every day Red Son’s skin remained bare, he would stare at the picture of that doodle and wonder if the Lady Bone Demon had killed that human off. 

It would make Red Son’s life easier if she did–he wouldn’t have to wait a century for them to leave him alone. But the thought made his heart twist in his chest, as if the roots of those long-gone peonies were tightening their grip. The back of Red Son’s eyes still pricked with tears at the image of those peonies on his chest. He never told his soulmate whether or not he liked the drawing. He wanted to hate it for the way it curled itself into his ribcage making him weep like a child, but he still kept staring at it, running his hands along his now bare collarbone. 

The Noodle Boy was quiet. Even though he was turned away, Red Son could tell he was staring. He huffed, cracking his neck and straightening his shoulders to try to make himself still seem intimidating. He wasn't sure just how heavy the scent of peonies wafted off him in that moment, but Red Son hoped his vulnerabilities weren't so obvious as he looked back at the Noodle Boy with a glare. "What?" 

“Look,” The Noodle Boy stretched himself across the car hood to pick up his glass of water from the cup holder. “Maybe you don’t have to love someone to be a hero, but you have to care enough to do something, right?” He sat up properly once he had a hold of the cup, tapping the glass lightly with his finger nails. 

”You said earlier your parents couldn’t find out about this. Which means that even though you knew they’d disapprove, you still saved our lives.” The Noodle Boy looked down at his glass. “I know you said your reasons for saving us would fry my brain or whatever, but you had to care enough to save us in the first place, right? And you had to care enough about us to go against the only people you think you'll ever love." 

Red Son’s brow furrowed. The Noodle Boy had made a point Red Son hadn’t fully considered until just then. He knew his parents wouldn’t approve of this little rescue mission, but instead of abandoning it Red Son had snuck them in. And why? It’s not like Red Son wanted the thorn in his side to succeed, and yet he still couldn’t help but save him.

Saving the Monkie Kid and his friends wasn’t just a stupid move–it was a traitorous one, one that should have gone against everything Red Son stood for. And maybe Red Son would have started to panic as the memory of ice cold eyes and whispers of traitor sunk into his bones, but then, the Noodle Boy smiled at him. 

“I know you hate being called a hero, or my hero, but you cared enough to save us.” The Noodle Boy’s eyes crinkled a bit as his smile widened. “And that makes you a hero to me.”

That ice cold fear of being a traitor melted away, replaced only by a mess of emotions Red Son still couldn’t name, much less untangle. It unfurled in his chest, blossoming out his heart and lungs. Red Son wondered if he’d take his shirt off tonight to find some other garden across his collarbone, as if the warmth of sun-melting eyes had let some lovely new weed grow on Red Son’s skin.

Someone groaned in the back of the race car. Red son wrenched his gaze away from the Noodle Boy, thankful for the distraction. The Blue Guy and the Dragon Girl were beginning to wake up now, blearily taking in their surroundings. 

The Blue Guy moved the cold towel away from his face, blinking slowly. “Where are we?”

“I think we’re at a car show? An evil car show.” The Dragon Girl looked around the garage, eyes wide before her gaze landed on Red Son. She raised her brow. “Why is Red Boy here? And where’s my-oh there’s my jacket!” She grabbed the letterman jacket folded nearly in the backseat and shook it out, waves of sand showering Red Son’s car. 

“WOULD YOU STOP THAT?!” Red Son yelled, racing over to the Dragon Girl to stop her from getting his car dirty. It was too late–Red Son could see small piles of sand all over the faux-leather seats. He groaned, smacking his face. “Get out of my car before you somehow break it with your filthy peasant hands!”

The Blue Guy and Dragon Girl stumbled out of the car, still weak from their dehydration. Red Son grabbed the tray from the table and shoved a glass into their hands as he spoke. “I found you all dying in the desert, and for reasons I will not be explaining, I saved your pathetic little lives. The bull clones are making you food which you will eat quickly before I escort you out of my home.”

Red Son opened the door from the garage into the rest of the fortress, hand on his hip as he sneered. “Follow me. Dinner’s probably almost ready, and even if it isn’t, I want you out of my garage.” The Monkie Kid and his gang of friends all lined up, sipping their water and rubbing their towels against their faces. 

“Oh, and keep your hands to yourselves.” Red Son sneered. “I don’t want to explain why anything is broken or missing.” 

“Got it boss!” The Noodle Boy grinned as he gave Red Son a salute. “We won’t even look!” 

Sometimes Red Son forgot that for all his warmth and gold and light, the Noodle Boy was perfectly capable of doing terrible things to get his way. Like stealing. And lying to Red Son about stealing. And busting a hole in the fortress he’d finally finished renovating.

The third one, to be fair, was on the Dragon Horse Girl and the Blue Guy (Apparently he was named Sandy?) The Dragon Girl was somehow even more of a menace than he remembered. She knocked Red Son out cold with one sucker punch and stole the very race car he used to save her miserable life just hours before. Red Son had his racecar moved to a workspace several stories from ground level to clean the sand out of the carseats, but apparently that didn’t deter the Dragon Girl at all. No, she just drove through the fucking wall. 

But that was nothing compared to what Noodle Boy had done. 

Breakfast was a miserable affair, the Demon Bull King and Princess Iron Fan cursing the Little Thief and his foolish master’s reckless plans. Red Son chose to eat his food quietly, trying his very best not to make himself noticeable, considering his mother was particularly hung up on where they got the racecar. 

The Demon Bull King looked almost naked without his nose ring. Red Son could barely remember the last time he hadn’t worn the Samadhi Fire in his snout. It was in the hands of the Noodle Boy now, who was surely barreling towards whenever the other rings were. 

Those idiots had no idea just how uncontrollable that flame was. They didn’t know the way it consumed and created you, blood boiling and breath sparking. Red Son’s memories of the Samadhi fire were hazy from age, but he could still remember the overwhelming heat, the energy that coursed through him so powerfully that he had to release it. 

There was a rush to the Samadhi Fire, a flame so powerful it destroyed everything he touched. It had filled Red Son with an adrenaline he never had before, so overwhelming and euphoric to his little body that even physical pain only spurred him on more. He used to hit himself in the face just to feel the rush of fire escaping his pores. 

Now though, Red Son didn’t exactly enjoy getting a fist to the face. He sat in his bedroom, nursing his bruised cheek. Sitting on a chair across from him was a green dragon plushie, sticking a forked tongue out at Red Son as if to mock him. He didn’t find the situation particularly funny. 

There was something was off with the Dragon Girl. Red Son had felt it the moment they touched, flickering images of dark flames and bodies consumed by the blaze flashing in his mind. She saw it too-Red Son could tell by the way she flinched, eyes wide and frantic as she stared at Red Son. He had only seen that sort of fire in his childhood memories, when he was the one enwrapped in its inferno. 

He wasn’t sure why or how the Dragon Girl was related to the True Fire of Samadhi, but she was. And if Red Son was judging those visions correctly, she would be the one enveloped in its flames, consuming and creating her as it incinerated all in its way. 

Delightful. Red Son laid down in his bed with a groan. The world would either end in fractures or in flames. If the Monkie Kid’s gang was inept enough, it might even be both. 

As Red Son laid in bed, a thought occurred to him. If the Dragon Girl truly would inherit the True Flame of Samadhi, how would the others react? The Monkie Kid and his friends were loving, sure, but the Samadhi Fire burned through such affections, the destruction too much for anyone to be near. Even the Noodle Boy and his blunt force love seemed to pale in comparison to that overwhelming heat, which threatened to turn everything it loved and hated into the same pile of ashes. 

Red Son couldn’t deny that some part of him enjoyed the carnage of the Samadhi Fire, the part which relished in that masochistic mania and still flooded with joy whenever he saw the ashes of his enemies. But he also remembered the horror on his mother’s face when he destroyed the courtyard, the smell of burning fur as his father tried to calm him down. He remembered how everyone stepped away from him, even when he desperately didn’t want to be alone. He remembered how tears only fueled the Samadhi Fire, the same way all pain did. 

Sometimes, Red Son would feel ashamed of himself for failing to control the Samadhi Fire. He would tell himself it was just another sign of his weakness. But looking back on those days, where dark flames consumed his body until he was little more than fire and manic laughter, Red Son wasn’t sure if he really wanted it back at all. 

The True Flame of Samadhi was a lonely one to bear when Red Son had no one but his parents. But Red Son was young when he had those flames–young enough that he had few people to call out for when they ran away. The Dragon Girl was far more sociable, far more used to loving than Red Son had ever been. Loneliness wouldn’t be some familiar pain which ached across her ribcage. It’d be sharp and new and piercing and miserable, the sort of loneliness Red Son only felt when his father was first imprisoned, when he realized his mother hadn’t smiled at him in a century, when he turned 400, when he grazed the peonies which bloomed on his chest and across his collarbone. 

But why did that matter? The Monkie Kid and his little gang would collect the rings, the Dragon Girl would take on the Samadhi Fire, and she would feel lonely for the five to seven minutes it’d take for her to set fire to the Milky Way. Sure, Red Son would admit the Samadhi Fire was powerful enough to take on the Lady Bone Demon, but that didn’t matter much if it consumed everything else. The Dragon Girl wouldn’t be able to control it for long. The Samadhi Fire was a force you had to give into and resist, wield and be wielded by. It was a careful dance that even if Red Son hadn’t quite mastered, he knew more than anyone else would. 

He was probably the only person in the world who knew. 

There was no reason for Red Son to think about her or the Monkie Kid or the flames which once consumed and created him. But, he did. He kept staring at that Dragon plushie, at the blank space under his father’s nostrils, at the fires he lit with his own hand. He kept following the reports of the fracture along the countryside. He kept thinking about the Noodle Boy sitting on the hood of his car, a soft smile on his face as he melted away all of Red Son’s fears of being a traitorous son. 

How did he keep doing that? How did he keep bending and melting and haunting Red Son with ease? And how did he keep being right? 

Red Son loved his parents with all his heart. He had no wants beyond theirs. The roots in his ribcage were a painful reminder of that. But his hands still clung to cheap fabric and his ears still rang with laughter. Red Son kept calling those thoughts and images of the Noodle Boy a haunting, but maybe it was something as simple and automatic and tooth-achingly sweet as caring. As loving. 

Red Son wanted to believe he wasn’t so soft hearted that he’d let such weak sentimentalities interfere with his parent’s plans. Lonely blazing Dragon Girls and stupid grinning Noodle Boys were irrelevant to his work, and he wouldn’t let them hijack his life right when the dust was finally settling. Why would he possibly ruin the life he had for himself by playing with the heroes? 

But Red Son knew the answer, as much as he hated to admit it. He knew it back when the Lady Bone Demon began her conquest of the world, and he knew it when her fractures finally reached his doorstep. He knew it back when he grabbed the Noodle Boy by his shirt, and he knew it when he grabbed the dragon plushie from the fortress, rubbing steam from his eyelids and leaving his parents behind. He knew it when he saw the sun and the stars melted in warm brown eyes, and he knew it when a dark streak of flames shot across the morning sky. 

It was an answer he would never admit, but it pulsed through Red Son as he saw the Dragon girl weeping in a crater of her own making. She had controlled it enough that there was still wildlife within a three mile radius, and that was a very good sign. He could almost say it was hopeful. 

Red Son wasn’t a hero. He’d die insisting on it. But, he did care, even if he couldn’t explain how or when or why. And he was always bad at ignoring the things he should. 

Fire training began that noon.

Chapter Text

Red Son figured he at least sort of knew what he was getting into. 

He was a fire demon who had spent his whole life learning how to hone his flames, and while he had never been able to control the True Fire of Samadhi, he did create it, so he was the only teacher who could give the Dragon Girl the sort of first hand advice she needed. And considering the Dragon Girl hadn’t burned the universe into a crisp yet, she was perfectly capable of being taught how to properly wield the Samadhi Fire.

Red Son spent some time with the Dragon Girl before– she wrecked his sports car, they stole peaches together, he saved her from dying in the desert, she punched him in the face and stole his car which she then presumably also wrecked. If Red Son inspected his hand hard enough, he could still see the tooth marks from that time she bit him with enough force to use his arm as an axle. Red Son had…he had handled her before. He could handle her again. Plus, maybe all the meditation he was planning would mellow out her more rabid tendencies. 

This, of course, didn’t happen, because none of Red Son’s plans ever just worked. 

The two had made camp in an abandoned temple overlooking a valley. It was spacious enough for them to train, and while much of the build was made of wood, the Samadhi Fire was capable of burning anything, so the fact that it was flammable was a bit irrelevant in the face of those all-consuming flames. 

The sun was high in the sky, warm against Red Son’s back. “We’ll start with some stretching.” He said, cracking his neck. Red Son shrugged off his coat and tossed it on the balcony when suddenly, Dragon Girl shrieked out, “NOOO!”

“What?! What is it?!” Red Son sparked a fire in his hands, searching for whatever the Dragon Girl could be yelling at. Had the Lady Bone Demon caught up that quickly?! He looked back at the Dragon Girl to see what she was looking at, but to Red Son’s surprise she was staring at him, eyes wide with horror. 

“IT CAN’T BE! IT’S NOT POSSIBLE!” She fell back dramatically on her knees, her arms outstretching towards Red Son. “HOW ARE YOU BUFF?”

Red Son sputtered, extinguishing the flame in his hand. “Excuse me?”

The Dragon Girl moaned the words out more than she spoke them. “You’ve never taken off your stupid jacket, so MK and I placed bets about what you looked like underneath it-”

“You did what?! ” The fire immediately returned now, Red Son’s hair swirling in outrage. “That is ABSOLUTELY-”

The Dragon Girl continued her lament, completely disregarding Red Son. “MK said he grabbed your arm once and felt some muscle, but I thought he was being an idiot and bet you were skinny, and now I owe him like a million cheese teas.” The Dragon Girl groaned, dragging her hands down her face dramatically. 

She suddenly snapped her head towards Red Son. “There’s no way you’re ACTUALLY buff. This is just some weird demon illusion isn’t it?!” She pointed at Red Son accusingly. “When I carried you out the peach garden, I felt ZERO muscle! Your thighs were like TWIGS!!” The Dragon Girl waved her hands around in outrage at Red Son. “YOU WEIGHED LIKE TEN POUNDS ON MY SHOULDERS, AND AT LEAST ONE OF THOSE POUNDS WERE THE PEACH YOU WERE HOLDING!” 

Red Son wrapped his arms around his chest as he shrunk into himself, face probably as red as the coat he’d just taken off. He wasn’t really all that buff–he’d built a bit of muscle mass in his arms and back from centuries of metalworking and black smithing, but it wasn’t much . It’s not like the rest of him was all that toned. To be honest, Red Son’s lanky physique was a little bit embarrassing for him considering his father’s massive bulk. Even his mother had more muscle mass than him. 

But frankly, Red Son wasn’t going to tell the Dragon Horse Girl that she arguably won her little bet with the Noodle Boy, because why were they placing bets on Red Son’s body type?!

“That is a completely inappropriate topic to bet on!” Red Son had to intensely focus on making sure he didn’t stutter his way through that sentence. “You don’t see me making comments on how you look!” 

“Hey, I never said it was bad of you to be buff or skinny or whatever.” The Dragon Girl shifted so she sat with her legs crossed as she shrugged. “If anything you should take this as a compliment.” She raised her brow and leaned over to Red Son like she was telling him a secret, wiggling her eyebrows as she spoke. “MK’s got like, a whole thing for biceps.”  

Red Son did not take that as a compliment. In Red Son’s opinion, that particular tidbit of information counted as psychological torture. He already knew that he would have a plethora of sleepless nights wondering what exactly a ‘whole thing for biceps’ could possibly mean.

Red Son shot a blast of fire about thirteen feet into the sky in order to avoid physically fighting his student before they'd even started Day One. 

The Dragon Horse Girl was somehow even more of a menace than Red Son could have possibly predicted. She was a kind of chaos completely unlike anyone else Red Son had ever met. Sure, Noodle Boy was idiotic and insufferably enthusiastic, but she was an almost dizzying force of energy, so wild Red Son almost considered it feral. 

Every lesson plan Red Son made would veer wildly off course. During meditation, she’d spend half her time complaining and the other sleeping against the wall. During sparring, she’d throw restraint to the curb and tried to pummel her opponents-a strategy that was potentially world-ending considering the fact that she wielded the True Flame of Samadhi. He constantly had to keep her on track, practically dragging her through each exercise. 

Not to mention the Pony Girl's constant teasing, wide grin, and constant invasion of Red Son’s personal space drove him absolutely insane. The Dragon Girl seemed to know every single button to push to drive him up a wall. And unlike the Noodle Boy, who would infuriate Red Son without even trying, the Dragon Girl seemed to make it her mission to annoy Red Son as much as possible. 

Still though, for all of the chaos and noise and injuries caused by the Pony Girl’s recklessness, Red Son would admit that training was going well. All the Dragon Girl’s stubbornness made her a quick learner. For all her complaining, she completed each of Red Son’s lessons with little issue. She would complain for one hour, but she’d always meditate for three. And considering the river near the abandoned manor they trained in hadn’t completely dried up, she was containing the Samadhi Fire to an impressive degree. 

Her dragon ancestry played a major hand in this, of course, but that alone wasn’t why she was able to control the Samadhi Fire. With each day Red Son trained her, he saw more and more of her inner strength, a wildfire in it of itself, which was fiercely devoted to protecting her friends and the world they lived in. It was something Red Son couldn’t help but admire, even if he’d never say it out loud. For all her chaos, she had a fierce determination within her that let her channel the power of the Samadhi Fire in a way Red Son truly believed no one else could. The Dragon Girl was the last hope the world had to defeat the Lady Bone Demon, and Red Son found himself believing in that hope more and more with each new training session.

And for all the mocking and jeering and downright malicious grins, the Dragon Girl was…it didn’t…Red Son had…This was…

When he first planned to train the Dragon Girl, he had already accepted that it would be awkward more often than not given their past conflicts. But Red Son had failed to consider that the Dragon Girl was just as insufferable about Red Son being a hero as the Noodle Boy, and as a result acted irrationally friendly towards him. And maybe Red Son had already grown soft from the Noodle Boy’s haunting, but at some point the dynamic shifted, and Red Son’s genuine irritation had melted away into something with a lot less bite to its bark. 

“Red, lemme eeeeat.” The Dragon Girl groaned, dramatically tipping her head back. “I’m so hungyyy.”

“The word is hungry, Pony Girl,” Red Son took an orange from a large platter sitting on the Dragon Girl’s lap, peeling the skin in an elegant spiral. “And you get to eat when you learn proper self control.” 

“But I’ve been training all day!” Dragon Girl threw her hands over her head. “We sparred for like three hours, and then I meditated until noon, so why can’t I just eat already?! ” 

“Napping on the floor doesn’t count as meditating!” Red Son snapped. 

“I mean, if meditation is meant to clear my mind, then I totally was meditating! And I did a great job too, I feel super cleared and enlightened and stuff.” The Dragon Girl nodded sagely, fingers crawling their way towards a bunch of grapes. “And I think that means I totally mastered self control, soooo-”

Red Son swatted the Dragon Girl’s hand away from the fruit. 

“HEY!” She glared at Red Son. He scowled right back. 

“First of all, meditation is for focus and harmonization, not for self control, ” Red Son sneered as he continued to peel his orange, “Which doesn’t even matter because second, sleeping is not a form of medita–WOULD YOU STOP THAT?!” he smacked her hand away as they creeped towards the grapes a second time. 

“The point of this exercise is to see how long you’ll be able to last without eating the fruit. It’s not meant to test how well you can trick me into looking away!” Red Son clenched his hand, a flame bursting in his fist and turning the orange peel into ash. “Now sit there and wait.” 

“ Ugh, okay, fine, I’ll do your stupid exercise,” Dragon Girl grumbled as she crossed her arms, “I’ll sit here, starving and grumpy until my oh so wise master tells me I’ve passed his challenge.” 

Red Son centuries, patting the fat book that he’d stuffed with a plethora of fire training techniques he’d learned over the centuries. “You’re finally learning, Pony Girl.” 

“Right,” Dragon Horse Girl snorted, “Because you know sooo much about self control.” 

Red Son sputtered. “I know more than you! ” 

Pony Girl snorted. “Oh yeah. The guy who brags every other sentence and blew up MK’s apartment is clearly the master of self control.” 

“Clearly you don’t appreciate the importance of making an entrance.” Red Son huffed, crossing his arms and standing up. “And it’s not bragging if I’m telling the truth.” He flicked a hand through his hair, a smirk running up his lips. “I know it’s difficult for your sad, peasant brain to comprehend, but when I say that my family and I are above you, it’s a simple matter of-” 

The sound of something crunching brought Red Son’s attention back to the Pony Girl, who had taken the three seconds Red Son had looked away from her to monologue about his superiority to take a massive bite out of a fruit. 

“ARE YOU SERIOUSLY–?!” Red Son’s hair flared up, hands sparking in anger, when he actually looked down at the fruit the Pony Girl had bitten. Red Son wrinkled his face in disgust. “Did you bite through the skin of that dragon fruit?” 

“Uhh, yeah?” The Dragon Girl replied, her mouth full of soft fruit and chewy peel. “It’s a nice texture.”

Red Son sputtered. “There’s at least three other fruits on that platter which don’t require peeling, and you chose to just bite through the skin?!” 

“Hey, dragon fruit skin is edible!” The Dragon Girl pointed out. “You don’t even have to cook it or anything! Plus, I’m part dragon, it’s probably beneficial.” She shrugged. 

“That is NOT how dragon fruits work!” Red Son shouted, his hair shooting up around him. 

“Oh, and how do you know, Red Boy?” The Dragon Girl leaned over, narrowing her eyes as she waved the bitten dragon fruit at Red Son. “Are you a chef? Are you a fruit master?” When Red Son didn’t respond because he was too busy literally fuming, a smug smile ran up her face. “I didn’t think so.” 

The Dragon Girl took another bite of the dragon fruit in victory. Red Son groaned, snatching it out of her hand. “Just because you’re part dragon doesn’t mean you need to eat like an animal. ” 

“I mean, it’s not like you gave me utensils or anything.” The Dragon Girl snorted. “And like I said, it gives the fruit texture!” She gave Red Son a toothy grin. 

Red Son let out a long sigh as he sat back down. He dug his fingers into the exposed flesh of the dragon fruit and with a little effort he pulled the fruit into two halves. “Here,” He handed the fruit halves back to the Dragon Girl. “Peel the flesh off before eating it and throw the skin away.” 

The Dragon Horse Girl blinked for a moment, staring down at the fruit halves with wide eyes before taking them from Red Son’s hands. She tore the skin away from one of the halves of fruit to chomp at the flesh. She looked up at the sky with a thoughtful expression, chewing the dragon fruit slowly. The Pony Girl swallowed the tender flesh and nodded as a now-familiar smile ran up her face, warning Red Son that she was about to say something which would completely set Red Son off.

“Yeah, I’m gonna be real,” The Pony Girl picked the peel of the dragon fruit off the ground, “It’s better with the skin.” 

Before she could unhinge her jaw like a snake to swallow the peel in one bite, Red Son smacked the skin out of the Dragon Girl’s hand so hard it flew off the balcony. 

Maybe Pony Girl had a point about his lack of self control. Red Son was so busy debating Mei on whether orange peel and dragon fruit skin had a good mouth feel that he completely forgot the point of the lesson was to keep her from eating. It was only an hour later when Red Son realized that they’d eaten the entire platter ages ago and were now…just… talking. The moment he registered what had happened, Red Son immediately had the Dragon Girl meditate by the river for a few hours, but he saw the cheeky grin on her face. They both knew she had won the battle. 

Look, the Dragon Girl was annoying. And loud, and chaotic, and dizzying. She irritated Red Son in ways even the Noodle Boy couldn’t. But she wasn’t…entirely…the worst person to spend time with. She was sometimes…rarely… on an infinitesimally small handful of occasions … tolerable company.

And that definitely wasn’t in his plans. 

Nights at the temple were as lively as the day, in Red Son’s opinion. The Dragon Girl being fast asleep definitely made the evenings calmer, but the cicadas still buzzed, the frogs still croaked, and the river still babbled the same as they would in day. And of course, Red Son was always awake, his circadian rhythm keeping him up right along with the bugs and frogs and river.

Red Son was sitting on the steps leading to the temple balcony, a single torch lighting the area. His massive notebook was open on his lap as he went over his training routine for Mei. She had been getting better at controlling her powers, so he figured he had to up the difficulty. He chewed the end of his pen, frowning to himself. The new training exercises he had planned would require him to acquire some pretty hard-to-get materials. Where was he going to find 7th century mo dao? 

Fire burst from within the temple, lighting up the balcony with a screech. Red Son jumped at the sudden flare. He hadn’t told the Dragon Girl to train this late at night, what was she doing?! 

“Would you try not to burn the world down while I’m working?!” Red Son looked behind him and shouted.

The light died down quickly–the Dragon Girl must have calmed down. Red Son groaned, turning back to his book. Lovely. Red Son would have to check the temple for repairs tomorrow in case the Pony Girl had damaged any ancient load bearing pillars-

Why did his hand feel wet? 

Red Son looked down to see that his pen had exploded while he was distracted, and now ink was all over his hand and splattered across his brand new training routine. Wonderful. Red Son shoved the book away from him, tossing the ruined pen to the side. He’d discard it properly when he was less annoyed. 

The last time Red Son’s pen had exploded was about a week before the Spider Queen’s invasion. He’d been in the middle of writing out the recipes for the food stand only for the paper to get drenched in ink. Red Son’s hands were splattered in a midnight black ink as he ran through the halls, cursing to himself.

He was originally going to wash his hands in the bathroom sink and then return to his work, but as he ran across the fortress, he could feel a ballpoint pen begin to draw around the ink splatter. Red Son ignored it, more focused on cleaning his hand than worrying about whatever nonsense his soulmate had to say, but as he began to wash his hands, his soulmate wrote across his arm. 

Stop washing your hands!! I’m trying to do something. 

Red Son had scoffed at that. Who did this mortal think they were, demanding Red Son pause his work at their whims? If he had a pen on him, he would have sent a barrage of insults their way. 

But as Red Son watched dark lines stretch around his ink splatters, he sighed, sitting on the sink. This better be quick. 

By the time his soulmate had finished drawing on Red Son’s hand, the ink had already dried, now spots along the sides of a herd of cows. Red Son returned to his workshop to take a picture of the art. He didn’t bother washing his hands, waiting for his soulmate to wipe the cows away from his palm to clean up. He didn’t want to sully their art. 

Now, the ink on Red Son’s hand shined in the moonlight. He stared down at the splatter with a knitted brow. It was late, but his soulmate had been up around this time before. It wouldn’t be totally unreasonable for Red Son to feel the increasingly familiar roll of a ball-point pen making art out of his misfortune. 

What could they draw with this? He stared down at the ink splatter. Another herd of cows, maybe. Storm clouds? A particularly misshapen flower? Red Son scoffed. The ink is red. Maybe they can draw me another peony to cry over like a toddler. 

Red Son cradled his ink splattered hand with his free one. It doesn’t look like anything, really. It just looks like a mess. But, that’s why I’m not the artist. I was just an unwilling canvas. He ran his thumb across the ink, the ink staining his other hand now. ‘Unwilling’ isn’t the right word. Maybe ‘unfortunate’ works better. But what does it matter now? Red Son inspected the ink on his thumb with a frown. I’ll probably never be a canvas again. 

It didn’t seem coincidental that his soulmate’s incessant chatter and gorgeous art ceased completely once the Lady Bone Demon had gained full power. With every day her putridity razed the lands, Red Son’s bare skin read more and more like an elegy. By the time he started training the Dragon Girl, he didn’t even feel worried about taking off his coat–what weakness did he have to hide? The art which filled his storage and plagued his thoughts would never appear on his skin again. 

This was supposed to be a good thing. It was supposed to be a relief that Red Son no longer had to worry about hiding doodles of cheerful little monkeys or long tangents about a comic he could care less about. And yet, Red Son couldn’t help but stare down at his palm, waiting for his soulmate to throw his plans for the evening off course. 

I keep assuming they’re dead, but there’s a chance they’re alive. Red Son snorted. If they are, I’m sure they have higher priorities than doodling at the moment. It was a reasonable assumption to make, and yet, the thought of Red Son’s soulmate being dead still nipped at the ends of his thoughts as he looked down at the red smear across his hand. 

He always wondered how someone knew their bond was mortally severed, especially after realizing his soulmate was a human. Red Son knew that it wasn’t actually the case, but he’d always figured he would…feel it. He thought that death would set something loose to send a dreadful finality within you. Like a scissor snipping at a taut string. Like a pen bursting in your hands. 

It was a romantic sentiment, but it wasn’t one based in any reality. Realistically, Red Son wouldn’t know if his soulmate’s life was cut short, if they didn’t have access to their felt-tip markers, or if they’d simply found another canvas. Functionally, it didn’t really matter, but it still bothered Red Son that he didn’t know for sure. 

I could always write to them. The realization struck Red Son. I have more pens. I can dig them up and ask.

Red Son laughed to himself. Ask them what? If they were dead or alive? If they’d left their felt-tip markers behind when running away from the icy fractures that rippled through the world? If they were okay right now? And frankly, why did he want to ask them anything at all? Red Son had spent every day since bright orange words stained his skin doing whatever he could to ignore his soulmate, and now he was what? Morbidly curious? Bored and art-deprived? Worried? 

Frankly, it was cruel of Red Son to taunt his soulmate with the notion of him caring enough to ask how they were. It wasn’t like he planned to pursue anything. If his soulmate told Red Son they were alive, he’d go right back to keeping them under his coat and inside a computer file. 

Red Son had merely grown accustomed. He was so used to his soulmate throwing his plans off course that now they were a part of Red Son’s routine. In trying desperately to ignore them, Red Son had made his soulmate an intimate part of his life. So of course the loss of it made him feel uncomfortable. He hated when his plans went awry, and his soulmate had weaseled their way into those plans. 

If anything though, the death of his soulmate was a blessing. He could wear short sleeves in front of his parents again. He no longer had to fear the humiliation of a weak bond. Red Son could return to his life from before he had a soulmate. 

Something in Red Son’s chest twisted, making him curl into himself. He grabbed the fabric of his shirt, the ink wetting it.

Peonies could grow old if they wanted to. And the roots woven into Red Son’s ribcage were stubborn. He knew he could never really go back. 

The sound of wood creaking made Red Son jump. He whipped his head around to the noise, cursing out loud. 

The Dragon Girl was hugging her plushie, sporting a spare tunic she used as pajamas and the wildest bedhead Red Son had ever seen. She rubbed the sleep out of her eye with a tired smile. 

“Wow Red Boy,” Her voice was remarkably subdued. “Didn’t think you knew how to curse.” She strode over to Red Son. “Always thought you were the type to find cursing to be peasant talk or somethin’.”  

Red Son huffed, running his clean hand through his hair. “You should go to bed.” 

“Yeah, but I want to stay up for a bit.” The Dragon Girl hummed, sitting down next to Red Son. 

“You might want to stay up, but you need to sleep,” Red Son pointed out. “Training this late into the night’s only going to hurt your progress in the long run. You won’t be able to focus.” He was a hypocrite, of course, for trying to lecture the Dragon Girl on having a proper sleep schedule, but she didn’t need to know that. 

She snorted, giving Red Son a tired, lopsided smile. “I thought sleeping wasn’t going to help my focus.” 

“No, I said sleeping isn’t the same as meditating. ” Red Son corrected her. “But if you don’t sleep, you won’t be able to meditate or focus." 

The Dragon Girl laughed, low and throaty and heavy with exhaustion. “Sounds like a scam. You gotta get better at selling your training exercises to me.” She leaned back on the stairs, arms behind her head. “And by the way, I wasn’t training, Red Boy.” 

Red Son looked over at the Dragon Girl with a scoff. “If you weren’t training, then why did you almost burn the temple down? Your self control isn’t that bad, is it?” Red Son wanted to believe his training had done something. 

The Dragon Girl’s eyes widened, sucking in her lips. “Oh. Uh.” The Dragon Girl shrugged. “I…had a nightmare.” 

She stared up at the ceiling of the temple, chewing on her lip. “Woke up. Didn’t recognize where I was, so I started freaking out. Then I started being on fire, so I started really freaking out. But then you yelled at me, and I remembered where I was, so I stopped being on fire. And now I’m here.” Her tone was trying very hard to be casual, but it was obvious the Dragon Girl was shaken up by her nightmare. The exhaustion that rolled off her wasn’t just from her vigorous training exercises. 

“So, yeah, I think I’m gonna chill here before heading back to bed.” Pony Girl said. “I need some company anyways.” 

Red Son snorted. “Then go find some. There’s some lizards living by the base of the mountain.” 

“I’m not a lizard. I’m a dragon. ” The Dragon Girl narrowed her eyes at Red Son. “I don’t see you eating grass and hanging out with cows. ” 

A spark ran up the tuft of Red Son’s hair. He was a bit too tired to properly flare up. “My father does not graze like some heifer!” Red Son glared at the Dragon Girl. “Unlike him, I’m sure you wouldn’t hesitate to eat the grass and all its insects straight off the ground.” 

“Again, not a lizard. Dragon.” She wiggled her fingers around and smirked sleepily. “And I’ll have you know I’ve never eaten a bug off the ground because they’re my friends.” She crossed her arms and nodded proudly, like this was somehow an accomplishment. 

“You’re…friends with bugs?” Red Son repeated slowly. The Monkie Kid and his gang were annoying, but insects seemed a bit too cruel an insult for the Dragon Girl to use. 

“Yeah! Well, I used to be.” The Dragon Girl laughed. “When I was little, I used to run around my family’s celestial jade garden and look under every rock I could to see all the creepy crawlies living under there.” She laughed to herself. “I’d let them climb up my hand and I’d name them. 

Ah. Red Son snorted as he shifted on the steps. She really was talking about bugs. It somehow made complete sense for her to play with bugs. He was almost disappointed in himself for assuming she was above that.  

The Dragon Girl sat up, seemingly energized as she continued to recall her childhood. “One time, I found this huge centipede. I named him Wormey, cause I didn’t know centipedes were a thing and I just thought he was a worm with a ton of legs.” She turned herself to face Red Son. “Anyways, I decided I wanted to keep Wormey for a pet. We spent the whole day hanging out in the garden and in my room. And when it was dinner time, I brought him into the dining hall and let him eat off my plate.

“My parents didn’t even notice Wormey until they heard me whispering to him. They were pissed. If I didn’t throw Wormey out the window I’m pretty sure my dad would’ve killed him. Or, have a servant kill him. My dad probably wouldn’t have wanted the bug juice all over his hands.” Pony Girl scratched at the wood of the staircase. “It used to be a bad memory, but I find it kind of funny now.” 

The Dragon Girl’s nostalgic smile fell away. “I dreamt that I burned that garden down." She confessed, her voice small. "And when my parents tried to stop me…I burned them down too.” 

Her grip on the plushie tightened as her voice grew higher and more fragile. “Everything’s just been happening all at once with the Lady Bone Demon, and the Samadhi Fire, and I barely even had time to think about my parents. They’re probably still in the city, or worse, they could be-” 

She laughed, her voice breath as she wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand. "The first time I think about my parents in weeks and it’s because I dreamed that I-”  

Red Son stared at the Dragon Girl as she lay on the staircase. She was focused intently on her plushie, blinking the tears out of her eyes at a rapid pace. She looked so small like this. So scared. It didn’t suit her in the slightest. Red Son couldn’t really imagine the Dragon Girl unless she had her infuriating grin, her grating laughter, her boundless energy dedicated to making his day a little worse. He didn’t like seeing her without those things. 

“Your parents are dragons, aren’t they?” The Dragon Girl looked up from her plushie, surprised that Red Son was even speaking. “They have a powerful lineage to keep them safe. Even if they’ve succumbed to the Lady Bone Demon’s putridity, they’ll be safe.” 

He leaned back against the staircase, resting his elbow on one of the higher steps. “If you’re capable of handling the True Fire of Samadhi, your parents are more than capable of surviving the Lady Bone Demon.” He looked over at the Dragon Girl and snorted. “They survived raising you, after all.” 

The Dragon Girl snorted, thumb running across the cheek of her plushie. Her frown twitched slightly, but there was no smile to be found on her face. Okay. That didn't work. Maybe Red Son needed to try a different strategy. Even if it required him to reveal some of his weakness. 

Red Son spoke softer now. “When my family’s fortress was overcome by the Lady Bone Demon, I didn’t…I couldn’t…” Red Son’s hands tightened into fists, hot embarrassment running up his throat and begging him not to admit the truth, but he forced it out anyways. 

“I failed them.” Red Son spat out the truth. “And now, they’ve been overcome the same way countless others have. I should be doing everything I can to free them from their grasp, but instead…” He looked down at the Dragon Girl with a frown. “I’m here with you.” 

The Dragon Girl let out a breathy laugh. “ Wow Red Boy, real uplifting.” 

“Would you let me finish?!” Red Son snapped. The Pony girl hummed, a small smile on her face now. Red Son was only slightly offended that getting him annoyed was what started cheering her up.

“I’m here with you because- well, a lot of reasons, really, but one of them is that teaching you is the best way for me to help my parents, and by extension, the world." Red Son explained. " I’ve heard the speeches the Noodle Boy gives, about friendship and working together. ” He sneered at those sappy phrases. “I know you all fight for the people you love.”

He pointed his finger at the Dragon Girl. “You love your family, don’t you?” 

“Of course I do.” The Dragon Girl sat up, her tone resolute. 

“And the reason you and the rest of your hero friends are trying to defeat the Lady Bone Demon is to protect the ones you love, isn’t it?” He asked. 

“I mean, the world is pretty important,” The Dragon Girl retorted, “But…yeah I see what you mean.” 

“Then it’s that simple.” Red Son crossed his arms. “Even if you haven’t actively thought of them or tried to dive in and save them, everything you’ve done so far has been at least in part for their sake. You have no reason to start getting insecure about your worth as a daughter when you’re doing everything in your power to keep your parents alive.

"And before you say anything-" Red Son pointed a finger in the air. "You have no reason to worry about incinerating them, or their garden, or any of your little bug friends.” Red Son jabbed a hand into his own chest. “As your teacher, I can attest to that.

"You have no reason to fear failing your family, Pony Girl." Red Son put his finger down. "Not when right now, you're doing the impossible to protect them." 

The Dragon Girl looked down at her plushie with a knitted brow as she processed what Red Son had said. It was an action which made Red Son feel a bit nervous. To be honest. He was never all that good with comforting other people–it wasn’t exactly something he had to do all that often. So he wasn’t sure if his words were really all that helpful. 

But then, the Dragon Girl smiled. “Well, you’re wrong about one thing Red Boy.” she sat up on the step, “If you’re a failure, then I’m a failure too.” 

Red Son sputtered. He wasn’t really sure what he expected the Dragon Girl to say, but it definitely wasn’t that. “How does that make any sense?” 

“Well, I couldn’t help my parents when the city got conquered. And you obviously know you couldn’t just fight the Lady Bone Demon and free your parents, so their loss isn’t really on you,” The Pony Girl explained. 

“I know I’m a great student, obviously, ” She kicked one leg up in the air dramatically before folding it over the other. “And you said the best way for you to help your parents is by teaching me. So if you’re that confident I’m going to save the world because of your lessons, then neither of us are really failing anybody." She cracked a smile at Red Son. "We’re in this boat together, Red Boy, sink or sail.” 

“Did you really use a boating metaphor for a pair of fire wielders ?” It was an entirely minute point, but it was the only thing Red Son could really fight back against. 

“You get the point.” The Pony Girl waved her hand at Red Son. “Either we’re both failures, or neither of us are.” She sat her plushie next to her, patting its head. “And if we’re both failing, we’ve got a whole other problem on our hands.” 

Yes, Red Son was teaching the Dragon Girl in an effort to save the world. Yes, the loss of his parents only motivated the ever stubborn care in his heart further. And yes, she was clearly a good student–Red Son had been drafting more difficult lessons just a few minutes ago. But, if all of that was true, then that would mean he–it would mean he wasn’t–

Red Son’s head began to ache, as if the cognitive dissonance was literally splitting his head in two. Maybe he was a bad teacher? It could be that the combination of the Dragon Horse Girl’s lineage and her own stubborn determination gave her a particular master of the Samadhi Fire that was completely unrelated to Red Son’s lesson plans. But, there was clear improvement which lined up with the time they’d been training, and Red Son couldn’t think of a third variable to explain her improvement, so it would have to be him. 

But, then again...maybe there didn’t need to be any cognitive dissonance. Failure was common for Red Son, but success wasn’t impossible. He had freed his father from his prison, even if he failed to help deliver the mortal realm. Maybe there was a chance that the Dragon Girl was right, and that this wasn’t going to be another one of Red Son’s failures. 

Looking back, Red Son’s last few major successes were along side the Monkie Kid and his band of heroes–honing the Samadhi Fire to stop the Lady Bone Demon, fighting back the invasion of the Spider Queen, freeing his father from the icy grip of the monster Red Son couldn’t have possibly known would fracture across the countryside so violently. All the work Red Son did for his parents as a villain would blow up in his face–literally and figuratively, but his work as a hero yielded...actual success. It saved the world. It saved his parents. 

Was this why he was too loving to be a villain? Did love always lead to a hero's triumph?

A loud gasp jolted Red Son out of his thoughts. The Dragon Girl used one arm to wrap around Red Son’s neck, pulling him in to point across the balcony. She squished their cheeks together. “ Look!” She whisper-shouted at Red Son, whose violent thrashing to escape her grip failed miserable. “There’s a grasshopper!!” 

Sure enough, a grasshopper was standing on the center of the balcony minding its own business. She looked at him with a smile–the all too familiar kind which ticked Red Son off to no end, even if he was a little relieved to see it. “You wanna give it a name?” 

“I’m not giving an insect a name !” Red Son shoved the Dragon Girl off him. 

She fell back dramatically, scrunching her face up at Red Son in mock anger. “Why not? It’ll be fun! Didn’t you ever play with bugs?” She asked this like Red Son had admitted to never wearing shoes or eating a vegetable.

“Of course not,” Red Son sneered. “I didn’t spend my time as a child playing with inferior beings like insects. ” 

The Dragon Girl snorted. “I bet you forced your servants to play with you or something. You totally seem like the type.” 

“I did not!” Red Son shouted in indignation. 

“Then who did you play with, hmm?” The Dragon Girl leaned over, raising her eyebrows. Red Son pushed her face away. Her sense of personal space was as bad as the Noodle Boy’s. 

“Go to bed, Dragon Girl.” Red Son snapped. "This conversation's already lasted far too long."

“You’re dodging the question, Red Boy.” Dragon Girl narrowed her eyes at Red Son. He glared right back, his glower hopefully communicating that he was avoiding the question for a reason. He knew better than to admit that his best childhood friends were an ornate inkwell, blossoming peony bushes, and a dream he wrote to daily. He wasn't going to let the Dragon Girl learn how weak he truly was. 

Maybe the Dragon Girl actually did understand what he was trying to convey, because she kicked back, laying down on the staircase. “I don’t like sleeping here though. It’s too quiet.” She complained. 

“Quiet?” Red Son echoed incredulously. 

“Yeah! My family’s mansion is in the city, so I could always hear something happening outside.” The Dragon Girl explained. “But you can’t hear anything here.” 

“Shouldn’t you be used to that by now? You’ve been traveling to find the Rings of Samadhi for some time; I doubt you slept in some urban mortal hotel every night.” Red Son pointed out. 

“Well, yeah, but it was always loud there too.” The Dragon Girl said to Red Son. “Pigsy snored all the time. Tang was writing in his journal. Mo would climb on top of you and make biscuits every couple hours, so sometimes you just woke up to a cat paw punching your tummy.” 

She laughed to herself. “MK and I were the worst though. I’d make him watch cat videos, or he’d make me play games with him, or we’d just talk until we were too tired to talk anymore. Pigsy always complained that we’d keep him up at night.” Her eyes saddened just a bit. “But now, it’s just crickets and cicadas.” 

Red Son couldn’t help the pang of sympathy in chest upon seeing the Dragon Girl. She hadn’t spoken much about it, but he knew the isolation of the Samadhi Fire all too well. He had found her alone and weeping, having flown off into the middle of nowhere. Red Son could only imagine what had happened moments before he offered his services. 

“The Samadhi Fire is a lonely burden.” Red Son said. “But you’ve been able to control it. You control it better than I ever could.” He looked away, scratching the nape of his neck. “It will take some time, and you may need to prove your abilities to them, but eventually, I’m sure your little friends will return. I can’t speak in absolutes, of course, but judging by your progress, your abandonment will only be temporary.” 

“Uhh,” The Dragon Girl looked up at Red Son looking incredibly confused. “What are you talking about?” 

Red Son blinked. “Your friends. They’re terrified of you, aren’t they?” He waved his hand at the Dragon Girl. “When I found you, you were sobbing in a crater. I had assumed your friends had cast you out because you wielded the True Fire of Samadhi?" 

“Wh-No!” The Dragon Girl sat up. “That’s not what happened at all. I left so I wouldn’t hurt them, not because they abandoned me. ”

“So then none of them were scared of you?” Red Son crossed his arms, skeptical. 

“I-I mean,” She sighed, rubbing her temples. “I’m sure some of them were,” The Dragon Girl reasoned, “Nezha was pretty adamant I was a goner, and Macaque dipped like, immediately. ” 

Wait, wait, wait, Macaque? Like, the Six-Eared Macaque? Red Son had only heard stories about him from back when his father spoke of his sworn brothers. Hadn’t he died centuries ago? And hold on, when did Nezha get involved in-?!

“Honestly, even Monkey King wasn’t really sure what to do. Apparently, he was going to use the Samadhi Fire to fight the Lady Bone Demon herself, which was a terrible plan.” She said this with a surprising amount of bite to it, “But we’d done the ritual too early, so everyone was pretty convinced that was it for me.”

“But, they’re not really my friends.” The Dragon Girl admitted. “I don’t know Nezha, Macaque tried to kidnap MK to give to the Lady Bone Demon, and the Monkey King constantly puts MK in harm’s way.” It surprised Red Son to hear someone in the Monkie Kid’s gang didn’t like the Monkey King, but he couldn’t even process it as the Pony Girl continued to speak. “And yeah, I love Sandy and Tang and Piggy, but they’re not friends. They’re like, a bunch of weird uncles to me. My only real friend is MK. And he wasn’t scared of me at all.” 

She held one hand over the other, her thumb tracing her palm. “He ran over to me and he told me we would figure it out together. And then, he gave me a hug.”

The Pony Girl's shoulders shook a bit, and Red Son couldn’t tell if she was laughing or about to cry again. “Once this is over, I need to buy him so much burn cream. And that's on top of the million cheese teas."  

Red Son rolled his eyes. He still couldn't believe that the those two had bet on what he looked like under the-wait, burn cream?

“Hold on,” Red Son sat up straight. “Did the Noodle Boy go through the Samadhi Fire?!"  

“Yeah." The Dragon Girl answered this like it was totally normal to walk through the Samadhi Fire. "He didn't even stop when the Monkey King told him to. He just made his way to me." 

“But-but that’s insane!” Red Son protested. “Even Sun Wukong struggled against the might of the Samadhi Fire, and if anyone were to know that, it’d be the Noodle Boy. And he just walked in?!” He rambled, fingers twitching in the air. “How reckless, and idiotic, and-and-and INSANE?!-”

“I mean to be fair, MK’s kind of an idiot.” The Dragon Girl smiled warmly. “It’s the worst thing about him, but, it’s also sort of the best thing.”

Red Son stuttered, mouth hanging ajar. Had the Noodle Boy seriously crossed through the all-consuming True Fire of Samadhi just for the Dragon Girl? He knew he was an idiot, but this was beyond your standard stupidity. Was he seriously that reckless, that brainless, that-that?!

“Hey, Red Son?” Red Son whipped his head around to the Dragon Girl. He was pretty sure that was the first time she’d ever used his real name. Despite that momentous occasion, she didn’t look away from her plushie as she spoke.

“It really sucks that no one stayed with you back when you had the Samadhi Fire.” She grabbed her plushie and tossed it in the air “You deserved to have better friends." 

There was no way the Dragon Girl was offering her sympathies. 

"First of all, having a moron for a friend isn't something to hold over me. And second of all, no one stopped being my friend over the Samadi Fire, Dragon Girl!” Red Son snapped. “I was born with the True Fire of Samadhi. How could I have even made friends-?! ” Red Son shut up immediately, cursing under his breath. Didn’t he just insist he wouldn’t reveal this information? 

"Don’t worry Red Boy!” The Dragon Girl grabbed her plushie mid air. “You might have been alone before, but you’ve got friends now!” 

Red Son was almost afraid to ask. “Who?” 

The Dragon Girl leaned against Red Son’s shoulder. “You got me!” She grinned. “And you also got MK, because any friend of mine has to be at least cool with MK.” She shoved the dragon plushie in Red Son’s face, speaking in a low, mushy voice, “And you got meee-! ” 

Red Son smacked the plushie into the temple. 

“We are not friends, Dragon Girl!” Red Son's hair flared around him. “You are my student, and I am your mentor! And I don’t care how much you and the Noodle Boy insist I’m hero material, I refuse to spend a second more near you than I have to!” 

“Uh huh.” The Pony Girl was completely unconvinced. “Which is totally why you saved us in the desert right? Because you didn’t want us around anymore?” She stretched herself out onto Red Son’s lap, a cheeky grin on her face. “It’s okay, Red Boy. I know deep down, you were dying to hang out with us-” 

Red Son shoved the Dragon Girl off his lap. She tumbled down the steps, cackling with each thump. He stood up, dusting off his pants as she groaned at the bottom of the steps. “You’re the worst.” He sneered. 

“Yeah, yeah,” She gave Red Son a lopsided grin. He hated the way a bit of his ire died down at the sight of the Dragon Girl happy again. 

“Get to bed, Dragon Girl.” Red Son sighed, heading towards the exit of the balcony. “We’ve got a long day ahead of us.” 

“Where’re you going?” The Dragon Girl called out to him. 

“The river!” Red Son shouted from behind him. “I need to wash my hands.” 

The ink on Red Son’s hand had completely dried by the end of his conversation with the Dragon Girl. He wasn’t sure how long it would take for him to scrub it off without the usual lavish soaps and scrubs he had back at the fortress. 

It was pretty rare of Red Son to have to wash ink off his arms. It was rarer now that he would leave bare skin behind. Usually his soulmate’s words and pictures would scrawl across his body, clinging to his skin until they washed it off on their own.

He still remembered how raw his arms felt as he cleaned the mad ravings off his limbs on his 400th birthday. He had soaked through his shirt from how aggressively he plunged his arms into the bath to rake soaps and sponges across his limbs. There were no scars remaining, but somehow, Red Son turned off the faucet and felt like he’d lost a battle. 

Even if he only had to wash his hands, Red Son couldn’t help but feel the same heavy anticipation he always felt when preparing for a fight, when the webbed city of Megapolis stood on the horizon, when his father’s eyes glinted icy blue, when the Noodle Boy did the impossible and lifted the Monkey King’s staff. When he dipped his hands into the icy river, he didn’t shiver from the cold. 

When Red Son returned to the temple, he made sure to check on the Dragon Girl. She was passed out in her room, clinging to her plushie with a small smile. He decided to let her sleep in that night. 

It wasn’t long before an absolutely filthy Noodle Boy climbed up to the temple, mud dripping onto the wooden floor in clumps. How he found them Red Son had no idea. Red Son recognized the Noodle Boy immediately, but the Dragon Girl instantly went on the attack. He was about to scream at her for being an idiot when the Noodle Boy shouted her name, launching himself over to her with such force the wind knocked Red Son off his feet. 

He watched the way the Noodle Boy crowded the Dragon Girl, bombarding her with questions as he wrapped her in his arms. Red Son could see the burn marks that rippled cross the Noodle Boy’s hands and fingers. They looked quite serious, and considering how little time it had really been since the Noodle Boy had last seen the Dragon Girl, Red Son doubted they were healed. Frankly, they barely looked like they’d been treated. And yet, he still clung to the Dragon Girl, a wide grin on his face as he pressed their faces together. He loved her without fear. 

It was a short lived moment of peace before the Monkey King appeared, an ice cold glint in his eyes, to snatch the Dragon Girl away. Red Son’s gut instinct was to go after her, but the Noodle Boy insisted they regroup to form a plan–a real plan. 

And even though losing her meant losing this fight, this world, even though losing her meant failing , the Noodle Boy somehow had hope within him. He clenched his raw, rippled hands into a fist, a determined expression on his face. The Noodle Boy believed in her, and bafflingly enough, he believed in him too.

Red Son had never believed anything was more powerful than the fire that had nearly consumed him, which now burned in the Dragon Girl. But maybe he was wrong. Maybe the Noodle Boy and his blunt force love was even more powerful. It was certainly hotter, melting away the icy fears which spiked through Red Son’s back. And it was even more all consuming.

Red Son found himself agreeing to make a plan with the Noodle Boy, effectively agreeing to work alongside him. For a third time, I fight with you. 

When the Noodle Boy flung him off the temple balcony, Red Son immediately regretted that choice. 

Chapter Text

Okay, so it turns out the Six-Eared Macaque was, in fact, alive. 

Not only was he alive, but he slunk into the ancient underground library the Monkie Kid and his little gang had made into a makeshift base with the Lady Bone Demon’s cackling lackey in hand. And now, he was fluffing his scarf with a smarmy little grin as he prepared to fight against the Lady Bone Demon. 

Oh, Red Son's parents were going to riot when they learned this. 

Macaque’s surprise entrance into the fray was fortuitous. He would keep Sun Wukong busy while the Noodle Boy went for the Lady Bone Demon. As for Red Son and the others, they were in charge of getting the Dragon Girl back. And once they had the Monkey King and the Dragon Girl, they’d destroy the Lady Bone Demon’s mech and defeat her. 

The plan was simple on paper, to the point that Red Son had found it almost offensively stupid when the Noodle Boy proposed it, but as everyone began to prepare for the battle ahead, Red Son could feel the pressure looming over him. 

Or maybe it wasn’t a pressure that loomed over Red Son, but a void which clogged his ears and gripped his shoulders. There was something lopsided about the Monkie Kid’s little gang when the Dragon Girl wasn’t around. The usual electricity in the air was gone, and while the Noodle Boy seemed enthusiastic about having Red Son on board, he knew he couldn’t come close to replacing that energy. 

The Noodle Boy had insisted to Red Son earlier that the Dragon Girl’s stubbornness combined with his training would keep the Samadhi Fire from falling into the Lady Bone Demon’s hands. His unfaltering belief and raw hands clenched into a tight fist were what convinced Red Son to fight alongside the Monkie Kid. But the cackling shell of a man tied in ropes still sang his Lady’s praises; he sneered that it was only a matter of time before the Samadhi Fire was completely under her control, and those words rang through Red Son’s head more than he’d like to admit.

It didn’t help that he was still reeling from the battle against a possessed Sun Wukong. Red Son scoffed under his breath. Some help he’d been. The Lady Bone Demon personally thanked him for practically serving her the world on a silver platter before sucker punching him straight into the temple. By the time he’d stumbled out of the rubble, the fight was over and the Pony Girl was gone. He couldn’t even begin to protect her before, and now he was the one conscripted with getting her back? 

The Lady Bone Demon’s sickeningly sweet words made a cold bile squirm in the pit of his stomach. The cold blue glint in the Monkey King’s eyes brought him back below the city of Megapolis, to his father’s swinging fist. The fact that he was taken out in one punch was a mortifying wound to his pride, another reminder of his weakness. All of those things and more would be delightful little complexes for Red Son to unpack should he survive the battle. But right now, he wasn’t thinking about any of those things. 

Of course he was terrified the Lady Bone Demon would eradicate everything, that all the work he put into aiding his parents would ultimately destroy them and the world.  But for the first time, his parents weren’t the ones he was terrified of failing. Right now, all Red Son could think about was fruit peels and sage green plushies and loud laughter right against his ear. The Dragon Girl was out there, resisting with all her might, and if Red Son couldn’t pull her out of the Lady Bone Demon’s grip in time all her efforts would be for nothing. If he failed her, then she’d fail right with him. And he couldn’t afford to fail her. 

It was mortifying just how personal this plan had gotten for him. But the Pony Girl wasn’t pills and peaches stolen from the celestial realm. She was the annoying peasant who spent every day complaining about mediation, who would wind up injuring Red Son every other exercise, who wrapped her arm around his shoulder and called him a friend. Sure, Red Son had never worried about failing anyone other than his parents before, but he never cared about anyone other than them. He had long given up the dream that he ever would. 

But Red Son had grown so soft lately. The golden eyes and wide grins which haunted his evenings had stripped away whatever sense of self he had. He had given in more and more to that traitorous, caring, loving part of him, and now all he wanted was for the Dragon Girl to shout in his ear about some ridiculous internet trend so he could snap at her to keep her voice down. Right now, he couldn’t stand the silence. 

Someone tapped Red Son’s shoulder, making him jump out of his thoughts. He whipped his head around ready to snap when the Noodle Boy’s arm wrapped around Red Son’s shoulders and tugged him in, leaning close to Red Son’s ear to speak. 

“Hey, uh, you’re not busy right now, right?” The Noodle Boy asked. “You think you could help me find something? Pigsy and Tang are packing up, Sandy’s doing some last minute renovations, and Macaque has a really weird definition of helping me, so I kind of don’t know who else to ask.” 

Red Son huffed. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the Noodle Boy thinking Red Son would do him any favors, but considering the battle looming ahead, he decided not to immediately flare up in indignation. “What?” 

The Noodle Boy cupped his hand, speaking with a breathy voice rather than actually whispering. “Can you help me find my crayons? Some of them rolled away earlier and I can’t find them.” 

Red Son immediately flared up in indignation. “You’re asking me to find your crayons?! ” He pulled away from the Noodle Boy to shout. 

“They were a gift!” The Noodle Boy protested. “Mei said they were super fancy artist crayons, and I doubt I’m ever gonna be back here again, so I don’t wanna lose them. Plus, I’m only missing like two of them, it’ll take like ten seconds, c’mon.” He began to scour the floor, crouching down. 

Red Son groaned. He couldn’t believe this moron was the last line of defense against total destruction. But, fine. If this is what would get them to the battle quicker, he’d debase himself further by searching for the Noodle Boy’s paltry writing instruments. He shoved his hands in his pockets, scarring the ground against his better judgment. 

“You were taking notes with one of those crayons earlier, weren’t you?” Red Son recalled. “I knew that mortal children use crayons, but I guess you just never grew out of them.” Red Son scoffed as he lifted one of the various ornate pillows laying around the library. 

“Hey!” The Noodle Boy shot a glare back at Red Son from where he was crouched on all fours. “Crayons are a perfectly valid art medium! Plus, Tang didn’t want me to waste his pen ink because he was too busy ‘writing the next chapter.’ and I didn’t exactly have time to get my other art supplies when the Lady Bone Demon was taking over the world, so I made do with the crayons.” 

The Noodle Boy suddenly got up on his knees and pointed at Red Son accusingly. “Speaking of, you owe me a new sketchbook!” 

Red Son lit the pillow on fire “I don’t owe you anything!” 

“Nuh-uh! When you broke into my house a couple months back, you destroyed a bunch of my stuff, including my sketchbook!” The Noodle Boy shouted as he scurried around the rocky floors. “It was one with fancy paper too–I had to spend like a month saving up for it, and then you turned it to ash!”

“I’m not buying you a new notebook, Noodle Boy.” Red Son sneered, wiping the pillow ashes on the base of a grinning Monkey King statue. 

“Well you should!” The Noodle Boy yelled. “Frankly, you’re lucky I’m not asking you for more stuff, considering you blew up my HOUSE!” 

“Don’t call it a house.” Red Son scoffed. He took a step and felt something under his foot. “You live in a hovel ,” He lifted his foot to see a red crayon laying on the ground. “Whatever damage I did to that hovel probably improved it.” He heard the Noodle Boy grumble under his breath as he stood up, but Red Son tactfully chose not to listen to his whining. 

Was that what that notebook was? A sketchbook? Red Son thought as he picked up the crayon. He didn’t really bother looking inside at the contents, only skimming through the various post-it notes which stuck out of it. He had assumed it was some sort of journal at the time, although in retrospect he wasn’t sure if the Noodle Boy was really the journaling type. 

He didn’t know that the Noodle Boy drew. It was probably something he did frequently, given that he had a new sketchbook he was clutching in his arm as he ran around the Monkey King’s statue base. Red Son had never gotten a good look at the notebook the Noodle Boy had been scribbling earlier, but he could only assume it was littered with doodles done in crayon. It didn't give him much confident in the Noodle Boy's artistic abilities. 

If that journal was really a sketchbook, then a lot of those post-it notes made sense now. Works in progress were most likely unfinished drawings. Cross hatching must have been some art technique. And well, buying erasers spoke for itself.

But then, that would mean the peonies weren’t for planting. 

“You drew the peonies?” Red Son murmured.

The Noodle Boy’s new sketchbook smacked onto the floor with a WHAM . He whipped his head around to Red Son, eyes almost bulging out of his skull as he scrambled over to him. 

“You know about the peonies?” The Noodle Boy whispered genuinely this time. 

“Wha-of course I do, Noodle Boy. You're the one what wrote about it.” Red Son took a step back from the Noodle Boy, a bit startled by the odd shift in tone. He held out the crayon to the Noodle Boy with an outstretched arm. “You had a note in your old sketchbook about buying peonies, I had assumed you had wanted to grow some on your fire escape. But seeing as how it was a sketchbook, I’m assuming that’s not the case?” He dropped the crayon expecting the Noodle Boy to catch it, but he didn't even try. He watched the crayon as it fell. 

“O-oh.” The Noodle Boy blinked, brow furrowed as he stared at the crayon. “Oh.” 

Suddenly, the Noodle Boy laughed. The frantic energy that had bunched itself into him dissipated. “Oh, okay, that makes sense.” He knelt down to grab the crayon and the sketchbook. “Yeah, I wanted to draw some peonies, so I made a note to myself to buy some. It took me like, a month to get around to it though." He sucked a breath through his teeth. "Being a hero kind of puts a pause on your hobbies." 

When the Noodle Boy stood back up, his smile was for some reason stilted, fragile, almost awkward. He stammered over his next words. “The drawing was-They didn’t-I wasn’t-"

A new tension bunched itself between the Noodle Boy’s shoulders, one much more nervous and fragile. “It didn’t turn out that good?” He held his sketchbook close to his chest. “Or, well, it didn’t go the way I wanted it to. So." 

Well, obviously. Red Son blew some air out his nose. Of course it wouldn’t turn out well. He was using crayons. Red Son’s soulmate at least had the common sense to draw with markers and the rare paintbrush before perishing at the Lady Bone Demon’s hand. 

The Noodle Boy smiled, lopsided and almost embarrassed. “I don’t know why I told you that. I haven’t really told anyone about the-y’know what? Forget I said anything.” His eyes went back to the base of the statue. “We only need to find the yellow crayon and then we’ll be good to go..” 

Red Son just rolled his eyes, leaning down to scope the floors. He tried to search for a yellow crayon just so he could end…whatever this interaction was, but his eyes kept gliding back over to the Noodle Boy. Well, yes, the Noodle Boy, but more specifically the raw skin of the Noodle Boy’s hands, burns swirling across his skin. It looked painful, judging by the way his hands would flinch if they skimmed against something, but the Noodle Boy seemed to pay no heed to it.  

“It’s a miracle your hands weren’t turned to ash.” Red Son commented. The Noodle Boy glanced up at him, surprised. 

“The Dragon Girl told me you barreled into the Samadhi Fire to get to her.” He loomed over the Noodle Boy. “I didn’t realize you had a death wish.” 

“I’d kind of like to not die, actually.” The Noodle Boy laughed. “But, Mei’s my friend. And she needed me. So, I didn’t really think about it.” 

It was such a stupidly simple explanation. Red Son wanted so badly to argue against it. But he was starting to expect such insanity from the Noodle Boy’s blunt force love. Even if it still threw him off his feet every time he witnessed it. Plus, the last time Red Son tried to explain how insane it was to run into the Samadhi Fire, he’d accidentally stumbled into admitting his childhood loneliness to the Dragon Girl. He wasn’t hoping to make that mistake twice. So Red Son chose not to comment on the stupid in the past. Right now, Red Son wanted to focus on the stupid in the present. 

“Well you should think about it now .” Red Son pointed down at the raw skin. “You clearly haven’t been treating these burns.” 

“I haven’t had the time!” The Noodle Boy waved his hand at Red Son, his fingers twitching a bit. “I had to go get Monkey King, and then I was teleported to you guys, and then we had to figure out a plan–” His eyes lit up when he finally found the yellow crayon, lying between the statue base and Red Son’s right foot. “And now we’re going to go defeat the Lady Bone Demon. I’ll worry about healing my hands once everything’s settled down, it’ll be fine.” 

“It will not be fine!” Red Son scoffed as the Noodle Boy stood up. “It’s not like you can just pause healing until it’s convenient for you!” 

The two walked along to the truck as Red Son continued to rant. “The Samadhi Fire is an all consuming flame which hurt the Monkey King himself. And you’re a mortal whose body is so inferior it can’t even fully heal a few measly broken bones. Your Monkey King powers might have kept you from turning to dust, but it won’t save you from infections.” 

Red Son clicked his tongue as they reached the back of the truck. “You should know the importance of treating a burn by now, considering how often we fought.” 

“I mean, I didn’t get burned too much back then.” The Noodle Boy shrugged as he hopped into the truck. “After a while, it became kind of easy to dodge your hits–”

Red Son’s ponytail burst into flames, which made the Noodle Boy laugh of all things. “Don’t get me wrong!” he put his sketchbook down on the bed, tossing the crayons into a random compartment. “You’re super powerful and all, it’s just that over time I-”

“Save it.” Red Son glowered as he shuffled into the truck. He kicked the drawers which sat under the bunk beds. “Where’s your medicine?” 

“My what?” The Noodle Boy raised his brow. 

“Medicine. Surely you have some sort of healing ointment or pills, don’t you?” Red Son asked. 

“Uhhh-” The Noodle Boy slipped over to the front. Red Son could hear a clatter of noise like an avalanche before he popped back in. “We have this first aid kit? Here.” He tossed it over to Red Son. 

Red Son cracked open the first aid kit and frowned. “Aid all by and for humans. Meaning its healing properties are just barely above abysmal.” He sighed, pulling out a roll of gauze and weighing his options before sitting on the bed. “But, I suppose it’s better than nothing.” He held his free hand out, beckoning the Noodle Boy closer. 

“What are you doing?” The Noodle Boy asked, tilting his head. 

“What does it look like?” He began to unroll the gauze. “Nobody else in your little gang’s bothered to bandage your hands, so I can only assume they haven’t noticed the damage or don’t know how to take care of it. And considering the state of your hands, I doubt you’d do a good job yourself.” 

The Noodle Boy’s eyes widened as what Red Son was doing finally clicked. He gasped, warm brown eyes sparkling with all of the heavens even in the underground library. Before the Noodle Boy could say something sappy, Red Son bared his teeth. 

“DON’T make a big deal out of this!” Red Son hissed through his teeth. “If you don’t take care of your wounds, you’ll be useless in battle. I refuse to lose to the Lady Bone Demon because you’re too stupid to treat a burn from the most powerful fire in the universe.” 

The Noodle Boy nodded his head, but the light that practically shined out of him didn’t fade in the slightest as he sat down. 

Red Son sighed as the Noodle Boy outstretched his hands to him. He knew this would be another moment that haunted him. A traitorous act of caring far too much. But he’d been racking those up for some time. What was one more to keep him up until the sun rose? He took one of the Noodle Boy’s hands in his, noting to himself that it was warmer than he’d expected. 

“When bandaging a burn, you don’t want to wrap it around too tightly,” Red Son explained as he worked, taking one of the Noodle Boy’s damaged hands carefully. “Ideally, you’ll press it against something cool, but we don’t exactly have that, so the best you can do right now is keep it covered and try not to pick at it. Once it’s less inflamed, you can apply a moisturizer. Demons have their own creams and ointments for taking care of burns, but I’m sure you humans have some as well.” 

“You know a lot about burns.” The Noodle Boy said this like it was somehow a pleasant surprise.

“I’m the only fire demon in my family.” Red Son stated. “Before I could control my powers, burns were commonplace.”

The Noodle Boy hissed in pain Red Son wrapped the gauze around a particularly nasty burn on his wrist. Red Son gave the gauze a bit of slack before continuing the bandage the wound a bit slower.

“When I had the Samadhi Fire, Mother would always keep an intensely potent burn cream on hand.” Red Son recalled. “The ingredients were as effective as they were rare. She would use it on herself and father whenever my outbursts hurt them.” He snorted a bit. “She hated the smell, but it was the only thing that kept her skin unscarred. She still has batches of it–even if she doesn’t need it anymore, it’s a powerful medicine, and my mother loves powerful things.” 

He wasn’t really sure why he was telling the Noodle Boy about this. It was something he honestly hadn’t thought about in ages. But now, Red Son could remember the pungent scent of that burn cream under his nose. He could see in his mind’s eye his mother lathering the burn cream on his father’s burnt skin, patchy and pink in sharp contrast against the fur which once grew on the Demon Bull King. He remembered the guilt that weighed heavy in his stomach, which battled against the wild fire which cackled beneath his fingertips. 

The Noodle Boy laughed, pulling him out of his memories. “Maybe instead of buying me a new sketchbook, you can get me some fancy Samadhi Fire burn cream.” 

Red Son rolled his eyes. “If you expect me to give you anything, you’re delusional.” He began to bandage the other hand. 

The Noodle Boy was surprisingly quiet. He seemed entirely focused on Red Son’s hands as they carefully wrapped the gauze up his wrists, between his fingers, against his palms. Thick eyelashes fanned his eyes as he watched Red Son wrap the gauze around his thumb. Red Son had never taken much notice of someone’s eyelashes before, but the Noodle Boy was close enough that he could notice those tiny, irrelevant details now. 

The silence was beginning to unsettle him to be honest. Red Son could feel a heat against the nape of his neck, a kind he hadn’t felt since the Spider Queen Invasion. It wasn’t the same though. He felt exposed, yes, but not like he was back then, when the Noodle Boy had read him like a billboard. Even though Red Son was the one wrapping gauze around the Noodle Boy’s raw and blistered skin, he was the one who felt vulnerable in that moment, the very action of bandaging a show of Red Son caring far more than he ever should. It was too tender, too intimate. It made Red Son feel jumpy, buzzed. His fingers weren’t sparking but they still felt like they were on fire as they wrapped gauze around the Noodle Boy’s warm hands. 

He wasn’t sure why he chose to break the silence with that particular topic. But the past was on his mind and he could still see the Noodle Boy’s sketchbook from the corner of his eye, so maybe that’s why he settled on it. 

“What kind of peonies did you draw?” Red Son asked. 

The Noodle Boy seemed to almost flinch at the question. Red Son wondered if he’d wrapped the bandage too tightly or if he’d managed to touch a nerve with the question. But after a moment of thought, the Noodle Boy responded. “Red ones.” 

“Well,” Red Son hummed as he finished bandaging the Noodle Boy’s hands. “At least you have good taste in flowers.” 

The roots in Red Son’s chest shifted. 

Red Son let go of the Noodle Boy to file everything back into the first aid kit. He hadn’t really admitted much, but somehow saying those words made Red Son feel even more exposed. The back of his neck burned as everyone began to load into the truck. He wondered if he’d have to ask Mother for her old pungent medicine to heal it. 

Red Son had never experienced the heat of the Samadhi Fire from the other side, but as he tore through the Dragon Girl’s prison, it sweltered against him. It dried up his sweat and tears before they could run down his face. As Red Son reached further in for the near-catatonic Dragon Girl, he could feel the flames permeate so deeply within him he was worried it might go through his skin. 

It was a miracle Red Son didn’t wither away as he grabbed the Dragon Girl’s face, her skin a crackling magma against his hands. Maybe his time with the Samadhi Fire gave him some resistance against it, or maybe the fact that he still wielded fire protected him. But in the moment, he didn’t question why his body wasn’t getting incinerated. He was focused on the pitch silhouette in his hands, hoping that she would take the flame, wield the flame, be the flame. 

And…it worked. 

In a swirl of emerald green, the Dragon Girl took the Samadhi Fire and made it her own. 

Red Son found himself in the cockpit of the Monkie Mech, the monstrous metal creature which had once taken down his father. In the back of his mind, he faintly remembered calling it dorky and demanding the Noodle Boy to get out of it to fight him before passing out from his copious injuries. 

Back then, Red Son could have never imagined being here now. Gripping the Noodle Boy’s shoulder, shouting a battle cry along with him, fighting alongside the enemy with shockingly little shame. He frankly still could barely comprehend it. 

But, that was a haunting for later. 

Red Son gripped the Noodle Boy tighter as he-as they pushed. 

The Lady Bone Demon’s mech shattered right along with her. 

Red Son had fully intended to go home after the fight. 

After the Lady Bone Demon had been defeated, the fractures she had made along the countryside fell away. Red Son knew what that meant–his parents were free from her grasp, now and forever. He had to go home to them, to tell them everything. He could only hope they wouldn’t be disappointed in his allyship with the Monkie Kid. 

He had moved away from the Monkie Kid’s group, prepared to quietly teleport away, when someone grabbed his shoulder, tugging him with such force it actually turned him around to face wide brown eyes that melted the sun’s rays. 

“Where’re you going?” The Noodle Boy pointed back behind him with his thumb. “Pigsy’s making victory noodles.” 

“I don’t need your victory noodles.” Red Son responded, shoving the Noodle Boy’s hand away. “I need to go back to my parents.” 

The Noodle Boy opened his mouth and reached out like he was about to protest, but stopped himself. His fingers curled. “Did you say goodbye to Mei at least?” 

“If I try to say goodbye to her, she’ll physically drag me over for noodles.” Red Son said. “It would be better to leave now while she’s distracted.”

Red Son glanced behind the Noodle Boy. The Dragon Girl was currently laughing with Sandy about something, the two of them taking pictures together. Despite the battle that had occurred, she seemed as energetic as ever. Good. Things weren’t the same without her electricity. 

“Be sure to give her my regards." Red Son waved his hand. "Enjoy your noodles.” 

A swirl of flames began to circle Red Son’s feet when the Noodle Boy spoke up again. “Can I say something before you go?” 

Red Son groaned, extinguishing his flames. “Fine.” He crossed his arms. “What is it?” 

The Noodle Boy took a breath, rocking on the balls of his feet. “I just…wanted to thank you.” 

Red Son scoffed. “It was fighting with you or seeing the world end. It wasn’t a particularly hard decision.” 

“No, not that.” The Noodle Boy shook his head. “I mean, I’m super glad you fought with us, but that’s not that I’m thanking you for.” He gave Red Son a small smile. “I wanted to thank you for looking out for Mei.” 

Oh. Red Son’s eyebrows raised, just a bit. Noodle Boy put his hands in his pockets, swinging his arms around and making his jacket flap. 

“When Mei ran away after getting the Samadhi Fire, I-” His voice cracked a bit as he spoke, “I was terrified. Mei’s always there for me, but I couldn’t be there for her. When she disappeared, I couldn’t follow her, even though I really, really wanted to. And that-” 

He looked away from Red Son, the memory clearly painful for him. “I just-I didn’t know if she was okay. I didn’t know how I could help.” 

“But, she was okay.” The Noodle Boy looked up at Red Son. “And it was because you helped her.” 

Noodle Boy stepped closer to Red Son, his smile a little wider now. “You helped Mei learn how to control the Samadhi Fire. You saved her from the Lady Bone Demon! And from what she’s told me, you haven’t just been a good mentor, but a good friend too-”

Red Son cut him off with a sputter. “I have NEVER agreed to being her friend, and if she told you that I’m hers, she’s LYING-!”

“Okay, but you were there for her when she needed help,” The Noodle Boy retorted. “And that’s kind of all you need to be someone’s friend, right?” 

Red Son wasn’t sure how to respond to that. He didn’t exactly have the friendship credentials to disprove it. But there were implications there, that to care and to act on that care was all you really needed to be someone’s friend. And if that was the case, what would that mean for all of Red Son’s alliances, his rescues, his traitorous acts of caring? 

The Noodle Boy spoke up again, bringing Red Son’s attention back to him. “I don’t know what I’d do without Mei. She means the world to me.” He looked at Red Son, a soft lopsided smile on his face. “And you being there, looking after her? It means the world to me too. So thank you, Red Son.” 

It had been a while since Red Son had that golden warmth with its sappy smiles and sappier words aimed at him. He almost wanted to cover his eyes with his hands, to keep the sun from blinding him. There was some small, niggling part of him that almost missed being in that warmth. That bloomed to face its direction. As much as he hated that part of him, it made sense that it was there. Of course eyes that could melt the sun would melt him down too. 

Red Son crossed his arms and sighed. “I thought being there for people in need was for heroes. Not for friends.” 

“It can be both.” The Noodle Boy shrugged. “And I know you’re gonna hate this, but what you did for Mei kind of proves that you're a hero too-" 

Red Son let out a shout so loud the Jade Emperor surely peeked down to check on him. 

“HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU THIS, NOODLE BOY?!” Red Son’s hair flared up around him, heating up the air. “Just because our goals HAPPEN to align now and again DOES NOT MEAN THAT I-THAT I’M SOME-THAT YOU CAN JUST-AAUGH!!” He cursed in the air, hands reaching up as if to strangle the clouds. 

Red Son wasn’t an idiot. He knew he'd gotten pliable. He’d gotten soft. The hauntings had taken some part of Red Son and melted it into something as powerful as it was infuriating. Or perhaps, the hauntings only made Red Son more aware of a part of him that had always existed. The part of him that was too loving to ever really be a villain. 

“Look,” Red Son slicked back his hair, the fire extinguishing at the touch of his hands. “We have both had our fair share of…common enemies whom I’ve stated before, I’m willing to fight along with you. And while the truce between you and my family is shaky, it’s still technically a truce. Until my parents decide to conquer the world again, I have-” He coughed into his fist. “I have a duty to keep others from conquering it in their stead.”

The Noodle Boy tilted his head like a confused puppy as Red Son spoke. He crossed his arms, trying to shield himself from that wide-eyed gaze. “I’ll concede that my actions towards you and your little gang of do-gooders have been…merciful, given our history.” He had to fight every ounce of pride in his body to admit that. “You describe it as ‘caring’ and apparently, the Dragon Girl thinks it means I’m a ‘good friend,’”He did air quotes at the phrases. “And while I reject both of your little theories, I’ll admit that my behavior has not been…particularly…adversarial.” 

“Uhhh.” The Noodle Boy face scrunched up so much it almost shrunk as he tried to comprehend just what Red Son was saying. “Ad-ver-sarial?”

Red Son sighed, placing one hand on his hip and pinching his nose with the other. “It’s not proper behavior for an enemy.” 

The Noodle Boy’s mouth opened in a small “o.” 

Red Son sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Look, my point is, given that I have no reason to fight you, and we have common enemies despite our ultimately incompatible goals, and the various times I’ve… cared more than I had any reason to-” 

The Noodle Boy’s eyes seemed to shimmer. Red Son could see the cogs in his mind begin to turn. It made him fluster a bit, now that he knew the Noodle Boy could tell what Red Son was trying to say, “L-looking at all these conditions, it suppose that it wouldn’t be… entirely inaccurate , at least in this current moment, to describe my actions, and, for some specific circumstances, my intentions…in…non-villainous terms.”  

“Red Son,” The Noodle Boy stepped closer, so close that Red Son could practically feel the sun’s rays against him. His grin split across his face. “Are you trying to say that you’re a hero ?” 

“I am not going to say that!” Red Son snapped. He wasn’t giving the Noodle Boy the satisfaction, he still had some dignity. “And I certainly don’t expect things to stay this way! When my parents deem it time to conquer the mortal realm, I’ll go back to being-”

“ Back to ?” The Noodle Boy moved even closer, the tip of his nose ghosting over Red Son’s. “Back to being a villain? Because right now, you’re a hero?” 

He startled back, the closeness jolting him. “ Back to as in I’ll go back to fighting you! So when that happens, don’t expect any more impromptu rescues.” He hissed. 

“I thought you rescued me in the desert for reasons that would ‘stir fry my Noodle Brain.’” The Noodle Boy's grin was so so wide Red Son wondered if it hurt.

He huffed. “Well that wasn’t the only time I saved your life, was it?!” 

Red Son stood up straight, dusting some debris which still clung to his coat. There wasn’t actually much dirt on the fabric but he needed to do anything else right now, because he could see from his peripheral that the Noodle Boy was staring at him.

“No.” The Noodle Boy murmured. “It wasn’t.” His face softened into something warm and kind as he looked at Red Son. If Red Son were delirious enough, he would think that it was the blunt force love he had so often seen pouring out the Noodle Boy in everything he did. 

Suddenly, a bandaged hand grabbed Red Son’s. The warmth of the Noodle Boy’s skin permeated through the gauze. “Come on.” He began to tug and Red Son. “Let’s get you some victory noodles.” 

Red Son sputtered as he took a step back. “I told you, Noodle Boy, I have to go see my parents-!” 

“It’ll be for a couple minutes!” The Noodle Boy grabbed onto Red Son’s other hand. “Have one bowl with us, and then you can leave.” He began to pull Red Son over to the crowd. 

Red Son squawked in indignation, trying to wiggle out of the Noodle Boy’s grip. Regrettably, the Monkey King’s successor hadn’t been slacking off with the training, so no matter how much Red Son dug his heels into the earth, the Noodle Boy still dragged him along. 

“Oh, and before you go, Mei and I are gonna need your number.” The Noodle Boy said as he pulled Red Son. 

“My what?! ” Red Son echoed, completely baffled now. 

“Your number! So we can talk to you and hang out and stuff!” The Noodle Boy grinned. “You’re Mei’s friend, which means you’re obviously mine, so now you’re obligated to hang out with us!” 

“I AM NOT YOUR FRIEND!” Red Son flared up, hair bursting and fingernails sparking, but for some reason the Noodle Boy’s grip on his hands only got tighter. His grin grew wilder as he listed out all the terribly stupid things he wanted to do with Red Son, like taking him to an “arcade” to play “video games” or to go out and eat street food in the Metropolis shopping district. Red Son could only groan as he was dragged back to all the heroes with their empty bowls raised up for noodles. 

As Red Son sat down eating his (admittedly very tasty) hand pulled noodles, the Dragon Girl sat next to him, eating with such a ferocity that every now and then some of her broth flicked onto his coat. 

“I have a bone to pick with you.” Red Son snarled under his breath. Probably a bad choice of words given who they just defeated, but whatever. 

The Dragon Girl raised her brow mid-noodle slurp. “Why?” She asked, mouth full. Red Son gagged at the sight. 

“You told the Noodle Boy that I was a ‘friend’” He sneered at the word, “And a good one at that. I thought I made it clear to you that you’re my student, I’m your mentor, and this alliance is temporary. ”

The Dragon Girl slurped the rest of her noodles, humming as she leaned back against Red Son’s shoulder. “I mean, you say that, but I still think you’re a good friend to me.” 

Red Son scoffed, tossing a piece of (admittedly, very well seasoned) tofu into his mouth before placing the noodle bowl down. “But why? ” 

The Dragon Girl hummed, stirring her chopsticks in her noodle bowl. “Cause you’re an idiot.” She pointed at the chopsticks at Red Son. “The MK kind of idiot.” 

Red Son shot up from his seat, hair flaring up. “How DARE you?! I’m nothing LIKE that-that-that-!” He was so offended he could barely string a sentence together. 

“Like what? That idiot who dove head first into the Samadhi Fire? Because guess who else did that Red Boy?” The Dragon Girl tilted her head at Red Son in mock jeer. "You." 

Red Son flushed, lip twitching and cheeks heating to what he could only assume was an obvious shade of red given the Dragon Girl’s giggles. He sat back down with his arms crossed. 

“So considering you and MK are the same kind of idiot, it also means you’re the same kind of friend too.” The Pony Girl said matter-of-factly. “But, MK was here first, so he’s my best friend.” She wrapped her arm around Red Son’s shoulder, tugging him in. “You’re a very close third.” 

Red Son wanted to argue that there was a difference between him and the Noodle Boy diving into the True Fire of Samadhi for the Dragon Horse Girl. Red Son was on a mission, he was more resistant to fire, he was confident that he had more brain cells than that imbecile could even dream of. But when Red Son struck his fist at the Dragon Girl’s encasing, when he cupped her pitch silhouette in his hands, he wasn’t thinking about any of those things. He was only thinking about keeping her safe. Keeping her with him. And judging by what the Noodle Boy had told him earlier, that’s all he wanted too. He might have more resistance to fire, but his hands were raw all the same. 

Huh. Red Son leaned his head against the Dragon Girl, just slightly. Maybe he really was more of an idiot than he thought. 

And maybe that was something…he could tolerate. At least for a little while. 

“Wait, close third? ” Red Son scrunched up his face in offense. “Who’s your other friend?” 

The Dragon Girl shrugged, “My plushie’s a lot more cuddly.” 

It felt like every three months, Red Son needed to rebuild the Demon Bull Fortress and its assets again. He was starting to get annoyed by it. 

It had been nearly two weeks since the Lady Bone Demon had been defeated, and things had been…peaceful. Red Son returned home to his parents and told them about his alliance with the Monkie Kid and his gang. The fortress still required major repairs from the Lady Bone Demon’s fracturing–and to be honest, the hole the Dragon Girl made still had yet to be fixed. Yet despite the damage done to their home, his parents were surprisingly insistent on him taking his time to rest. 

“You’ve fought an enemy of our clan. And you won .” The Demon Bull King crossed his arms when he found Red Son hunched over a twitching kitchen bull clone “It would be below you to repair the chefs.” 

“But-but what about dinner?” Red Son stuttered. “It would be wrong of me to let you cook! Not that your food is subpar, of course, it’s just that you still need to recover from-” 

“ You still need to recover from contact with the Samadhi Fire.” A small gust of wind forced Red Son out of the kitchen and into the dining room. “You can worry about your little trinkets later,” Princess Iron Fan said as she sat down at her dinner table. “Plus, your father’s been fascinated by the human concept of ‘take out.’ If you really want to help, you’ll order something for us.” 

As much of a fever dream as it was to hear Princess Iron Fan tell him to work less, Red Son’s heart felt light as his father’s hand clapped his back when stomping past him. Their doting came from a place of pride, after all. Red Son had played a major role in the death of the icy specter which loomed over the Demon Bull Family for months now. Regardless of who he allied with, the Lady Bone Demon was defeated in part thanks to him. He could tell from his father’s constant demand for Red Son to retell the story and the ancient vials of burn cream which waited at his bedside each morning that they were thankful. It made the ends of his mouth twitch up in glee, knowing that his parents were truly proud of what he'd done. 

He chose not to mention the whole “Monkie Kid and Dragon Girl adamantly call themselves his friend” thing though. Red Son wasn’t particularly sure how his parents would react to that. They certainly wouldn’t like that he spoke to them over the phone. 

It was mostly because of the Dragon Girl. When the Pony Girl gave Red Son the newest smartphone model, she batted her eyes and promised it would only be used for student-mentor conversations, but she immediately broke that promise when she sent him links to her livestreams and barrages of cute animal pictures. Then, she gave the Noodle Boy his number, which only made things worse. He would text Red Son about the most inane subjects, or snap blurry photos of human depictions of the Demon Bull Family in his precious arcade games. 

But really, it was Red Son’s own fault for not throwing the phone away immediately. It was his own fault for watching the live streams, for ranting about the inaccuracies of the Noodle Boy’s arcade games. It was his own fault for taking one of the bottles of burn cream his mother left him and slipping it to a bull clone to place on the Noodle Boy’s bed. It was his own fault for finally, finally agreeing to go to an arcade with the two of them that weekend in exchange for three bowls of spicy noodles with tofu. 

And so, Red Son did his best to try and settle into this new life, where he spent less time working and more time texting the Dragon Girl about the best way to repair her bike. He’d stride through the halls of his family’s fortress, taking careful notes of the resources he would need to obtain in order to repair their home, stuffing them into his pockets so his mother wouldn’t swipe them. (He still wasn't completely comfortable doing nothing with his hands.) When Red Son cuddled into bed to scroll through his old art collection, the Noodle Boy would call him up for the simple reason of “Wanting to check in,” And he would be so busy scolding the Noodle Boy for calling him that he’d forget to hang up. It was all wild and new and confusing for Red Son, but he did his best to try and fit into this new routine.

So when Red Son felt the sensation of a marker running up his arm, he panicked. 

It was a bright, sunny day. Red Son was staring out one of the windows in the hallway, taking mental note of what guards would need repairs, when something cool and felt-tipped ran across his arm. 

Red Son nearly jumped out of his skin at the sensation. He whipped his head around, at first thinking that maybe something in the fortress was touching him. But just as quickly he realized that no, that wasn’t the case at all. 

Red Son ran into his room, locking the door behind him. He threw his coat off to look down at his arms, and sure enough, a felt tip marker was making long, elegant strokes of emerald green up and down his forearms. 

Red Son scrambled to grab one of his fountain pens, practically flinging the contents of his desk off. He sat on his bed and hiked up his pants to scribble on his calf, handwriting messier than it had been in a long, long time.

You’re alive. 

The elegant green strokes stopped midway through. Red Son sucked in a breath as underneath his writing, a now familiar hand wrote back. 

Yeah? Did you think I wasn’t?

Red Son's hands were shaking for some reason, but he tried not to let it show in his script. 

You stopped drawing once the Lady Bone Demon took over. I thought you died immediately. 

His soulmate wrote back further up along the bone of Red Son’s leg. 

I didn’t really have markers on me. And I was kind of busy with, y’know, the whole Lady Bone Demon thing. 

The felt tip marker tapped against Red Son’s calf before making a decision. His soulmate wrote just beside where Red Son first put pen to skin. 

I'm kind of surprised you even care. 

A new sort of heat ran across Red Son’s face, some mixture of indignation and irrational shame. At least his soulmate had an excuse. Red Son had the time and the means to talk to them, and he adamantly decided not to. Did he really have a right to feel…what was this feeling anyways, relieved? Was the tension that eased off his shoulders at the feel of felt-tip markers deserved? It was all a weird slurry of emotions in his chest. He always had far too many feelings about his soulmate. 

Red Son gripped his pen tighter now. Maybe it was the new shift in his life, peaceful and tumultuous at once. Or maybe it was the peonies which restricted his air flow. It could be the pungent scent of burn cream that lingered in his room made him nostalgic for a childhood dream he’d long given up. Or it could just be that all the gold and warmth and hauntings had made him ridiculously, ridiculously soft. But he wrote the truth to his soulmate. 

I’m glad you’re alive. 

A small, involuntary smile curled up his lip. 

I’ve missed feeling you draw. 

His soulmate didn’t respond for a near minute. Red Son couldn’t even imagine what they were thinking. The back of his ears burned with each second that felt-tip marker didn’t run across his skin. 

But then, his soulmate spoke back, on his other calf. 

I’ve missed drawing too. 

A foolhardy relief ran across Red Son. His soulmate continued to write. 

I haven’t had time to draw lately. I hurt my hands a while back, and my friend told me I had to lay off doing too much work with them so they could heal, but I’ve missed this. I needed this. 

As Red Son watched his emerald green lines run up his hands in a swirl, he leaned against his bed frame to watch. He needed this too. He stared as the carefully deliberate swirls of emerald green weaved their way around his arms and hands, as little leaves poked out their stems. A laugh escaped his lips. He had no idea how he’d hide this from his parents. 

The phone in his discarded coat rang. Red Son groaned, stretching across his bed to dig it out and answer. “What do you want, Noodle Boy?” Red Son snapped. “I’m sort of in the middle of something.”

“Oh good, me too.” The Noodle Boy replied. “I didn’t feel like turning on music and Mei isn’t live streaming, so I figured I’d check in.”  

“You really don’t need to constantly ‘check in’ on me, especially considering that I’m going to that atrocious arcade with you later this week.” Red Son sneered. “And you shouldn’t be doing anything given the state of your hands.” 

The Noodle Boy laughed. “It’s fiiine ! The burn cream you sent is crazy good, I’m basically completely healed.” Red Son rolled his eyes.  

“I kinda need to do this anyways.” Red Son heard the muffled sound of clutter on the other side of the line. “Even with the Lady Bone Demon gone, I’ve been so busy with repairs and sweeping out minor demons trying to take over,” A small white flower blossomed along one of the thinner green stems. “And yeah, I’ve been getting used to all this new stuff happening, but also I’m not used to it at all?” Red Son could practically hear the Noodle Boy shrug. “I just needed to fall back into something more familiar. To help me get my head straight.” 

Red Son sighed, leaning his head against his hand, phone pressed into his ear. He watched as his soulmate drew little crickets and cicadas on the flowering vines. “Has it helped?” 

The Noodle Boy made an indecisive noise. “It’s definitely familiar.”

Red Son heard more clutter on the other side. “What about you?" The Noodle Boy asked. "What were you doing when I called you?”

His soulmate’s new art reminded him of those nights at the temple, with their chirping cicadas and vibrant greenery. But for some reason, the swirl of the vines reminded Red Son of the warm hands he bandaged, the raw exposed skin that snaked across his hands and forearms. He wondered which arms would keep him up with their image later tonight. He’d lost plenty of sleep over those two before. He was sure there were plenty more sleepless nights to come. 

Red Son sighed as he watched a small scarlet butterfly grow its wings on the back of his hand. “The same as you." 

Chapter Text

Arcades were terrible and Red Son would burn them all down given the opportunity. 

The building was stuffed with mortals screaming about “claw games” and “shooters,” who would constantly push Red Son when they ran by. The music was a thudding base that made his ears ring and the lights were so bright that even his glasses didn’t help with the glare. The games themselves were clearly rigged to give you the least amount of tickets possible, but that didn’t stop Red Son from getting absolutely infuriated each time he lost. The effort wasn’t even worth the cheap, paltry “prizes” you could exchange tickets for–Red Son could go dumpster diving and find something of better value. 

Worst of all, Red Son got to learn the hard way that this particular arcade would sometimes go anti-gravity at seemingly random intervals. He gripped the Dragon Girl’s letterman jacket, trying his best not to throw up as he swam through the air. 

She seemed to find this funny, of course. Funny enough that the moment they left the arcade, she insisted they do it all again. Apparently, the Noodle Boy was trying to win some obnoxiously huge plushie and he needed hundreds of tickets, so they wanted to combine their earnings. 

“You realize you’d be spending about three times more than the doll’s worth playing all those miserable games.” Red Son sneered. “You’d be better off just buying something online.” 

“Yeah, but it’s not the same!” The Dragon Girl insisted. “You don’t get the same rush from earning it. You get that, right?” Red Son refused to admit he understood the joy of earning a prize so he only scoffed as Pony Girl tried to convince him. “Plus, arcade games are fun, so it’s not like we’re wasting money or anything.” 

“And it’s MONKEY COP!!” The Noodle Boy yelled, practically leaping over the Dragon Girl’s shoulders to look at Red Son. “It’s from the best movie EVER!! We gotta get it.”  

Red Son wanted to protest “Monkey Cop” being the “best movie ever” on principle, but that would mean admitting he never watched the film, and he had a sneaking suspicion the Noodle Boy would immediately drag him to his miserable hovel to watch it. 

“Come on, Red Son! It’ll be fun!” The Noodle Boy grinned at him. “I can even show you some actual combos in Monkey Mech so you don’t lose to Mei all the time.” 

“I mean, he’ll still lose, but you can definitely teach him.” The Pony Girl nodded sagely. She bent down slightly so that the Noodle Boy could hoist his legs up. The Dragon Girl grabbed under his knees as he wrapped his arms around her neck, hoisting him into a piggyback ride. 

“Why should I spend hours working to get the Noodle Boy some cheap stuffed animal? There’s clearly better ways for me to spend my time than playing… Monkey Mech. ” Red Son said the name like a curse. 

“Oh, like what? Being all grouchy in your evil fortress?” The Dragon Girl taunted him. “You can sit alone in your room like a loser, or you can hang out with us.” 

The Noodle Boy lifted his head up just high enough that he rested his chin between the Dragon Girl’s two puffs of hair. “C’mon, pleeease? If we have some tickets left over, we can get you a prize too.” 

There was no sunlight for his eyes to capture, so instead the lights outside the arcade reflected there. The blinding glare of the neon signs across Megapolis were a bit easier to look at through him–a soft brown filter that eased the harshness of the city’s nightlife. Red Son groaned, covering his face in his hands. It was absurd how soft he’d gotten. “Fine. I’ll help you win your stupid toy.” 

The heroes cheered, both of them pumping their fists in the air. However, neither of them realized that the Noodle Boy letting go of the Pony Girl’s neck and the Pony Girl letting go of his legs meant that the piggyback’s structure would fall apart. The Noodle Boy slid right off the Dragon Girl’s shoulders, falling ass-first onto the concrete street. 

The Dragon Girl kneeled down to apologize, but the Noodle Boy wasn’t hurt, so they just started cracking up sitting on the busy Megapolis sidewalk. Red Son tried to distance himself so it would look like he didn’t know those freaks, but they kept cheerfully calling him over to help them get back up. 

And so, Red Son would let himself get dragged along to activity after activity, hang out after hang out. For all his (literal and metaphorical) huffing and puffing, he’d always agree to see them later that week. So, in a functional sense, that did sort of…make them…friends. 

And that was weird. Really weird.

For one, friendship as a concept was just entirely novel. Red Son never really had the chance to make friends before, so seeing the Dragon Girl’s spam texts for him to “Get over here already , ” because “the lunch special’s gonna end soon,” was so baffling it erred on unnerving. But it was only made weirder that these new “friends” were once the enemies Red Son used to fight semi-regularly. 

To be fair, it’s not like he could really say no. What excuse could he give? With his parents’ hiatus from world conquering schemes, Red Son found that once he properly restored the Demon Bull Fortress, he didn’t have much to do . He wasn’t used to having this much free time on his hands. He tried to fill it with new passion projects or meditation or rearranging the drawings he kept on file, but he wouldn’t exactly call any of that busy work, so his hands were constantly itching. Eating lunch at a cheap fast food joint was something. He had no real reason to refuse.

But, he should have a reason. The reason of course, being that he shouldn’t like these people. Even if the Dragon Girl and the Noodle Boy wanted to be his friend, even if Red Son was coming to slowly accept that he wasn’t a total villain at heart, that shouldn’t mean he’s suddenly buddy buddy with them, right?

And even if Red Son put aside the traitorous implications of befriending them, the Noodle Boy and the Dragon Girl were still the most annoying people Red Son had ever met. They were loud and chaotic and endlessly cheerful, their energy feeding each other in an endless nightmare loop of frenzied shouting. Red Son wasn’t exactly a demon who required peace or quiet by any means, but their antics were especially moronic. 

And yet, Red Son was antsy when he sat alone in the Demon Bull Fortress. The halls had always felt a bit too big, but there was something massive about them now that he wasn’t squished between two people. His too-quiet room was deafening now that he didn’t have two people screaming next to him. He found himself more and more willing to watch the Dragon Girl’s streams or pick up the Noodle Boy’s calls, letting the chatter become a white noise that he came to prefer over smooth jazz or night ambiance or his own cluttered thoughts. 

Still though, just because he held some level of attachment to the two little heroes didn’t mean Red Son wouldn’t complain every step of the way. The Dragon Girl called him a “baby,” or “a drama queen” for it, but maybe he’d stop complaining if they stopped dragging him along to the dumbest excursions he could possibly imagine. 

Red Son gagged at the chalk sign hanging next to a small building. “ Do you mortals really drink cheese tea?” 

“It’s super good, trust me.” The Noodle Boy assured him. “It’s tea with this foam on top made of cream cheese and stuff. It’s really tasty, Mei and I get it all the time.” 

The two of them were sitting at a table outside the small, bustling cafe. The Dragon Girl was inside getting cheese teas for everyone. She insisted that they find somewhere to sit while she grabbed their drinks, which was sort of Red Son’s worst nightmare. At least he knew he didn’t entirely hate the Dragon Girl’s company. Considering how much the Noodle Boy ruined his plans, Red Son shouldn’t stand being around him. 

But, things were different now, weren’t they? Red Son wasn’t the demon he thought he was. He was simultaneously capable or more and less than he could have imagined. He had...friends. Or at the very least, people who dragged him out of the fortress once a week. And really, if the Noodle Boy hadn’t stared at him with a wide smile or clutched his arms with warm hands, would any of this have ever happened? 

“Red? Red Sooon?” It suddenly occurred to him that the Noodle Boy was still talking about cheese tea while Red Son was busy spacing out. “Which is better??” 

“Wh-what?” Red Son stuttered. 

“Mei’s favorite tea is green tea, but my favorite’s oolong. Since you’re here, you can break the tie. Which is better?” The Noodle Boy asked. 

“Neither.” Red Son responded. “The best tea is pu’er.” He kicked one leg over the other. “My mother also has ginseng tea imported to us every few decades.” 

“Awww, gross!” The Noodle Boy stuck his tongue out and wrinkled his face. “Ginseng’s so bitter, and pu’er tastes like I’m eating topsoil.”

Red Son scoffed. “Well of course the tea you drink is bad. You’re a miserable peasant who couldn’t afford anything of real quality. It’s why we’re here, isn’t it?” He waved his arm at the cafe.  

“I’m gonna choose to ignore what you said, because even if you do like gross dirt teas,” The Noodle Boy leaned across the rickety table, his chair squeaking as he moved,  “You can at least admit that oolong is a close third, right? Right?” He wiggled his eyebrows at Red Son.

“They’re not dirt teas, Noodle Boy!” Red Son snapped, smacking his hands against the table. “And they’re better than whatever cheap teabags of oolong you use!” Truthfully oolong was a close third, but Red Son really didn’t want to give the Noodle Boy that victory. 

“This table is cheaply made. The legs are uneven.” Red Son teetered it side by side for emphasis. “And it’s…sticky.” He peeled his hands off in disgust. “Is this really the sort of establishment you mortals find worthy of uplifting?”

The Noodle Boy shrugged. “Well, Mei said there new cheese tea drinks were trending. It could be terrible, but we might as well give it a shot.” He rocked back and forth in his seat. “At least we’ll have fun, right?” 

“You have odd ideas about fun. ” Red Son sunk into his seat. 

“I have great ideas about fun!” The Noodle Boy crossed his arms and puffed up his cheeks like an irritated chipmunk. “And unlike you, I know how to have it.” 

“I can have fun !” Red Son snapped. He wasn’t just some stick in the mud. Red Son had plenty of things he did for “fun,” like creating vehicles capable of leveling cities, tempering his powers until he could burn down a forest, and generally watching the enemies of his family perish. What wasn’t fun about that? 

Something slammed onto the table, making Red Son and the Noodle Boy jump in their seats. The Dragon Girl had returned with their drinks, and now at the center of the table was a tray of…of…

“Behold!” She shouted, lifting her phone up so the camera showed off everyone at the table. 

“The cheesy-cha! Available in matcha, strawberry, and mango.” 

Red Son leaned over to inspect the cups, narrowing his eyes and grimacing. “I thought you said this was tea. ”

“Uhh, it is tea Red Boy. Look inside the cups.” The Pony Girl said this like it was obvious.

To be fair, there was some tea in each cup. It was just that the majority of it was a slurry of that horrific cheese foam and an assortment of other ingredients like fruit purees and matcha powder. Frankly, this “tea” looked more like an incredibly fluffy looking dessert. Red Son was seriously considering asking for a spoon. Were there chunks of jelly sitting on the bottom?

The Dragon Girl and the Noodle Boy didn’t seem to mind. The Noodle Boy was chugging the mango slush like there was no tomorrow while the Dragon Girl was excitedly describing how tasty the matcha “cheesy-cha” was to her chat. Red Son took the strawberry cheese tea and sighed, swirling it in his hands as he tried not to gag. He could only hope this wouldn’t rot his teeth as he took a small sip. 

He mostly tasted foam and strawberry puree, but he got a little bit of milk tea at the end there. It wasn’t… terrible. Strawberries weren’t his favorite fruit, but he didn’t mind the flavor. He’d probably like the…”cheesy-cha” more if the proportions were a bit more balanced, but whatever. 

Red Son continued to sip at the drink when he felt someone staring at him. He glanced up to see the Noodle Boy, staring at him with a wide grin. “Sooo?” 

“So what?” Red Son sneered. 

“So do you like it?” The Noodle Boy leaned over a bit, grin widening. 

Red Son looked down at the drink with a distasteful expression before sighing. “It’s not the worst thing you humans have created.” Red Son admitted, taking another small sip. “I would have preferred a different flavor.” 

“Sorry Red Boy!” The Dragon Girl said, ending her live stream and shoving her phone in her pocket. “They only had three flavors of cheesy-cha here. I usually get matcha and MK’s into stone fruit, so you kiiinda got stuck with strawberry.” She shrugged. 

“But there’s lots of other cheese tea places!” The Noodle Boy piped up. “We can show you around until you find one you like! I know all the good ones–whenever I’m on break I always head to whichever store’s nearest to me. I’ll get some if it’s on route too. Or, if it’s off route.” The Noodle Boy laughed sheepishly. “Point is, we can find something you’ll like.” 

Red Son snorted, the force of his breath so close to his cup making the cheese foam flutter in a way that made the Dragon Girl giggle. 

“Anyways, I think it’s great.” The Noodle Boy said, tipping his cup up to the sky to try and let the remaining cheese foam drip into his mouth. 

“Well of course you would like it.” Red Son sneered. “You have the culinary senses of a three year old.” 

“Hey!” The Noodle Boy narrowed his eyes into a glare that lacked any real venom to it. 

“I’m glad you guys liked it.” The Dragon Girl leaned back against her chair. “Would’ve sucked if I paid for something you all hated.” 

“You don’t have to pay for me, y’know. I can just–” The Noodle Boy started digging into his pockets when the Pony Girl lifted a finger. 

“Ah buh buh! Cheese tea’s on me today.” She said, “It’s Red Boy’s first time having cheese tea so it was only right I treated him. And I owe you like a million cheese teas. So keep your wallet in your pocket.” She snorted, picking up her cheese tea concoction. “It’s not putting a dent in mine anyways.” 

The Noodle Boy beamed. “Thanks Mei. You’re the best! But, uh, quick question.” He leaned over to the Dragon Girl like he was going to whisper, but he barely lowered his volume. “ Why do you owe me a million cheese teas?”

“Hmm?” She looked over at the Noodle Boy mid matcha sip. “Oh.” She chortled, a smug smile stretching across her face. “Remember that time we made a bet about what Red Boy looked like under his coat?” 

Red Son choked on a piece of jelly.  “Which was completely inappropriate , Dragon Girl!” He  hissed through gritted teeth. 

“What?!” She threw her hands in the air. “It’s not like I’m wrong. ” 

Red Son sputtered, arms wrapping around his chest in embarrassment. “It doesn’t matter whether or not you’re wrong! What matters is you’ve been betting over my body type–!”

The Noodle Boy let out a loud gasp, cutting Red Son off. “Wait.” He turned to Red Son, eyes sparkling like they captured the heavens. “So you are buff?!” 

Red Son wanted to scream, but he could only let out a series of half-syllables. Regrettably, that meant the Dragon Girl could open and speak before he put a stop to this nightmare conversation. “Yeah, he’s buff.” She sighed.” Not like, DBK buff, but he’s got some killer biceps, so I figure that means you win.” 

The Noodle Boy turned to Red Son, eyes wide with wonder. He began to stand up, a grin snaking up his face. “I wanna see.” 

Red Son shot out of his seat, face flushed so violently he worried his hair would start to spark. “Absolutely not!” He wrapped his arms around his chest, feeling very exposed.  

“But Mei got to see!” The Noodle Boy whined. He strode over to Red Son. “At least roll up your sleeves, I wanna see how jacked your arms are-” 

Red Son screeched so loudly his parents back home probably heard him. He could feel the eyes of several mortals on them, but he frankly didn’t care. He was too busy trying to keep the Noodle Boy off. The two struggled against each other in what had to be the most absurd fight Red Son had ever been a part of. 

It didn’t help that for all the physicality he had to deal with as of late, he still wasn’t exactly used to people touching him. And he certainly wasn’t used to him. At one point, Noodle Boy’s hand accidently slipped into Red Son’s sleeve when trying to grab onto it. Maybe it was the warmth of his fingers, or just the fact that no one had touched that part of Red Son’s wrist in centuries, but the touch made his entire body jolt up like he’d been struck by lightning. He was pretty sure a plume of smoke poofed out his ponytail. 

The Dragon Girl was no help. In fact, he was pretty sure she was recording the whole thing. He was going to have to destroy that phone. 

Eventually, the Noodle Boy gave up, instead opting to ask the Dragon Girl for any possible pics of the supposed muscle Red Son was hiding. He groaned, sitting back down on the shoddily made chair. If this was the “whole thing for biceps” the Dragon Girl had warned him about, Red Son was never going to take his coat off around those dweebs. 

He certainly wouldn’t do it today. Not when hydrangeas bloomed across the biceps the Noodle Boy’s grubby hands kept trying to grab it. 

Okay. Sure. FINE. Dragon Girl had become someone Red Son had stumbled into caring about. And while the Noodle Boy had been haunting him for nearly a whole year now, he wasn’t…he wasn’t…he wasn’t completely intolerable company. 

But that didn’t make Red Son a part of their… gang. 

Not that he necessarily wanted to be. He was still adamant that for all his non-villainous tendencies as of late, he wasn’t part of the Monkie Kid’s friends. The Noodle Boy might drag him over to watch a movie, but he wasn’t fighting the new demon of the week alongside Sun Wukong’s successor. 

He was certain the gang didn’t want him there either. Well, not all of them. The Noodle Boy and the Dragon Girl had been pushing the hero narrative for ages now, so he was sure they’d love to have him as some permanent fixture in the group. The Blue Man was surprisingly friendly to Red Son as well, even offering “some tea and a talk, if you ever need it.” The Pig and his little soulmate, however, were a lot more on edge around Red Son. It was a subtle thing, but Red Son could tell by the quiet looks they gave each other, the raised brow of the human scholar as he spoke to Red Son, the grumble in the Pig’s voice when Red Son waited for the Noodle Boy to finish his shift. 

Red Son would lean against the wall, waiting for the sound of the Noodle Cart to park by Pigsy’s. He’d distract himself by picking at his nails or jotting something down on his phone, trying to ignore the way the Pig leered at him each time he cleaned the counter. He couldn’t really blame him. Judging from how the Noodle Boy spoke about him, the Pig was something of a father figure. He doubted that any reasonable father wanted their son spending time with the enemy. 

He didn’t chide the Noodle Boy for it though. Whenever the Noodle Boy entered the restaurant and began chatting with Red Son, he would slip back into the kitchen. And judging by how the Noodle Boy kept inviting Red Son to more and more things, the Pig hadn’t told him to cut ties. Maybe the Pig wasn’t upset over the Noodle Boy fraternizing with the enemy as much as he just didn’t trust Red son. 

Red Son didn’t intend to ever mention this, of course, but it slipped out one day. The Noodle Boy had been begging Red Son to go on a “snack run” with him after discovering that he had only ever eaten a handful of modern mortal snacks. Red Son agreed to it–not everything he’d tried so far was terrible, so he figured he might find something of value within all the human garbage. Of course, Red Son wasn’t letting the Noodle Boy near his vehicles given the past history of wrecked cars. So, they had to squeeze into that sad little delivery cart. 

Red Son was sitting next to the Noodle Boy, trying his best not to think about how their shoulders and biceps and thighs kept touching. The Noodle Boy turned the keys, cheerfully listing out all the various grocers and convenience stores they’d hit on their snack run when something went pop and the Noodle Cart broke down. 

The Noodle Boy opened the hood, talking to Red Son as he tried to fix whatever was wrong. It was clear he was trying to make idle conversation to keep himself from spiraling over the deplorable state of his vehicle, and since Red Son wasn’t sure what he’d do with a panicking Noodle Boy, he humored him. Somehow, he let the Pig’s feelings about him slip out. 

“Huh?” The Noodle Boy looked up from the engine at Red Son, who had gotten out of the car and was now standing by Pigsy’s Noodles. “Oh, don’t worry, Pigsy’s always like that with people. Macaque, Monkey King, even Mei at first. He’ll come around eventually.” 

“I blasted a hole through your apartment. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s still paying for repairs. ‘Eventually’ might be understating it.” Red Son retorted. 

“Okay, fair, but you could always fix that by paying us back for that? Like, I dunno, maybe in the form of a new sketchbook?” The Noodle Boy looked over at Red Son, fluttering his eyelashes. Red Son narrowed his eyes and glowered, which made the Noodle Boy pout. 

“I’m just saying, if you’re really worried Pigsy hates you, it might help to actually pay for the damages and all that.” The Noodle Boy turned back to the cart’s engine. “But I don’t think he hates you. Pigsy just needs to confirm a few things.”

“Like what?” Red Son asked. 

The Noodle Boy reached somewhere deep into the engine. Red Son wanted to chide him for the lack of gloves, but the Noodle Boy spoke up before he could. “He just needs to know you’re good. And, you are good, so there’s nothing to worry about.” 

Red Son’s lip twitched into a frown. He crossed his arms, leaning against the Noodle Shop’s wall. He could hear the Pig grumbling to his soulmate about how he needed to “start paying up or learn to wash the dishes.” 

It was still weird to think of himself as good. He had accepted that he would be a villain in the eyes of mortals, and he took that role eagerly. If it brought his family closer to power, he couldn’t care less what lesser beings thought of him. It was part of the reason why the Noodle Boy’s insistence that he never really was a villain made the earth tilt beneath his feet, haunting him late at night. 

Red Son was more willing to accept that he had stumbled his way into more “heroic” tendencies, but saying he was good felt too simple. It was the same sort of sticky sweet word that caring was, that loving was. It made Red Son’s chest bunch up, like his heart fit awkwardly in his ribcage. Even if he was too caring to be an enemy, too loving to be a victim, even if the Pig eventually did decide that he was as good as the Noodle Boy seemed to believe, some stubborn part of him still protested it. It made him sound…soft. It made him sound weak. And he didn’t need any more reminders about how weak he was. 

But the Noodle Boy was all those things. Red Son watched him as he worked, his tongue sticking out his lips and his brow scrunched up in intense focus. The Noodle Boy was good and caring and loving. Red Son had always known that, to some degree, but with each day he was dragged along to some miserable excursion, he could see it. He could feel it. The lightest touch of a blunt force love. The Noodle Boy had beaten everything that came his way. So how weak could it be to be good, to be caring, to be loving? 

The Noodle Boy closed the hood of the engine. He kept his hands there, eyes shut as he took a deep breath. He turned to Red Son with a shaky smile, tears welling up in his eyes. “Pigsy’s gonna fire me. ”

“He’s what -” 

The Noodle Boy paced around the cart, running his hands through his hair. “This is it. This is it! Last month, Pigsy told me ‘MK, if you destroy your cart one more time, you’re fired!’” He scrunched up his face and did the worst impression of the Pig Red Son had ever heard, “and now it’s engine is all busted, and I don’t know how to fix it, and now he’s finally gonna fire me!” 

He gripped his hair so hard that Red Son was pretty sure he plucked a couple strands out. “And then when I’m fired, he’s gonna hire someone who actually knows how to do things like repair engines, and deliver on time, and everyone’s gonna love them, and when I die my tombstones’s gonna say ‘Here Lies MK: Failed Delivery Boy’ but no one’s gonna have time to visit because they’ll be too busy riding in a Noodle Cart that actually works-!” 

“Would you calm down?!” Red Son snapped. How did he go from getting fired to dying?! “The Pig’s not going to do any of that, just–” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do you have a tool box?” 

“W-what?” The Noodle Boy stuttered, seemingly still surprised Red Son had cut him off. 

“A tool box, so I can–Nevermind.” He dug into his pockets until he pulled out a small multi-tool, striding over to the Noodle Cart. He opened up the hood to inspect the damage. It wasn’t too bad–most of the issues from the engine came from age more than anything.“Frankly, you’d be better off buying a new engine than repairing this, but whatever.” He rolled his sleeves up–enough that the hem wouldn’t get dirty but not enough for the Noodle Boy to see any lean muscle or semi-faded doodles that danced along his forearms. 

The Noodle Boy quieted down, sitting in the car seat. Even though the hood was up and blocking the sight, Red Son couldn’t help but feel his stare as he worked, like his eyes could somehow melt through the metal and look right at him. It wasn’t possible, of course, but it still made it hard for Red Son to fully concentrate. 

“Sorry about that.” He heard the Noodle Boy murmur. 

“About what?” Red Son asked. 

“Uhh, blowing up back there?” The Noodle Boy almost laughed as he spoke, but there was something clearly forced about it. “I usually try to keep that stuff to myself, but uh, it kind of just slipped out.” 

Red Son’s brow furrowed as he worked. He hadn’t bothered to put on any gloves. He was a demon, so he could handle heat and metal better than the Noodle Boy could, so it wasn’t as necessary for him. But the Noodle Boy used his bare hands without a care. He didn’t ask Red Son for help, even though he knew Red Son was more than capable. For someone so eager to help others, he seemed to forget that he could lean on others too. 

But then again, if the Noodle Boy had asked for help, would Red Son have really-

Oh, who was he kidding? He was elbow deep in that miserable Noodle Cart, and no one had even asked him. Of course he would’ve obliged. He tried to convince himself that he wanted to brag about his mechanical skills to the Noodle Boy, but he knew that wasn’t the case. 

“You’re an idiot.” Red Son said. 

The Noodle Boy grumbled. “Oh, sorry I’m not a car genius like you-”

“I’m not talking about that.” Red Son cut him off, trying to ignore the swell in his chest at the word genius . He leaned his head to the side to look at the Noodle Boy, who was slumped in the seat cross armed. “I thought the Pig was your father figure.” The Noodle Boy jolted a bit at Red Son’s words. “You’re acting like you getting fired would somehow mean he’d completely abandon you. Surely, you’re more than just his employee, yes?” 

“I mean, no? Yes? Maybe?” The Noodle Boy looked down at the wheel, wrapping his arms around himself. “I’ve always had Pigsy. I don’t remember having anyone before I had him. So, yeah, I see him as my dad, but…I don’t know if he sees me as his kid?” 

Red Son’s surprise must have been evident, because the Noodle Boy laughed a bit. “Yeah. I used to call him Dadsy all the time, but he would always tell me that he wasn’t actually my dad, and eventually I just…stopped really mentioning it. In front of him, at least.” He murmured the last sentence out. 

“He couldn’t just kick me out as a kid, obviously, but I’m an adult now. If he fired me, he probably wouldn’t want me living above Pigsy’s Noodles, or generally being there. So if he ever did, I’d have to…I dunno.” His eyes were glazed over at the thought as he curled up in the seat. “I dunno.” 

Red Son had never seen the Noodle Boy like this, really. He’d seen flickering images of melancholy now and again–the awkward ramblings about his peony drawings, the disappointed oh as they spoke on the Dronecopter–but the Noodle Boy had never shown that side of himself so plainly before. And judging by how he apologized earlier, it seemed like he didn’t show that part of himself to a lot of people. 

For some reason, Red Son thought of his own father. He had faint memories of a softer demon, who let him sleep on his lap as he worked. But Red Son was no child. And his father, trapped for centuries, had hardened like a diamond from the mountain’s pressure. With each day at home, things were shifting into something more calm and domestic, but there was something there, some invisible force between the two of them, that Red Son couldn’t climb over or drill through. He almost wanted his family to start plotting again. It was easy to build things worthy of praise, to defeat all-powerful demons that haunted his family’s dinner table. It was harder to make small talk during dinner. 

“You mentioned that the Pig disliked the Dragon Girl at first. Why was that?” Red Son asked as he worked at the engine.

“Hmm?” The Noodle Boy snapped out his haze. “O-oh. Yeah.” He smiled a bit. “I had a couple friends before Mei, but they weren’t all that great, so Pigsy worried Mei was just like them.” 

“And the Monkey King?” Red Son tightened a screw in the engine. 

“He hasn’t told me too much about it. I think he just wants to make sure the Monkey King’s being a good mentor?” The Noodle Boy scratched the back of his head. “To be fair, the Monkey King was terrible at communicating back then, so I can’t really blame him.” 

“So the Pig didn’t like the Monkey King or the Dragon Girl because he was worried they wouldn’t treat you well.” Red Son summarized, standing up straight and wiping his hands on the sides of his coat. “If you’re just an employee to him, why would he antagonize a dragon and the Monkey King over your wellbeing?”  

“Because…he’s a really nice boss?” The Noodle Boy suggested, voice going up an octave with each word. 

“Because he cares about you.” Red Son unrolled his sleeves. “Clearly the Pig prioritizes your wellbeing, so he wouldn’t leave you for dead even if you got fired.” He slammed the car hood shut. “Whatever issue he has with calling you his ‘son’ is unfortunate, but it’s clear he views you as his own nonetheless.”

The Noodle Boy stared at Red Son. The rays of the setting sun were blocked by Red Son, so he couldn’t melt the pink and orange, but his eyes still drew Red Son in anyways, large and dark. It was another one of those rare moments of quiet with the Noodle Boy which still made the back of Red Son’s ears flush hot with embarrassment. 

“Do you really think that?” The Noodle Boy asked softly. 

He did. He had to. At least the Noodle Boy was worthy of admiration–a successful hero, a powerful warrior, good and caring and loving. If Red Son didn’t believe his words, how would he be able to climb over the force, to drill through the mountain, to reach his father during dinner time? 

“Try to turn on the cart.” Red Son grumbled, returning to his seat and trying not to think about their legs cramped up next to each other. 

The Noodle Boy took a deep breath, looking away as he turned the keys. The engine sputtered for just a moment before roaring back to life. The Noodle Boy’s eyes widened as he looked over at the hood, the engine’s sound smooth now. Red Son sighed, leaning back against his seat. “Right. Which store did you want to go to-?!” 

He couldn’t even get the question out before the Noodle Boy practically tackled him into a hug. “Thank you thank you thank you so much!!” He cried out, practically nuzzling into Red Son’s neck as he wrapped his arms tightly around Red Son. Red Son sputtered, hair surely toasting the top of the cart as he tried to peel the Noodle Boy off him, but to no avail. 

“Quit hugging me, Noodle Boy!” Red Son snapped, gripping onto the car seat. “You’re gonna push us out the cart-!” 

“I can’t believe it! You got her working again! I thought that she was a goner, honestly, ” The Noodle Boy got off Red Son to flop dramatically over the wheel, hands running across the car hood. “But now, she sounds brand new!” 

Red Son was about to point out that this was not what a brand new car should ever sound like, but the Noodle Boy just turned to him with a wide grin. “You’re the best, Red Son!” 

Typically, Red Son’s powers only lit up so many parts of him–hair, eyes, hands–but right now he felt like his whole face was on fire. He turned away and patted his cheek as if to beat off the flames, but found there was nothing there but overwhelming heat. “Just drive already.” He grumbled, leaning back into his seat. 

The Noodle Boy put his hands on the wheel, but he didn’t drive. His thumb ran small circles around the wheel as his wide grin shifted into something more gentle, more tender. “But, really Red Son.” He looked over at him with a small smile. “Thank you.” 

The light of the setting sun seemed to brighten his features, to soften them into something ridiculously warm. The wind ruffled his hair, the dark brown tuft fluttering away from his face. If Red Son looked closely, he could see freckles splayed across his cheeks, just below his eyes. 

Red Son didn’t think friends were supposed to haunt each other. But as he felt the heat rise up the nape of neck, he knew the sun-kissed image of the Noodle Boy would keep him up that evening, his skin burning like warm hands still embraced him. 

“Checkers Night,” according to the Noodle Boy, was a tradition for the Monkie Kid’s gang. It was supposed to be a casual night, of easy conversation, cheap snacks, and of course, board games. And because Red Son was now tangentially related to the gang, this meant that he was roped into it too. 

He refused, of course. It would cut into his family’s dinner time. But then, Princess Iron Fan was invited to a party that the Demon Bull King couldn’t slip his way out of. Red Son wasn’t invited–he had a bit of a reputation for being terrible at parties. So in a flurry of wind, his parents left him alone in the Demon Bull Fortress. 

The bull clones were up to code, the renovations to the home were complete, he didn’t have any new projects brewing, and his soulmate wasn’t currently drawing anything. The halls felt massive now. There was nothing but the groan of pipes and the whirr of bull clones walking past. It was starting to drive Red Son insane. And the Dragon Girl was spam texting him for help defeating the Noodle Boy in checkers. It would be nice to destroy the Noodle Boy, even if it was in a board game. So, checkers night it was. 

The Noodle Boy, regrettably, seemed to play like he fought. Which was to say, he barely understood the rules, created his plans on the fly, and still won. Red Son had to physically restrain himself before he blew another hole in the Noodle Boy’s hovel. But all things considered, it wasn’t too bad. 

The Noodle Boy and the Dragon Girl’s chaos were something Red Son had slowly grown used to. The Blue Man was accommodating to Red Son. Even the Pig seemed alright. The two of them worked together chiding the Noodle Boy when he smacked the table so hard the pieces jumped in the air. There were even a couple of the human snacks Red Son discovered during his snack run. 

So…yeah. Checkers night was almost becoming fun. Red Son could feel the way his shoulders loosened, his guard slipping down with every time the Pony Girl showed him a cat video or the Blue Guy’s unhealthy cat sidled up against him. He scratched the back of the cat’s ears. For a moment, Red Son allowed himself to be comfortable there, in the hovel of the enemy, playing board games and shouting over rules while eating snacks that left his fingers caked in spices. 

But then, the scholar came. 

“Sorry for running late!” He rushed in, hands full of papers. “Had to work overtime tonight.” He settled next to the Pig, who raised his brow at him, 

“Well if you’re working overtime, maybe you can start payin’ your tab.” The Pig snorted. 

“But Pigsy, ” The scholar made a psh noise, leaning back so that his head rested against the Pig’s collarbone. “Shouldn’t my presence pay all the food back tenfold?” 

The Pig narrowed his eyes at the scholar. “Your presence don’t pay the bills.” 

He was clearly trying to come off as angry, but whatever anger he had dissipated quickly. Red Son watched the Pig adjust himself so his soulmate could lean against him more easily, his glare softening slightly as the scholar chittered with the Noodle Boy about his day. He saw the Pig move his arm to wrap around the scholar to rest his hand against his arm. It was a display of quiet, casual affection, subtle enough that no one cared to comment, but prominent enough that Red Son could see it. 

Something in his stomach churned at the sight of it. 

It only got worse as the night went on. The scholar would whisper something in the Pig’s ear, making the demon rumble low with laughter. Or the Pig would start shouting at the Noodle Boy only for the Scholar to wave it off, somehow managing to quell his anger–not all of it, but enough that Red Son could see the stark difference. It was a sort of natural domesticity that made his chest twist. 

Red Son wanted to just ignore it, but really, how could he? He knew the stories about demons bonded with humans. A tragedy, an embarrassment, the kind of scandal which could only happen because of your own inherent weakness. But those two seemed to have no qualms, no shame, the two of them playfully bickering over the last rice cracker.

With each moment, an uncomfortable pressure rose up Red Son’s throat. He knew that they got along well–the Noodle Boy himself had told him they were happy. But to actually see it for himself was a whole other beast. Something felt so wrong about it. The more Red Son looked, the more his whole body seemed to squirm, unable to stomach the sight of the soulmates. When the Pig finally relented and split the last rice cracker in half, the human gave him a quick peck on the cheek, and Red Son had to stop himself from leaving the room entirely. 

It all came to a head when the Pig was up against Red Son in a checkers match. The Pig was scratching the scruff of his chin, staring down at the board as he tried to figure out his next move, when he suddenly jolted. 

“Tang.” The Pig grabbed his forearm and turned to the scholar. The human had unfurled his sleeve, halfway through scrawling a message when the Pig said his name. “Stop sending me tips on how to cheat in checkers! I’m not gonna use them!”

“How do you know I’m sending you cheats when you haven’t even checked?” The scholar asked. “Maybe I just wanted to tell you about my day without interrupting your game.” 

“I know this because you do it every time! ” The Pig yanked down his sleeve. Low and behold, across his forearm was a small script in dark blue ink telling him to slip pieces off the board when Red Son wasn’t looking. “Who even cheats in checkers?!”

Whatever bickering the two were doing became white noise as far as Red Son was concerned. No, what he focused on was the matching forearms, the slightly smudged ink of ball point pen, the blatant proof of their connection that they were unafraid to show at that moment. They could have gotten away with being a fling, a consort, a short-lived romance, but this? This showed their colors, showed their weakness, and they didn’t even seem to care? 

“How can you live like that?” 

Red Son always spoke a bit louder than he intended, and tonight was no exception. The Pig and the Scholar stopped their bickering to look over at Red Son. “Live like what?” The scholar asked. 

With everyone’s eyes on him, Red Son began to squirm a bit in his seat. “Like… that. ” He sputtered. “Do you really find it appropriate to make your…your…” He waved his hand vaguely at them. “It’s really not something you should flaunt .” 

There was a thick silence in the room now, whatever side conversation or idle activities now abandoned. The two of them stared at Red Son, eyes wide in shock.

“Dude.” The Dragon Girl cringed as she leaned over to Red Son. “Were you homophobic this whole time?” 

“Wh-NO!” Red Son shot up. “I’m talking about that !” He pointed at the exposed forearms. “A bond between a demon and a human isn’t something you just show off. It’s–it should be–it’s embarrassing! It’s a sign of weakness! And you’re just-just-you’re acting like nothing’s wrong with that!” He turned to the Pig, sputtering. “Surely, you feel some shame over your bond, don’t you?!” 

The air in the room shifted, heavy and stifled. The frown on the Pig’s face deepened as he stood up and crossed his arms. He was the shortest one there, but with Red Son sitting down, the Pig managed to loom over him. He could feel the air around the swine practically seethe. 

“Shame, huh?” The Pig jeered. “Maybe I’m not the one with something to be ashamed about here.” He looked down at Red Son, raising his brow. “I’m still trying to replace MK’s belongings from when you destroyed his apartment. And now, you’re sittin’ in this ‘hovel’ trying to tell me I should be embarrassed about how I act around my friends? How I spend time with my soulmate?” 

Heat ran up the back of Red Son’s neck, searing and deeply uncomfortable. “W-well, when you put it like that, it sounds bad, but-!” 

“The kid tells me that half the time you go out with him, you do nothing but complain anyways. So maybe, you’ll appreciate the out I’m giving you.” The Pig’s tone was bitter, anger boiling just beneath it. “You don’t like what I’ve got with Tang?” He jabbed his finger at the door. “Leave.” 

Red Son tried to conjure up some other argument or explanation, but it became increasingly clear that this wasn’t an argument he could win. He couldn’t see the Scholar’s eyes from the glint of his glasses, but he had a small frown on his face. The Blue Man kept going between watching Red Son with some pity and trying to distract himself with the cat. He looked over at the Dragon Girl, hoping to see some semblance of support, but she stared at him with a grimace, some mixture of horror and confusion and maybe even a little disgust. 

He glanced over at the Noodle Boy. He was quietly scratching the back of the cat’s head in careful, steady motions. Red Son could see his lips move like he was talking, but no words escaped. The Noodle Boy’s typical cheer was gone now, his brows knitted and lip tugging into a frown as he ran his hands across the cat’s fur. Some part of his chest twisted at the realization that he somehow managed to wipe that stupid grin off the Noodle Boy’s face. 

“Fine!” Red Son shot up, jolting everyone with his sudden movement. “I know when I’m not welcome.” 

He summoned a swirl of flames to take him out of that–that hovel. As the fire began to whisk him away, he saw the Noodle Boy look up at him, his mouth beginning to open as if he wanted to say something. Whatever he said, Red Son didn’t hear. He vanished from the room, leaving only heat and tension behind him. 

When Red Son returned to the Demon Bull Fortress, his parents were fast asleep. It was a blessing, really. He didn’t want to explain why he was aggressively going through his nightly chores. 

Red Son was used to being disliked, whether that was the servants fleeing from the Samadhi Fire, the hushed whispers at dinner parties, or the mortals shrieking for a hero to save them. And yeah, the halls were big and quiet and lonely, but proper misery required time that Red Son didn’t have back when he was working to free his father, to conquer the world in their name. Now, he had all the time in the world to mope. 

Red Son scoffed as he pulled out his nightwear, finished with the usual routine maintenance. Please. As if this is my first social faux pas. I know when I’ve made a fool of myself. Even if I was right.  He changed into his pajamas, tossing his day clothes onto the floor. He’d put them away properly later. 

No, the real reason I’m a fool is for thinking I could befriend those nimrods in the first place. Just because we ally ourselves together now and again doesn’t suddenly mean I’m a part of their little gang. He snorted. And why would I want to be? Once mother and father decide they want to conquer the world again, I’ll go right back to fighting the Monkie Kid and all his little friends. 

He opened his drawer to search for a hairbrush, pushing past a shiny package of lychee gummies from the snack run. I should have never made it personal. I had no reason to keep agreeing to those ridiculous hang outs. He pulled out his hairbrush. If I had kept my relationship with the Dragon Girl strictly professional, it would’ve been fine. But no. He tugged his hair out of its ponytail with such force that he pulled out a couple strands of hair as well, scarlet threads hanging off his hand. Apparently, I just care too much. 

Red Son sat down on his bed and scoffed. Right. Well, I don’t have to worry about them thinking highly of me now. Whatever delusions they had about me being their friend are long gone now. He began to brush out his hair, tugging at his knots without much care for how it hurt his scalp. It’s not like I enjoyed them dragging me around for their absurd little games or food trips. The Dragon Horse Girl’s a menace, and the Noodle Boy? He gripped the hairbrush tighter, a sharp laugh escaping his lips. If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place. 

It was always a shaky alliance at best. Red Son concluded, taking off his glasses and putting them on his nightstand. Acting like a hero every now and then doesn’t mean I’m a part of their gang. And it certainly doesn’t mean that I could be their friend. I can just go back to how things were before…all this. Maybe I’ll ask my parents about any plans they have to conquer the world, and I can finally get back to work-

Why was his vision blurring? His glasses were off, but it wasn’t that. This was-

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.” Red Son lifted a hand to his face to wipe the tear forming in his eye. Was he seriously about to cry over this? So he ruined the first genuine attempts at friendship in his life. So what? They were enemies of his family, little mortal peasants who Red Son never should have made the mistake of caring about in the first place. And now he was crying because what? He hurt the Noodle Boy’s feelings? 

No wonder he had a human for a soulmate. He was so weak. 

With a swipe of his hand, Red Son summoned a small holographic screen. He was somehow worse at being a soulmate than being a friend. He told his soulmate he was glad they were alive, that he’d missed their art, but it’s not like he was a spirited conversationalist now. He’d merely watch as masterpieces formed on his skin, quietly taking a photo before filing it away. 

Maybe art would be a good distraction from this. Or at the very least, his soulmate’s work was a familiar pity party for Red Son to host. At least crying over this watered the peonies roots in his chest. Red Son scrolled through his mess of files, leaning back against his ornate headboard. Eventually, he reached the “drawings” file, tucked away between half-completed projects and ancient texts on meditation. He sighed, rubbing whatever remaining tears were in his eyes. 

He was fully prepared to open the file for another sleepless night of running his hands along artless skin when something shot straight through his window and crashed into the wall. 

Red Son jolted, standing on his bed and summoning fire in his hands to attack, but then he actually saw what had flown into his room. A large bird fell onto his floor with a thump, its dark wing feathers ruffled and its golden chest heaving

Red Son got rid of the fire, but as he approached the bird he didn’t lower his guard. Living on a volcano meant that there weren’t all that many animals around, and what few animals could survive the treacherous climate Red Son already knew. This bird didn’t look like it belonged here in the slightest. And was that…

Red Son narrowed his eyes, slipping off the bed to approach the bird. The bird’s eyes were squeezed shut, as if still reeling from the impact. But that wasn’t what Red Son was focused on. No, what he was focused on was the scarlet ribbon wrapped around its head. 

Some sort of tie? Maybe for its owner to recognize their pet? He theorized. But to wrap it around the bird’s head seems odd. He tilted his head, snorting under his breath. It almost looks like–

The bird suddenly let out a very non-birdlike groan.

It tilted its head back only to smack it against the wall, making it squeak again. “Owwww.” The bird complained. “I did not think the wall was that close.” 

Realization sunk into Red Son’s bones. He knew that voice. And he knew exactly who wore that stupid red bandana.

The bird looked up at Red Son with large brown eyes–the last thing he wanted to see tonight. He tried to smile despite having a beak. “Hey Red Son.” 

Red Son shot a fireball at the Noodle Boy. 

Chapter Text

In a better, more just world, Red Son would have flambeed the Noodle Boy right then and there. 

But of course, the universe would never just let Red Son win.  

In a puff of gold, the Noodle Boy reverted back to his original form, kicking his legs up so high that the fireball managed to skim right under him and burn the carpet. “WHOA!” He squawked. The bird hadn’t fully left him, it seemed. “DUDE! Chill out, it’s me!” 

“I know it’s you!” Red Son hissed. He tried to whisper but he was too angry to keep quiet. “Who else would be stupid enough to fly into an enemy fortress and give himself a concussion?!” 

“I don’t have a concussion. ” The Noodle Boy made a psh noise, flopping back down onto the now charred carpet. “I’ve hit my head way harder without getting a concussion, this is fine! ” 

“Oh, I doubt that.” Red Son leaned over him, snarling. “If anything, repeated head trauma is a kind assumption. Either you’re so brain damaged you thought coming over here was a good idea, or you’re just that idiotic!” 

“My head’s fiiine. ” The Noodle Boy insisted. “And I’m not an idiot. I snuck past the bull clones keeping watch, no one knows I’m here.” 

“If you weren’t an idiot, you wouldn’t be here in the first place” Red Son crossed his arms. “The alliance you have with my family is fragile at best. ” 

“W-well, yeah, but I was…” He scratched the back of his head, wincing a bit when his hands touched a tender spot from his rough landing. “I guess I was hoping, that, uh…well…” He narrowed his eyes, sitting up as he raised his head closer to Red Son’s. 

Red Son scoffed. “Stumbling over your words? I should let you know that difficulty speaking is a sign of a concussion.” 

“I DON’T HAV-!” The Noodle Boy started to shout in protest when Red Son smacked his hand over his mouth. 

“What did I just say?!” He seethed. “If my parents find out you broke into our home, they won’t hesitate to tear you to shreds !” He let go of the Noodle Boy, making a show of wiping his hands on his pajama pants.” So I suggest you stay quiet unless you want to be tomorrow’s breakfast . ” 

The Noodle Boy did stay quiet for a couple seconds, staring up at Red Son before slowly taking in the room. It almost made Red Son hope that he had listened to him. But then his eyes landed on something just behind Red Son, and he could see the curiosity twinkle in his eyes as he gasped

“Whoa!! What’s that?!” He scrambled back up, moving past Red Son towards his bed, hands reaching out to touch–oh shit he hadn’t turned off the screen. 

Red Son’s blood ran cold as he screeched. He pulled the floating holographic screen away from the Noodle Boy’s grabby hands. “Don’t touch this!” He shouted. “These are for my personal documents!” 

P ersonal documents didn’t even begin to cover it. Putting aside the folder full of hand-drawn weakness, he had hundreds of drafts, plans, and records on file, none of which were for the Monkie Kid to see, of all people. His parents didn’t even know about most of these files. 

However, the concussion must have affected the Noodle Boy’s hearing, because he completely ignored Red Son. “It's a holographic screen! Like in a sci-fi movie! No wonder you didn’t have a phone, this is so much cooler.” He stared at it with a grin, the pink light of the screen coloring his face. “Did you make this? I mean, you probably did, you’re like a genius, what am I talking about? It’s super cool.” 

Red Son sputtered, trying to ignore the pride that bloomed in his chest at being called a genius. He really needed to get better at handling the Noodle Boy's incessant compliments.

“How do you work it, do I need to touch it from the other side or can I just–” He shoved his hand through the screen, the graphic of the “drawings” file glitching against his fingers. “Whoa-ho-hooo!” Red Son could practically see the static jolt up his arm. “This feels tingly. ” 

“Would you stop that?!” Red Son smacked the Noodle Boy’s hand away.“It’s a sensitive instrument. You can’t just shove your hands though-” 

The Noodle Boy proceeded to stick his head through the screen, giggling as the screen glitched around his face. “Have you ever tried this? You absolutely should. Put your face through the screen, it feels all fuzzy-”

Red Son swiped his hand, making the screen dissipate and the Noodle Boy pout. He was thankful the Noodle Boy didn’t figure out how to work the screen. He was one touch away from having someone learn about his soulmate. Red Son had no intention of letting anybody know about that . Plus, given how tonight went, He certainly didn’t want that particular tidbit of information revealed to anyone in the Monkie Kid’s posse. 

The thought reminded Red Son as he leered over the Noodle Boy. “Don’t you have somewhere to be right now?” He asked. “You said ‘checkers night’ could go on as late as three am, and it’s not even midnight. You should be getting destroyed by the Dragon Girl right now.”

“Hey, you can't talk! You didn't beat me a single time!” The Noodle Boy shot back, sitting on the edge of Red Son’s bed. “But uh…checkers night…kind of ended after you left.” He admitted. “Got a bit awkward, so we just decided to end it early.”

Oh. Red Son frowned. That made…sense. It was a tense moment that sapped all the cheer and energy in the room. He supposed that even when he was gone, they couldn’t bring the mood back. It hadn’t been the first time Red Son ruined what was supposed to be a pleasant get together. 

It was…a bit of a shame. When the Noodle Boy had first told Red Son about the tradition, he was clearly excited for it, recounting memories of Pigsy’s terrifying competitive streak and Sandy’s freshly baked cookies. It was clear the Noodle Boy had been enjoying himself tonight too. But Red Son had ruined it, had wiped the stupid grin off his stupid face, tarnishing the simple joy that tradition brought for him. 

Oh, great, he was starting to feel bad now. What for? They could always have another checkers night, and now they knew better than to bring him along. Red Son shook the lingering guilt and sadness away. 

“Well, fine. If you’re not losing to the Dragon Girl–” The Noodle Boy glared at Red Son for the emphasis on losing, “ –Then shouldn’t you be asleep in your home? Or doing anything but sleeping despite the fact that your shift starts early in the morning?” 

“Well, you can argue that being here is kind of the latter.” The Noodle Boy pointed out, moving back until he was criss-crossed over Red Son’s blankets. “I’m definitely not sleeping right now.”

Red Son groaned. “But that doesn’t explain why you’re here. ” 

“I wanted to talk to you.” The Noodle Boy said. “About…what happened.” 

Red Son narrowed his eyes. “There’s nothing to talk about.” He said decidedly, crossing his arms. “You were there. You witnessed what happened. What, do you want me to explain myself?” 

The Noodle Boy pursed his lips, wincing a bit as he responded. “Kind of? I wanted to…ask you something. It's uh. It's kind of weird, but you're the only person I know who could actually answer it, so...” His hands curled into fists on the bed, the soft fabric of Red Son’s blankets peeking out between his fingers. 

Red Son could reasonably refuse, of course. He could shout that an intruder had entered the home and have a squadron of bull clones escort the Noodle Boy out. Or even better, he could have his mother and father squash the little thief permanently, alliances be damned. But, the Noodle Boy was persistent. He could take out an army of bull clones, and given how powerful he’d grown over the near year it had been since he’d first beaten the Demon Bull King, there was a nonzero chance his parents would lose. At least, Red Son hoped that was why he chose to shy and loosen the tension in his shoulders. 

“Take your shoes off.” He snapped, pulling his chair from his desk to sit it in front of the bed. . “The bull clones just had my sheets cleaned.” 

“Wha-oh! Sorry. My bad.” The Noodle Boy began to pluck off his ratty converse, revealing socks with fabric so flimsy one of them had a hole the size of a coin. A part of Red Son wondered if he didn’t have the money to afford new clothes, or if he was just too air-headed to realize his shoes and socks were falling apart.  

“Alright.” Red Son sighed, sitting on the chair. “What do you want to ask?” 

The Noodle Boy looked down, hands fidgeting with the fabric of his sock. (Maybe that explained the hole.) “So…you said Pigsy should be ashamed of having Tang for a soulmate. And that it’s…embarrassing for a demon to bond with a human.” 

“Yes.” Red Son’s lip twitched, the tension beginning to hike in his shoulders again. If the Noodle Boy expected to lecture him about love and soulmates in the hopes that Red Son would change his mind, he had another thing coming. Sure, he ruined checkers night and the only friendships he ever had, but he was still right, and he wasn’t going to let a little mortal peasant without a proper grasp on the gravity of a bond with a human make him feel wrong. 

“And, uh, way back, when we were fighting the Spider Queen, you mentioned that having a human for a soulmate was like ‘proof of your inadequacy.’” The Noodle Boy did air quotes at the end there. 

“It is.” Red Son sneered. “And if you’re here to change my opinion, you might as well fly back home.”

“I’m not here to change your opinion!” He raised his hands in defense.” I mean, don't get me wrong, I think you’re super wrong about soulmates and you were a jerk to Pigsy tonight," The Noodle Boy glared at Red Son. Red Son had gotten so soft that it actually stung a bit. "but that’s not really the point?”

He gave Red Son an awkward smile before sighing, slouching  “I just…” He hesitated, biting his lip like he was trying to find the right words. “Whenever I ask Pigsy about why people don’t want a human for a soulmate, he gets really angry.” The Noodle Boy explained. It made sense, given the near-perpetual scowl on the Pig’s face. “He talks about how it’s an ‘old fashioned belief’ from ‘a backwards time,’ and that any demon who made a stink about him and Tang were, uh …” He glanced at Red Son, looking almost apologetic. “Either ignorant, braindead or a bit of both.” 

Red Son glowered at that, a bit of teeth showing in his snarl. “Your point?” 

“Well, he goes on these really long rants, explaining why it’s not a bad thing, but he’s never…really explained… why demons are against it?” The Noodle Boy scratched the back of his head. 

This…was going somewhere unexpected. Red Son sat up in his chair as the Noodle Boy continued to speak. “When I ask Tang, he says that it’s just some old belief about supposed demon superiority over humans or whatever. But is-is that really all it is?” The Noodle Boy looked at Red Son, dumbfounded. “Because that…sounds kind of stupid.” 

“It’s not stupid, Noodle Boy.” Red Son kicked one leg over the other, leaning back in his chair. “And it’s not supposed superiority either. Humans are weaker than demons, softer than demons, and they live much shorter lives. Those aren’t some antiquated beliefs based on nothing. The only reason you, the Dragon Girl, and the scholar are even capable of fighting demons and winning is because you inherited powers beyond your wildest imaginations.” He picked at his nails at he spoke. “Frankly, humans should be thankful that us demons haven’t made you all servants or livestock by now.” 

The Noodle Boy didn’t seem particularly enthused about the facts Red Son threw his way. “Okay, well, that’s really creepy, and we’re definitely going to have a talk about your views on humans-”

Red Son clicked his tongue in annoyance.

“-but don’t demons still have relationships with mortals anyways?” The Noodle Boy moved closer to Red Son, one of his hands now playing with the ends of a pillow.  “Like, in Journey to the West, ” the Noodle Boy pointed a finger up in the air like he was espousing a fascinating fun fact. “Zhu Ganglie kidnapped a woman and made her marry him, so Monkey King used the 72 transformations to disguise himself as his wife and-”

He stopped himself when he saw the scowl on Red Son’s face at the mention of the Monkey King. “Right. Uh. You get the point.” He scratched the back of head, laughing a bit awkwardly now. 

Red Son sighed. He really didn’t think the Noodle Boy would have him explain the intricacies of demon-human relationships tonight, but here he was. “Courtnapping a human…” He waved one hand in the air, cringing a bit. “Runs all sorts of unnecessary risks. Kidnapping has gotten out of style for human wooing, and they’re typically too weak hearted to be compatible with a demon anyways. Most humans aren’t interested in marrying a demon in the first place, much less getting courtnapped . It’d be less hassle to just marry a demon

“Still though, if a demon really wanted a human for a spouse, it wouldn’t be social suicide.” Red Son leaned back in his chair. “It might be a sign that you’re stupid, if you chose a weak little mortal over a perfectly good demon, but it’s not a sign of weakness. ”

“Wait, wait, wait, but aren’t soulmates good for a marriage?” The Noodle Boy’s face scrunched up in confusion. “At least, that’s what Pigsy told me–is that not true?”

“You don’t have to marry your soulmate.” Red Son said. “Whatever relationship a demon chooses to have with their bonded is their own choice. But, traditionally, yes, having a couple bonded that way is a sign of marital strength–” 

“Buh-?! THEN WHAT’S THE PROBLEM?!” The Noodle Boy shouted, running hand through his hair. He sounded so confused it almost slipped into distress. “If being bonded means you’ll have a good marriage, and you guys have no problem marrying a human, WHY WOULD IT BE AN-?!” 

“Keep your voice DOWN!” Red Son shot up from his seat, hissing through his teeth. “Need I remind you that you’re not supposed to be here?! ” 

The Noodle Boy clamped his mouth shut, but his eyes clearly expressed enough–an almost agitated confusion. He grabbed the pillow from before to hug it aggressively, like he could squeeze his frustrations away. 

Red Son pinched the bridge of his nose. “There’s a difference between choosing to associate yourself with a demon and being bonded to them for the rest of your lives.” He said. “You can choose to courtnap all the human spouses you can possibly want, but they’re not a sign of your own weakness, because you chose to marry them. You don’t choose whose soul you’re intertwined with” 

“But that still doesn’t explain why it’s bad to have a human soulmate in the first place!” The Noodle Boy spoke around the same volume as he typically did, but in a breathy voice that imitated a whisper. 

“Because it’s-they’re-a human is-ngh!” A plume of fire ran up the font tuft of Red Son’s hair. “A bond isn’t a sign of a good marriage. It’s a sign of marital strength.” 

“Uhhh, those sound exactly the same.” The Noodle Boy raised an eyebrow incredulously. 

“Well they’re not.” Red Son snapped as he paced around the chair. “Anyone can have a good marriage if they try hard enough. It says nothing about your abilities if you’re a good spouse–it’s frankly the bare minimum.” He gripped the back of the chair, stopping to look at the Noodle Boy. “But a strong marriage is a reflection of your own strength. Your own power. My mother and father aren’t just strong together–they’re together because their strengths work with one another.”

“That…still sounds like you’re describing the same thing.” The Noodle Boy tilted his head like a confused dog. “Or at least really similar synonyms.” 

“It’s–whatever! That’s not the point!” Red Son groaned. A part of him wondered if maybe the Noodle Boy was right about the semantics between good and strong , but Red Son would rather die than concede anything to him. 

“The point is that when a demon is bonded to someone, it’s assumed that the two of them are equals. That’s where the strength in marriage comes from.” He moved the chair aside, pushing it back near the desk. “Two demons can choose to never marry their soulmate. They could hate each other. But their bond still reflects their connection, and therefore, reflects their strength.” He stepped towards the Noodle Boy. “So if a demon is bonded to something as weak, soft, and short-lived as a human, what does that say about them?” 

The Noodle Boy furrowed his brow, lips mumbling as he seemingly put the pieces of Red Son’s very simple puzzle together. After a couple seconds, the Noodle Boy looked up at Red Son. The gears had finally clicked. “That they're equal.” 

“Exactly.” The Noodle Boy’s brain was finally beginning to work. It only took his entire life to get there. “If your soul’s intertwined with a human, you’re about as strong as they are. Which is to say you’re weak. ” Red Son said the word weak with a bile rising in his stomach. “And pursuing the human you’re bonded to shows that you’re willing to flaunt your weakness. Such an obvious show of weakness isn't worth it." 

The Noodle Boy frowned, his grip on the pillow tightening. “Why isn’t it worth it?” 

“Even if you were stupid enough to pursue a human soulmate, that doesn't mean the human will want to. I told you earlier, didn’t I? Courtnapping humans runs all sorts of risks. Humans don’t fantasize about having a demon for a husband. They tend to find us a bit too monstrous for their liking.” Red Son sneered. “A human won’t magically change their opinion on demons just because they share skin with one.” 

“Don’t say shared skin, that’s so gross.” The Noodle Boy gagged, sticking his tongue out. It was, but that's besides the point. 

“But, some humans have to be okay with it, right? Mr. Tang never had an issue with it.” The Noodle Boy pointed out. 

That was…fair. Not every human was horrified by it. Some humans were even enthusiastic about having a soulmate. Some of them scrawled up and down their arms with stumbling run on sentences asking all sorts of questions about demon protocol that didn’t exist. 

“Also, uhhh, I’m gonna be honest, Red Son. Mei’s shown me some pretty detailed thirst posts about your dad–” His face flushed, cheeks the color of his bandana. “So, I think some humans would be fine with it.” 

Thirst post? What does being thirsty have to do with demon-human relationships? Red Son shook his head, trying to wave whatever nonsense the Noodle Boy had said away.  

“Even if a human was willing to be with a demon, it would last what? A couple decades? Maybe a century?” He paced back and forth in front of the Noodle Boy. “It’s a sliver of time–barely anything at all. What few demons have managed to have successful unions with the humans they’re bound to have mourn that loss for centuries.” Red Son barked out a laugh, cold and cruel. “And they’re given no pity for their weakness.

"So tell me, Noodle Boy." Red Son sneered. "If humans are either too terrified to tolerate our company or die in a blink, how could that relationship ever be a show of real strength?"

The Noodle Boy didn’t respond to that. His grip on the pillow had loosened and he’d returned to picking at his socks, the cheap material surely only deteriorating with each touch. He wondered if the Noodle Boy had very many other clothes. Most likely not. It explained why he was always in that atrocious orange jacket. 

“It’s unfortunate when a demon is bonded to a human, but it’s something that can be hidden.” Red Son said. “Because humans only live for so long, and they don’t typically have a habit of scrawling all over themselves-” Typically being the key word there. “The sensible thing to do is keep any potential markings away from the public eye, and to ignore your soulmate entirely, so that once they do die, you don’t feel the need to grieve the loss.” 

At least, that was the theory. But even with the limited contact Red Son had with his soulmate, the perceived loss of them had made his lungs constrict, peony roots stubbornly reminding him that he could never really ignore them. But, that was a sign of his own failures to roll up his sleeves. He didn’t need to mention that to the Noodle Boy. He didn’t need to mention that to anybody. 

“So,” Red Son ruffled a hand through his hair, not even looking at the Noodle Boy. “Do you have any other questions?"

The Noodle Boy pursed his lips, brows knitted. For a moment, Red Son felt a bit smarmy over having finally shut him up. Maybe he’d managed to convince the Noodle Boy about his perspective. Or at the very least, he was struggling to come up with any real argument against it. 

“But…”The Noodle Boy was actually speaking quietly now. Red Son looked over at him. He didn’t look argumentative or agreeable. As he turned his head towards Red Son, the Noodle Boy looked at him with a small frown. “Isn’t that kind of sad?” 

Red Son blinked. “Huh?” 

“Well…” The Noodle Boy bit his lips, hands fidgeting faster with the sock material. “Even if you can hate your soulmate, the fact that it’s a sign of a good marriage–or strong marriage, whatever–that probably means something, right?” He looked up at Red Son. “Like, if you had a soulmate, wouldn’t you want to marry them?” 

The question stirred some old chord deep within Red Son’s chest, of when he used to cover his arms in messages no one was able to read. He was too young to want marriage, really, but it wasn’t something he had been opposed to. 

Sure, kissing was gross, because his parents would do it and Red Son was a toddler. But back then, Red Son had figured that it was okay to be gross with your soulmate. It was okay to be gross, or loud, or stupid, or so angry that the walls would blacken with ash, because his soulmate was going to hold his hand through all of it. And if his soulmate wanted a couple kisses or a pretty wedding ceremony or to call him husband, then of course Red Son was going to do that. He was holding their hand too. 

“...It’s not really a hypothetical worth thinking about,” Red Son crossed his arms, voice subdued. 

“Well, even if you didn’t want to marry them, you’d–you’d at least talk to them, right? Try to get to know them?” The Noodle Boy asked. “I mean, if they’re really intertwined with your soul or share your skin or whatever, that has to mean something, right?” The Noodle Boy’s hands danced around like he was trying to knab the words from the air. “If you know you have this person who’s bonded to you for the rest of your lives, who’s your equal, who you might even marry– why would you just ignore that?” 

“What else should you do? Flaunt your weakness around like the Pig does?” Red Son sneered, crossing his arms. 

“Pigsy’s not weak.” A bit of legitimate anger seeped into the Noodle Boy’s voice. “Pigsy’s one of the strongest people I know.” The Noodle Boy put the pillow to the side. “And even if he is weak , he’s with someone who loves him anyways. If you’re as strong as your soulmate, and the two of you are happy, why does being ‘weak’ even matter?”

“That’s-that’s-” Red Son sputtered. He wanted to say it was a childish way of looking at it. That it was naive to think the only person who really mattered was your soulmate. That maybe, maybe, he could concede it was acceptable for the commoner Pig to love his soulmate, but as a prince? It would be a scandal whispered about for centuries. 

But, his mind’s eye flashed with old fantasies of wide grins, warm hands, wild laughter. Back then, he didn’t dream of what anyone else would say. He would assume his parent’s approval, of course, but the greater world was irrelevant. All that mattered were the echoing halls, the sprawling gardens, the high shelf his father would keep the inkwell. Of course it was a childish fantasy. It used to be his.  

“Even if being bonded to a human was acceptable, pursuing them won’t make you happy.” Red Son gripped the fabric of his shirt from beneath his crossed arms, trying to pull away at the roots that twirled between his ribcage. “At best, they’ll die in less than a century, and at worst they’ll reject you before you say a word.” 

“How is that different from a demon?” The Noodle Boy protested. “You said not all soulmates even like each other, so wouldn’t it just be the same as if you get rejected by a demon? And yeah, okay, humans have shorter lifespans than you, but you’re not guaranteed to spend your whole life with your soulmate, are you?”

…No. Of course that wasn’t the case. Red Son was well aware of that. 

It had been nearly a year since he’d freed his father, but even now Red Son was terrified he’d wake up to the sound of his mother sobbing into heavy blankets. She had never told him, but he knew Princess Iron Fan was scared too, from the way she’d place her hand over her husband’s and run her fingers across his arms during meals. Maybe that was part of the reason why Princess Iron Fan cared so little about the bond she had with her husband. It couldn’t give her back the five hundred years stolen from her. 

"Even if what you're saying is true-that humans don't like demons, and they die too quickly-why does that say anything about the 'strength of the relationship?'" The Noodle Boy seemed legitimately worked up now. "If you can make it work, why not try to?! Who cares what anyone thinks?! And if the human is willing to give it a shot, why would you just-?!" 

"Noodle Boy!" Red Son's tone was authoritative enough to shut the Noodle Boy up. "Keep. Your voice. Down." 

The Noodle Boy shrunk into himself, whatever fire that had been ignited earlier now extinguished. He sighed, hands running up his biceps. “Look. Maybe, I just don’t get it. Maybe I never will. I just…” He looked away from Red Son. “I don’t see why being a human should matter. Or at least, I don’t see why it’s worse to have a human for a soulmate than to not have one at all.” 

One of Red Son’s hands slid across his chest. It held onto his shoulder, thumb tracing the space between his neck and collarbone. Something deep in him ached, an old, rusty yearning creaking through his bones as memories of childhood dreams flashed in his mind. Those flickering images he used to picture late at night were more impossible now than they were back then. 

And yet, Noodle Boy made them sound so tantalizingly close. He made it sound as easy as simply talking to someone, having lengthy conversations run up and down your arms. That it was as simple as promising to show them your home and make the halls echo with laughter, and then doing just that. 

If he had a choice, would Red Son have chosen this? Wanted this? A collection of images, conversations he always kept stilted, a soulmate he didn’t even know beyond their line art and the rants he never bothered to really read? 

…No. Of course not. 

His chest tightened. He worried he’d cough petals at this rate. 

“...I’ll give you this, Noodle Boy.” Red Son said, his voice low and mouth barely moving lest the Noodle Boy spotted the leaves tangled in his throat. “The Pig and the Scholar are lucky it worked out for them. They’re so stupid it almost borders on bravery.” 

The Noodle Boy gave Red Son a quiet chuckle. “Well, they’re not stupid, so I’m gonna assume you’re just calling them brave.” The smallest smile creeped up his face. 

Red Son sighed. “If that’s what you want to believe.” 

Red Son leaned against the wall. “Well, if that’s all the questions you have, then you can go now.” He narrowed his eyes at the Noodle Boy. “I was in the middle of something before you broke into my house.” Granted, Red Son didn’t think he had the stomach to look through his soulmate’s art tonight after this particular conversation, but whatever. 

“The window was open! It wasn’t a total break in. ” The Noodle Boy pointed out. 

“THAT IS NOT HOW-!” Fire burst out his hair, extinguishing as quickly as it appeared. Red Son massaged his temples. Maybe he was the one getting brain damage. “Are you going to leave now, or what?” 

Yeah, uh, actually, I kind of had a favor to ask.” The Noodle Boy clasped his hands together, looking a bit embarrassed now. “It’s, uh…it’s kind of late, and the clouds around here are really dense tonight–probably because of the volcanic air, or whatever, but, uhhhh–” He looked up at Red Son with a small, pleading smile. “Do you think I could stay the night?” 

Thank heavens Red Son was leaning against the wall and not still pacing around the room, because he would’ve fallen over immediately at that question. “You want to what?! ” 

“It’ll just be one night!” The Noodle Boy exclaimed, hands up in defense. “It’s super late, and I really don’t wanna fly all the way home! My arms are still tired!” He flopped down onto Red Son’s bed, stretching out against the mattress like it was his. “Pigsy has to do some extra shopping tomorrow morning, so my shift isn't gonna start till noon anyways.” He shut his eyes and smiled. “And this bed is really comfy.” 

“Need I remind you you’re still not supposed to be here?!” Red Son seethed, looming over the Noodle Boy as he lay there. “Why would I let you stay any longer than I already have?!” 

“Because it’s a nice thing to do?” The Noodle Boy opened one eye, his smile growing wider. “And because we’re friends?” 

Friends? 

Whatever frustration Red Son felt dissipated immediately. He stared down at the Noodle Boy, brows knitted as he watched him lounge back on his bed. 

“...We’re-” His words got caught in his throat. “I’m not-” His hand reached up to touch his neck, as if the warmth of his fingers could coax himself to speak. “I thought you were done with that.” 

“Done with what?” The Noodle Boy shut his eyes again, grabbing one of Red Son’s pillows to cuddle with a content smile. 

“Calling me that.” Red Son tried to keep any stray emotion from escaping his voice. “Your friend. ” 

The Noodle Boy paused for a moment, a small frown forming on his face. “Uhhh,” He raised his head to look at Red Son. “Why would I stop calling you my friend?” 

Red Son sputtered a bit, confused and unsure and a whole other mix of emotions he wasn’t quite sure what to name. “I insulted your father figures. I was told to leave. I ruined your tradition. I-” I failed at being your friend. He wouldn’t say that, but the sentiment was clear from the way his fingers clenched at the sleeves of his night robe. “I was under the assumption such behavior wasn’t acceptable for a friend to do.” 

“I mean…you were a jerk back there,” The Noodle Boy sat up. “And you should apologize to Pigsy and Tang the next time you see them. But, everyone acts like a jerk sometimes.” He hugged the pillow, laughing to himself. “If people stopped being friends every time someone made a mistake, Mei would’ve dumped me a long time ago.” 

“It wasn’t a mistake. ” Red Son’s grip on his sleeves grew tighter. “I told them the truth.” A truth that made Red Son’s stomach curdle and his lungs constrict, but that was besides the point. 

“I mean, I still think you’re super wrong.” The Noodle Boy snorted. “But, that’s okay.” He shrugged. “I’m wrong about a lot of things, but you’re still friends with me, right?” 

Then, the Noodle Boy froze, hiking up his shoulders and visibly tensing as he looked up at Red Son. “...I...I am your friend, right?" 

The Noodle Boy was a moron. He was reckless and stubborn. His hare-brained ideas and ridiculous plans drove Red Son to the brink of insanity. For all his emotional intelligence, he would bash straight through the most obvious of social cues, confidently dragging Red Son along to another arcade despite the clear disdain he had for them. 

But, Red Son always came along, didn’t he? He never teleported away in a swirl of flames. He never crushed that “smartphone” of his into pieces. He never took the first step to shatter that supposedly fragile alliance. At some point, all the bothersome little things that irritated Red Son to no end had shifted into a part of their dynamic–a part that was far more welcome than Red Son really admitted even to himself. 

As the Noodle Boy waited anxiously for an answer, something bubbled up in Red Son’s throat–some warm, gooey emotion that he supposed could only be described as fondness. As friendship. Loving and caring and good. 

“Yes.” Red Son admitted, his voice quiet and fragile. “You are.” He hadn’t said much, but the words made his throat ache. 

The Noodle Boy was loving. He’d seen Red Son monologue about incinerating the world in his family’s name. He’d dealt with Red Son’s near constant barrage of insults during cheese tea runs. He’d just heard Red Son sneer about how humans were lucky not to be livestock. But he was still here, tension rolling off him in waves as he smiled at Red Son, like everything was okay now. Because bafflingly enough, it was. 

Shit. Red Son turned away. He knew the Noodle Boy was loving, he knew that he cared about him, but Red Son never really realized how much of that blunt force love had been sent his way. The impact smacked the back of his head now, making his bones shake and his chest ache. He rubbed his eyes, shoulders hunched as he tried to stifle out some miserable little sob. He cried so much more often lately. That little peasant had made him so soft. 

The Noodle Boy was quiet as Red Son tried to compose himself, although Red Son could feel his stare on him. He hoped that the Noodle Boy wouldn’t comment on the pathetic attempt to stifle his tears. 

Thankfully he didn’t do that. Instead, he sidled up to the edge of the bed with a wily grin. “So, because we totally just established our friendship, no take backs, this means you’ll let me sleep here tonight, right?” 

“Fine.” Red Son murmured. If he spoke any louder, he was worried the sob would be obvious. 

“So then that means that–” Red Son heard him smack his cheeks with his hands, squishing his face together with a loud gasp. “That means tonight’s our first official sleepover!”

The question dumbfounded Red Son so much he forgot all about crying. He turned back around, baffled. “Our first what-? ” 

The Noodle Boy practically leaped out of the bed and grabbed onto Red Son’s shoulders, vibrating with excitement. “Or first sleepover! I mean, excluding the time I stole the Samadhi Fire from your dad, but I don't really count that." He grinned, way too close to Red Son for comfort. "This is gonna be so much fun. We can talk, get some snacks–you still have stuff from the snack run, right?” 

His hands let go of Red Son's shoulders to grab onto his hands, the grip strong and warm as the Noodle Boy swung their arms around. “Oooh, did your holographic screen thingy have a TV setting? Because if it does, then I’m finally showing you Monkey Cop–!!” 

Red Son wrenched his hands out of the Noodle Boy’s grip. “We will do none of that–” Red Son grabbed him by the waist and lifted him up, getting a yelp out of him, ”Because you are still- ” He tossed the Noodle Boy onto the bed, “ NOT supposed to be here!” At this point, Red Son was starting to think his parents would wake up from his shouting. 

“Now. You want to sleep over? Then go to sleep.” Red Son snapped, snatching a pillow for himself. The Noodle Boy watched him as he stomped over to his closet, cursing under his breath as he searched for another blanket. From the corner of his eye, Red Son could see a small, sweet smile break on the Noodle Boy’s face as he took off his jacket and hung it over a bed post. 

“Why’re you getting another blanket? Isn’t it hot enough?” The Noodle Boy joked as he unknotted his bandana. 

“I’m sleeping on the floor.” Red Son kicked his closet door behind him. 

“You don’t have to do that.” The Noodle Boy frowned. “The bed is definitely big enough for the two of us, dude.” 

“It’d already be a problem if you were caught sleeping in my room . ” Red Son unrolled a few blankets on the ground, preparing a space for him to sleep. “I don’t need my mother and father making any assumptions about why we’re in the same bed.” 

The Noodle Boy frowned. “What kind of assumptions would- OH. Ohhhhh. ” His eyes grew to the size of dinner plates. “Okay. Fair enough.” He pursed his lips, a slight pink to his cheeks at the implications. 

“Plus, the Dragon Girl told me about your little sleepovers.” Red Son sneered. “From what I’ve learned, you’re a bed hog.” With a snap of his hands, the lights in the room went off.

“That’s not true! It’s just that we mainly have sleepovers at my place, and my bed’s way smaller than hers, so of course she feels uncomfy.” The Noodle Boy retorted.

“She’d be so mad that we had a sleepover without her though.” He said as Red Son slipped under his blankets. He popped his head out the side of the bed to grin at Red Son. “We’ll have to keep this a secret.” 

Red Son looked up at the Noodle Boy with a small frown. “Is she…” he wrung his hands together awkwardly. “Has she not…”

“Oh, Mei?” The Noodle Boy laid back on Red Son’s bed, his head hitting the pillow with a light puff. “Don’t worry, she still thinks you’re cool.” Red Son breathed a soft sigh of relief. He was worried he’d lose her too. Regrettably though, the Noodle Boy kept speaking. “You miiiight get pushed down to bestie number 4 for this though.”

Red Son squawked, sitting up to glare at the Noodle Boy. “What, is there another stuffed toy that’s better than me?!” 

“Not a toy, but she did win a Monkie Mech action figure at the arcade a while back, and it never insulted Pigsy or Mr. Tang.” He looked over at Red Son and flashed an excited grin. “Plus, when you press a button on its chest, the eyes glow.” 

Red Son flopped back onto the floor with a groan. Whatever. It was embarrassing to place below a plushie and a hunk of plastic, but if he still had the Dragon Girl in his life, he really couldn’t complain. 

The Noodle Boy continued to rant about silly little nothings: playing Monkie Mech with the Dragon Girl, brewing tea with the Blue Guy, the work he’d been doing to help rebuild Metropolis after the Lady Bone Demon’s putridity fractured the city. And in turn, Red Son would grunt and nod along at random intervals. He was surprised to find himself actually listening to what the Noodle Boy had to say. Maybe he was too tired to be irritated. Or maybe it was that the Noodle Boy’s rants had stopped being annoying. 

Eventually, the Noodle Boy tuckered himself out from talking. It took Red Son a little longer to go to sleep, but the soft snores coming from his bed were actually helpful. He found himself getting drowsy laying on the floor and staring up at the ceiling. It occurred to Red Son right before he fell asleep that he’d given the Noodle Boy his bed without a single thought. But, he was too tired to look into that. 

The Noodle Boy was a surprisingly heavy sleeper, Red Son discovered. It probably explained why he was late to work so often. Despite the usual noise in the Demon Bull Fortress combined with Red Son futzing around his room, the Noodle Boy slept in Red Son’s bed, a bit of drool running down his cheek. Red Son made a note to himself to have a bull clone remake his bed. And possibly deep wash the sheets on there now. 

During breakfast, he was quiet, subtly stuffing his pockets with apples when his mother and father weren’t looking. He excused himself quickly after finishing his meal, explaining that he had been hoping to do some meditation in his room while it was still early. He threw some nonsense in about the morning sun and fire powers to sell it, when really he was trying to make sure the Noodle Boy hadn’t woken up to waddle through the fortress like the last time he’d been here. 

The Noodle Boy was rubbing the sleep out of his eyes when Red Son slipped back into his room. “Here.” He threw one of the apples at the Noodle Boy. 

He must have just woken up, because it immediately smacked him on the face. “Owwww!” The Noodle Boy fell back onto the bedpost in pain. “You could’ve just handed it to me!”

"Where's the fun in that?" Red Son grinned maliciously.

The Noodle Boy grumbled, grabbing the apple and chomping into it. “G’morning to you too.” He said between bites. 

“Don’t speak with your mouth full. You'll get your spittle on my sheets.” Red Son strode over to his nightstand. His hairbrush had been sitting there since last night, and he hadn’t gotten around to finishing his nightly routine of combing his hair. So, he sat on the other side of the bed, running the brush through his bedhead. 

It was a surprisingly quiet moment. Or, maybe not quiet was the right word, given the loud crunching and the string of curses that left Red Son’s lips when he came across a large knot. It felt calm. Easy. A casual intimacy. Maybe it was just something that came with sleepovers. It was…it was nice.  

Still though, Red Son broke the silence. “You care a lot about soulmates.” 

The Noodle Boy swallowed a large chunk of apple, thumping his chest a bit to get it down his throat. “Do I?” 

Red Son nodded, shifting a bit on the bed to face the Noodle Boy. “You asked me about them when the Spider Queen was invading. And last night, you made the effort to break in just to ask a couple questions.” 

“To be fair, after what happened, I didn’t think you were gonna pick up the phone.” The Noodle Boy argued. He put the apple down on his lap, licking his lips a bit. “And uh, yeah. I guess I do care a lot.” 

And why wouldn’t he? He’d been raised by a demon who unabashedly flaunted his weakness, who showed off his soulmate without fear. A stupid couple, but a brave one. Red Son couldn’t even call himself that. Not when he kept his soulmate hidden in drawing files, in childhood fantasies, in the roots that dug into his ribcage even now. 

The Noodle Boy grabbed his bandana from the bedpost where he hung it to wrap around his forehead, lifting his hair above his eyes in the process. It was a quiet ritual, carefully practiced as he swept his hair back up. A part of Red Son envied how easy it was for him. 

The Noodle Boy yawned, biting into the apple and staring off into the distance. Red Son hadn’t offered a change of clothes, so he was still in his usual outfit–the same red pants, the same t-shirt with what Red Son could only assume was a target on his chest. At least, he had used it as a target, back when they were enemies. 

The Noodle Boy wore that shirt a lot actually. His whole outfit was pretty constant since Red Son had known him. Red Son didn’t change outfits terribly often, but that was more out of utility–he was usually working when he ran into the Noodle Boy. He wasn’t going to pull out his skirts or sweaters when he was conquering the weather station or testing out a new car. But the Noodle Boy didn’t seem to have that excuse. 

And wait a second, the collar of that shirt was loose. It hung around his neck awkwardly, frayed as if someone had yanked at the fabrics so hard it warped the shape. And the only person who could’ve done that was…

Without thinking, Red Son tugged on the collar of the Noodle Boy’s shirt. He knew that cheap fabric. It had haunted him for months. He had gripped onto it when the Noodle Boy almost fell of the Dronecopter, when he grinned and called Red Son his hero. 

“What’re you doing?” The Noodle Boy stared at him, confused and looking a bit worried. 

“I’m shocked these clothes haven’t been torn to shred.” Red Son clicked his tongue. “Do you have nothing else to wear?” 

The Noodle Boy flushed. “I do! I mean, not a ton but–there’s a laundromat by Pigsy’s! It’s fine!” He bit into the apple with a vigor, looking away from Red Son. 

He sighed, picking at the Noodle Boy’s t-shirt sleeve. “Alright then. We can go clothes shopping” He let go of the shirt to resume brushing his hair. “I need more leisure wear anyways.” 

Red Son tried to resume the quiet, easy intimacy from before, brushing out the ends of his hair, but he found that he couldn’t ignore the Noodle Boy’s stare, shocked and wide-eyed. 

“You want to go shopping for clothes with me.” The Noodle Boy said. 

Red Son looked over at him with a scoff. “I’m letting you tag along.” 

“You offered to hang out with me.” The Noodle Boy leaned over, eyes never leaving Red Son’s. “You’ve never offered to hang out with us before.” A smile creeped up the Noodle Boy’s face, horrifically sincere. “You do like me.”  

Heat rose up the back of Red Son’s neck as he inched away from the Noodle Boy.  “Your clothes are an eyesore.” Red Son sputtered, a bit exposed. “ I’m doing myself a favor, so I don’t have see them when I–”

“When you hang out with me?” The Noodle Boy grinned, so close to Red Son that he had to lean off the bed to get some actual space. “Because you want to hang out more?” 

Red Son’s hands gripped the edge of the bed, his entire torso leaning out, but the Noodle Boy didn’t take the hint, continuing to crawl closer. “I-I already admitted we were friends last night, didn’t I?” Red Son stammered. “Wouldn’t that imply I’m okay with spending time with you?!” 

“Yeah, but it’s nice to hear you admit it.” He outstretched his arms. 

“Noodle Boy. What are you doing.” Red Son’s eyes darted between the Noodle Boy’s wide grin and the hands reaching out to him. 

“Come on. Bring it in, big guy.” He moved closer. “Friendship hug. Let’s go.” 

It wasn’t that Red Son disliked touch–it was still a bit foreign to him, but his time training with the Dragon Girl had gotten him used to people getting up in his space. But looking at the Noodle Boy, his earnest smile, his outstretched hands, the warmth that radiated off him-it made Red Son's nervous system go haywire.

“If you touch me, I swear, I’ll call for my parents, peasant.” Even Red Son could hear how empty that threat was. 

The Noodle Boy laughed, something a low rumble in his chest that made heat pulse through Red Son’s torso. “I’ll take the risk.” 

“Noodle Boy, don't do this-” Red Son moved further back. “I'm serious, Noodle Brain-” The Noodle Boy creeped closer, eyes sparkling in the morning light, capturing the sun. “Get away from me, you filthy mortal sou-you-!” The Noodle Boy’s hands grazed the bare skin of Red Son’s collarbone, sending a shock through his nervous system. “ MK! ”

Red Son shrieked, trying to kick the Noodle Boy’s chest to push him away, but in the process it only propelled him off the bed. He smacked against the floor with a groan. He shut his eyes, already feeling a bump forming on the back of his head. Why did he ever let that idiot sleep in his house?! 

“Oh shit-!” The Noodle Boy peeked over the bed, laughing a bit. “You good down there, bud?” 

Red Son glowered up at him. “I changed my mind. You’re my mortal enemy.” 

The Noodle Boy pouted. “But you finally called me MK.” He slid off the bed like a snake, laying down next to Red Son. 

I did? Red Son looked over at him, who was giggling like a toddler. “Mei’s gonna be so jealous of me.” He said with a smug smile. “Now she owes me two million cheese teas.” 

Red Son narrowed his eyes. “Did you bet on whether I’d call you by your real name first?” 

“...Maybe.” 

And then, MK laughed, loud and joyous, and even though Red Son should’ve shut him up, he didn’t. There were no bright suns or neon lights for MK’s eyes to capture, but warm brown somehow entranced Red Son anyways. 

Maybe he was the one with the concussion. 

“I’m not-” Red Son frowned, trying to conjure up the right words. “I’ve never-” He swallowed, embarrassment heating the back of his ears. “I’m not… used to having friends.” His hands fidgeted. “I’m not used to any of this.” 

It was the understatement of the millennia, but any more elaboration would reveal too much. The Dragon Girl–no, Mei already knew about Red Son’s lonely past. He didn’t need MK knowing either. 

But, maybe MK already knew. He could read Red Son like a billboard, after all. He sat up, looking over at Red Son with a smile. “Well, I guess we’ll have to get you used to it.”

He held out a fist to Red Son. "Pump it? Might be better than a hug."  

Red Son looked down at the first before slowly reaching his hand out to shake it. 

This was apparently hilarious to MK, who started laughing so hard he lay back down on the floor, holding his stomach like it hurt. And even though Red Son wasn’t totally sure what was so funny, he found himself enjoying the sound. 

Red Son had hoped the fall to the floor didn’t give him any severe brain damage, but throughout that day, his mind kept floating back to MK. Normally, he’d classify it as another haunting, but the severe concussion he surely received made him okay with the thoughts. He let himself reminisce about the wide grins, the warm gaze, the hands that skimmed his collarbone. 

He let himself think about their conversation the night before as well, mulling it over in his mind as an apple tree grew on his thigh. He wasn’t the Pig. He couldn't bring himself to flaunt his weakness. But tonight, he allowed himself to indulge his childhood fantasy of conversations running up and down his arms, of halls echoing with laughter. 

What’s your favorite flower? 

The strokes of the marker stopped mid branch. Red Son could only assume he’d caught his soulmate by surprise-he didn't really initiate conversation. After a moment though, Red Son felt the cool tip of a felt marker on his thigh. 

I don’t really know how to spell it? Or say it, honestly. I see it a lot in the fall. My friend makes tea with it sometimes? I dunno if that helps. 

It really didn’t. Red Son didn’t know a lot about flowers. His soulmate jotted something down, the brown marker now replaced by a bright orange. 

Give me one second, I can draw it. 

There was a small pause before Red Son’s soulmate began to draw with the flower just underneath the words. It was a large orange blossom, with an abundance of slender petals that curled just a bit at the end. As the flower began to properly take shape, Red Son actually recognized it. He pointed an arrow to the flower drawing. 

A chrysanthemum? 

His soulmate responded immediately.

THAT’S HOW YOU SPELL IT?! Who decided to put a y there?!

His soulmate continued to rant about the ridiculous spelling of chrysanthemum, and for once, Red Son found himself reading it, an amused smile on his face. When he took a photo of the apple tree later, he’d snap a picture of the chrysanthemum too, complete with the little rant that swirled down his calf. And when he fell asleep on his actual bed that night, he dreamt of red and orange blossoms, of wide grins, warm hands, wild laughter. 

Chapter Text

Something had shifted. 

To be fair, everything was constantly changing for Red Son lately. He’d spent most of his life endlessly toiling to free his father and fantasizing about a world in the palms of his family’s hands. So now that the Demon Bull King was freed, of course Red Son expected major upheaval. 

And there was major upheaval. Princess Iron Fan’s laughter would echo down the halls, and the Demon Bull King’s rumbling cackle was always close behind. The Bull Clones had new chores tending to the Demon Bull King’s needs. Mealtime became a small family ritual, where DBK would come home with spiced meats and expensive wines for them all to feast on. 

All of these changes were welcome, of course, but they weren’t exactly the changes Red Son had expected. With his father back, the Demon Bull Family were able to regain a decent foothold. Their fortress held strong despite the Lady Bone Demon’s putridity, and their territory in the desert remained unchallenged. But it wasn’t exactly ruling the mortal realm. No, any fantasies about that were swiftly vanquished by a grinning delivery boy, and with each day Red Son was starting to think his parents weren’t going to take back their rightful throne for some time. 

But Red Son was…alright with that. Red Son had gone from building armor powerful enough to harness the Monkey King’s staff to grouchily repairing MK’s washing machine. His long hours meticulously reviewing blueprints had been replaced with late night runs to arcades and movies and a host of other mortal activities. He’d waste his time watching Mei’s livestreams, but as he’d send a barrage of snide comments about how much of an idiot she was, it didn’t feel like a waste at all. 

Maybe Red Son himself had changed. Or, maybe that was less about changing and more about fostering a part of him that had always been there. That explanation was nauseatingly sweet to Red Son, but was it really wrong? Red Son had spent so long preparing to aid his father, had accepted that he would become a villain in the eyes of every would-be hero who stood in there way. But a few cheerful words some cheeky little peasant with a big stick and Red Son was…well… this. Soft. Good. Loving. Caring. A hero. A friend. Or at the very least, he was a lot more willing to be those things than before. 

A few days after checker’s night, Red Son awkwardly apologized to Tang and Pigsy. It was admittedly a crummy apology, where he insisted that he was right. But, he conceded that…it was inappropriate of him to make such comments in their home. And that for all his beliefs, the two of them clearly were happy. A part of him ached when he admitted that, but he chose not to mention it. 

Obviously, they didn’t forgive Red Son immediately. But, when Red Son waited for MK to finish his shifts to hang out, sometimes Tang would ask him for some stories about the Demon Bull King, or Pigsy would give him a serving of hand-pulled noodles with extra spice. It was a small gesture of goodwill, that despite everything, they didn’t mind having Red Son around. Tang always asked too many questions, and Pigsy never added enough chilis, but he spoke and ate without complaint.

Red Son had started reaching out more too. Every now and then, he would quietly suggest some trivial activity to do only to roll his eyes at the inevitable fawning over how “he really cares about us!” His ears still rang from how loudly Mei shouted on the phone when he suggested they see a motorbike race together. Red Son had friends now. It felt unfathomable for him to actually have people he called friends. But now, Red Son would regularly find himself squashed between two cheerful faces debating what movie to watch as they sat on MK’s creaky old bed. And as weird as it was for him to admit it…Red Son did in fact, like the people he spent his time with. 

Well, he knew he liked Dragon Horse Girl. Or, Mei which he only used during particularly serious moments. (If she refused to use his name, why should he?) Red Son had begrudgingly accepted that he enjoyed her company back during the Samadhi Fire training. He wasn’t particularly enthused about the fact he was emotionally attached to a rabid lizard, but he enjoyed her company nevertheless. But, while he had finally warmed up to the idea of being her friend (pun not intended, no matter how smug Mei’s grin was when he first admitted it) that wasn’t the shift. 

No, the shift seemed to come from liking MK, the grinning delivery boy who threw Red Son’s entire life plan off track. He’d managed to shatter Red Son’s whole world, shake the foundations of his own beliefs, haunt him into heroism and friendship but worst of all, he had tricked Red Son into genuinely enjoying his company.  

He should’ve kicked MK out that night he broke in and demanded a “sleepover.” MK had always managed to spin Red Son’s head around with just a few pretty words, and that night was no exception. But, it was hard for Red Son to really hate him when he knew how much he enjoyed MK’s company. Red Son had found himself endeared to all the annoying little things in his life. And what was MK if not the most annoying little thing of all? 

“Noodle Boy” had gone from a consistent cruel jeer to an exhausted nickname barely ever used. Every threat of incinerating his hovel again or shattering the fragile alliance between them sounded hollow even to Red Son. It was getting harder to claim he hated MK considering how many times Red Son would call him to fill the silence in his workshop at night. So maybe, the real shift was that Red Son was slowly beginning to shed his denial and hesitation, allowing himself to enjoy drinking cheese tea with his life’s biggest obstacle. 

Well, not out loud, of course. He wasn’t going to let his parents know about this particular development. MK was still a sore subject in the Demon Bull Family, and Red Son had no doubt in his mind that his parents discovering the friendship would be catastrophic. Red Son supposed that was another testament to how much he’d changed–he’d rather hide this traitorous new friendship than simply cut it off. 

He certainly wasn’t going to let MK know either. He could imagine the reaction now–big brown eyes sparkling as he wrapped Red Son up in a bone-crushing hug, exciting rambling spilling from his lips, a smile so wide it would almost look painful. The thought of that made Red Son’s blood race with this adrenaline, similar to how it used to when they fought, but not quite the same. So no, Red Son was perfectly happy quietly unfurling his feelings like a brand new blueprint to analyze and carefully work at until he could properly build on it. 

It wasn’t like MK had magically stopped being insufferable, of course. He was still a little too loud and energetic for whatever setting he was in. He’d still talk Red Son’s ear off about whatever menial interest had captured his focus that day. He didn’t have a drop of subtlety or tact. But, Red Son found something to appreciate in those eccentricities. Like how MK’s off the wall energy brought a certain noise and color to a room. Or how his voice raced with excitement talking about the newest update for Monkey Mech. Or how Red Son worried less and less about ruining his friendship with MK because he always made it so clear how much he enjoyed Red Son’s company. 

And it wasn’t just some quiet appreciation of MK. The more time they spent together, the more Red Son began to understand just how MK ticked. 

The day Red Son dragged MK around to get him proper clothes, he was in a particularly bad mood. His mother had woken up far earlier than he would’ve liked–apparently one of the many traps in the house had malfunctioned due to a renovation Red Son made after the Lady Bone Demon's putridity ripped the fortress to shreds. It was an unforeseen consequence on his part, but a spear nearly stabbed Princess Iron Fan while she tried to leave the shower. And of course, she wasn’t exactly happy about nearly getting skewered, so she woke Red Son up to fix it immediately. 

It was a simple issue–one that Red Son frankly should have seen during renovations. He spent the morning kicking himself over it. How could he have overlooked such an obvious detail? His mother would never be harmed by something as simple as a booby trap, but the fact it was set off at all was entirely unacceptable. 

Red Son was still mulling over his failure as he and MK walked through each store. If he had overlooked something that simple, what else did he fail to fix? How many of his renovations were future death traps? He would have to go home, search up his blueprints, try to figure out of anything else went wrong–architecture wasn’t engineering, he should’ve been more careful, and now because of his ineptitude, he-

Red Son’s misery monologue was abruptly cut off when something soft smacked his face.

He sputtered, pulling the soft thing between his fingers. It was a warm, fluffy cloth, with a…cow…print? 

“What is this?” Red Son narrowed his eyes as he held out the amorphous blob of cloth. 

“It’s a onesie!” MK grinned. In his hands he was holding a similar amorphous blob of cloth with golden brown fur. “Like the weird pants-shoes you wear, but they go all the way up. Try it on!” 

Red Son inspected the “onesie.” There was a hood stitched to the top with a cartoonish recreation of a cow’s face, complete with little yellow horns sticking out the side. It looked so childish he was honestly surprised they made “onesies” that big. It looked like it could fit him-

Red Son pieced together what was happening. “No.” 

“C’mon,! We can match!” MK held his onesie up to his chest with a grin. His was–of course–of the monkey king, a golden band stitched into the hood. 

“Absolutely not. This-this onesie -” Red Son lifted two fingers up to make air quotes, “-is completely beneath me. The fabric is cheap, the pattern is tacky, and it’s frankly impractical clothing.” 

“Yeah, but it’s fun. ” MK retorted. 

Red Son groaned. “ This is why all of your clothes are terrible. Unlike you, I have standards for what I put on. I have a reputation to uphold.” 

“A reputation as…?” MK lifted up the hood by the horns, pinching the soft fabric.

“As a member of the Demon Bull fami-!” Suddenly, it clicked why MK gave Red Son the cow onesie.

It took everything in Red Son not to burn that miserable piece of cloth to ashes. “This is demeaning. ” He hissed. “Just because you defeated my family in battle doesn’t mean you can parade me around in clown outfits.” 

“It’s not you parading around. It’s the both of us.” He grabbed Red Son’s hand and tugged him towards the dressing room. “C’mon, at least try it on-” 

Red Son definitely had changed, because despite his many, many protests, he eventually tried on the onesie. He gave MK a murderous glare as he showed him the onesie, but MK was too busy fawning over how it looked so adorable and that we're definitely wearing these during our next sleepover.

Worst of all, at some point MK snagged a photo of Red Son grumpily trying to throw the hood over his ponytail and sent it to Mei. When Red Son changed back, he saw his phone already had a barrage of messages cooing over the onesie. He could practically read the smug grin Mei had with each new text. He wouldn’t hear the end of this for a solid week. 

“I’m definitely buying these for us.” MK grinned as he held onto his monkey king onesie, walking out the dressing room. 

“You are NOT buying me this-” Red Son snapped. “I thought we agreed I was getting you clothes because your miserable Noodle delivery boy salary can’t afford more than some decent socks.” 

“Well one : I didn't agree, we came to a compromise that twoooo- ” MK leaned dramatically over to Red Son- “I'd let you do this for me if I got to buy you something. So, I’m cashing that in for the onesies, which-!!” MK shoved his finger in Red Son’s face. “Means it’s a gift. So, you can’t burn it the moment you leave the store.” 

“I’m under no obligation to keep this thing.” Red Son snapped. “If you want to waste your money, that’s your choice.” 

“Okay!” MK grinned, knowing full well Red Son was going to keep that stupid cow onesie. “We can go to the cash register now, everything else here is kind of tacky.” 

But these aren’t?! Red Son was practically frothing at the mouth as they walked to the line for the cash register. MK wasn’t even a little intimidated by Red Son’s downright rabid rage. In fact, he hummed, rolling up and down on the heels of his feet. “I’m glad you’re feeling better now.” 

Red Son’s anger paused for a moment. “What?” 

MK shrugged, making a little “I’unno” sound as he did. “You seemed out of it earlier, but it didn’t seem like you wanted to talk about it.” 

Oh. Right. MK could still read him like a billboard. “I didn’t realize I was being…obvious.” Red Son murmured. 

“It’s cool man.” MK replied. “Plus, I kind of figured you’d set me on fire if I asked about it.” He looked at his monkey king onesie, picking out little bits of lint caught in the fabric. “I mean, if you do want to talk, I’m all ears, but I like not being on fire? And I ran out of the burn cream you sent me.” He laughed. 

“But hey.” MK smiled at Red Son, unfurling the monkey king onesie to wiggle in his face. “Now you feel better, and we’ve got matching onesies.”

Red Son’s brow furrowed looking down at the onesie draped over his arm. He ran a hand through the soft cow print. The outfit was stupid and childish, but it had managed to distract him from his recent failure completely. Red Son wasn’t paying much attention to how MK found the onesies–he figured it was some reckless purchase because the tacky outfits caught his eye. But from what MK was saying…

“This-” He narrowed his eyes at the onesie. “This was strategic .”

“It was what?” MK blinked, a smile still painted on his face. 

“You dragged me through this ‘onesie’ nonsense because you knew it'd distract me.” Red Son looked up at MK. “I thought you were being your normal noodle brained self.” 

“I mean…yes? No?” MK draped the onesie over one arm and scratched the side of his face with the other. “I dunno. Sometimes, when stuff gets bad, it’s easier to lighten the mood than to get into it. And sometimes, the best way to lighten the mood is being stupid. Or noodle brained, I guess.” He laughed.

MK took Red Son’s onesie from his hand as he strode over to the cash register, leaving Red Son to stare at him. He wondered how many times MK had done something silly, or stupid, or reckless knowing it would ease whatever tensions someone was feeling. He knew MK was smarter than he let on–from his wily tricks in battle to the way he shredded through Red Son’s emotional layers like they were paper. He just didn’t realize the stupidity was part of that. 

…Fuck. Was MK actually smart? 

“Hey, uh Red Son?” MK leaned over, a nervous smile on his face. “I know I said I’d buy these, but do you think you could lend me some cash? I’m like…five monies short.” 

Oh thank goodness. Red Son was starting to get worried there. He rifled through his wallet to pay for the onesies.

It wasn’t just that Red Son was starting to understand things he’d already known. He was starting to learn more about MK too. Sure, Red Son knew things about him-the best places to ambush him on his typical delivery route, the slight lag in his left leg that left him susceptible to attack, his insufferably optimistic attitude that used to drive Red Son insane and haunt him in the evenings. Knowing the enemy was important. But it wasn’t really the same as knowing MK as a friend.  

For instance-he had no clue MK was trans. The subject came up when Red Son asked whether or not his parents were actually stupid enough to name him MK, only for him to learn that one, MK was just a nickname and more importantly two, he chose his name after coming out as trans to Pigsy when he was relatively young. 

“I got a binder and everything. Took me like four months to save up for it.” MK grinned, thumping his chest. 

Red Son furrowed his brow. “But-when you slept over, you didn’t take anything off but your jacket. And you didn’t-erm-” Red Son looked away, a bit embarrassed about how best to phrase it. “You looked the same as you do now.” 

MK sucked in his lips, decidedly not looking at Red Son. “So…I might have slept in my binder-but it’s fineeee.” He ran a hand through his hair, trying to play this off as completely normal. “I hurt my ribs more from training than binding, it’s not a big deal-” 

“That doesn’t mean you should wear a binder to sleep!” Red Son snapped. MK pouted like Red Son was making some completely unreasonable request.

He learned that MK was just as much of a night owl as him. Even when he wasn’t staying up partying with Mei (or “portying,” as he would sometimes say by accident before slapping his hand over his mouth embarrassed.) Red Son would find that MK would call him late at night to have someone to talk to while he practiced some different kung fu moves, played a particularly different level in a video game, or doodled on his bed. 

“I should show you the thing I’m working on.” MK said, his voice still energetic despite the time. “I’ve been working on a fully written and illustrated biography of the Monkey King.” 

Red Son snorted as he sorted through his “drawings” file, cropping a photo of his arm with a green dragon coiled around it. “I knew you were a little Monkey King fanboy, but I didn’t realize you were that dedicated.” 

“Oh yeah. The fanboy-ness faded a little bit once we started training together, but I still look up to him a lot.” MK smiled. “He’s strong, and cool, and handsome, and even though he makes mistakes, he always tries to do what’s best for us.”

Red Son scoffed. “What’s best for you and your little friends, maybe.” 

“Okay, well then, he tries to do good. Even if he makes a lot of mistakes in the process.” MK reiterated. 

Red Son huffed. “You’re certainly right about making mistakes. ” 

He must have said that with a fair amount of venom, because MK was quiet for a while. He could hear the vague sound of paper rifling and crayon sketching against paper before he spoke up. 

“I know you probably hate Monkey King,” he muttered in the phone speaker, “And, that’s okay. I get why you don’t like him, and I don’t expect you to. But…I’m glad you let me talk about Monkey King like this. Even if he’s kind of a sore subject for you.” He heard MK close his book with a thud. “Just, let me know if I ever need to shut up. ”

Red Son barked out a laugh. “I would never miss out on the chance to shut you up.” 

“HEY.” MK tried to shout without waking up any neighbors. Red Son snickered–MK reacted like a child, and in Red Son’s sleep deprived state, he found it fun. 

“And…it’s fine. It’s fine if you talk about the Monkey King to me.” Red Son finished cropping his soulmate’s art. I know humans have a soft spot for that little ape. You especially.” He snorted. “Half the things you own have his stupid face.” 

MK laughed. “Okay, harsh, but true. I had to replace a bunch of it since you destroyed my apartment.” 

Red Son ground. “Are you ever going to move on from that?” 

“Nope!” MK popped the “p” there with a giggle. “Unless you’re willing to pay for a new sketchbook.” 

"And waste my money on your art?" Red Son snarked.

"Hey! You've never seen it! Maybe you'll like it." MK protested.

Red Son just rolled his eyes as he finished up cropping his soulmate's work. Given how much Monkey King MK surely drew, he doubted that. 

It was fun to learn things about MK. It was fun to keep discovering new things to keep in file in the back of his mind. He liked learning the different names MK had for his houseplants, or his thoughts on different comics. He knew that MK liked loud, bubbly music, and that he had a secret stash of instant noodles that Pigsy could never learn about.

But Red Son’s favorite discovery? MK was cheeky. 

Every now and then, he would make some snarky remark at Red Son that completely threw him off his groove. His trash talk when playing against Mei was surprisingly sharp. Sometimes, Red Son would ask MK about his day, and he’d vent about some particularly annoying customer or irritating demon of the week. He’d give them shrill little voices when imitating them, or grumble some sarcastic comment about how nooo, I totally ate some of the noodles on the drive to your house, you definitely didn't just order a small serving by accident ma'am.

There was a certain glee in seeing that side of MK. Maybe it said something about Red Son that he enjoyed seeing MK slip outside his happy little hero persona. Regardless, he was delighted by this side of MK. Anytime MK was annoyed by something, he’d goad him on to add more and more details, to the point that he quickly became an expert at drawing out MK’s frustrated rants about whatever buffoonery Jin and Yin were doing that day. 

“My mother used to be indebted to those fools.” Red Son recalled, sitting on MK’s bed. “I used to be terrified she’d make me build them something. I wouldn’t want my works associated with their…’schemes.’” 

“I remember that.” MK stopped pacing back and forth in front of Red Son. “Princess Iron Fan had to judge a food war with them against Pigsy.” A food war? Red Son had vague memories of his mother coming home grumbling about “blood oaths” and “the taste of garbage” lingering on her tongue. “I’m pretty sure the only reason she said their food was better was to spite us.” 

Red Son laughed. That made sense, given how she’d still have Red Son order noodles every now and then. If she actually knew that the little thief would sneak past the bull clones to hand Red Son three bowls of extra spicy hand pulled noodles, she’d probably tear them both to shreds. 

MK groaned, flopping onto the floor. “I was gonna relax today!” He said, grabbing a monkey king plushie and holding it up above him. “But nooo, I had to stop Jin and Yin from trying to drain the ocean so they could steal Sandy’s boat and break into the secret base!” He launched the plushie across the room. 

“You had a secret base?” Red Son’s eyebrows rise up just a bit, leaning over the bed to get a better look at MK. 

“Not one we ever used !” MK exclaimed, sitting up “If they knew about the secret base, they should’ve known that we used it like two times.” 

Red Son grumbled. “Frankly, I’m more upset that those two discovered you had a secret base but I didn’t.”

“Well, maybe that’s because your bull clones were too busy sucking to spy on us.” MK said cheerfully, sliding across the dusty wooden floor to get closer to the bed. 

“They don’t suck !” Red Son snapped. “And they were excellent spies! My bull clones are capable of doing anything I command.” 

“Right, right. Which is why you were the one that broke into my house and trashed it.” MK said with a smug grin, propping his chin up on the bed to look up at Red Son. 

“That’s-that’s because-” Red Son began to heat up, hair flaring up before he forced himself to extinguish. “Will you ever quit bringing that up?” 

“I mean…a new sketchbook would definitely shut me up.” MK gave Red Son the largest puppy dog eyes he’d ever seen. 

“I’m leaving.” Red Son started to head for the fire escape.

That (admittedly empty) threat seemed to work perfectly, because MK suddenly got up, babbling that “no no no don’t go I was only kidding about the sketchbook you don’t have to go.” Something about the sudden shift in MK’s tone made Red Son laugh–a wild, genuine laugh, that made his lips stretch across his face in a foreign grin. He leaned back against the window, holding his stomach, allowing himself to enjoy the slight ache in his cheekbones. It wasn’t long before MK started to laugh too, a warm noise that rang in Red Son’s ears. 

MK sighed, lying down on the bed. It was incredibly cramped now that the both of them were there, but Red Son was starting to get used to the constant invasion of his personal space. “Thanks for this.” 

“For what?” Red Son asked, getting the last of his giggles out. 

“For letting me talk, I guess.” MK responded. “Today was way more stressful than I planned but…it was nice to talk to you about it.” 

He sighed, staring up at the ceiling. “I don’t really…talk about this kind of stuff to people? If it’s a problem I can deal with by myself, I try not to get anyone else involved.” 

Right. That was another thing he’d learned about MK. For all of his speeches on friendship and working together, MK tried very hard to avoid talking about his problems. He would encourage Red Son all the time to talk to him, that he was more than free to tell MK what was bothering him, but anytime Mei asked him if he was okay, MK would stretch his grin out and insist it was all okay. It was honestly a bit unnerving to see MK's eyes dart in panic as he tried to scurry away and find some distraction, some stupid little thing to keep the mood light and the spotlight off him. 

“I know it’s bad, and that I probably should talk about things when they stress me out, but…I dunno.” MK murmured. “But…you’re good at getting me to talk. And when I talk to you about it, I feel better. So…yeah. Thanks.” A small smile quirked up on MK’s lips at the end there. 

… Oh. Red Son hadn’t really thought about it like that. He’d gotten adept at stringing out whatever was bothering MK, but it didn’t occur to him just how difficult of a feat this was. But, when he thought about, even Mei couldn't coax MK to talk sometimes. But somehow, Red Son could? 

He’d never been good at handling his own emotions, much less other people’s, so learning that MK was comfortable opening up to him of all people seemed counterintuitive. He didn’t even intend to comfort him. He just wanted to string out whatever issue MK had that day, listen to him complain, goad him on by insisting that he was completely right to think those gold and silver morons ruined his day-

A memory flashed through his mind, from when MK and Mei first began dragging him around. Red Son was waiting in the corner of the Noodle Shop, texting MK to hurry up already. Sandy was there, his massive frame seemingly cramped in the small booth chair. He was talking to Pigsy after he had an especially explosive reaction to a belittling customer. 

“It’s important to feel your emotions-even the negative ones.” Sandy nodded his head sagely. “And finding a space to work through those feelings is just as important as finding a solution.” 

At the time, Red Son wasn’t sure what that really meant. He assumed it was some second hand psychology jargon Sandy had heard from his therapist. But now, the words rang in his ears. Maybe MK didn’t talk to people because he didn’t want the burden of solutions or comfort. He didn't want to waste their time with effort. Maybe he needed someone willing to listen, who grinned and nodded along and told him he was perfectly justified in being frustrated. Maybe the fact that Red Son wasn’t trying to make things better, that he wasn’t asking MK about his day with a soft voice or a concerned expression, was exactly what made him easy to talk to. Maybe Red Son lightened the mood. 

“You really should talk to people about your issues.”  Red Son huffed. 

“So should you.” MK shot back immediately.

“It’s different with you.” Red Son pointed at MK accusingly “ You refuse to talk to others because you irrationally believe it’ll burden them despite taking on every little issue within a ten mile radius.” 

MK scrunched up his face. “‘Oooh, I, Red Son, want MK to talk about his problems when I cope by setting trees on fire and moping!’” He pitched his up for a downright awful impression of Red Son.

“That is-!!” Red Son sputtered. “I don’t mope !” he glared at MK . “And I don’t sound like that either!” 

MK looked at Red Son, trying to stifle a laugh but failing miserably. “You kind of sound like that.” 

Red Son kicked MK off the bed. 

MK landed on the floor with a hard thud. Somehow though, he found this funny, curling up on the floor to laugh. And for some reason, Red Son found himself laughing too, his wide grin a little less foreign

So, yeah, things were different, but some things remained exactly the same.

MK still haunted Red Son. He wasn’t really sure why. 

For some reason, Red Son thought befriending MK might do away with the words and images that haunted him for months. Maybe it would demystify him if their relationship was something more amicable. But it only got worse. Every little interaction, even new quirk he discovered or old quirk he came to enjoy, they spun around his skull, a wild laughter whispering in Red Son’s ears. 

If anything, Red Son made his hauntings worse. MK didn't need to know much about Red Son to stay floating in his mind throughout the evenings. But over time, with each new late night phone call, or snack run, or inane little activity that he’d somehow come to look forward to. Red Son found himself…spilling.

They would talk about passion projects, and Red Son would talk about how antsy his hands felt without an impossible goal to strive for. MK would explain an inside joke between him and Mei, and Red Son would admit that he didn't have people to make jokes with before meeting them. They’d play some crummy video game with a Demon Bull King themed boss, and Red Son would recall how he’d almost been on the other end of his father’s fist. MK spoke about his cozy childhood in Pigsy’s Noodles, and for the first time in his life, Red Son spoke about his old home, the halls big and quiet and lonely. 

Each secret Red Son kept in his chest would slip out like a peony petal plucked from his ribcage for MK to press between his warm hands. It occurred to Red Son that MK was discovering Red Son too, learning how to string out his secrets. And that Red Son wasn't exactly putting a stop to the flow. Maybe Red Son should've been horrified that he allowed his secrets to trickle out into MK's hands. It should've been a breach of security that the Monkie Kid could reach his fingers into Red Son's chest and pull out such vulnerabilities. But over time, Red Son learned to be okay letting MK in on these little secrets. 

Haunting really wasn't the right word for it anymore. Hauntings were monstrous things, a malevolent force that battered your home. MK didn’t try to do that. He would suggest different ways Red Son could fill up his hands and days. He would wrap his arm around Red Son’s shoulders to tell him they’d have plenty of inside jokes in no time. He would pause his game to insist that his father should’ve apologized to him, even if his cruelty was laced with the icy whisper of the Lady Bone Demon. He would smile at Red Son, take his hands in his, and tell him that he was glad that he wasn’t lonely anymore. MK’s blunt force love was overwhelming, terrifying, but it was love. It wasn't a haunting. 

Red Son unfurled a fresh blueprint. MK had suggested trying to get into “the car scene” as he so eloquently put it. Red Son figured that maybe he could sign up for the Great Wall Race again. He would’ve won if those two idiots didn’t team up to defeat him, so Red Son was fairly confident he could take that victory. Lately, he would keep Mei’s livestreams on a low volume while he worked, loud enough for him to hear, but soft enough that if the click of his mother’s heels strode by he could turn off the livestream. Tonight though, Red Son didn’t need to worry about livestreams, a sad blues song ringing throughout the workshop as he sketched. 

Red Son apparently didn’t need to worry about listening to the soft click of heels either, because about an hour into working, a set of booming footsteps strode towards his workshop. The door swung open to reveal the Demon Bull King, a frown stitched on his face. 

“F-father!” Red Son turned off the music, stunned. Visits from the Demon Bull King were even more rare than visits from his mother. “I thought you would be in bed right now.” 

The Demon Bull King crouched down to enter the workshop. “Pay me no heed. I’m looking for something.” He stomped through Red Son’s workshop until he reached a shelf stocked with old papers. Red Son tried his best to let his father do… whatever he was doing, but with each frustration huff from the other side of the room, he found he couldn’t really ignore it. 

“Is there something you’re looking for?” Red Son stood up from his chair to slowly approach his father. “I have everything organized, so I’ll be able to find what you need in-”

“A painting.” 

Red Son paused, not totally sure he heard his father right despite DBK’s booming voice. “A what-?” 

DBK huffed, a bit of steam leaving his nostrils. “One of my old allies gifted me a painting of Princess Iron Fan shortly after we married. But no matter where I look in this fortress, I cannot find it. Princess Iron Fan told me you keep most of the older files back here, but I do not see it.” He turned his head to Red Son. “Surely, you know what I speak of?” 

He didn’t. At least, for the first couple seconds, as Red Son wracked his brain on what his father could possibly be talking about. But then, it came to him, a fuzzy memory of a large painting that hung over his parents’ bed. Some early mornings, Red Son would waddle into his parents’ room despite the nursemaid’s protests. As he climbed up the bed to curl up against his father’s fuzzy back, he’d see the painting hanging over them, a gorgeous landscape of rocky mountains and slender trees with his mother as the main focus. 

“I do.” Red Son murmured. “But, it’s not here because…well…” He crossed his arms, unsure how exactly to broach the topic to his father. “After what happened, we could only bring along so many things.-” 

The Demon Bull King let out a shout of frustration, his hand gripping the shelf so tightly Red Son worried it’d shatter between his fingers. 

“Another possession of mine lost to time.” His teeth grinded into each other as he spoke. “Every time I ask where something is, Princess Iron Fan tells me she had to leave it behind. Everything we have is something new. ” He leered over Red Son. “Tell me, what of my belongings still belong to me?” 

“Well, e-everything here is yours, Father.” Red Son stammered, clasping his hands with a strained smile. “And if it’s not to your liking, I can make you something better!” 

However, it only seemed to frustrate him more. “You know what I’m asking for!” DBK yelled. “Is there anything that was mine from before that simian abomination cast me away from the realm of the living?!” 

Even mentioning the Monkey King seemed to make DBK angrier, the shelf he was holding beginning to crack, his shoulder blades shaking underneath his night robes.

Demon Bull King would get like this every now and then. If something too heavy fell on top of him, or if some show he was watching referenced Monkey King, he would flash into a rage, body trembling as whatever room he was in got trashed. He was careful not to hurt any people, especially given their unfortunate run-in with the Lady Bone Demon. DBK once awkwardly apologized to Red Son for accidently knocking a bull clone’s head off. But still, Red Son couldn’t help but be frightened by it. Even if his father would never intend to hurt him, that fist had once come swinging at him. He knew the sort of force that behind it. 

“There’s your blankets, which I’m sure you know. We had your most powerful artifacts carefully guarded–although, I’m sure already know that. And we did save a couple poems describing your greatness. The paper itself is too fragile to take out from its casing…But! I have it on file in care you’d like to read them…erm…” He started to panic, wracking his mind for what other possessions they carried with them from Red Son’s childhood home. It had been so long, that it was hard to remember what they still owned or what had been pried away from them. 

And really, it’s not like any of this information could fix anything. Regardless of how much his father loved the fancy new kitchen or the shows on TV, they wouldn’t bring back the things he once had. His home had few familiar comforts. He rose from the earth to a tired would-be widow and a half-baked son, to a cave that barely resembled a home, to a small handful of items he would have known from his time before Sun Wukong sealed him away. 

Red Son was half tempted to call for his mother. She was good at calming her husband down, her honey-like voice and soothing touches always seeming to get through to him. The two of them gave each other a certain leeway for tenderness, where they could care and be cared for. It was always something Red Son worried he intruded on, some vulnerable moment that he was shunted outside of. So maybe, it would be best to call Princess Iron Fan down and retreat.

But then, an idea formed in his head. An incredibly stupid one, but one that…he was willing to try, nonetheless. Red Son couldn’t comfort his father, couldn’t give him any practical solutions. He couldn’t give back his old possessions, his old home, 500 years of life beyond the mountain. But, maybe...Red Son could lighten the mood. 

He took a deep breath, praying that Guanyin would grant him whatever skill he needed to surpass this trial.

“Mother did try to save a bottle of your favorite wine." he said. "but after a century or so, she feared it would expire. So one evening, she hosted a drinking game with her suitors. They would bring as much alcohol as they could carry, and whoever could outdrink her would get her hand. And anyone who failed would be…" Red Son wave his hand a bit in the air. "... dealt with. ” 

His father frowned as Red Son mentioned the other suitors. He smiled, trying his best to imitate that stupid wide grin which seemed to ease his worries. 

“All sorts of demons came, carrying as many bottles of liquor as they could. But mother only had one bottle–your bottle." Red Son recalled. "It towered over most of the demons at the table. A couple demons jeered that she'd pass out before reaching the end of the bottle neck. But when the competition began, she tipped the wine and drained it completely." Red Son chuckled, recalling the stunned look on the face of their "guests" that evening. "She was still sober when she slaughtered her suitors.” 

For a moment, Red Son was worried the story would do nothing to soothe his father. Mentioning Princess Iron Fan’s suitors might send him into another rage, infuriated by how quickly the world announced him dead. The jovial mention of a time during his absence might only make the wound sting. 

And yet, shockingly, the story seemed to work. His father chuckled, low and gravelly. “Those fools. They thought they could beat Princess Iron Fan in a drinking contest?” A smile curled up on his lip. “Anything less than the heavenly court’s liquor is rice water to her.” 

“Y-yes!” Red Son lit up at his father’s smile. “When the competition was finished, we had to figure out what to do with the corpses of course,” Red Son grinned, crossing his arms. “But mother had no issue finishing the leftover liquor.”

The Demon Bull King laughed now, a proper laugh that echoed through the workshop. Red Son knew that if he could press his head against his father’s chest like he used to in his childhood, he’d feel that laughter rumble in the Demon Bull King’s belly. 

When his father’s laughter died, he was still upset, but it was lighter now, his shoulders relaxed and his brow a bit less furrowed. Red Son looked up at him still, his wide grin now shifting to something a bit more nervous. 

“There are...some humans, who are obsessed with digging up relics from the past.” Red Son said. “There’s been a few cases of humans finding artifacts once owned by demons.” He wrung his hands, a bit jittery now. “I could always research to see if any of your old belongings are in a museum. And if they are, we can take back what is rightfully yours!” He curled his hands into fists, trying to force on a bravado before sheepishly grinning. “If-if that’s what you’d like?” 

His father hummed, looking down at Red Son as he pondered the offer. After some thought though, a grin curled up his face. “It’s been a while since I’ve terrorized the humans. And they’d deserve it for taking what’s mine. Start looking.” 

“Of course!” Red Son turned back to his workspace, rolling up his blueprint. With a swipe of his hand, a flurry of pink screens lit up. “I can get started right away!” He was elated. He finally had work to do–and if he was able to find something, the two of them would take it back together, father and son! He’d have to inform MK beforehand, so that their father-son outing wasn’t ruined, but-

“What about my inkwell?” 

Red Son paused his search, looking back at his father. The Demon Bull King was half crouched over the doorway of Red Son’s workshop, seemingly about to leave when he stopped to ask that question. 

“Your inkwell?” Red Son echoed. “We never took it with us.” 

The Demon Bull King’s eyes widened. "I'm surprised you didn't." 

Red Son must have surely looked confused, because moved a little more into the workshop, straightening out his back.  “I would’ve thought you’d carry that inkwell around the world.” He crossed his arms. “I couldn't keep it far enough away from you. I had shelves built twice my size and you still managed to dip your hands in and stain your clothes.

Oh. Now Red Son’s eyes widened. “You...you remember that?” He asked, voice nearly cracking. 

His father seemed baffled by the question. “How could I forget?” 

Right. DBK’s possessions weren’t the only things lost to time. Red Son ran his hand up his arm. It was bare now, but a lifetime ago, it was covered in fresh ink, long babbling sentences about Red Son’s day staining his skin. 

“I had forgotten to bring it.” Red Son admitted. “And I felt it would be inappropriate to ask Mother to turn back for it. Plus, once you were gone I…”  He bit his lip, looking away. “I had more important matters to worry about than soulmates.” 

His father snorted. “You still use that human word?” 

“I-it’s a force of habit!” Red Son flushed. 

His father grunted, crossing his arms as he took the information in. “I suppose then, you do not have such a bond with anyone?”

Red Son gripped his sleeve tightly. “No. I don’t.” 

Red Son wasn’t sure how thought his father would respond. But he didn’t expect DBK’s gaze to soften as he looked up at Red Son. There was something tender, something sympathetic, the sort of gentle look that Red Son only ever saw his father give to his mother. It was so tender and terrifying that a part of Red Son almost wished he still an outsider.

“A shame.” He murmured. “I remember it meant the world to you.” 

With that, he crouched down and left Red Son’s workshop, shutting the door behind him. 

Red Son listened to the booming footsteps fade away as he stood there alone. Some part of him urged him to shake off the conversation and get to work on this new project, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. A wave of emotions coursed through Red Son, wrapping around his body and squeezing at his throat. He was happy his father remembered that part of him. He was upset that he expected otherwise. He was angry his father knew so little about him. He was terrified of what would happen if his father ever learned the truth about his arms, his skin, his soulmate. He wanted to storm into Flower Fruit Mountain and burn everything inside. He wanted to curl up in the corner of his workshop. He wanted to find the remains of his childhood home and sleep where the peonies used to grow, or still grew, or overgrew down the lonely halls.

He didn’t want to be alone right now. 

Red Son swiped the pink holographic screen away, fumbling in his workshop drawers until he found his smartphone. He sat down on the table as he pressed call. 

“Yo.” MK picked up immediately. “You usually don’t call first this late, what’s up?” 

It was pathetic how soft Red Son had gotten. How even hearing that peppy little voice soothed the fraught emotions running through his system. If he knew a year ago he’d be calling up the Monkey King's successor for emotional support, he would’ve called it weak, traitorous, unacceptable. And a part of him still thought it was. 

But he gripped the phone tighter, sighing into the speaker. “I wanted to talk.” 

MK was quiet for a beat. Red Son was sure he could hear the carefully guarded vulnerability in Red Son’s tone. “Okay.” MK’s tone was quieter, softer. He heard him shuffle around. “What’s up?” 

Maybe it wasn’t that something had shifted. For the past year or so, Red Son’s world kept getting tossed upside down over and over again. Maybe what really shifted was that Red Son had become okay with the change. That he welcomed it. 

A chrysanthemum blossomed on the back of Red Son’s hand. He watched each petal form as he spoke. 

Chapter Text

Red Son had accepted he wasn’t a villain.

Well, okay, he still did a fair amount of villainous things back when he was trying to take over the city. Even MK couldn’t deny that. So, the human peasants of Megapolis would give him a nasty stink eye now and again, but that was to be expected. Even if he helped fight the Lady Bone Demon, it wasn’t like his family ever apologized for taking over the city. And Red Son frankly didn’t feel the need to apologize either. Every act of villainy he did, he did in the name of the Demon Bull Family–what was there to regret? 

Still though, Red Son acknowledged his fairly brief stint as the Monkie Kid’s enemy came from a  sense of filial duty more than anything else. And, when push came to shove, he was more than willing to do the hero work if it meant taking care of them. So while loving and caring and good were still words he hesitated to use on himself, Red Son had to admit–he wasn’t really a bad guy. At the very least, his hero work was starting to overshadow his villainy. 

But Red Son wasn’t one of the heroes.  

Or, more accurately, Red Son hadn’t become the sixth of the Monkie Kid’s little five man band. (Well five-man-and-one-cat band, really.) Sure, every now and then Sandy would ask him for some engineering help. Sometimes, Tang would mutter some snarky comment under his breath that would make Red Son almost spit out whatever he drank. Pigsy once even asked for help repairing an oven, and went so far as to compliment his work. 

But, whenever some cackling demon appeared, everyone would rush out of Pigsy’s Noodles while Red Son continued to slurp his spicy noodles.

Even if his parents weren’t currently making plans to conquer the mortal realm, it felt like a step too far to properly join the Monkie Kid’s group. Being friends was bad enough. Being an active ally was something else entirely. 

Not to mention, based on the handful of times they had teamed up, Red Son learned that the Monkie Kid’s strategy of improvisational chaos was… disorienting . He preferred having some semblance of a plan rather than rushing headfirst into battle. 

Plus, even though tensions with Tang and Pigsy had simmered, Red Son wasn’t exactly looking to spend more time in their company. Even if he conceded they were able to make their unconventional bond work, it still made something in Red Son’s chest stir uncomfortably whenever Tang would jot down a message to Pigsy on his wrist. 

But, Red Son being a casual friend wasn’t a problem. MK had assured him at one point that Red Son didn’t really need to join their posse officially, and that if he just wanted to be friends without getting into the evil-demon-fighting business, there’d be no problem. So, Red Son didn’t fight their battles. It was better for him to be an odd friend that they could call for cheese tea breaks and snack runs. 

But it did mean that there were some…interesting conflicts. 

For one, Red Son’s friends had much stricter moral codes than him. MK and Mei weren’t paragons of virtue, mind you. Both of them were perfectly willing to play dirty to achieve their goals. Red Son had seen MK look up cheat codes on his phone when fighting Mei in Monkie Mech. But apparently, cheating in a video game wasn’t as bad as trying to demolish the machine for clearly being rigged against Red Son. 

It also meant that while Red Son was perfectly capable of clearing his schedule, MK and Mei’s routines could be rudely interrupted at any given moment. He learned to begrudgingly accept that sometimes, the two of them would dash off in the middle of a movie to go fight whatever demon was ransacking the city. There were a handful of times he’d come home much earlier than expected, commenting on Mei’s livestream that she was absolutely paying for his ticket if they were going to ditch him for the Gold and Silver dorks, of all demons. 

That wasn’t even covering the collateral damage that always seemed to wreck everything in a three block radius. MK had been bugging Red Son to go play some human game called “laser tag” together, but one reckless swipe of the staff and Red Son’s weekend plans were cleaved in half. Frankly, the real heroes of the city were all the construction workers who had to clean up the Monkie Kid’s mess. 

Surprisingly, neither MK nor Mei would get seriously injured all that often. They’d get hurt of course. Sometimes, they would meet up with Red Son thirty minutes late with a litany of bruises and a limp. The injuries always looked painful, but MK and Mei never seemed particularly bothered by it, and neither was Red Son. He knew for a fact their opponents were worse off than they were. He would know. The bite marks from Mei never fully faded, and his neck still clicked funny from when MK ran him over with that jet-car thing ages back. 

But, every now and then, they’d slip up, a demon would get a good hit in, and Red Son would get seven different voice messages from a bedridden MK about how he wanted cheese tea, but Mei was busy, and Pigsy said I can’t leave the bed so I could “heal better,” and could you please get me some cheese tea Red Son?? I’ll totally make it up to you I swear. Oh, and sure to get a large with extra foam! And because Red Son was an idiot, he would always put down whatever project he was doing to buy MK his precious cheese tea. 

Which, frankly, was a mistake, because then MK would ask Red Son to open a window, or grab another blanket, or Can we watch Monkey King: The Animated Series together?? And because MK had somehow bewitched Red Son into genuinely liking him, he’d allow himself to become a bednurse. So now, Red Son knew the theme song of that atrocious Sun Wukong vanity project by heart, and if he made the mistake of thinking about the show for too long, it’d get stuck in his head for a week. 

But, Red Son supposed it wasn’t all bad being a bed nurse. It wasn’t exactly the first time Red Son took care of MK’s injuries anyways. The empty container of burn cream still sat on MK’s windowsill, now a makeshift pot for a tiny succulent, as a quiet reminder of Red Son’s care.

MK would always pass out early in the evening, leaving Red Son to quietly work on whatever side projects he had. The city ambiance was surprisingly nice, even when it was interrupted by MK snoring. He often told Red Son about his busy schedule of delivering noodles, training with Monkey King, fighting demons–and that didn’t even cover whatever inane errand he was doing for one of his friends. In some ironic way, getting hurt was an improvement to his health.

Looking at MK splayed out on the bed, Red Son always felt some ridiculous urge to pull up his blanket, tuck his monkey plushie in his arm, or remove the ridiculous bandana he wore. He never gave into such impulses, of course. Even if he’d been more accepting when it came to physical affection from his friends, something about carefully moving MK’s head to unknot his bandana was far too intimate for Red Son. The thought made the air in that miserable hovel hot and stuffy. So instead, he’d open up a window and return home for dinner. He’d make sure to call MK in the morning. 

When Mei got hurt, it was a bit of a different story. On the handful of instances she was hurt enough to require medical care, she could fall back on the vast resources of the Long family. Not that she enjoyed doing that–Mei had told Red Son that her parents used to practically strap her to the bed over paper cuts. Red Son doubted that was literally the case, but he knew her parents were especially overbearing given her lifestyle. Somehow, motorcycle racing was a less life-threatening pasttime for Mei. 

No, she’d call Red Son up to come over because she was bored, and MK’s on shift right now, and I haven’t played the new Monkey Mech DLC with you yet, so I need to destroy you already. He’d spend most of it sitting by her bedside while she prattled on about internet drama. If she hurt her arm she’d demand Red Son to brush her hair, and because Red Son had become a soft hearted little fool, he’d grab the brush and take care not to tug on the knots. 

It was still intimate to brush her hair of course, the way hair care always was an intimate ritual. But Mei’s room never got stuffy as he raked a hand through her hair to check for knots. She didn’t seem fazed by it either, scrolling through her phone and occasionally shoving it in Red Son’s face to see his reaction to a funny video. The energy wasn’t as charged with Mei. It felt casual, easy. Red Son would grab her hair bands and put her hair up in its usual hairdo, and to thank him she would call him the best stylist money can buy even though Red Son wasn’t getting paid at all. Still, it cracked her up, so he didn’t completely mind the joke. 

So, yeah. Red Son was used to being a bit of a bed nurse. So when Mei called him a few hours before their plans to hang out, he wasn’t surprised by what he heard. 

“Sooo, bad news.” Red Son could hear the muffled sound of Mei shifting on her bed. “Early this morning, MK and I were fighting a big bad, and I kiiiiind of messed up my ankle. It’s not like, broken or anything, buuuut I’m not getting out of bed for a while.” She admitted. 

“I’m assuming it’s nothing serious?” Red Son asked, pressing his phone against his ear using his shoulder as he worked on attaching the horns of a bull clone. 

“Na. I mean, I’m seriously bored, but I should be better in like, two weeks tops.” Mei said. Red Son let out a small breath of relief hearing that. “I just wanted to let you know since we were planning to go out today, and that’s not gonna happen.”

“Good.” Red Son sneered, screwing the horn to the side of the bull clone’s head. “The egg waffle place you wanted to drag me to sounded terrible.” All the pictures Mei had sent of gai daan jai cradling an ungodly amount of candies, fruits, and ice cream were so decadent Red Son worried just looking at it gave him cavities. Weren’t egg waffles supposed to be eaten plain? 

“You’re such a mom about sweets.” Mei chortled. “I’ve only seen you enjoy like, four desserts, and they were all those old lady desserts they eat because it’s ‘not too sweet.’ I think all the spices you eat killed off your taste buds.” 

“My taste buds are perfect!” Red Son snapped, tossing his screw driver aside with such force it skipped down his work table and onto the floor. “And I don’t want to hear any food opinions from you, of all people. I haven’t forgotten you tearing through dragonfruit like it was a peach back during Samadhi Fire training.”

“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it, Red Boy.” He could hear Mei’s smarmy little grin. “But, I didn’t really call to cancel.” 

Red Son paused his work, listening to Mei explain herself. “The matcha kiwi explosion egg waffle I’ve been telling you about is limited edition, and by the time I’m healed, they’ll be all out. I’ve been dying to try it, Red Boy. Dying! ” Mei groaned. If she were here, Red Son could imagine her draping her body over his shoulder weeping crocodile tears. 

“But it hurts to stand, and the line for the bakery can get suuuuper long.” The anguish in her voice disappeared, replaced by the sort of tone a teenager used to ask their parents for money. “So, I kind of figured, since you're my friend, and we were already planning on getting it anyways, that it wouldn’t really be a big change to your schedule if you just…bought the desserts and came over?” 

Red Son pinched the bridge of his nose, trying his best not to accidentally melt the bull clone’s head. “You want me to wait on some miserable line filled with humans for a disgusting mortal dessert alone? ”

“You don’t have to go alone! ” Mei said. “You can bring MK. I was gonna call him to come over anyways, so you can be my delivery boys.”

“Do NOT call me a delivery boy!” The metal of the new horn burned orange at Red Son’s touch. He let go of it, ushering the bull clone away before he did anymore damage. “And speaking of delivery, doesn’t MK have work? ” 

“Nah. The engine for the Noodle Cart got completely busted the other day. Like, ‘Piggy actually decided to pay a mechanic to look at it,’ busted.” 

Red Son’s eyes widened. From what he’d learned about Pigsy, if he was willing to drop cash to deal with something, it was serious. 

“MK thinks a trickster demon cursed the engine, but to be honest, that thing was doomed anyways.” Mei snorted. 

Something they could agree on. Red Son huffed, striding across his workshop to grab the cast away screwdriver as Mei continued to talk. “Point is, Piggy doesn’t trust MK with the truck, so MK doesn’t really have much to do other than clean. I’m sure you guys can get my food and he can show you the delivery boy ropes.”

“Do not call me a delivery boy if you expect me to do any favors for you.” Red Son snapped, putting the screwdriver back in its proper place. 

“If I stop calling you a delivery boy, will you pretty please get me my matcha-kiwi explosion egg waffle? I’ll pay you baaaaack.” Mei asked, her voice more sugary than the atrocious dessert she was craving.

Red Son groaned so loudly he was confident the heavens themselves heard it. Every now and then, he missed being a villain. It was less embarrassing. 

“ Fine. ” It hurt Red Son’s pride to get the words out. “I’ll get you your miserable egg waffle. I hope it gives you a heart attack.” 

“YAY!” Mei squealed so loudly Red Son wondered if it’d damage the phone speakers. “Alright, see you soon, tell MK to bring the comic I let him borrow last month because he definitely should be done with it by now, kay byeeeee!” 

Red Son let out a very long, exasperated sigh after Mei hung up. This was what he deserved for befriending the heroes. 

He strode over to his garage, grabbing the keys for a sleek indigo sports car. As fun as it was to drive his flashier vehicles, Red Son wasn’t trying to make his presence known. It was nerve wracking enough spending time with Mei and MK in broad daylight where anyone could see. If he were to pull out his inferno truck with MK riding shotgun? His parents would find out in three hours, max. 

Still, he wasn’t complaining about taking something a bit more subtle out for a spin. If it meant MK could come along to get Mei’s sugar-infested nightmare, he had no qualms with it. It would make waiting in a line full of mortals just a bit easier if MK was by his side. 

Red Son put the key in the ignition, called up MK, and drove out of his garage. 

Red Son should’ve realized something was wrong when MK didn’t start pressing buttons the moment he entered the car. 

He still marveled at it, naturally, satisfying whatever giddy desire Red Son had to hear him compliment him. And as they drove through the streets, MK stuck his head out the window like an excited puppy, feeling the wind through his hair. So Red Son didn’t really think anything was wrong as they waited in the bustling line. 

“So, you and Mei were supposed to go here today?” MK asked, rocking on the heels of his feet. 

Red Son sighed. “That was the original plan. The Dragon Girl had been texting me about this place for a solid week. I think my phone storage is mostly photos of advertisements at this point.”

Red Son wasn’t sure how he expected MK to respond to that, but he didn’t think MK’s smile would flicker. “O-oh. So you’ve been planning this for a while, huh?” He kicked at a pebble on the sidewalk. “Uhh. Sorry about that.” 

Red Son frowned, looking at MK with a confused expression. “What do you need to apologize for? You’re not the one who sent me seventeen different social media posts about the ‘matcha-kiwi explosion egg waffle.’” Did matcha even go with kiwi?

“No, no, not–it’s–” MK looked up at Red Son, his expression surprisingly distraught. “W-well, you and Mei were gonna hang out today, and have fun, and I-” MK pursed his lips, eyes darting around the sidewalk before finally smiling. “You know what? Nevermind. Let’s get Mei her food.” 

MK turned forward, very clearly trying to avoid eye contact with a now baffled Red Son. He planned to ask MK to elaborate, of course. Red Son knew MK needed coaxing to open up, and for some reason MK found Red Son easy to talk to. Plus, it always felt… wrong to see MK upset. It felt like something in the world was off balance, like the ground had tilted and the air soured. 

But then, someone stepped right on Red Son’s foot, and the only thing on his mind was murder. Luckily, this managed to distract MK too, since the only thing on his mind was keeping Red Son from murdering the oblivious mortal woman walking by. 

Things seemed to go back to normal as they got inside the bakery to order Mei her dessert. Well, normal in the sense that Red Son was the one suffering. 

“You’re going to have to hold the dessert, by the way.” Red Son said as they stepped aside to wait for their order. “I’m not letting you drive my car. Plus, it’s stuffed with ice cream–it’ll melt if I carry it.” 

MK chuckled. “Are you that bad at controlling your powers?” 

“Wh-it’s my natural body temperature! I can’t control that!” Red Son snapped. “Most icy things melt faster when I get too close!”

“Do you actually run that hot? I’ve never noticed.” MK stepped forward raising his hand. Red Son knew that protesting MK’s curiosity was useless. He didn’t want another biceps incident. So, he craned his neck down just a bit for MK to have a better reach. Red Son thought he was going to place his hand on his forehead. But for some ungodly reason, MK placed his hand on Red Son’s cheek. 

Every human ran cold compared to Red Son, but the warmth of MK’s palms always seemed to almost pulse across Red Son’s skin, a heat wave that traveled across his nervous system. It was already startling enough when MK’s hands touched his own, but the calloused fingers along his cheek made the back of his neck steam. Red Son stared at MK bug-eyed as he hummed, tilting his head like a dog who’d discovered something new. 

“Huh.” MK smiled. “Toasty.” 

Red Son wasn’t sure whether or not to take that as a compliment. He slapped MK’s hand away. 

Red Son figured that would be the end of the weird interactions with MK, but by the time they were back in the car, MK’s mood had soured all over again. As Red Son drove through the streets, he could see MK in his peripheral vision, staring down at the ridiculously decked out gai daan jai looking absolutely miserable. 

Red Son wasn’t really sure what was going on. He definitely wasn’t sure how to open it up. Even if MK opened up to him more easily, that didn’t suddenly make MK an open book. Red Son would know–MK might know an embarrassing amount of information about him, but there were still things Red Son kept close to his chest. MK knew about the tense conversations he had with his father, the big and quiet and lonely halls, but he didn’t know about the peonies in his chest, the drawings on his arm, the flickering childhood dreams of words up and down his arms. Red Son was sure that for all MK had told him, he didn’t know everything either. 

As they pulled up to a red light, Red Son sighed. “You-” He gripped the steering wheel before eventually speaking. “We could have gotten you one.” 

“What?” MK blinked, almost like he’d snapped out of a trance. 

“The egg waffle. If you wanted one, you could have just asked.” Red Son said. “You’d have to pay me back eventually, but it wouldn’t have–”

“No! No. I didn’t want any dessert.” MK said. “Plus, it’s kind of too late now.” He laughed, but rang hollow in Red Son’s ears as he drove down the road. 

As the two continued to drive, the silence from MK’s side of the car was palpable. He kept staring at the decadent dessert, unable to hide his emotions no matter how much he tried to. 

Red Son sighed, running a hand through his hair. “...Just eat it.” 

MK looked at Red Son like he grew another head. “What?” 

“Eat some of it. I doubt the Dragon Girl would mind you trying her dessert.” Red Son said. 

MK sputtered. “I’m not gonna eat it–why would you–that does not sound like a suggestion you’d normally make. Are you the real Red Son, or did I get calabash’d again?” 

“Look, that gai daan jai is overflowing with so much food that if I make one sharp turn, my seats will be ruined.” Red Son shifted the position of his hands on the steering wheel. “And you’ve been staring at that dessert like a sad dog. Frankly, it benefits the both of us if you just eat some of it–” 

“It doesn’t benefit Mei! ” MK exclaimed. “And it’s her food! From what you told me, she’s been craving this for a while, so she’d definitely notice if I ate some of it.” 

“I doubt it.” Red Son snorted. “She eats first and asks questions later.” He took one hand off the wheel to point at the dessert. “You could probably pluck one of those chocolate bars they jammed in there without her realizing-” 

“I’m not gonna eat Mei’s food!” MK shouted. “I’ve already messed up her day enough-!” 

MK clamped his mouth shut. Even though he was trying not to look at Red Son, he could see his eyes darting between him and the gai daan jai.  

… Oh. Red Son was starting to piece together what exactly was going on. 

“Mei told me that this morning the two of you were fighting something, and she got hurt.” Red Son looked over at MK, hands gripping the steering wheel. “She didn’t elaborate on how, just that she couldn’t walk around on her ankle for a while.” He raised his eyebrow at MK. “So, what exactly happened? ” 

It took a moment for MK to answer, staring down at the slowly melting dessert with a guilty expression. The matcha green ice cream ran down his wrist. MK wiped his hand before it would drop onto the faux leather seats of the sports car. 

“Mei and I were fighting a demon.” He muttered. “He was a standard villain-of-the-week. Or at least, he was supposed to be. But at the last second, he tried to get a hit on me, and…Mei took it.” MK’s brow furrowed as he recalled the events. “And then, she fell, and put all her weight on her ankle, and I think I heard something pop?"

MK looked over at Red Son, distraught now. “Fuck, did she tell you if it was broken or anything, because if it was–”

“Nothing’s broken.” Red Son assured him. “Mei told me that herself. And even if it was broken, she’s a Dragon– do you know how many medical resources she has at her fingertips? She could have fractured every part of her body but her ankle and come out fine in a month.” 

The tension in MK’s shoulders loosened slightly, but it was clear the situation was still bothering him as he looked out the window. 

“It’s fine. You morons get hurt all the time.” Red Son said. “ I would know better than anyone, seeing how often the two of you call me to come over when you’re bedridden.” 

“Yeah, but–it should’ve been me who got hurt.” MK protested. “I should’ve been the one calling you to bring me food, not Mei. She was looking forward to going out with you, and now she can’t even get out of bed because–”

“Because of a choice she made.” Red Son cut MK off. “If Mei took the hit for you, she was well aware of the risks.”

“Well she shouldn’t have to take that risk!” MK argued. “No one should. This isn’t the first time one of my friends got hurt because of my mystic monkie business. They shouldn’t have to put themselves in harm's way for me. I should–I–should.” 

He curled in on himself, murmuring. “I don’t know.” He leaned his head on the car door,his hair pressing against the glass of the car window. “I should stop talking. I’m making this all about me, and I'm not the one hurt right now.” He stared out at the city streets as he mumbled to Red Son. “Sorry.” 

“You don’t have anything to apologize for. Not to me at least.” Red Son spoke quietly. 

“You guys were supposed to spend the day together. And instead, you spent it getting food with me. I hurt Mei, and I ruined your plans too.” MK said, his voice hoarse. “So, yeah. Sorry about that.” 

The two were quiet as Red Son continued to drive towards the gates of the Long Family estate. He had access to it, given how many times Mei had dragged him over to help with motorbike touch ups, so there was little hassle with security. As Red Son parked the car in the guest garage (because apparently, Mei’s family was rich enough to have that) MK began to speak up. 

“Maybe you should go in alone.” MK said. “I mean, yeah, the ice cream’s probably gonna melt in your hands, but honestly it’s been starting to melt for a while now. It probably–” 

“I thought ‘Monkie Kid 101’ was about standing together, and having hope in your friends.” Red Son turned to MK. “You can’t really do those things if you don’t let them fight with you.” 

Either that hit MK particularly hard or Red Son’s tone came off sharper than intended, because MK flinched at the words. 

Red Son continued. “If you really feel that guilty, you should come in and apologize, but it’s unnecessary. Mei told me to bring you along, so there’s clearly no hard feelings. Why would there be? It was her choice to take that hit for you, and she did it because she cares about you. The same way you care about her.” 

“I-” MK kept opening and shutting his mouth, trying to find the words to argue against Red Son. 

“You’ve put yourself in much worse harm for your friends. Especially Mei.” Red Son pointed out, looking down at the faded burn marks rippling across MK’s hands. “There’s no reason she can’t return the favor. I know I’m new to this whole ‘friendship’ thing, but as far as I’m aware, that’s supposed to be how it works. Your friends should try to help you as much as you try to help them. Even though you think you’re some exception to the rule, it’s the same for you.” 

“I-.” MK bit his lip, looking away from Red Son. “I know.” He said quietly. “I mean, technically, I know. And it’s been easier to accept that stuff, really but sometimes it's just–” He grimaced a bit before shaking his head. “I don’t know. It’s hard to believe. ” 

About two weeks before, Red Son had called MK, hands shaking as he sat in his workshop. He told him about fuzzy laps and sun-lit offices he used to nap him. He talked about the failures that piled up in his workshops over the centuries. He spoke about the mountain that tore apart his family, that still weighed upon his father and pulled him apart. And he spoke about how no matter what he did with his hands, he still felt like he never really lifted that mountain, never had his father home. 

“...I mean, I know things are hard now, but he’s your dad, right? He clearly cared about you then, and he still cares about you now. Even if he’s uh…kind of a jerk about it.” MK laughed a bit to himself.  

Red Son grunted. “When I was a child, I hadn’t proven myself to be a failure. ” 

“But you’re not a failure.” MK replied. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I beat you a lot, but I also beat your Dad, so I don’t think he can really fault you for that.” 

Red Son stared down at the chrysanthemum forming along the back of his hand, the cool tip of a felt marker shading the delicate orange petals. He listened to MK “Plus, you clearly have a track record for success.”

Red Son almost fell from his chair. “No I don’t.” 

“Uhhh, yeah you do? The antidote to Spider Queen’s venom, training Mei, fighting the Lady Bone Demon–I mean, you said it yourself, you built the gauntlet that lifted the Monkey King’s staff.” MK pointed out. “The only reason your dad can act like a jerk to you now is because you freed him.” 

That…that made logical sense, sure. Even if he couldn’t defeat MK, he aided in the fight against Spider Queen, helped Mei control the Samadhi Fire, held MK’s shoulders as they brought the Lady Bone Demon down. And those were all successful, even though the odds were stacked against him completely. 

And he did free his father. It was a goal he’d worked at for centuries, and for all the failures in the storage rooms of the Demon Bull Fortress, the gauntlet was a success. His father was different, their dynamic stilted and hard for Red Son to really put into words, but the only reason it was there at all was because…he succeeded. 

Red Son knew all these things, of course. He was aware that he had a handful of precious, insurmountable victories. But he still…it didn’t feel like it made up for every slip-up he made. It didn’t change his mindset, even when logically he should've cast away any insecurities about his failures the moment his parents lauded him over defeating the Lady Bone Demon. But Red Son wasn't used to that sort of praise. It was an exception to the rule, evident by how months later, things had fallen back to their usual place. Red Son was used to his mother’s exhausted sigh as he explained his newest invention, wrapping gauze around his injuries whenever a project literally blew up in his face, to his plans never just working. How then, could he possibly be anything other than a failure? 

“My father is not a jerk. Stop calling him that.” It was the only thing Red Son could force himself to say. 

MK snorted. “I mean, he literally tried to conquer the city, but sure. Whatever floats your boat.” Red Son rolled his eyes. 

“Look, whatever you have going on with your parents–it’s not gonna get fixed today. And I’m definitely not qualified to help.” MK murmured, his voice warm and sincere. “But…I’m here for you, you know? To talk, or scream, or-or anything. If it helps, then I'm here for it." 

Red Son’s soulmate kept trying to write the word chrysanthemum next to the finished drawing of the flower, but each time they spelt it wrong, crossing out the word and trying again. He looked down at the repeated blunders that, as amusing as they were, didn’t catch his attention the way his soulmate’s art always did. 

“Alright.” He muttered as his soulmate finally remembered the y in chrysanthemum. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

Red Son certainly couldn’t fix whatever complex MK had about friendship. He didn’t really intend to either. That was sort of why MK found him easier to talk to, wasn’t it?  He was just…there. And maybe all he needed to do to bring the world back in balance was just to be there for him. 

“I’ll go see Mei.” In the present, MK unbuckled his seatbelt. “I wanna make sure she’s okay anyways, so I should just–” 

Red Son stretched across the car seat, hooked his arm around MK’s neck, and tugged him in with such force MK’s head smacked his jaw. 

“Uhh. What’s happening?” MK asked, his voice muffled. “Are you trying to suffocate me, because it’s not working.” 

“No, you Noodle Brain!” Red Son snapped. “It’s a-!” His cheeks burned as he forced the words out. “It’s a hug. ” 

It was quiet in the car for a beat before MK spoke up, voice soft and a bit shaky. “Oh. Oh wow. ”  He buried his head deeper into Red Son’s coat. “You’re terrible at hugs.” 

“We’re in a car, and I don’t want any ice cream on my coat. Of course it’s a terrible hug.” Red Son seethed, the ends of his hair steaming in embarrassment. 

“You could’ve hugged me outside the car!” MK moved his head up to look at Red Son, a lopsided smile on his face. 

“There’s cameras outside! If the Dragon Girl saw this, she’d use it as blackmail for a full year.” Red Son retorted. 

“That’s fair.” MK hummed. “I know you’re not really into touchy stuff like this.” 

That wasn’t necessarily the case. It was less that Red Son disliked touch and more that it overwhelmed him, each graze of a hand sending a jolt through his body. Mei was always patting his head or tugging him into a hug, and it always made his nerves jump, even after all these months. With MK, it was somehow even worse. Despite how awkward their position was now, he still felt it, the warmth of MK’s body pulsing through him like a second heartbeat. The less he let people touch him, the less he had to think about the implications behind that. 

But, that was unrelated. Red Son did his best not to look at MK as he spoke. “I’m willing to tolerate it if it means you quit your moping.” 

There was another beat of silence before two arms looped under Red Son’s, MK slowly shifting his body so that the hug wasn’t as uncomfortable. He seemed to relax now, sighing into Red Son’s collarbone. And, despite the electricity running through Red Son’s nervous system, he relaxed too.

“Today’s been the worst.” MK mumbled. 

“I know.” Red Son snorted. “You should’ve let me kill that woman earlier.” 

MK laughed. Red Son could feel his breath against his neck, the rise and fall of MK’s chest against his arm. “You and Mei are way too pro-murder.” 

“Maybe the real problem is you’re anti-efficiency.” Red Son retorted. 

MK laughed again, a bit louder this time. He fluttered his eyes shut as he leaned into the hug. 

Red Son looped another arm around MK and huffed, hands pressed on the back of his shirt. “You know, if you’re going to act like an idiot about friendship, you should at least be consistent. How come I’m the one who always has to be your bed nurse?” 

“Mei and Sandy are always busy, Pigsy's on shift, and Tang just get convinced I'm dying. You're all I've got." MK laughed. “Plus, it’s different with you. You know that.” 

He did. Red Son wasn’t sure why things were different with him, but if that’s how things were, he would act accordingly. He always tried his best at whatever duty he had to fulfill. Villain, hero, enemy, and friend. 

It still wasn’t the most comfortable hug, given the cupholder between the two of them and the cramped space of the car, but all things considered, Red Son found himself minding it less and less, the electricity running through him leaving a warmth in its place.

Wait…if MK was still holding the gai daan jai, and he was this close to Red Son, wouldn’t that mean the ice cream would mel-

Something cold and wet landed on Red Son’s back with a splat. 

Mei was fine, obviously. A sprained ankle, some grody looking scrapes, and an insatiable sugar craving, but other than that, fine. Still though, MK continued to apologize profusely.

“Seriously, MK,” She said between bites of her matcha-kiwi nightmare waffle. “I tried to tell you it’s no big deal! I’ve broken a lot of bones in my life, and this did not feel like a broken bone.” She laughed, her face covered in crumbs. “Plus, my parents have had a call-in doctor for me since I was like, four. This isn’t exactly my first rodeo.”

Mei could clearly still see the distress on his face, because she leaned over the bed to hook her arm around his neck. “Come on, Monkey Man! We’ve both gotten way worse injuries than this, and you know it. Remember when you bonked me with your staff back when you were still invincible?” 

“Oh yeah,” MK flushed. “Sorry about that.” 

“It’s fine! I put some ice on it and it got better. Same thing here.” Mei playfully punched MK’s shoulder. “Plus, I get hurt waaay less than you, Monkey Man. I’m the one who should worry about you! At least my arm doesn’t click weird when it bends.” 

“The click isn’t weird. It’s kind of cool actually.” MK gave Mei a cheeky grin. “Shows that I’m…” he held his arms up in front of his face, leaving a window for his eyes to glare through. “Battle hardened.” 

Mei giggled at this, but Red Son rolled his eyes. “All it shows is that you’re both terrible at self preservation, and you both make it my problem.” He sneered. 

“Less talky, more brushy Red Boy.” Mei snapped her fingers and pointed to the unruly knot of hair Red Son was currently trying to untangle. 

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, grumbling as he worked. “You didn’t even hurt your arm. ” Red Son grumbled, lightly smacking the back of Mei’s head with her comb. 

Mei ignored Red Son’s groanings as she continued to talk to MK. “Anyways, the real reason you should apologize is because you forgot to bring back my comic.” 

“ And because you ruined my coat!” Red Son interjected as he ran the comb through Mei’s hair. He had to leave his coat in the car, the back now covered in matcha ice cream. All he had on was the oversized gray tank top he’d been using when he was working earlier. He normally tried to dress somewhat decently, but he left so quickly he forgot to change tops. 

“You know I take a while to read comics Mei!” MK exclaimed. “I like to look at the pictures! I can’t help it. I’m an artist–I have to study the masters.” He said sagely. “Plus, you come over all the time. You can just steal it back.” 

He looked over at Red Son with a sly grin. “And hey, look on the bright side–now I can finally see your biceps!” 

Red Son glared at MK. “That’s only a bright side for you. ” He still had no idea what exactly MK’s “whole thing for biceps” was, and he frankly didn’t want to ask. At least his arms were bare today. 

MK moved his chair closer to Red Son. “Move your head a bit? I wanna get in on this.” 

“Get in on what? ” Red Son snorted. “I’m not brushing your hair, Noodle–” Before he could keep talking, MK pulled his hair out of its pony tail, the scarlet locks running down his back.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” Red Son hissed. 

“Braiding your hair. My hair’s too short for Mei to work with.” MK replied. 

Before Red Son could say anything, he felt MK’s fingers rake through his hair. His brain short circuited at the sensation of MK beginning to braid his hair, and even though logically he knew he should stop it, he honestly…didn’t want it to? It felt…weird. Not bad, weird. Maybe a little good…weird? Definitely weird weird. It was a lot, but it didn’t really mean he wanted it to stop. 

Red Son tried to snap out of the trance MK’s hands put him in. He didn't need either of them seeing the state he was in right now. “If you burn your fingers, that’s your own fault.” He grumbled. 

“WHAT?!” Mei tilted her head far enough back that she could see what was happening. “Red Boy, I’ve been trying to do your hair for months, and you just let MK touch it like that?! ” 

Red Son grabbed Mei’s head to readjust it, hoping she didn’t see how flustered he looked right now. “I don’t let MK near half the inventions I let you play around with, so I really don’t see why you’re complaining.” Red Son snapped. 

“You let Mei use your gadgets?” MK gasped. “You said I couldn’t be trusted with them!”

“Because you’d kill someone with them.” Red Son barked. 

“I thought you were pro-murder!” MK retorted.

“I’m pro murder, not pro reckless mishandling of my creations.” Red Son said. “And if you didn’t kill someone you’d certainly kill yourself.” He grabbed a hair tie sitting next to him and bunched up some of Mei’s thick hair. “For a bunch of mortals, it’s astounding how the two of you act like one good hit to the skull won’t kill you.” A smirk rolled up his lip. “Or, a couple hits, given how dense your skulls are.” 

“HEY!” Mei and MK both protested at the same time. It only made Red Son’s lip curl up more. 

The two of them changed the subject quickly, with Mei reading out an article about some new video game news and MK chiming in with his own commentary. Red Son wasn’t sure what exactly they were talking about, so he let the conversation play as white noise. He continued to work on Mei’s hair, quietly enjoying the sensation of MK’s hands braiding his. 

Red Son never had the chance to do someone’s hair before he met Mei, and it’d been centuries since someone had their hands in his hair the way MK did now. Even though his skin bristled whenever MK’s knuckle grazed the back of his neck, Red Son couldn’t help the tension easing off his shoulders. 

Was this what he’d missed out on all those centuries? Playful banter and playing with each other’s hair? Not that he had the chance to make friends before meeting Mei and MK–he had a goal to reach, a mountain to pull off his father, a staff to grab, a world to conquer. But this was nice. Even though Red Son’s hands always itched to do something, he had to admit–there was something peaceful about filling his day with mindless fun, with casual intimacy, with hair care done by someone who cared about him. 

MK tied the end of Red Son’s braid as he spoke to Mei. “You said a new Monkey mech update’s coming out soon, right?” He asked. 

“Only on the mobile version.” Mei replied. “They’re adding a training mode so newbies can practice combos and stuff. Also a couple easter eggs from the arcade version, but that’s about it.” 

“Oooh, I’ve been meaning to try out a new character, maybe I can try– oh no. ” MK’s tone dropped, all the cheer in his voice vanishing. “Training! ” 

MK clambered out of the chair, nearly tripping over it as he scrambled. “I was supposed to go training with Monkey King today! I should be at Flower Fruit Mountain right now, I completely blanked!!” 

“It’ll be fine. ” Red Son assured him. “If anyone will forgive someone forgetting their responsibilities, it’s your mentor.” He muttered under his breath.

“I HEARD THAT.” MK narrowed his eyes at Red Son without any real malice before turning to Mei with a grin. “Let me know if there’s anything I can bring over–snacks, shows, whatever. Get better soon, I'm super sorry-"

“If you keep apologizing, you're gonna be." Mei laughed.  "Now c’mere.” She outstretched her arms and MK dove into the hug. They started giggling loudly, faces so close together their noses were practically touching. It was a wonder how easy it was for Mei and MK to be that close to each other.

“Talk to you later, MK.” Mei grinned. 

“Talk to you soon!” MK beamed as he unraveled himself from Mei’s grasp and before Red Son could realize what was happening, MK wrapped his arms around Red Son’s neck and drew him in. 

“See you later, Red Son” MK spoke close to Red Son’s ear. “You’re the best.” 

The hug only lasted a moment, but the heat of it soaked through Red Son’s skin anyways, the words spiraling through his head. He knew he wasn’t going to sleep tonight, too busy thinking about the wide grin in MK’s voice. 

MK pulled away, talking as he strode across the room “Okay, I super promise I’ll bring back your comic back, send me more Monkey mech news, kay byeee!” And with that, he ran out the room. 

Red Son sighed as he fluffed Mei’s hair. “You should make him buy you a new comic. He probably used it as a pillow, and he seems like the type to drool. ” 

Mei laughed. “Nah. Plus, I got like, a bunch of food stains on my comics. If it’s super damaged though, he’s definitely gonna owe me a couple cheese teas.” 

She tilted her head back to narrow her eyes at Red Son. “I still can’t believe you let MK braid your hair.” 

Red Son groaned. He really wished she didn’t bring that up. “I don’t know!” He scrambled to come up with an excuse other than my gray matter melted so much I went along with it. ”The Noodle Boy was moping the whole car ride about if you were okay, I figured I’d give him something to cheer him up. ” He chose not to mention that technically, he did give MK something by awkwardly hugging him in the car. 

“That being said…” Red Son sighed. “If you want to style my hair, just show me what you have in mind so that I can approve of it. I still have a reputation.” 

“Good.” Mei hummed, tossing a piece of kiwi in her mouth. She gave Red Son a wily grin. “I better get hair privileges. If MK got to touch your hair but I didn’t, I’d think you were cheating on me.” 

Red Son sputtered. “What do you mean, cheating?! ” 

Mei cackled. “Well, I don’t wanna be competing with MK as your number one bestie.” Mei explained, looking at Red Son with a mischievous glint in her eyes. 

Red Son pushed her face away from him. “ First of all, it’s completely hypocritical of you to worry about your placement on the ‘bestie’ rankings, considering you’ve told me I’m fourth. ” 

“Fifth, actually.” Mei turned around, pointing a finger to correct him. “One of the nurses complimented my eyeliner, and you’ve never done that.” 

Red Son fought the urge to sprain Mei’s other ankle. “ Fine. Fifth. Which leads me to my second point. Unlike you I don’t rank my relationships like they’re high scores in your little arcade games.” He leaned over to put Mei’s comb on her nightstand. “My relationship with you isn’t better or worse than MK. It’s just different.” 

“Uh huh.” Mei snorted, turning back to her phone. “Different how?” 

Red Son leaned back on the bedpost. “For one, MK has yet to traumatize me with his food choices.” 

“That’s just because you haven’t seen him eat baozi yet.” Mei pointed out. “He’s freaky about those.” 

Red Son could only imagine what that meant. “You have yet to run me over.” He looked down at the scarring on his wrist. “And MK has yet to bite me.” 

“ Really? ” Mei sounded genuinely surprised. “I feel like I should’ve run you over at least once.” 

“If I have it my way, you never will.” Red Son snapped. “This isn’t meant to give you ideas, Dragon Girl. 

“And that’s another thing–” He glowered. “MK doesn’t call me a stupid nickname, so I don’t call him one either.” 

“Well, MK’s technically his nickname, but sure, Red Boy .” Mei chuckled as she scrolled through her phone. She took a massive bite out of her gai daan jai, chewing so loudly it made Red Son cringe. 

“Rest assured, Dragon Girl. Even though I don't rank my friendships, you’re still the most annoying person I know.” He picked at his nails. “Thank heavens you’ve never haunted me.” 

Mei stopped mid-chew of her egg waffle nightmare. “I never wuh?” 

“You’ve never haunted me.” Red Son said. “It’s a blessing, frankly. If I had you stuck in my head all night, I’d go insane by next week.” 

For some reason, Mei didn’t have a snarky retort for Red Son this time. Her chewing slowed down before she swallowed the ice-cream-logged egg waffle. Honestly, Red Son should’ve realized something was wrong right then–Mei had no qualms about talking while she ate. 

“Hey, uh, Red Boy?” Mei put her phone down on her bed. “Can you move to the other side of the bed so I can look at you?” She asked. 

Red Son obliged, a bit confused as he got up from behind Mei to sit on the other side, careful not to tip the stack of silk pillows keeping her ankle above her resting heart rate. 

“Okay, hi.” She gave Red Son a small wave. “How are you, friend? You doing good?” Despite the seemingly innocuous questions, her tone seemed off. 

“I’m…fine?” Red Son wasn’t really sure where this was going. 

“Good, good. You’re fine.” Mei nodded her head, eyes a little too wide. “Soooo, confession time. I was joking about the whole ‘cheating on me thing,’ I don’t really care if you get closer to MK. And I was like, 95% sure you were joking too, but then you started actually explaining yourself. Which was fine, it was funny, whatever. But now, you’re talking about hauntings and how you’re glad I’m not stuck in your head all night, which kind of implies MK is. So, I’ve gotta ask.-” 

Mei clapped her hands, pointing the tips of her fingers at Red Son. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

…He should've never agreed to get that stupid dessert.

Chapter Text

Red Son honestly thought he’d be a more closed off person. 

For most of his life, he didn’t have anyone other than his mother and the bull clones that he made himself. Princess Iron Fan was still able to maintain political connections, but Red Son was never as skilled at forming those bonds. Eventually he stopped trying altogether–he had work to do. Friendships, romances, even basic acquaintanceships were never really an option for Red Son. Not when he had a mountain to lift. And it’s not like he was going to have some sappy heart to heart with Princess Iron Fan. So, as a result, Red Son always figured he kept everything in his chest. 

But, in retrospect, it wasn’t that Red Son was good at keeping things in as much as he didn't have anyone to keep things from. He had a very distinct memory from back when he set up a barbeque stand with DBK where he yelled at some peasant about “inferior taste buds that shame their fathers,” and, yeah, looking back, he might have shown a little too much face with that particular insult. During the short time he trained Mei, Red Son had accidentally let his lonely childhood slip out despite making an effort not to bring it up. Not to mention, he made his fondness for Mei, uh, a bit obvious. 

And now that Red Son had friends? Which, according to his observations, you were supposed to feel comfortable opening up to?  Red Son had always assumed it would take him a long time to open up to someone, but nope. He spilled his secrets, each private thought plucked from his chest. It was honestly embarrassing just how much MK knew about him in the few months it’d been since Red Son accepted him as a friend. 

Mei couldn’t pry Red Son open with quite the same ease as MK, but she was still his friend too–his first one in the world. So it was easy for Red Son to let his private thoughts and feelings and memories slip through the cracks, a petal drifting through the wind for her to snatch. 

All of that to say, Red Son didn’t really think twice about admitting the whole haunting thing. But as he stared at Mei’s expression, he sort of wished he did. 

“W-what?” Red Son squeaked out.

“You just said that I don’t ‘haunt you,’ whatever that means, and that you’re glad I’m not stuck in your head all night. Not hours. Not for most of the evening . All night .” She leaned closer to him. “And you’re said it like this is a common thing for you–does MK keep you up like, every night?” 

Red Son sputtered. “N-not every night!”

“So how many nights then, Red Boy?!” Mei shot back. 

“I don’t know!” Red Son yelled. “I don’t exactly keep a tally!” 

This didn’t satisfy Mei at all as she rubbed her temples. “Okay, y'know what? Let me start at the beginning.” She pointed at Red Son accusingly. “What exactly do you mean by a haunting anyways?” 

“It’s-it’s a haunting! ” Red Son waved his hands around. “I’ll try to go on with my normal routine, when suddenly MK will just…he’ll just pop up in my head. I don’t exactly control when it’ll happen, and I certainly don’t control when the thought of him goes away .” 

It occurred to Red Son at that moment that he’d never actually explained his whole thing with MK out loud. He never really had someone to explain it to after all. And honestly, in retrospect, maybe it should’ve stayed one of those well buried secrets like his soulmate, because right now Red Son’s face felt so hot it could probably melt metal. 

“So…sometimes you just… fixate on MK?” she asked, tilting her head like a confused dog. “And you call it haunting? ” 

“Yes!” Red Son shouted, trying to hide his embarrassment with a thin veil of irritation. “Do you seriously not know what I’m talking about? You’ve been friends with MK for ages, surely you know what I mean?” 

Mei stared at Red Son, clearly concerned for his mental wellbeing. “Red Boy, I love MK. I love MK a lot. He’s like, at least top three in my list of favorite people ever. I don’t think about him all night. ”

“It’s not always all night! ” Red Son sputtered. “I-I just don’t have much to distract myself with when I’m trying to sleep!” As the words left Red Son’s mouth, he was painfully aware that they didn’t make his case even a little bit better, but he still said them anyways. “Do you really not know?!" 

Red Son had spent so much time fighting the very existence of MK’s grin and hands and laughter plaguing his mind, that he didn’t often consider how universal of an experience it really was. He’d tried to ignore them, or cope with them or ultimately accept them. He'd wonder if they came from a place of genuine care, of blunt force love. He didn’t really sit down and think if this was normal. 

To some degree, he knew it couldn’t be. It was too intense, too overwhelming, to really be a common experience. But, it’s not like Red Son had anyone to compare with. He didn’t exactly question just how exclusive his hauntings really were. He certainly didn’t have any person to use as an emotional sounding board. So, he hadn’t…exactly… questioned it. 

Still though, Mei was MK’s best friend, who he walked through the Samadhi Fire itself to comfort. She adored him. Surely, if anyone could understand, it was her.  But clearly, that didn’t seem to be the case at all, because she was currently staring at Red Son like he’d grown another head.

“No Red Boy,” Mei yelled. “I don’t! Because I think about MK a completely normal amount!! And I don’t call it a haunting like MK’s some weird ghost hovering over my bed!” 

“I-I don’t call it a haunting anymore! ” Red Son was aware that was purely semantics, but he needed something to ground himself as this conversation quickly spiraled out of his control. “I used to, back when it was an issue. Now, it’s just-well, we’re friends, it’s not strange to think about whatever inane comment MK made the night before.” He wasn’t sure if that last part was true anymore, judging by how Mei was acting over this new information. 

Mei sputtered for a moment before narrowing her eyes. “Wait, you did this before you befriended MK?” 

“Yes…? Yes. Yes!” Red Son scrambled to find some footing in this conversation. “That’s most likely why you can’t relate.” He crossed his arms decidedly. “These… thoughts are just a lingering remnant from back before I befriended MK. You were never mortal enemies with your friend, so obviously, it’s not the same with you.” 

“Uhhh, hello??? ” She waved her hand between the two of them. “ We were enemies? Maybe not mortal enemies, or whatever, but we definitely wanted to beat each other up. And uh, no offense, you’re not constantly on my mind, Red Boy.” She raised her eyebrow. “And I’m not constantly on yours either, soooo, what’s up?” 

…Huh. Red Son frowned. He…hadn’t really considered that. Even though the Monkie Kid was his family’s primary obstacle to world domination, Mei was still a serious force to be reckoned with. Red Son fought against her as much as he fought against MK. More than that, Mei was his first friend as well. But he didn’t really think about her the same way, did he? 

Red Son thought that once he considered MK a friend rather than an enemy, the hauntings would be…maybe not more understandable, but a bit less of an obstacle in his daily routine. Even if it was still a traitorous thought now compounded by traitorous actions.

But it was starting to set in that these hauntings might be strange in a way he hadn’t…uh…fully considered. 

“Actually, more important question.” Mei folded her hands together. “How long has this been a thing anyways?” 

Red Son had a terrible feeling in his stomach that if he answered that question, he would regret it. He tugged at the loose braid MK made, trying to pat down the thin wisps of smoke rising from the tips from embarrassment. “It started after we defeated the Spider Queen–”

“SPIDER QUEEN?!” Mei tried to vault over to Red Son, but her sprained ankle kept her from moving far. Instead, she opted to wave her arms at Red Son. “It’s been almost a year since Spider Queen! And for like two or three months of that year, we did not see you at all. Were you just–were you just sitting in your house thinking about MK?!”

“NO!” Red Son shouted. “I was still doing things ! I don’t just sit in a chair and fixate on him ! ” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, were you being productive as you thought about a guy you hadn’t seen in literal months?! ” Mei shouted. “What did you even think about?! What do you think about??” 

“Nothing!! Just–normal things?!” Red Son wasn’t totally sure if he could call these normal things anymore, given Mei’s reaction to the hauntings. “Past conversations? Different…interactions? You know!” Red Son flustered. “How he acts, or talks, or looks-”  

“How he looks? ” Mei’s eyes were the size of noodle bowls. “You think about how MK looks? To the point it affects your sleep schedule?!”

“It’s just–it–he has–his–! You’re getting too caught up on the ‘all night’ part!” Red Son shouted. “It happens during the day as well!” He regretted saying that immediately. 

“That doesn’t make your case better, Red Boy!” Mei sounded like she was losing her grip on her sanity. “That just means it happens all the time!”

A strangled noise left Red Son’s throat. He was aware that he could argue against it happening all the time, but it sort of did. 

Red Son covered his face with his hand, craning his head up to stare at the ceiling. “Can we please change the subject?”

“Wh-You can’t just drop this on me and move on!” Mei sputtered.

“I don’t see why not! It doesn’t matter, does it?!” Red Son moved his hands away so he could look at Mei’s face, trying to build up some indignation to gain control in the conversation. “I’ve been handling all…all this for nearly a year now. I might have wasted my energy caring about MK back then, but now that we’re friends, I don’t see why it’s such an issue.” 

Mei snorted. “I dunno if this is a friend thing, but sure.” She muttered under her breath. 

“It is!” Okay, Red Son would admit, he had been somewhat aware that friends weren’t really supposed to haunt you, but to be fair, he didn’t see it as a haunting anymore! Back then, it was haunting because it was unwelcome. Once Red Son had finally embraced his friendship with MK, he gave these thoughts a home in his mind. So, surely, that made it a little less weird…? Maybe…?

Okay, fine it was definitely weird. But he wasn’t exactly going to back out of this fight now.

Red Son crossed his arms and snorted. “What, do you have a better explanation?”  

Red Son figured Mei would shout her answer back with the same cadence she had the entire conversation, but instead, she laughed awkwardly, leaning back onto her fluffy blankets and pillows. “Uhhh, you’re not legitimately asking me that, right?” 

“Of course I am.” Red Son snarked. “You’re the one who’s taking issue with this. If it’s not a friend thing, what is it?”

She put her phone up to her lips as she spoke. “I-well-look, if you seriously don’t know, then maybe I shouldn’t be the one to break the news to you-” 

“Why not?” Red Son snorted. “You’ve never been one to mince words before. Why do that now? Enlighten me, Dragon Girl.” 

“But-but-! It’s gonna be weird! And awkward! ” The tables had seemingly turned, with Mei now trying to sink into her pillows as Red Son leered over her. Mei grabbed one of her pillows to bury her face in. Her voice was more muffled now. “I knew you were repressed, but like…come on, Red Boy! ”  

Red Son squawked in offense. Repressed? Red Son didn’t repress things–he wore all his emotions on his sleeve, spilled his secrets too quickly–which was clearly evident given this nightmare of a conversation.

“I mean, you don’t have any other theories? None at all?” She peeked her head above the pillow. “You think you just have a bunch of weird friendship emotions with MK, even though it’s been a thing since Spider Queen, and you haven’t even started calling MK by MK since like, a month ago?” 

“What other theory could I possibly have?” Red Son leaned over her to shout. 

Mei visibly winced, coiling up like she was bracing for some sort of impact. “Come on, dude, I’ve seen your parents. I feel like you should be a bit more emotionally aware about this.” 

That certainly threw Red Son off. What did his parents have to do any of this? They had no idea about his friendships, so how exactly were they relevant? It’s not like his parents particularly haunted each other. They didn’t care about each other because they were friends ; they were friends, of course, but they were friends in the way any half-functioning couple ought to be. The love and care they had for each other wasn’t by any means platonic-

Guanyin, loving, compassionate and powerful, grant him the wisdom to survive his never-ending suffering. 

“You-” Red Son could barely bring himself to speak. His face was definitely steaming right now. “You honestly think-” 

Red Son let out a laugh, sharp as a hyena’s. “That’s just-!” He stood up from the bed, hair igniting in a swirl. “You think that I would seriously– with him-!!”  

He paced back and forth in front of the bed, practically frothing at the mouth. His entire body felt uncomfortably hot.

Look, okay, sure, Red Son would admit, given his nonexistent experience with things of the… non platonic nature, that he could theoretically go through life without actually realizing when his feelings for someone had…crossed into that particular threshold. 

Sure, his parents were ridiculously in love with each other, but for most of Red Son’s life, he didn’t exactly see them together. His memories of romantic love existed in that fuzzy part of his childhood, when he found his mother’s honey-sweet pet names and his father’s low whispers gross. And even though they were together again now, that didn’t make up for Red Son’s complete lack of knowledge on the subject. 

His mother didn’t bother arranging any marriages for him. It wasn’t a lack of care as much as it was a series of unfortunate events: the Samadhi Fire made most demons terrified of him even after the sealing, and the Demon Bull King's imprisonment made his family so politically undesirable that whatever marriage Princess Iron Fan could arrange frankly wouldn’t be worth it. Plus, Red Son had more important work to do. He didn’t bother nagging his mother for things like a wife or a concubine. 

And…look, Red Son was aware he wasn’t exactly husband material. He certainly wasn’t an ideal suitor when he used to spend his days locked in a workshop, trying desperately to free his father, and he still wasn’t now. Red Son was too angry, too arrogant too wrapped up in projects and pride. If he couldn't handle himself at a dinner party, he certainly couldn't handle himself long enough for a matchmaker to build a good case for him. Red Son wasn’t completely undesirable, sure, but he didn’t exactly have demons lining up at his doorstep. 

Honestly, there was no one good enough for Red Son either. This hypothetical lover would have to be someone worthy of joining the Demon Bull Family. He wouldn’t just pick up any peasant off the street who met his standards. He wasn’t exactly a reckless romantic. So even if Red Son did have a suitor, he’d likely reject them. 

Even putting aside marriages, Red Son had no real experience. Some demon royalty found their vices swooning after pretty pairs of legs, but such lasciviousness never enticed Red Son. Putting aside how damaging to the Demon Bull Family that their only son spent his time getting entertained, Red Son just didn’t find any interest in it. Why would he let some handsome stranger run their hands down his chest? 

Plus, it’s not like Red Son had an animated social life. He’d barely considered having acquaintances for most of his life. He made his first ever friends this year. How could he realistically fathom having a romantic relationship? 

He had… some idea of what he wanted. Someone passionate and powerful, who wouldn’t get scared of Red Son’s fiery outbursts but would grab his hand even tighter. Someone who wouldn’t mind the soot on his hands from his constant tinkering, and would maybe even take the time to listen to him talk about his latest project. Someone who’d shower him with praise even when his plans blew up in his face. A wide grin. A warm hand. Wild laughter. 

But those dreams were…well…they were a child’s dream. Red Son tried his best not to think about them much, even with the peony roots constantly reminding him every breath he took. 

With no marital yearnings or scandalous desires, Red Son simply…didn’t know much about things of that nature. He had ideas on how it would feel–flushed cheeks and thudding hearts and whizzing thoughts. But, it made sense that he wouldn’t exactly be able to pinpoint the feeling itself. He could barely comprehend caring about someone platonically. Love was a whole other beast. 

But that didn’t mean this was–that he was–with MK, of all the–

Look, this was different. Completely different. And the fact that the Dragon Girl for a second thought–she thought–that Red Son was–

“I don’t know what sort of ludicrous theories you have in your head, Dragon Girl, but you’re completely off base.” He hissed in her face. 

“I mean, can you really blame me?!” Mei hissed back. 

“YES!” Red Son shouted. “I can absolutely blame you for assuming–for thinking–” He laughed again, three octaves higher than his normal tone that cracked just a bit. “You insult my standards by even implying that I would-I would debase myself with such-such-!” He pointed his finger up at Mei, hand shaking just a bit before he just resorted to incoherent shouting. 

“Come on, Red Boy. I feel like this isn’t exactly a leap of logic.” Mei finally moved the pillow away from her face. “I mean, for almost a year, you’ve been constantly thinking about MK. You’ve apparently felt this way even before we became friends, and even though we also went from enemies to best-buds, you don’t feel the same way about me. And you think about what? How he acts? How he looks?

“Like, sure, I think about how MK looks . I’ll make jokes about how all that Monkey Kid training didn’t get rid of chubby little baby cheeks. Or like, I’ll get jealous that his hair’s still soft even though he takes terrible care of it. I can even admit that he’s pretty. But I don’t lose sleep over it.” She hugged the pillow tightly. “I mean, seriously Red Boy, be more specific: what about MK keeps you up at night?” 

Red Son groaned. Mei was way too caught up in the “all night” bit.

Red Son really didn’t expect an interrogation out of this. As intrusive as they once were, the thoughts of MK that stuck to the back of his head weren’t really something Red Son had questioned, so it was all very uncomfortable for him. Even though the thoughts once were invasive, he didn’t exactly question their legitimacy. To some degree, Red Son reasoned they couldn't be normal, but to some degree they had to be. Really, with how intense MK was, wouldn't it make sense to think about him intensely? 

MK had-quite literally-fallen from the sky and completely turned his life upside down. He had called Red Son loving, caring, a hero, and sent him down the path he was now. If MK had never ruined his moment, Red Son wouldn’t have a loose braid and matcha ice cream on his coat. MK had read him like a billboard, smacked him upside the head with blunt force love. So what else was Red Son supposed to think about other than his confident speeches, his tender words, his subtle freckles and thick eyelashes, his warm brown eyes that melted the sun?

…Yeah, okay, that wasn’t going to convince Mei that this was platonic. 

It was platonic. Obviously. Red Son insisted that it was platonic. He could not live with himself if was even a little bit beyond platonic. But, he couldn’t find the right words to make his argument. 

So, instead, Red Son opted for the graceful tactical retreats he was so well known for. 

“I don’t need to stay here and listen to this-this-this slander!” Red Son shouted at Mei. “I’m LEAVING! And if my coat is damaged because of your GARBAGE DESSERT, I’m sending YOU the bill to replace it!” 

Red Son turned around with so much force his braid whipped around and smacked his cheek. He was sure there was something poetic about it, but at the moment, all he could think about was trying to stop his hands from setting Mei’s room on fire on accident as he teleported back to the garage. 

Meals were of exceptional importance to the Demon Bull Family. 

Since his father was set free, the Demon Bull Family would try their hardest to eat every meal together. It wasn’t a rule that was necessarily set in stone, but there was an unspoken agreement between them all that these meals were sacred. After 500 years of quiet, miserable meals with an empty chair between them, Princess Iron Fan had her husband and Red Son had his father. And after centuries trapped under a mountain, the Demon Bull King could experience the simple joys of eating with his wife and son. None of them would dream of taking those meals for granted. 

So Red Son bursting into the dining room a full twenty minutes late wasn’t exactly welcomed. 

“Apologies!” Red Son rambled as he sat down in his chair. “It took me far longer than expected to drive home, my coat was–I got my coat dirty, so I had to have it washed, and I obviously didn’t want to wear my work clothes, so I had to get properly dressed-” He waved vaguely at the black turtleneck he hastily tugged on. “It will not happen again, I can assure you-”

Princess Iron Fan sighed. “Just sit down. Your apologies won’t make you any earlier.” She plucked some rice up from her bowl and murmured just loud enough for Red Son to hear. “It’s not the first time you’ve been late this month.” 

Red Son clamped his mouth shut, forcing himself not to babble incessantly. The back of his neck burned in shame. He treasured the time with his parents, of course, but Mei and MK would always go longer than he thought, and that combined with how long it took to get from his home to Megapolis and back? He still hadn’t quite figured out the right timeframe to get home in time for dinner. 

Red Son started to pile his plate up with shrimp, hoping the conversation would just end there, when his mother spoke up again. 

“Your hair’s in a braid.” She waved her chopsticks around at Red Son. “You don’t change it from your usual ponytail often. Was there a special occasion?” 

Shit. He knew there was something he’d forgotten to do. “I-I wanted a bit of a style change.” Rec Son tugged at the end of the braid. 

Princess Iron Fan hummed as she placed some shrimp in her rice bowl. “You used to braid my hair as a toddler.” She looked up at Red Son and snorted. “You did a better job as a child than you do now.” 

“I-it’s been a while! And I like it just fine. ” Red Son defended himself even though he really didn’t need to. He didn’t get the chance to see just how messily MK had braided his hair–maybe it really was a mess. But, he’d enjoyed getting his hair braided, so some part of him still felt like he had to defend its existence. “It’s not like anyone saw me with it.” 

“Didn’t you say you were late to dinner because you drove home?” Princess Iron Fan raised her brow. “Wouldn’t that imply you were out in public?” 

“N-not necessarily, Mother,” Red Son really wasn’t sure why he was being interrogated so much today, he was really hoping it would end soon. Whenever Princess Iron Fan was asking questions, she had a certain intent behind it, and Red Son certainly didn't like being on that particular hotseat. “I was out for a drive.” 

“Well,” Princess Iron Fan mused. “It must have been a rather interesting drive.” She looked over at Red Son. “And how did you get your coat dirty-” 

Demon Bull King groaned, getting both Red Son and Princess Iron Fan’s attention. “I grow tired of these word games, Princess Iron Fan.” he motioned to Red Son. “He will not confess it himself. We might as well speak directly on the matter.” 

Red Son paled. “The…matter?” 

DBK turned his head to Red Son. He took a deep breath, steam escaping his nostrils. “We know what you’ve been doing.” 

They knew. Red Son’s stomach dropped to the floor. They knew about Mei and MK.

Red Son looked up at his father. He could not stop his hands from shaking. “I…I can explain.” He wrung his hands, mind buzzing for an explanation. “It wasn’t something I had foreseen coming.”

Red Son's vision was starting to blur. Was he crying? It’d be pathetic if he started crying here, but why not let his parents know that he’d become soft on top of being a traitor. ”I-I hadn’t meant to keep it a secret! Well, I had, but-I had no intention of–” 

“Save your excuses.” Princess Iron Fan held her head in her hand, clearly exasperated.

Red Son shut up, staring at his parents. His mind raced. He was being disowned. There was no other option. The Demon Bull Family and the Monkie Kid had a shaky alliance at best, which would end once DBK decided to try and conquer the mortal realm once again. Red Son being this close with the little thief who had cost him the world wasn’t acceptable. And Red Son knew that, on some level, but he kept sneaking around anyways. Really, this was his own fault. 

Whether or not he was allowed to gather his things was debatable, but he honestly doubted it. Who would he call? Maybe Mei? She would certainly have the spare room. He couldn’t call MK–that hovel barely fit him alone, and he had a feeling the Pig wouldn’t be all that happy with Red Son couch surfing. But then again, would Mei’s family be alright with him there? Most likely not-even if they had the room for him, they certainly wouldn't want rumors to spread about the Long family housing an old villain of the city. Maybe Red Son would have to find their old base under Megapolis and make do there until he found a proper home. The dank underground was a miserable place to crawl back to, but what other choice would he have? 

But even as his mind raced to find somewhere else to live, his heart protested it. Who would he be if he wasn’t part of the Demon Bull Family? Even if things had changed, even if everything else about his life had shifted, he still prided himself on being a good son–even if he wasn’t the most loyal son anymore. He didn’t want things to turn out this way. He was selfish enough to want both. 

“...How did you find out?” Red Son asked, his throat already hoarse. 

Princess Iron Fan snorted. “You weren’t seen or reported, if that’s what you mean. You haven’t publicly defaced our family name.” Red Son visibly flinched at that. 

“You have been acting unusual.” DBK explained, leaning back in his seat. “You remain distracted during meals. You arrive late and leave early. We hear you talking late at night.”  

“So recently, I went to check our finances. You’ve reallocated some of your typical expenses for… human things .” Princess Iron Fan waved her hand a bit in disgust. “With that, your father and I put the pieces together. It was obvious, really.” She shrugged her shoulders. “You always were terrible at keeping secrets.” 

His parents were only a few feet away, but right now, Red Son had never felt more distant. He hated that he could not hide his betrayal better. He hated that he betrayed them at all. He hated that he would’ve done it again, because MK’s wide grins and dramatic speeches about friendship would’ve melted him no matter how hard he resisted. Really, all of this was inevitable. Red Son just wished he’d prepared sooner. 

Red Son stood up slowly from the table. “So, I suppose this means I’ll no longer be welcome within this house then.” He would need to contact Mei or MK about the news. Or, maybe it would be better if they weren’t involved at all. He wasn’t sure what exactly his plan was going to be-

But then, bafflingly, Princess Iron Fan snorted. “Please. No need to be so dramatic. Sit down.” 

Red Son stared at his mother, bug-eyed. This…had to be a trick, right? Maybe they had some other form of punishment waiting for him? Or, maybe the alliance was stronger than he thought? Red Son slowly sat down at his seat, a flurry of fear and confusion swirling in his chest. 

Princess Iron Fan turned to her husband. “Look at him. He looks ready to vomit. This is why I didn’t want to speak to him directly, my love.” 

Demon Bull King grunted. “It is an awkward conversation, but it is necessary. He is lucky we figured it out, and not an enemy .”

…Wait. What exactly did they mean by that? If Red Son was friends with the Monkie Kid, even if they did have that fragile alliance, wouldn’t that make him… one of the enemies? 

Princess Iron Fan snorted, her voice somewhere between amused and annoyed. “You can settle down. You’re shaking like a leaf.”

“You…aren’t…angry?” Red son squeaked out. 

Princess Iron Fan’s lip curled in disgust. “I’m disappointed. ”

DBK practically stabbed his shrimp. “It is not a complete disgrace.” He growled. “But it is embarrassing for our family.” 

… Embarrassing? 

That felt like way too weak a word for Red Son’s situation here. Humiliating, mortifying, scandalizing, all of those would make sense but-but- embarrassing?  This…there was no way this was about Mei and MK, was it?

But-it had to be. The reason Red Son was so distracted, why he was constantly late or leaving early, why he spent his money on frivolous human things–it was all them. Even if that fragile alliance held strong, they’d surely be a bit angrier about this, wouldn’t they? 

“It is embarrassing.” Princess Iron Fan agreed. “But, thankfully, you’ve been wise enough to keep all of this under wraps. So at the moment, we haven’t lost any face. No one has discovered your little trysts yet.”

…His trysts? 

A whole new wave of horror replaced the fear and despair he had before. His parents didn’t know about MK and Mei. With what little evidence they had, they painted a picture for themselves of what exactly Red Son was doing. And they thought he was…they thought…

Princess Iron Fan sighed, taking a sip of her wine. “Unmarried demon royalty fooling around with a mortal isn’t uncommon. It’s relatively easy to hide, and as embarrassing as it would be for you to be discovered, it’ll blow over in a century.” She crossed her arms while giving Red Son a disappointed look. “But really, I thought I’d raised you to know such affairs were beneath us.” 

Maybe Red Son would throw up. 

His parents thought that he’d become some-some-some fail son who spent his free time… seducing a mortal. And he couldn’t even argue against it. If Red Son tried to explain that wasn’t what was happening, they would want an alternative explanation–one that Red Son couldn’t afford to give. Red Son had spent his whole life trying to be the best son possible, and now his parents thought he was…he was…some sort of loverboy. 

Princess Iron Fan was still talking, but Red Son wasn’t the slightest bit tuned in. Red Son held his head in his hands, fully ready to evaporate into the air. This was worse than the truth. This was so much worse than the truth. 

…No it isn’t. The realization struck Red Son slowly as he opened his eyes, staring down at his hands. If anything, this is a good thing. 

Princess Iron Fan was right. Demons had a history of taking a liking to pretty humans. Whether it was a small fling or a marriage that lasted until the human’s end, demon-human romances weren’t completely out of the question. Soulmates were a whole different matter, of course, but the sort of scenario his parents seemed to have in mind was very different from that.  

Red Son having a fling with a mortal was… embarrassing, but it was a common kind of embarrassing. Plenty of young demon nobility had drama of that stock– debaucherous parties, excessive drinking, spending mornings in bars and evenings in brothels. At most, Red Son’s… trysts would be a bit of social blackmail at a dinner party. While his parents were horrified by the thought of any disrepute, romancing a mortal wasn't nearly as embarrassing as buying cheese tea for the Monkie Kid. 

And judging by how his parents were talking, they weren’t even angry. They were unhappy with it, sure, but this wasn’t cause for disownment. So that meant…

“Mother.” Red Son did not face his parents as he cut them off from whatever speech they were giving. “I-if I’m able to keep my… excursions secret, then there’s no issue, is there? I can continue… pursuing my affair?” He chose his words carefully, trying to skirt the line between lying and telling the truth. 

Princess Iron Fan scoffed. Red Son couldn’t tell if she was more offended that he wanted to continue “pursuing his affair” or because he interrupted her. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t be happy with it. If you’re so invested in your little consort, then you should’ve been more invested in keeping it a secret-”

Demon Bull King placed his hand over Princess Iron Fan’s. The move surprised her enough to calm her down. 

“Princess Iron Fan is correct, as always.” DBK nodded as Princess Iron Fan smiled at her husband. “You will not make a laughing stock out of this family.” 

He looked over at Red Son, his silhouette looming over the dining room table. “If you truly  lack the willpower to end your affair with this...human, you will make a better effort at keeping this secret. I do not wish to hear news of your affair from another demon.” 

Red Son…could work with that. He could work with this belief. It would throw him in a deeper web of lies if the truth came out, sure, but frankly spending his day with the Monkie Kid would probably get him in enough trouble anyways. No, this was fine. He would keep spending time with Mei and MK, and his parents would be none the wiser. They’d just think he was infatuated with…some… mortal.

Red Son tried not to gag at the thought.

“Of course, Father.” Red Son bowed his head. “I will not let my private affairs affect the face of the Demon Bull family.” 

“Good.” Demon Bull King crossed his arms. “I hope this will be the last time we discuss this matter . ”

With the matter seemingly settled, Demon Bull King and Princess Iron Fan resumed eating. Red Son stared down at his plate, picking at his shrimp, before finally speaking up in a small, awkward voice. “It was obvious? ”

Princess Iron Fan laughed, taking a swig of her wine. “Please. You’d come home from a ‘drive’ and float through the halls like a lovesick puppy. You never were good at hiding your feelings.” 

Lovesick? Puppy? Red Son desperately wanted to argue against it, but he bit down his pride. Still though, really? How could he possibly look that…that…that infatuated?

Miles away, he was sure Mei was cackling to herself. Red Son shoveled rice into his face.

All things considered, Red Son was having…a bit of a bad time. 

He hadn’t expected to be the subject of an interrogation by Mei. He certainly wasn’t expecting to have a near heart attack over dinner. His new role in the family as a lovesick puppy certainly wasn’t one he took on with any pride. And the matcha on his coat was going to be incredibly annoying to get rid of. 

Lying in his bed, Red Son knew he was going to be up all night. But not because of cheerful words or warm brown eyes. No, he was going to be up all night because he couldn’t face the humiliation of waking up tomorrow. Forget asking Guanyin for wisdom and compassion to survive this trial –at this point, Red Son just wanted to be carted off into the next life to be free of everything. 

So when Red Son’s soulmate asked him a question, he made the stupid and somewhat out of character choice to jump at the opportunity for a distraction. 

Red Son scrambled for a pen as his soulmate continued to write down his arm. By the time he was settled back in the bed again, his soulmate had finished writing. 

Hey, I know this is gonna sound super weird, but I wanna draw something, but I have major art block right now. Do you think you could give me some suggestions on what to draw? 

Red Son thought for a moment on that. He wasn’t the most creative type, so he couldn’t come up with anything on the spot. And given what was on his mind now, he didn’t really have much energy to come up with something. Still, after a moment, he answered. 

The most miserable horse possible. 

He wouldn’t be surprised if his prompt got a laugh out of his soulmate. They replied quickly.

Horses are hard though! And I don’t feel like pulling up a horse reference. 

Red Son scowled as he wrote back. 

Well if you're going to be lazy, then draw something around you. Then you won’t need to take three to four seconds to look up a reference photo. 

Red Son’s soulmate pointed at the last sentence and drew a cartoonish pouting face next to it. Still though, they seemed to take Red Son’s advice to heart, because after a while, he felt the cool felt tip of a marker going down his calf. Red Son watched his soulmate work, the seemingly random lines and dashes meshing together to create art. 

Maybe everything that happened today had really thrown Red Son off his feet, because he continued to write along his arm. 

I’m surprised you asked for my opinion. 

The art on Red son’s arm paused for a moment as his soulmate replied. 

Well, I’m drawing on your body too, so you do have a say in this. But, to be honest, my phone’s charging and my dad’s busy, so I figured I’d try asking you. 

When his soulmate stopped writing, Red Son had assumed that they were going back to work on their calf. But after a few beats, his soulmate wrote again. 

I’m surprised you answered. You don’t usually talk to me. 

… Ah. Well. Red Son supposed that was fair. He wasn’t all that chatty with his soulmate. He gave his soulmate a response. 

I needed a distraction. 

There was a long, long period of silence on the other side of his skin where Red Son's soulmate didn't say anything. They didn't return to their art either. For a moment, Red Son started to wonder if something else had come along to distract them. But after a near minute of radio static, his soulmate replied. 

Yeah. I figured. Sorry for bothering you. 

Red Son knew he wasn’t a good soulmate. He had tried his best to build a wall between him and the human on the other side. And every now and then, Red Son would peek over it, surely giving his soulmate some sort of cruel hope that he was opening up. If Red Son were better at ignoring things, he’d ironically be a kinder soulmate. He’d created this dynamic, where any actual communication was either fully ignored or picked at before discarding. But something about what his soulmate wrote made Red Son’s stomach churn uncomfortably. 

He gripped his pen tighter when he wrote. 

It wasn’t a bother. I said I needed a distraction. You were more than welcome. 

His soulmate responded on a completely different body part–Red Son’s thigh, right above the half–done art. 

I mean, maybe I’m not bothering you this time, but I know you don’t really want me around. You like the art, and I like drawing art for you. But, that doesn’t mean you like me. It’s, uh, kind of obvious you don’t. 

At some point, as Red Son’s life had shifted and he’d accepted his role as a friend, he noticed that his soulmate spoke to him a bit less now, the long rants about some irrelevant comic now less common than it was a couple months ago. The art still appeared, but the commentary had decreased. Red Son hadn’t realized it, but at some point, his soulmate had accepted their dynamic too. 

And that…that…why did that make Red Son feel so uncomfortable? 

It’s not like Red Son had some magic epiphany where he wanted to get close with this human. He relented that demon-human soulmates could make their relationship work the way Pigsy and Tang did. But that didn’t change his position on his personal life. 

So why did he feel like he was making the wrong decision here? 

Red Son stared down at his arm, biting his lip. He wasn’t exactly sure what to say in response. Could he really say anything to make it better? Well I’m sorry, but nothing can change or Don’t remind me I’m a bad soulmate or I hope you know I wanted this all seemed like terrible options. He couldn’t really afford to change his stance, and it’s not like he ever felt bad about that before. So why did he feel bad now? 

His soulmate wrote something again, seemingly trying to fill up the silence. 

For what it's worth, I get it now. A lot of demons are weird about having a human soulmate. I mean, I don’t REALLY get it, but, this is probably what’s best for you. For us. So…yeah. 

Red Son looked down at the words, the roots in his chest constricting around so tightly he wondered if they’d break his spine.

Oh.  His soulmate did learn demon protocol after all.

Red Son’s soulmate resumed their drawing, seemingly done with the conversation. But Red Son rolled up his pants. He wasn’t sure if he could particularly stomach any drawing tonight. Later on, when his stomach settled and the peony roots loosened, he would take a picture of his calf, and the long hanging houseplant that draped down it. But for now, he took the braid out of his hair to brush it before going to bed, trying to ignore the tangles and roots and the cool tip of felt marker. 

Chapter Text

You would think that heroes would be a bit more compassionate towards Red Son’s plight. But really, he should’ve known better than to expect pity from Mei of all people. 

“This is not funny!” Red Son hissed through the phone. Mei ignored what he said or was too busy laughing to hear him, because she started to wheeze. 

“Your parents–” Mei gasped out between fits of laughter. “Think that you’re–that you’re dating someone?! ” She started to choke on her words or her snack.

After a couple days bedridden, Mei began to walk again her on ankle, and as a result she wanted to hang out more. But Red Son hadn’t been entirely keen on going out as of late. At first, Mei thought he was mad at her–which would be a fair assumption, given their last conversation, but no. Then, she got worried he was secretly working on some evil plot. Red Son snorted at that–he was pretty sure his parents were waiting on MK to die before they resumed world conquest.

Mei kept coming up with bogus theory after bogus theory, all of which Red Son swiftly cut down without giving her a real answer. When he politely refused a movie marathon at MK’s that evening, she announced her most outlandish theory yet–that Red Son didn’t want to be their friend anymore. 

Red Son really, really didn’t want to tell the truth to Mei. It was embarrassing, frankly. But, when she theorized that Red Son didn’t want to be around them, she sounded so downtrodden that Red Son couldn’t bring himself to lie anymore.

He wished he did now. His ears rang from how loudly Mei was cackling.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Mei took a few deep breaths, but a couple giggles still escaped her as she spoke. “So, what’s the problem with your parents believing that you’ve got a secret human sweetheart?” 

“The problem is that if I tell them I’m going out ‘for a drive’ or ‘to find a place to meditate,’ they’ll know I’m lying.” Red Son explained, exasperated. “And they won’t exactly approve of me lying to their face when they think they know the truth.” He grabbed his phone in one hand and waved the other around frantically. “But I don’t want to-to-” 

Mei chuckled. “You don’t wanna say you’re going out on a date? ” 

A strangled noise left Red Son’s throat. Mei, always a fan of seeing Red Son suffer, laughed even harder. 

“I can’t just tell them they’re wrong, because then they’ll demand an alternative explanation. But I-I-” His words could barely leave his throat, mortified the more he spoke. “I don't want to just go along with it! It’s embarrassing! ” 

“Awwww, is it that bad to date a human?” Mei fake-pouted. 

“Yes.” Red Son barked back immediately. 

It really wasn’t actually that bad to date a human. Human-demon affairs weren’t exactly taboo, even if they were a bit more uncommon . Given his status as demon royalty, Red Son courting a mortal had a few more unsavory implications, but there were ways to skirt around that embarrassment. It certainly helped that no one discovered Red Son’s “trysts.” As for the Demon Bull family, they had always held the opinion that it wasn’t a wise decision, given how humans were weak little things, but Princess Iron Fan and Demon Bull King made no demands for Red Son to end his “courtship.” So in a practical sense, going along with his parent’s theory was advantageous. 

But…but… AUGH. 

The thought of strolling up to his parents to announce he’d be late to dinner for a date made Red Son’s stomach curdle. His mother’s words of “lovesick puppy” floated through his head constantly, and he certainly didn’t want to do anything which would foster that particular view of him. Even if dating humans wasn’t something inherently bad, it still made Red Son’s skin crawl to have his parents look at him like…like…like that. 

Red Son grumbled as he practically melted into his work chair. “Like I said, a completely false and unreasonable assumption.” 

Mei hummed for a bit. “Well, I don’t think it’s that unreasonable.” 

Red Son scoffed. “And why’s that?” 

He could practically hear Mei suck the air in through her teeth. “Well I mean, you might not be dating a human, but there iiiiis a human you definitely don’t feel platonically about -” 

Red Son had to stop himself from chucking his smart phone across the room. “You are not saying what I think you’re saying, Dragon Girl!” He snarled. 

“I’m just saying Red Boy!” Mei yelled. “This kind of proves my point!”

“It does not! ” Red Son shouted. “You realize that I also go out to spend time with you, right?”

“Uhh, yeah, but you told me they noticed you were getting ‘distracted’ lately.” Mei pointed out. “And we both know which of your friends you constantly think about, soooo-”

Red Son put his elbows on his desk, trying to stifle a string of curse words. 

He knew that it wasn’t particularly normal to view your friend the way he did MK. It was something he’d been vaguely aware of before, but with his recent enlightening conversation of Mei constantly on his mind, it wasn’t something he could particularly ignore. (And he was already so bad at ignoring things)

Red Son had become a bit more…a bit more self aware about certain things  Like how the back of his neck would heat up when MK laughed at a snarky remark he made on call. Or how he’d fixate on MK’s sleepy eyes and thick eyelashes during late night video calls. Or really, how even attempting to describe the ways he felt made him spew out gross, flowery language really only saved for poetry. 

What kind of poetry, Red Boy? He could hear a voice that sounded just like Mei’s ask. I don’t think friends write poetry like that. 

It wasn’t romantic. Of course it wasn’t. Red Son insisted that it wasn’t romantic. He could not live with himself if his first love was fucking MK, of all people. But he hadn’t really come up with an alternative explanation for it. Honestly, trying to figure out what exactly it was felt…a bit frightening. 

He knew he had to, eventually. MK had been haunting him for damn near a year now. His entire life was turned on its head by a grinning delivery boy and the thoughts that swirled through his mind almost every evening. It would be foolish of him not to inspect it with a little more care. 

But the thought of answering why Red Son felt this intensely about MK was…well, it was scary. All of this had been scary to some degree–heroism and friendship were uncharted territories for Red Son. But this? Him? The catalyst to everything Red Son had gone through? It felt like he was back on the Dronecopter, looking over the ocean and preparing to actually make the jump and plunge in. It felt like standing in the desert sun, the heat overwhelming his body in a way little else could. It felt like MK’s hand cupping his cheek at a bakery and humming at the warmth of Red Son’s skin. It was all more than he could bear. 

“Look.” Red Son muttered, running a hand through his hair. “I’m aware the way I feel about MK is… different. But that’s all it is. Different.” He dug his hand into his hair, nails scratching at his scalp. “You don’t need to look further into it.”

Mei hummed for a moment before mercifully deciding not to press him on what exactly “different” meant. “Sooo you haven’t been hanging out with us in person because you’re embarrassed that your parents think you're dating."

“That sums it up, yes.” He sunk deeper into the chair. 

“I get why that’s weird. A couple years back my parents sat me down and asked me if I was dating MK. That’s at least in the top ten of the worst conversations I’ve had with them. If I had to go along with it just to hang out with MK?” Mei shuddered audibly. 

“But, the thing is, it’s also one of the worst conversations my parents had with me. And I’m sure it’s all sorts of weird for you guys. So you don’t have to tell them you’re like, going out on a date or anything. They probably don’t want you to elaborate.” Mei pointed out. “If you just tell them you’re heading out, I’m sure they’ll get the message.”

Red Son pondered Mei’s argument for a moment. Simple as the logic was, it wasn’t…it wasn’t actually a bad idea. He sighed. “That’s a fairly reasonable strategy. My mother and father didn’t seem particularly happy with my assumed trysts, so it’s probably wise that I keep everything as vague as possible.” 

Red Son snorted under his breath. “I forget that you’re sometimes capable of reason.” 

“Awww, don’t worry Red Boy. I know I’m the smart one between the two of us. I can remember for the both of us.” Red Son could hear Mei’s smarmy grin in her faux-condescending tone. 

“So now that we’ve got that settled, you’re coming over tonight right?” She asked. “MK and I went out to buy snacks for it earlier, and I saw him picking out a bunch of snacks I know only you eat.” 

Shit. Red Son tried to cover his groan. Of all the times for MK to think about the finer details, why did it have to be now, over him? “Fine.” Red Son groaned. “But if any of those movies feature some deeply degrading representation of my parents, I’m setting the tv on fire.” 

Mei cheered. “Yay! I’m gonna text MK that you’re coming. Don’t be late. See you tonight Red Boy!!” 

A few minutes after Mei hung up, she texted him more information about the little movie marathon. Apparently, Tang had recently bought a series of old live action movies on the Journey to the West, and he was lending them to MK for a night. Which definitely meant he would inevitably see his mother or his father played by some half-wit mortal actor who couldn’t hold a candle to the real thing. 

But, he supposed it would be fun to spend time with Mei and MK again. He did miss spending time with them, as sappy and embarrassing as it was to admit. Plus, the marathon was supposed to start relatively late into the evening. Red Son could finish up his typical nightly duties now and head out without any worry. He didn’t even have to miss dinner. 

At least, he thought he didn’t have to miss dinner, until his phone started vibrating loudly against his thigh in the late afternoon. 

Red Son dug his phone out of his pocket. MK was spam texting him… something. It was a jumble of letters, numbers, and symbols. If Red Son squinted he could sort of read that MK needed his help with something? He wasn’t exactly sure, but to be safe, he called MK up. 

“What is it?” Red Son asked as he filed through his tool box until he found what he needed. 

“Hey! Hey, uh, Red Son, you're coming over later, right?” MK asked, clearly panicked.

“I am.” Red Son opened up a chest panel on a bull clone lying on his work table. He pressed the phone between his ear and shoulder so he had both hands to work with the wiring inside. 

“Okay cool. Cool. Cool. Do you know how to fix a TV?” MK asked. 

Red Son snorted. “Please. You think I don’t know how to fix a television? I thought you were the one who called me a genius. ” 

“No, no you are!” MK assured him. “I just wasn’t sure if TVs were like, your expertise.” 

Red Son chuckled as he delicately rewired the bull clone. “You’d be surprised.” The TV in his parent’s room sometimes went on the fritz, and more often than not Red Son was called to fix it before DBK smashed it in half out of frustration. 

“Oh, okay, that’s good.” Red Son could hear some relief wash over the Noodle Boy. “Do you think you could come over a bit early then? My TV’s acting wonky.” 

Red Son paused his meticulous work. “When did you want me over?” 

MK sucked the air in through his teeth. “Uh… now? ” 

Red Son was thankful he decided to stop working on the wiring in that poor bull clone, because he probably would’ve melted the wire insulation. “What do you mean now?! ” 

“Well, it takes you a while to get to my apartment from your place anyways!” MK yelled. “And I'm gonna be honest, this TV’s looking bad Red Son. It’s bad, and I have no idea how to fix it!” 

“...Noodle Boy.” Red Son pinched the bridge of his nose. “What did you do?” 

There was a long, incriminating stretch of silence. Red Son gripped the phone tighter. "Noodle Boy-"

“It was an accident!” MK yelled. “I wanted to clean up a bit, since you were coming over and you always complain my house looks like a hovel, and I had to take the stuff off my bed so I could wash my sheets, so I just threw everything behind me, and I might have accidentally hit my TV with my hardcover copy of Journey to the West- ” 

Red Son almost set his phone on fire. “You did WHAT-?!” 

“The screen isn’t broken!! But, it fell off its stand and now it’s not turning on even though I’ve plugged it in and out like three times.” MK rambled. “This TV was a hand-me-down from Pigsy, I can’t afford a new one!! And you’re the only person I know who’s handy with this kind of stuff, and we’re supposed to be watching a movie in a few hours, and you’re already coming anyways, so I figured maybe…you’d be…down to fix it…?” MK’s voice went up three octaves throughout his whole speech.

Red Son let out a long, long sigh before shutting the chest panel of the bull clone. “If I leave now, I’ll have to miss dinner. And I’m not replacing an actual meal with whatever human garbage you bought for the marathon. So I’m expecting proper compensation.”

“...I can do dinner.” MK’s tone seemed much happier now. “I can definitely do dinner.” 

“And make it decent. ” Red Son sneered as he grabbed his toolbox. “I don’t want any of your secret instant noodles.” 

“What do you mean ‘secret instant noodles?’” MK laughed awkwardly. “I’d never eat instant noodles when I have Pigsy’s homemade noodles right below me-” 

“ Please. You ate them in front of me, remember? They’re inside an unused pot you keep under your sink.” Red Son snorted. “The point is, I want something halfway decent. Do you think you can do that with your meager peasant resources?” 

“I’ll see what I can do.” MK chuckled under his breath. 

Red Son hung up his phone, shoved it in his pocket, and left his workshop. He could always finish his work with the bull clone tomorrow. 

When Red Son passed his mother down the hall, he mentioned he had to skip dinner that evening. She clearly wanted to interrogate him on why, but something on Red Son’s face must have made her give up. Or maybe Mei was right about Princess Iron Fan not wanting to have that particular conversation either. 

“Fine.” Princess Iron Fan sighed. “Just be sure to warn us a little earlier. And remember Demon Bull King is making breakfast tomorrow, so if you have any plans of staying the night, get back home early.” 

Her eyes landed on the toolbox Red Son was holding. She snorted under her breath. “Interesting choice for a date night. ” 

Red Son gripped the toolbox in his hand, trying to ignore the humiliation curdling in his stomach and the small heat that rose in the back of his ears over a date night at MK’s.

Red Son really did learn new things about MK each day. 

He expected MK to be an atrocious cook, but like always, he had a few tricks up his sleeve. He’d managed to whip up some actually decent fried rice. Apparently, Pigsy had actually managed to teach him a couple things. 

“I’m not good with stuff that takes a while. Pigsy spends like, hours on his broth, but I always get a bit impatient.” MK laughed. “Fried rice is easy though! Just grab a bunch of stuff from the fridge and throw it in a wok until it’s tasty.” 

Red Son hummed as he ate his fried rice. He supposed MK would be the chaotic sort of cook who tossed everything together until it somehow worked out perfectly. It was how he tackled most things. 

The TV wasn't looking great –Journey to the West was a ridiculously lengthy tome–but it wasn’t anything Red Son couldn’t fix. He sat in the corner of MK’s room, working at the tv with the sound of MK washing dishes in the background. 

The sun had set by then, the sound of city life muffled by the closed window. The only light in the apartment was a dim lamp that Red Son had placed on the floor to light up the area as he worked. MK babbled to Red Son about his day as he cleaned up, sometimes so distracted by talking that he’d forget to do his work entirely. Not that Red Son could blame him–he kept getting distracted listening to MK talk.

There was something nice about it, quiet and warm and cozy, the little hovel a bit more homely despite all its clear flaws. Listening to the clatter of silverware in the distance as Red Son picked through his toolbox was…

Domestic? The smug voice with Mei’s pitch cooed in the back of Red Son’s head. He scoffed it away.  

MK finished washing the dishes before Red Son was done repairing the TV, so he sat on the edge of the bed, watching Red Son as he worked. Next to him on the bed was a large plate full of sesame balls–apparently MK still had the munchies. 

“You want one?” MK offered one of the sesame balls to Red Son. 

Red Son hastily wiped his hand on his coat before taking the treat and eating it. He hummed as he chewed the pastry. “It’s less atrocious than I expected it to be.” 

“Yeah? They were on sale at the grocery, so I bought them with Mei earlier today. I was gonna save them for another day, but they look way too good.” MK admitted as he popped a sesame ball into his mouth. 

“Mei mentioned that the two of you went out to buy food.” Red Son looked up at MK, an eyebrow raised. “Is it really true you bought my favorite snacks?”

“I mean, yeah?” MK shrugged. “I wasn’t totally sure if you were coming, but I figured just in case I should grab a couple. Plus, eventually you were gonna hang out with me. Wouldn’t be a total waste of money.”

Red Son grunted as he continued to work on the TV. He tried not to think about how the back of his neck burned at the thought of MK in the snack aisle of a grocery store, standing on his tip-toes to get the snacks he knew Red Son would enjoy. 

It took a little while, but Red Son did eventually get the tv working again. It sat on its usual stand again. MK turned it on to watch some kid’s cartoon at a low volume. As he did, Red Son turned off the dim lamp light. He laid back on MK’s bed with a huff, his shoulders tense from hunching over the television that long. 

After a few minutes, MK muted the television, moved the now-empty plate to the floor, and looked back at Red Son. 

“I’m glad you’re here.” MK said. “You haven’t been able to hang out in a bit. And yeah, we call and text and whatever, but it’s not the same, yknow?”

Red Son just hummed in response, staring up at the ceiling. Despite how meager his delivery boy salary was, Red Son would admit–MK had a half decent bed. He stretched back on the soft striped blanket and turned his head to look out the window. The succulent that made a home in the empty bottle of burn cream Red Son had given MK was thriving, the plant a vibrant shade of green. 

MK laughed, scratching the back of his head. “I get why it's been a minute though. From what Mei told me, things have been pretty weird for you.”

Red Son lifted his head up with narrowed eyes. “What did the Dragon Girl tell you?” 

“Oh!” MK laughed awkwardly. “She mentioned your parents think that you’re dating someone? And that it’s like, super weird? Which is totally fair–sometimes Tang will ask me if I’m interested in someone, and it makes me want to barf.” He gagged. 

Red Son groaned, lying back on the bed and grabbing a pillow to suffocate himself with. He didn’t exactly want MK knowing about the whole thing with his parents.

“I’ve lost every single battle I’ve ever faced against you, and yet I still haven’t been more humiliated.” Red Son grumbled into the pillow. “My mother judged me for bringing my tool box to a-” he shuddered. “To a ‘date night.’” 

MK had to cover his mouth, clearly trying not to laugh but failing miserably. Red Son tossed the pillow at him. Sadly, MK caught it immediately, wrapping his arms around the pillow to hug it tightly. 

“Awww, is it really that bad to date a human?” MK grinned at Red Son. 

As MK snuggled into his pillow, Red Son tried very hard not to think about Mei hiding her face into her own pillow as she squeaked out an alternative theory to Red Son’s hauntings. He draped an arm over his face with a sigh, like he could wave away the memory. 

“How are things with your parents, anyways?” MK asked, moving up the bed until he was sitting next to Red Son’s head. “Beyond the whole, ‘dating-a-human-except-you’re-not-thing?’” When Red Son moved his arm down, he could see MK looking down over him, his hair tuft so close to Red Son’s nose it almost tickled. 

“They’re…they’re fine.” Red Son mumbled. He wrinkled his nose a bit at the hair touching his face. “Fine as they can be, given that they think I’ve been heading off to some paramour.” 

“I have no idea what that word means.” MK admitted shamelessly. Red Son rolled his eyes. 

“And uh…how about things with your dad?” MK tilted his head, thankfully moving his hair a bit away in the process. “Any luck finding his old stuff? You never gave me an update on that.”

Ah. That. That night when Red Son had called MK and spoke about the mountain between him and his father, the fear of failure that ached through him, he’d also explained his plans to try and see if any archaeologists had excavated something the Demon Bull Family once owned. MK was surprisingly willing to let Red Son “steal” an item back from whatever museum it might belong to, so long as he told him in advance and didn’t hurt anyone.

“No. I haven’t found anything.” Red Son sighed. “I suppose it makes sense that I haven’t. We couldn’t carry much of our possessions with us. I wouldn’t be surprised if my old home was looted after we moved out.” He stared up at the ceiling. “I’ve been searching in my spare time to see if anything was found of course, but I think my father and I both know it’s a fruitless task.” 

MK’s brow furrowed. “...Oh.” He shifted on the bed a bit until he was lying down next to Red Son. “That…that sucks.” 

He hesitated for a moment before speaking up again. “Maybe I can help with that.” 

Red Son laughed. “ You? ” 

MK shrugged. “I mean, yeah. Always good to have a couple hands on this sort of stuff, right? I could always ask Monkey King if there’s any old Demon Bull stuff in his storage room. Jin and Yin always have a bunch of weird junk on hand. And Tang’s like, old and smart, he’d probably have some idea if there was any fancy heirloom of yours in a museum.”

Red Son raised his brow. “Is Tang even employed? ”

MK hummed, tilting his head. “You know, I’m not sure, I never really asked, but that’s besides the point.” Red Son felt it very much wasn’t beside the point, but MK kept going. “If you need me to find anything, I could always try to help you out.” 

Red Son sighed a bit more fondly than he would have wanted to. That was what MK always did, right? He would try to help, in whatever little way he could, no matter how fruitless or laborious the job. It was all a part of his heroism, his blunt force love, that Red Son hadn’t really stopped thinking about in a long, long time.

Still though, Red Son shook his head. “That’s unnecessary. You already exhaust yourself enough with menial tasks. I don’t need to add another to your list.” 

MK pouted, seemingly annoyed at Red Son describing his daily activities as “menial tasks.” He sat up on the bed again, thinking for a moment before snapping his fingers. “Okay, how about this–if there’s one item you’d really want back, tell me what it is, and I can help look for it.” 

He gave Red Son a wide grin. “That way, I’m not spending all my time looking for everything, but I know to keep an eye out for one special thing, just in case it’s still out there.” 

“That’s still a fruitless task, you know.” Red Son pointed out. “It’s just more specific.” 

“You can say no if you want.” MK shrugged. “I’m just offering.” 

Red Son would admit, it would be easier if he had more people helping him with this particular side project. Even if his father probably wouldn’t want the Monkie Kid’s help, if it actually brought an old possession of the Demon Bull Family’s back into their hands, it would surely be worth it, wouldn’t it? 

The chance was infinitesimally small. Realistically, everything inside that old palace had been stolen or destroyed immediately. And after 500 years? He wouldn’t be surprised if most of the things had fallen apart due to the passage of time. But MK was always good at getting Red Son’s hopes up, at getting him to consider the near-impossible. So before he could even think of refusing, he murmured out an answer. 

“An inkwell.” Red Son murmured. “I’d like you to find an inkwell.” 

MK nodded. “...Okay. What does it look like?” he asked. 

“Large.” Red Son replied. “Larger than most inkwells. It belonged to my father, afterall. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was on display as some sort of cup or bowl.” Red Son snorted. “Each side of the inkwell should have my family’s insignia carved into it.” 

MK nodded some more. “That should be easy enough to spot.” He smiled a bit at Red Son. “I’m surprised you didn’t say like, some cool weapon or piece of armor. Is your dad just like, really into calligraphy?” 

Red Son opened his mouth to try and do…well, something. Change the subject, lie on the spot, simply tell MK that it wasn’t his business. But in the dark, cozy apartment, with MK sitting over him, a quiet, intimate warmth seemed to wash over Red Son. He had spoken to MK about the big and quiet and lonely halls. He’d told him about the loss of his home, his father, his whole world. And he’d already admitted he wanted that inkwell–something he honestly didn’t even think to ask for until it slipped out of his mouth. 

“It’s not for my father.” Red Son murmured. “It’s more for me.” 

MK raised an eyebrow. “Uhhh…are you into calligraphy?”

Red Son snorted. “No. My calligraphy skills were always subpar.” He sat up on the bed now, tracing his forearm with his left hand. “...I…I told you that I didn’t really have… friends as a child, correct?” 

“...Yeah.” MK replied, voice softer now. 

“Well, at the time, I liked to believe I’d have someone , eventually. Or at the very least, I wanted to believe it. So, I would steal my father’s inkwell, and…I’d write to them.” Red Son whispered softly, as if he was terrified someone else would hear him. 

“About what?” MK asked, moving closer to Red Son. 

“Everything.” A small, soft smile ran up Red Son’s face as he held his arm. “Bugs I found in the garden. Father’s plans to conquer the mortal realm. Snippets of courtly drama I heard from Mother. ” He laughed a bit. “The suffering of being forced to take a bath.” He gripped his arm tighter at the memory of it, the smell of ink in his nose, the black stains on his clothing, the writing up and down his arms. “I’d tell them everything.” 

“That’s really sweet.” MK smiled. “You know, maybe there’s a museum out there with some of your letters too.” He shrugged. “Pretty small chance, but you never know.” 

Red Son snorted. “I didn’t write letters. ” 

MK’s smile flickered, confused now. “But…you were writing to a friend, right? So wouldn’t you write letters?” 

Red Son bit his lip, the nerves in his body tensing up at the question. A part of him wanted to kick himself–he had a clear and easy out with the letters. But, over the course of his friendships, Red Son had learned he wasn’t quite as closed off as he thought he’d be. And…and it was MK. So it was surprisingly easy to calm his nerves and to whisper the truth. 

“I was writing on myself.” Red Son murmured, looking down at his hands. “To talk to my soulmate." 

MK’s smile disappeared, concern clear on his face. “...Oh.”

Red Son’s hands hiked up to his biceps, clinging to them as he swallowed. “My parents were soulmates. So I figured as their child, I would have one myself. And while the bond doesn’t properly show until all parties have entered adulthood, I still wrote on myself like they could reply.”

He took a deep, shaky breath now. “I knew nobody would talk back, obviously. But I’d still write anyway. It was…it was nice to imagine that I’d wake up one day to see someone else’s writing on me.” His voice softened as the fuzzy memories floated in his head, painful for his heart, constricting to his ribcage. “It was all I wanted.” 

MK watched Red Son with a small frown on his face. Words seemed to fail him, so, instead, he reached out slowly to put his hand on Red Son’s shoulder. Red Son shut his eyes and sighed into it, allowing the warmth of MK’s hand to pulse through his shoulder, across his collarbone, into his chest and around the roots that stuck in his ribcage. 

Eventually, MK spoke up again. “...I’m sorry you didn’t get a soulmate.” He muttered. “It seemed like you really wanted one.” 

Red Son turned to look at MK. The moonlight outside mixed with the muted TV’s glare painted MK in a pale light. Even though most of his face was overcast in shadow, Red Son could still make out the furrow in his brow, the light spray of freckles across his cheek, the bit of light that captured whatever advertisement was on the TV to melt into silver.

Things were different with MK. They always had been. But that different was good. It was a different he had come to embrace. Even though Mei was baffled by the term haunting, it had stopped being a haunting for Red Son. MK was a welcome presence, no matter how terrifying the implications. Even if it frightened Red Son to leap into the deep end, to embrace the desert sands, to lean into MK’s touch, he was happy with MK. He was safe. 

MK had been plucking each new secret from Red Son like a peony petal, and in turn Red Son let his secrets spill out his chest and flow through the wind. So even though a part of him was frantic, terrified, begging him not to, he couldn’t help but dip his hands into his ribcage to rip out a peony, to hand the large red blossom to MK for him to hold in his warm hands. 

“...I do have one.” Red Son admitted. “I do have a soulmate.” 

MK almost fell off the bed. “Wh-what?” He gripped Red Son’s shoulder more tightly for support, eyes wide as noodle bowls. “When did you get a soulmate?! You-you’ve never mentioned this before.” 

Red Son snorted. “Why would I? I haven't told anyone since I found out I had one . ” He ran his hands up and down his biceps. “No one knows about them.” 

MK blanched. “No one? ” He fumbled over his words, the news clearly shocking him. “I mean, like don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you told me–flattered? Honored? I-I’m happy you let me know about this but-but- really? Nobody at all?” 

Red Son shook his head. 

“But didn’t you say you wanted to have a soulmate? ” MK asked, completely baffled. “Why wouldn’t you talk about it?”

Red Son gripped his biceps tighter, his nails digging through the coat to irritate his skin. He looked away from MK, lip curled into a frown. MK wasn’t always the best with social or emotional cues, but he always knew how to read Red Son like a billboard. His face morphed as the realization hit him. 

“...They’re human. Aren’t they?” MK asked in a hushed voice. 

Red Son didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. He looked over at MK, and that was the confirmation necessary. 

“Red Son-” The grip of MK’s hand shifted, like he was trying to support Red Son rather than keep himself from falling. “...All the things you told me about humans and demons being soulmates. About how humans don’t want demons, how they die too quickly to be worth building anything up–did that…” MK’s hand slipped down Red Son’s shoulder to press over one of his hands, the warmth of his palm permeating across Red Son’s skin. “Did that happen to you?” 

“No, no.” Red Son shook his head. “There’s nothing to be concerned about.” It wasn’t that kind of tragedy. “My soulmate is very much alive. I just don’t speak to them. And while they’re aware I’m a demon, they’ve been plenty enthusiastic about talking to me.” 

At least they used to be. But thinking about his last conversation with his soulmate made something in Red Son’s chest twist uncomfortably. He didn’t really want to mention that. 

MK’s concern shifted into confusion. “Wait…so there’s nothing wrong with you and your soulmate?” 

Red Son scoffed. “Of course there’s something wrong. They’re human.” 

That…didn’t come out right. 

He knew that already when he said it, but it was only confirmed more when MK drew his hand away, a horrified expression on his face now.

“Are-are you actually serious?” MK sputtered, eye twitching in what Red Son was surprised to see was irritation. “I thought you were cooler about that stuff now.” 

“I am cooler with it.” Red Son shot back. “I admit that Pigsy and Tang have managed to make their relationship work despite the obstacles. And if they can make it work, naturally others can as well. But that doesn’t mean I want to make it work.” 

“But-but that’s stupid! ” MK yelled, waving his hands around in the air. “You said that all you wanted was a soulmate, right? So now you have one and you just-you just cut them out?!” 

Red Son wasn’t exactly sure what he expected from MK when he admitted this secret. But he didn’t expect… this. He didn’t expect MK to glare at him, outraged and horrified, to shout at him like he was some moron. And maybe, he should’ve expected that, considering what Red Son knew about MK’s own opinions on demons and humans being soulmates, considering the fact that Red Son was a bad soulmate, considering that his soulmate’s sweet, enthusiastic, stumbling run-on sentences had faded away almost completely from his skin because of his own cruelty. 

But Red Son didn’t wrench this secret from his chest for MK to crush it in his hands. His chest felt hollow and miserable without it, violated and humiliated that he’d pulled that peony from his rib cage just to have it destroyed. And Red Son had always had a fragile ego, a massive, hideous creature made of paper-thin glass. He still found himself getting angry anyways. 

A bitter laugh escaped Red Son. “This is not what I wanted, Noodle Boy.” 

“You wanted a soulmate who’ll talk to you. And you have that.” MK snapped. “I know that you care about demon politics or whatever, but why should you care about that if you’ve wanted this since you were a kid?!” 

“It’s more complicated than that–and I don’t expect you to understand why!” Red Son moved out of the bed now, trying to put space between him and MK. “And this human might be alright with talking to a demon, but that doesn’t mean they’re going to want me. ” 

And why would they? They were a Monkey King fan– it was one of the few things Red Son knew about them. He doubted they would be especially sympathetic to a cackling demon who had tried to conquer the world with his family. They especially wouldn’t want him now, when they had practically given up on a bond entirely. 

“Do you know that?” MK asked. “Did you tell them who you are?!”

“Of course not!” Red Son scoffed.

“So then you can’t just assume that they wouldn’t want you, can you?!” MK yelled. 

“Right.” Red Son laughed. “News flash, Noodle Boy: Just because you stopped seeing me as a villain doesn’t mean the rest of the world did. Even if they were comfortable cozying up to a demon, they wouldn’t want a villain as their consort.” 

“Uhh, news flash, Red Son: You can’t make that argument if they don’t even know who you ARE!” MK shouted, standing up from the bed now. “And hey: if you’re so confident they’re gonna reject you, why don’t you just tell them? You can just write ‘Oh, by the way, I’m Red Son, son of the Demon Bull King, you might’ve seen me destroying the city on the news but I’m cool now!’ And then you can see how they actually feel!” 

“I can’t do that! ” Red Son shouted back, scandalized. “If word got out that I had a human for a soulmate, me and my family would be laughingstocks for centuries! ” 

MK stared at Red Son, a shocked laugh escaping his lips. “So that’s it?! You don’t talk to your soulmate because you don’t want people to see you as weak?! ” 

Red Son stepped up to MK, looming over him with a glare. “You of all people would know exactly why I don’t want to be seen as weak.” 

And he would, wouldn’t he? He’d know about the frantic fear that crackled through Red Son’s bones, that he was weak and unworthy of his place within his family. Because Red Son had trusted MK enough with these secrets, had let his hands slip into his ribcage to pluck his secrets like peony petals. He thought if anyone would understand, it would be MK. But nothing ever just worked for Red Son, did it? 

“I didn’t want this, MK.” Red Son’s voice shook more than he liked to admit. “I wanted a real bond with someone. I wanted someone who would stay with me. And some fickle little human who couldn’t even begin to understand demons, much less understand me, who would die before I started wrinkling?! ” He clutched at his chest, nails digging into skin, looking for roots. “I didn’t want that.” 

MK didn’t meet Red Son in the eyes. He stared straight ahead, eyes almost fixated on Red Son’s shoulders and collarbone. He was so silent that Red Son had thought he’d managed to finally end the conversation. Honestly, Red Son hoped that would be the case. He wanted nothing more than to put the whole topic behind them if it meant he could have the quiet, cozy intimacy from moments before. 

But then, MK looked up at him, a glower on his face. “Well if that’s the case, why are you even here?” 

Red Son raised his brow. “What?” 

“If humans can’t understand you, make you look worse, and are all gonna die anyways, why are you even here?” MK asked. “Why’re you friends with me and Mei?” 

Red Son scoffed. “That’s different.” 

“How?” MK crossed his arms. “Name one way it’s different.” 

“You’re not my soulmate. ” Red Son jeered. “My friendship with you carries none of the political implications–”

“You can’t even tell your parents we’re friends, because you’re scared they’ll disown you!” MK shouted. “Isn’t being a traitor worse than being weak?” 

The words pierced through Red Son’s chest. He took a step back from MK. That-that wasn’t wrong, of course. Red Son would rather be a weak excuse of a son than nothing at all. But that was still different. It-it had to be, right? 

“And yeah, Mei and I are stronger than most humans, but we get in danger way more!” MK yelled. “I mean, how many times have you complained about being a bed nurse?!”

“That-!” Red Son wanted to protest, but he couldn’t find anything to argue against MK’s point. He’d been at Mei’s bedside not too long ago. And sure, it was just a sprain then, but it could’ve been worse, couldn’t it? They were heroes–powerful heroes–but they were still mortal all the same. 

And even if they did live long, healthy lives, Red Son was a demon. He had the blood of a celestial maiden. He would live a long, long time. Mei had enough dragon blood in her that she’d be by his side for a decent amount of time, but MK? Unless being the Monkey King’s successor meant he borrowed some of the Monkey King’s overflowing immortality, he’d be a blip in the world, a flickering candle in Red Son’s life. 

Truthfully, it was a reality Red Son hadn’t…fully… considered until then. Sure, he knew Mei and MK were mortal, but when befriending them, it wasn’t exactly an issue that crossed his mind. Frankly, he was more worried over the implications behind being a hero or a villain, over being loving and caring and good. The issue of lifespan certainly only would’ve complicated things further. 

“If you’re okay with being friends with me and Mei, then there’s no reason you shouldn’t be okay with your soulmate.” MK said. “So are you gonna stay, or not?” 

Of course there was a difference. He didn’t share skin with Mei, he didn’t have a bond with MK. And Red Son wanted to argue that. But the more he tried to fight back, the more it occurred to him that he really couldn’t . 

Mei and MK were never really supposed to be Red Son’s friends. They had been opposed in the beginning. The fact that MK reached out was understandable–it was MK– but Red Son had reached back too. Even though the friendship would be a political nightmare if it were revealed, he trained with Mei, he wrapped MK’s wounds, he went along with them to arcade trips and movie nights and sleepovers. And even though he knew they would die before he did, he didn’t really let it affect just how many secrets he let slip from his chest. 

Red Son tried to speak, but no words left his mouth. He didn’t really need to speak though. MK always could read him like a billboard. “Exactly.” He narrowed his eyes. 

“And you know what–even if it isn’t everything you wanted, it-it’s still a soulmate. isn’t it?” MK put a hand to his chest. “You’d completely discard your soulmate because it wasn’t exactly how you pictured it?”

That-that wasn’t-he was being way too uncharitable- Red Son tried to speak up again, but MK cut him off. “And you know what? You don’t have to get to know your soulmate. Like you said, demons can do whatever they want with the bond they have. So did you at least tell your soulmate you don’t want them?!” 

“N-no,” Red Son admitted. “But that-!”

“Well maybe you should!” MK yelled. “Maybe you should at least let them know why you’re ignoring them!” 

Red Son sputtered, shame and anger mixing together into an ugly concoction. “They-they already know I don’t want them. It’s not necessary to elaborate now-” 

“How do YOU know?!” MK roared. “You keep assuming all these things about your soulmate and how they’d feel, but it’s not like you TALK TO THEM!” 

“Oh, and you do?!” Red Son bared his teeth, legitimately angry as he spat out. “I'm supposed to take your advice on what I do with my soulmate?!" He jutted his finger into MK's chest. " What could you possibly know that I don't?!" 

MK shouted so loudly Red Son could hear the strain on his vocal chords. “I know that it FUCKING SUCKS!” 

The color in MK’s face seemed to drain. His eyes widened at his own words. Red Son’s eyes did too, his snarl vanishing as he looked down at MK. 

“...Being ignored sucks, okay?” He said shakily. He wrapped his arms around himself as he sat down on his bed. “And it would probably suck a bit less if I-” MK’s voice caught in his throat. “...If your soulmate knew why you weren’t talking to them. So...maybe you should do that." 

… Shit. 

The pieces of a puzzle Red Son didn’t even know he had came together now. MK’s invested anger at their first sleepover. The hurt in his eyes during checkers night. The weirdly sad oh when they spoke about soulmates on the Dronecoptor. Red Son had questioned back then if MK had a soulmate, but with everything that happened, he’d never really gotten an answer to that. He never tried to–Red Son had pretty much forgotten the inquiry at all. 

“You…” Red Son paused, what anger left in him completely gone now. “You have…” 

MK took a deep breath. “Yeah.” His jaw was stiff, the air now stuffy and awkward. “Yeah.” 

He shifted uncomfortably in his bed, curling up into a small ball. “I found out a little over a year ago. They didn’t even mean to contact me or anything, but I still wrote back anyway. I was…I was excited, y’know?” 

A small, sad smile curled on MK’s lips for just a moment, before fading away. “But…they didn’t reply.” He hiked up his shoulders, voice a fragile sort of quiet Red Son wasn’t used to hearing out of MK. 

“I tried a bunch of different strategies to get them to talk to me. And they would. Sometimes.” MK cringed, as he murmured out. "Rarely." His shoulders hiked up as he spoke. "But, overall, they just didn't respond to anything." 

MK scratched the back of his head. “When I asked Pigsy why my soulmate would ignore me, he told me that chances are I’d given away that I wasn’t a demon, and most demons didn’t like when their soulmate was a human. And when a demon has a human for a soulmate..." 

MK glanced up at Red Son, meeting his eyes, and for a moment Red Son was back on the Dronecopter, gripping his bicep as the faint memory of peaches tainted his mouth. You ignore it. And pretend your skin isn’t proof of your inadequacy. 

“I dunno. I kept trying for a while, but nothing really seemed to work? So I’ve just…kind of given up now.” MK shrugged. “If they don’t care about me, maybe I should stop caring too.” Despite how nonchalant the actual words were, Red Son could tell by the ache in his voice just how much he did care, just how willing he was to shower his soulmate with that blunt force love. 

“Does your soulmate… know you’re the Monkie Kid?” Red Son asked. “Given how powerful you are, they might make an exception.” 

He cringed as the words left his mouth. Even he knew how miserable of a bargain that was. 

“I…I talked about it once.” MK muttered. “After I defeated your dad for the first time, I wrote all about it. But, like everything else, they didn’t reply.” A low, miserable chuckle escaped him. "With my luck, they probably hate Monkey King too." 

The world always felt so off balance when MK wasn't happy. Or at the very least, Red Son's world always seemed off note when MK didn't have some stupid grin or stupid quip on his lips. Red Son's lip quivered as he stared at MK. For the first time in a long, long while, he felt a distance between them. A cold and tense thing, that made his chest ache. 

“Look, I…I really don’t like talking about it.” MK admitted. “I don’t mention it to Pigsy or Tang anymore since it just gets them angry. I haven’t even told Mei. And to be honest, I didn’t really mean to tell you either. So just…” He sighed. “I dunno. Just don’t be a complete asshole to your soulmate, alright?” 

Red Son swallowed, a searing hot shame pulsing through his skin. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

Watching MK curl up in his bed, the roots in Red Son’s ribcage weighed heavy in his chest. He knew he was a bad soulmate. He always did. So when he last spoke with his soulmate, he didn’t understand why he suddenly felt so uncomfortable with the choices he’d made. But as Red Son looked at the hollow expression on MK’s face, he knew why. 

He was the villain again.

Red Son slowly approached MK, sitting next to him on the bed. MK glanced over at him, but didn’t say anything. He looked over at MK with a small sigh. 

“Bonds are… complicated. ” Red Son took his time with each word, unsure if they were quite right. “And as much as it’d be good for soulmates to be a matter of just being soulmates, it’s not that simple.” 

“It should be that simple.” MK mumbled. 

Red Son bit his lip. “...It’d be nice if it was.” He murmured. 

MK shifted in the bed, his breath labored from the conversation alone. “I really-” The words caught in his throat for a moment. “I-I was never like, a big romantic or anything. But I dunno. Pigsy always seemed so happy with Mr. Tang, and I just-I guess I wanted that? Or something like that?” He placed his hand over his chest, nails digging into the cheap t-shirt fabric. “I really wanted it to work.” 

Red Son wondered what creature lived inside MK’s ribcage. If he had a garden of orchids, or magnolia, or chrysanthemum that curled around his sternum, stretched across his collarbone. Or maybe, he had nothing at all, his heart a plot of land that longed for flora to twist around his chest. 

“I did too.” Red Son whispered. “I know that our situations obviously aren’t the same. And I’m sure you view me as the villain-” the villain that, to be honest, he was , “-But I wanted it too.” His hand grazed over his chest, at the roots that dug into him. “More than anything.” 

MK was quiet for a moment before turning to Red Son. “I don’t think you’re a villain.” He mumbled. “You are being a total jerk though.” A small smile creeped up his face. 

Red Son rolled his eyes. He couldn’t exactly argue against that. 

“Well, if you’re not comfortable with me staying here tonight, I can make my leave.” Red Son said, stretching his back. “I can tell Mei something came up.”

“You don’t have to go.” MK assured him. “Really. I…” he sighed. “Even if I’m not happy with the demon-human-soulmate protocol…I know it’s protocol.” He tried to offer Red Son a small smile. “I’m sure your soulmate and I will get over it eventually.” 

MK's sad, sweet smile made something in Red Son crumble. He couldn’t find the words to explain himself, or justify his actions, or even apologize. So instead, he just reached over to pull MK into a hug. 

Thankfully, MK was always down to hug his friends, even after a tense argument. He sighed into it, face pressed up against Red Son’s collarbone. And even though he wasn’t sure he deserved comfort at the moment, it soothed Red Son too. 

Unfortunately, Mei burst into MK’s dimly lit apartment to see the two of them sitting in bed with their arms wrapped around each other. And Red Son was very sure he wouldn’t hear the end of that anytime soon. But, he didn’t think about that as the three of them settled into MK’s bed to start the movie marathon.

Red Son ran his hand along his forearm. His soulmate hadn’t written anything to him since their last conversation. They said they would keep drawing, but the art hadn’t been coming along much either. And really, why would it? He was sure that it was a sore topic for them. His stomach churned at the thought. 

Maybe Red Son was okay with being the villain before, but that wasn’t really what he wanted to live up to anymore. He wasn't a villain now, and to be honest? He wanted it to stay that way. He wanted to be loving. To be caring. To be good. And if he had to put in the work to do that, then…then he would. 

He sighed as he shifted in the bed, popping a spicy snack MK had bought for him in his mouth. At the very least, he wasn’t MK’s soulmate. He couldn’t imagine how miserable they had to be to block out the sun. 

Red Son would admit, he stalled on talking to his soulmate for a while longer than he intended. 

For one, he just wasn’t sure when would be a good time to do it. Much less how. Things like apologies weren’t exactly his strong suit.

And frankly, Red Son didn’t know if his soulmate wanted to hear from him after he’d already tarnished what little relationship they had. Maybe MK wanted closure, but maybe they just wanted things to quietly peter away. 

But then, one early evening, he was scrolling through his art collection when he came across the photo he took of the peonies spread across his chest and collarbone. He’d inspected that photo for months, of course–a part of him still believed those peonies were there. But what he focused on wasn’t the art, for once. No, instead he looked down at the small writing etched along his arms. 

Red Son pulled out a small technical pen, sat in the corner of his bed, and wrote. 

The peonies were gorgeous. 

Red Son didn’t get an immediate response. Which was to be expected, sure; it was rather late at night. But still, he elaborated.

That night you drew me peonies. You asked if I liked them, and I never replied. 

Red Son wasn’t sure where he was going with it, but he just kept writing. 

They reminded me of everything I used to want, and everything I could never have. Sometimes, I still think you planted them inside me. 

He snorted. The poetics were a bit excessive. 

I’m aware I must sound somewhere between drunk and insane to you. But, I figured you deserved a real answer. You deserved an answer to all of your questions. 

Red Son gripped his pen tighter, the flush of guilt rushing across his face. 

You’re right about demons and humans being weird. I wouldn’t use the word “weird” myself, but it’s generally unlucky to have a human as your soulmate. So normally, the safest option for a demon is to just wait it out until 

He tapped his forearm, trying to find a proper euphemism before giving up. 

Well, you know. 

Red Son hiked his sleeve up further to keep writing. 

It was what I’d always planned to do. I was never good at it, seeing how I’d still maintain some level of contact, but from our last conversation, it’s clear you got the message that I wasn’t particularly interested in forming any relationship with you. 

His soulmate still wasn’t responding. In some cruel twist of irony, Red Son couldn’t stop his stumbling run on sentences. 

I’ve been thinking a lot since our last conversation, actually. I always knew I was a terrible soulmate, but I’d only realized recently just how much I didn’t want to be that. It’s cruel to the both of us. Even though I didn’t want a human for a soulmate, it’s what I have, and even though you surely wanted a better soulmate than me, I’m all you’ve got. And I’m sorry for that. I really am. 

I’ll be honest with you: I’m still not sure how open I want to be with you, or how much I want to have you in my life. I already have enough potential scandals floating around me as is. But at the very least, I want to be better to you. Even if we’re not what we wanted. 

He waited a moment before adding one final note. 

Assuming you actually want to talk to me, of course. 

Red Son rolled up his sleeve and pulled up an old steam VOD of Mei’s in an effort to distract himself. It didn’t work, really. He spent a solid ten minutes waiting for the familiar feel of felt marker against his arm, the tension in the back of his neck so overwhelming he couldn’t even focus on what was happening on screen. 

But then, finally, a question formed near Red Son’s stumbling run on sentences. 

Wait, so, I don’t know if I’m reading this right. Are you saying you want to talk more? 

Red Son wrote his answer underneath his soulmate. 

Like I said. It’s what you want. 

His soulmate took a moment before responding. 

I’d like that. 

The tension Red Son carried in his body released. He practically melted into his bed with a groan. His soulmate was still writing along the back of Red Son’s hand. He raised it up to read. 

But, can we start tomorrow? I’ve kind of got something to do.

Red Son could understand that. Truthfully, he had plans too–MK had been raving to him about some tournament for a fighting game he was obsessed with, and he wanted Red Son to sneak out that night to join. He still thought arcades were terrible. The music was a thudding base, the lights were bright and glaring, the games were clearly rigged, and the people had zero concept of personal space. But, MK had asked him with a wide grin, rocking on his heels as he stared up at Red Son. So of course, he couldn’t say no. 

We can start tomorrow. 

Red Son tossed his technical pen into a drawer before heading out to shower. He planned to wear something long–sleeved, just in case. 

Chapter Text

Something had shifted. 

Well, of course it did. Obviously. Red Son knew it would. He was the one who put pen to skin.  Shifting wasn’t even the right word for it. It implied too much passivity–Red Son pushed for change.       

But that didn’t mean he was really ready for things to be different. 

Red Son wasn’t exactly sure what to expect out of this new arrangement between him and his soulmate. Yeah, he had made clear that he wasn’t particularly interested in getting close to them, but even the concept of just talking to them was entirely new territory. Sure, he hadn’t necessarily offered to be best friends or anything, but it felt wrong to say he wanted to be better only to never actually initiate conversation. 

Red Son would wave a technical pen inches away from his arm, unsure of what to say or how. It felt terribly awkward to just start up a conversation. Was he supposed to just...ask how their day was? What they’d done? Should he talk about his day as well? Did they really need to hear about the racecar Red Son was working on, or the desert flower he found near the fortress, or how he watched MK catastrophically fail a food eating challenge last night?

Red Son couldn’t believe that as a kid he would just talk about his day like it was that easy. Sure, his soulmate couldn’t see anything given how he was a toddler and they weren’t alive , but he’d still write on himself like someone could see it. And he didn’t fret over a proper way to start the conversation, or if the topic was appropriate. He didn’t care about whether or not the weird bug he found in the peony bushes was a good opener. He didn’t worry about things being complicated. 

Then again, when Red Son was a child, he wouldn’t have dreamed of ignoring his soulmate for over a year. 

To some degree, it still felt…wrong for Red Son to open up communication like this. A part of him was horrifically embarrassed whenever he sat on his bed with a pen in hand. Why was he trying to make his weakness more obvious? Why did he care that this little human might be bothered that they won’t have a happy relationship as soulmates?

But, Red Son tried his best to move past the nagging worries in his head. Even if opening up the line of communication increased the risk of being exposed, being ridiculed, being hurt, he still wanted to at least try. He didn’t want to be a villain anymore. He didn’t want to hurt someone whose only crime was being unfortunately tied to him. Plus, MK was right. If Red Son could justify making friends out of mortals, out of enemies, then there wasn’t an excuse to be this cruel to his soulmate. 

Still, Red Son’s nervous desire to keep things at the very least cordial was strained. His relationship with his soulmate was already so estranged from a year of one-sided conversation and foolhardy admiration for the drawings that scaled up Red Son’s body. One shoddy apology for being a bad soulmate with the offer of talking more didn’t magically fix that. And really, Red Son wasn’t sure if it could. 

Thankfully, his soulmate seemed to be in a similar boat. Even though they had asked Red Son to start “tomorrow.” they didn’t write to him. Which Red Son supposed was fair–even if he offered to open up communication, it didn’t mean his soulmate would bounce back to stumbling run-on sentences. 

But they did start to draw more regularly. Quick little doodles along their arms or legs probably out of boredom. Red Son ate them up eagerly, snapping photos to save to his ever growing collection. He’d missed being a canvas for their artwork–it was something he realized he’d taken for granted back when the Lady Bone Demon had taken over, and so Red Son made sure to treasure every new piece. Even the small, cruddy doodles of monkeys clambering up his arm were saved, even though they reminded him too much of the grinning Monkey King. 

Honestly, they drew monkeys a lot. It was something Red Son had started to note when going through his art collection a while back, but he never really found the need to question his soulmate about it. Then again, he didn’t find the need to question his soulmate about anything. 

Red Son was sitting in his workshop tinkering at a busted car engine when he noticed that a familiar brown tail was curling around his wrist. He was going to just ignore it until his soulmate finished the doodle so he could properly file it away, but then he had an epiphany. Maybe he didn’t find the need to question his soulmate about anything, but that’s how any half decent conversation started, didn’t it? Basic questions? Mild curiosity? If he wanted to be good, caring, loving, or at the very least not a complete asshole like MK said, he’d have to keep pushing for change. Which meant that a stupid opener was better than nothing at all. 

Red Son grabbed a technical pen and wrote a question on his other arm, so as not to disturb the work in progress. 

Why do you always draw monkeys? 

His soulmate responded, the brown felt marker a stark contrast to the thin dark red pen. 

They’re my favorite animal to draw. Plus, I spend a lot of time with monkeys, so they’re always around for reference. 

Huh. Maybe they were some sort of animal caretaker? Or a researcher on primates? It wasn’t particularly normal to spend large chunks of your day with a bunch of macaques. Red Son jotted down a response. 

There’s better animals to be spending your time with. 

His soulmate shot back immediately. 

Like what? 

Red Son was planning to write some smarmy insult, but before he could begin to write the first letter, he paused. 

Sure, he could mock his soulmate for spending his days literally monkeying around, but that probably wouldn’t be productive in actually mending their relationship. To continue the dialogue. MK or Mei might wave off an insult, but given how fragile their relationship was, Red Son didn’t want to bet that they’d act the same way. 

This was what he wanted, right? An opportunity to be better. To be good. To not be the villain in his soulmate’s life–or in his own. So, Red Son bit back his pride to write how he actually felt. 

Chickens are good companions. 

His soulmate responded immediately in large, messy handwriting. 

CHICKENS???

Red Son wasn’t sure what response he was expecting, but it wasn’t that.

He huffed to himself as he wrote back. 

Yes. Chickens. What, are you surprised? 

There was a small delay before Red Son felt a ballpoint pen across his calf. He pulled up his pant leg to read. 

Honestly??? Yeah. You don’t seem like the type to like chickens. 

Red Son scoffed, writing with a bit more force in his grip. 

You don’t know anything about me. How can you make any assumption about the type of person I am? 

Red Son’s soulmate wrote with slightly smaller letters now, and Red Son had to turn his calf to read the passage. 

I mean yeah, that’s fair. But the way you wrote always had this specific sort of vibe, you know? And the only thing I really know about you is that vibe, so I’ve just made assumptions from there. 

He supposed that was fair. Red Son didn’t know much about his soulmate, but based on the stumbling run-on sentences they wrote, he could probably make a vague idea about how they acted. At the very least, Red Son had always assumed them to be insufferably enthusiastic. 

Red Son hiked his pant leg up a bit more to write back. 

Really? And what sort of vibe is that? 

His soulmate responded underneath him. 

Well, definitely not the type to like chickens. 

Red Son rolled his eyes. 

They’re not the only animals I like. I also like cows. 

Well, it was less that Red Son liked cows and more that he had a particularly important tie to them. He was a part of the Demon Bull Family. Cow iconography covered the fortress. They didn't even eat beef out of respect for the cow. Red Son imported faux leather for all his car seats.

But Red Son wasn’t entirely ready to reveal his family lineage just yet. It felt like too large a step to reveal just who he was. The fear of being weak still whispered in his ear. But he was more than willing to admit that he held some fondness for heifers. He chose not to mention the onesie in the back of his closet. 

Red Son's soulmate went back to writing in a messy hand again–he supposed that’s just what they did when surprised or excited. 

COWS??? Be honest with me, are you a farmer? Because I did NOT get farmer vibes from you.

Red Son sputtered in offense, a plume of fire flaring out his ponytail. 

I’M NOT A FARMER! Don’t take me for some peasant just because I prefer superior animals to monkeys. 

Red Son’s soulmate wrote back quickly. 

Okay but to be fair, your favorite animals are literally livestock. Do you like pigs too?? 

There was a beat before his soulmate added more. 

Well, actually, I also like pigs, so we can agree on that. 

Red Son regretted starting this conversation. 

...He didn’t really. He “regretted it” the same way he regretted driving over to Mei’s, or calling MK up late at night. It was an absurdity that was, while a bit unusual to him, not entirely unwelcome. Red Son wondered if his soulmate would get along with his friends. He shuddered at the thought of three nightmares crowding around him in MK’s bed to watch some miserable tv show. 

Red Son figured that was the end of it, since his soulmate resumed drawing a monkey around his wrist. But when he went to take a picture of it after he finished his work on the engine, he noticed a new addition to the piece. The monkey that stretched down his forearm was also waving at a sleepy hen now roosting just above his inner elbow. 

Oh. Red Son looked down at his arm as a wave of…of something washed over him. His soulmate had a point. Even though they were a stranger, Red Son had an idea about the kind of person they were from their art alone. A kind-hearted little fool, who used their talents on someone who really didn’t deserve them. 

Red Son grunted as he snapped a picture. He was surrounded by fools like that lately. 

Art had always been the only form of communication that Red Son had accepted whole heartedly from his soulmate. But that wasn't really communication. His soulmate would make something beautiful and Red Son would quietly marvel at it. Frankly, it was still just as one-sided as the rambling conversations or prodding questions. So after Red Son's somewhat-but-not- actually regrettable conversation about monkeys and chickens, he formed a new habit. Whenever his soulmate would draw something, he’d take the time to pause and write something in return. 

Most of the time, he’d comment on the art itself. He’d note the details of the scaly fish that swam up his thigh. He’d admire the emerald green of the dragon around his forearm. He’d make a comment on the linework for an orchid on his belly. Red Son’s soulmate probably knew he liked their art–the only compliment he’d given them in over a year was I could look at your art forever. But still, they seemed to appreciate the feedback, often circling them with whatever marker they were using. 

One time, Red Son was watching a cartoonish looking tiger doodle on the back of his hand when the pen suddenly jotted up, slashing through the tiger’s torso and ruining the image. He frowned as he grabbed a pen and asked a quick question. 

Was that intentional? 

Red Son pointed to the line that ran through the tiger. 

Red Son’s soulmate didn’t reply until a full twenty minutes later. He had honestly almost forgotten he’d asked until his meditation was interrupted by the feel of a ballpoint pen on his wrist. 

Oh, no. I was in the middle of drawing, but then the car behind me honked its horn, and it scared me. 

Red Son snorted as he dug around for a pen. 

Why was there a car behind you? 

This time, his soulmate answered quickly. 

I was driving. 

Red Son read that statement, but only after he resumed his pose for meditating did his brain actually compute it. He sputtered, scrambling back for his pen and nearly breaking it. 

WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU WERE DRIVING???? 

Red Son’s soulmate seemed ready to defend their stupidity. 

There was a traffic jam and I was bored!! But while I was drawing the traffic cleared up, and the car behind me got impatient. 

Whatever calming effects medication had absolutely were not working right now. Red Son could feel sparks of irritation roll up his ponytail. 

THAT DOESN’T MEAN YOU SHOULD DRAW WHILE DRIVING!! DO YOU WANT TO DIE IN A CAR CRASH?!

He was half tempted not even to read whatever inane excuse his soulmate came up with, but he forced himself to anyway. 

Aww, you really do care :) 

Red Son scoffed, an involuntary flush on his cheeks. 

THAT IS NOT WHAT YOU SHOULD BE TAKING AWAY FROM THIS. 

Surely, some cruel god was punishing Red Son for a past life of stupidity. That explained why everyone around him was a moron. He glared down at his arm as his soulmate kept writing. 

It’s fine!! I’ve crashed my cart before and I only got a little injured. At least this time I’m not blindfolded. 

Red Son’s pen exploded from the heat of his hand. Ink splattered all over his palm. He figured his soulmate would get the message. 

Usually, the comments Red Son gave would allow for at most, short sporadic conversations, during which half the time Red Son was reminded that he was apparently bonded to an absolute idiot. But, every now and then, he would actually learn something about his soulmate. 

They were a he for one thing. Red Son wasn’t sure if he was impressed or disappointed that he somehow managed to avoid learning his soulmate's gender for this long. Red Son’s soulmate had nervously asked if he had any sort of issues with trans men, and Red Son assured him it didn’t change a thing at all. After a beat or two though, Red Son decided to add on a note. 

If you use a binder, don’t wear it all night. 

Red Son’s soulmate seemed to find this funny. 

Red Son’s soulmate was also incredibly busy–apparently he worked in his adoptive father’s restaurant, and his dad wasn’t exactly big on nepotism, so the gig wasn’t by any means cushy. Hours were long and days off were scarce–although apparently, his dad had been cutting him a bit more slack to take care of his other duties. Red Son could only assume that meant other jobs–he seemed to be the scrappy type. 

Red Son’s soulmate bemoaned how a fairly expensive set of pastels he’d received half a decade ago as a present were almost completely depleted, and he apparently wouldn’t have the funds to replace them for four more months.The rant curled so far down his arm that Red Son had to respond on the middle of his bicep.

Surely, you have someone you could borrow some money from? 

His soulmate switched to Red Son’s other arm to reply, handwriting a bit shakier from the nondominant hand. 

I mean I guess I could. Honestly, my friends are MEGA rich. But I don’t wanna ask for anything. Don’t want to bother them with that. 

Red Son figured it wasn’t really his place to argue with his soulmate about that. But still, some small part of him itched at the words. 

Well, at the very least, Red Son’s soulmate was fairly happy with his job, even if his dad/boss didn’t give him much of a break. He even bragged to Red Son that his dad made the best zhajiangmian in the world. 

Red Son rolled his eyes at that. He was sure MK would disagree. 

Frankly, Red Son’s soulmate sounded fairly ordinary. Starving artists with a day job in a hole-in-the-wall noodle shop who juggled a dozen other responsibilities weren’t a particularly uncommon phenomena. But, Red Son would admit, despite how ordinary his soulmate was, he was…he was nice to talk to. 

Red Son’s soulmate was bright and cheerful. He was talkative–which was a blessing considering how Red Son still struggled to properly start or continue conversations. And for all his moronic comments and reckless driving, the stupidity was…endearing. Sometimes. Or at the very least, Red Son had built enough of a tolerance for stupidity that his soulmate’s antics were tame. Given the amount of times he’d seen MK accidentally walk into a wall, it would take a lot to truly disappoint Red Son. 

Of course, Red Son’s favorite thing about his soulmate was still the art he made–the gorgeous masterpieces that turned his chest into a canvas. He didn’t think that was ever going to change. But, over time, he was beginning to learn about the hand behind the pen, the artist behind the artistry. And he found the voice nagging at him for even attempting to reforge their relationship was beginning to quiet down, bit by bit. 

Red Son’s soulmate was working on a new big project–a mountain range painted across the inside of Red Son’s arm, with white clouds cutting across the mountaintops. He had stopped working on bull clone maintenance for hours now, too invested in watching the mountains take shape, the peaks grow color. But then, Red Son’s soulmate moved further up Red Son’s arm before asking a question, swapping the cool swipe of the thin paintbrush with a soft felt marker.  

Do you draw? 

Red Son grabbed a pen and rolled up his pant sleeve–he didn’t want to make his soulmate’s canvas smaller by writing back on his arm. 

No. 

He’d never been much of an artist. Honestly, Red Son was going to leave it at that, but after a couple more seconds of tapping his pen on his wrist, he decided to elaborate. 

I can draw blueprints, but that’s not quite the same. 

He didn’t expect the explosion of writing to scale across his leg. 

Blueprints??? Do you make stuff? Ooooh, do you invent cool things? Are you like an engineer? Or a scientist? My friend’s one of those, he’s kind of a genius–are you a genius too??

Red Son wasn’t sure he’d ever fully get used to the barrage of questions his soulmate would sometimes throw at him. Still, he responded. 

I'm somewhere between an engineer and a mechanic.  I have made a few inventions of my own though. 

He paused for a moment before a smile curled up his lip. 

I’ve been told I’m a genius before. 

MK would like Red Son’s soulmate. He could imagine the two of them trading comic books or movies. It wasn’t something that would happen, obviously–Red Son had no plans of meeting his soulmate in person, much less introducing him to friends–but the thought itself amused him every now and then. 

MK didn’t even know Red Son was trying to mend the relationship. He hadn’t spoken to MK about his soulmate since their uh…their argument. It was still a bit of a sensitive subject for Red Son, and given MK (understandably) horrified response, he wasn't ready to bring it up again. Plus. he figured MK wouldn’t want to bring up the topic either, given how frayed his own relationship with his soulmate was. 

Honestly, it still stunned Red Son that MK’s soulmate ignored him. Sure, MK was a human, but he was the Monkie Kid. Successor of Sun Wukong, Great Sage Somewhat Equal to Heaven, who had beaten back the Demon Bull King, the Spider Queen, the Lady Bone Demon. Even if he was a mortal, he was more powerful than most demons–either his soulmate was an idiot, or they had a particularly deep loathing for the Monkey King and all his allies. 

But even without being the Monkie Kid, it was hard to believe someone wouldn’t want MK. Bright, warm, blunt force love MK, who inspired hope in even the most dire of situations, who managed to defy impossible odds with a grin. MK, who would shoulder the burdens of all his friends, whose worst flaw was that he loved others far more than he loved himself. MK, who was so ridiculously hard to hate that even Red Son failed. He was stronger than anyone Red Son knew–not just as a fighter, but as a person. Surely, MK’s soulmate had to be someone as powerful as they were prideful if they were somehow bonded to him. 

Red Son supposed he was biased. MK hooked him in with ease–all it took were a couple cheerful words, a wide grin, and a near-death-slip off the Dronecopter, and Red Son’s world had completely flipped upside down. And Red Son was an enemy, who was fully prepared to turn any obstacle to his family’s victory to ash. MK’s soulmate wasn’t supposed to love him, sure, but surely, if Red Son had fallen that easily, something as menial as mortality would be no issue.

I shouldn’t describe it as falling easily. Mei would never let me hear the end of it. Red Son thought to himself as he pulled his smart phone out of its little hiding space in his workshop. He still wasn't exactly sure what his whole thing was with MK. He still felt a bit too close to ocean's edge to figure that out. 

Red Son hadn't even fully computed calling MK up. He just heard the smart phone dial. Red Son tried to ignore the sound of Mei’s smarmy laughter fogging up his head as the phone rang. 

“Hey Red Son.” MK’s voice rang through the phone. “What’s up?” 

“The fortress is quiet, and I’m bored.” Red Son sighed, leaning back against his chair as he looked at his arm. “What’re you doing?” 

“Me? Oh. I’m painting.” MK replied. 

Red Son snorted as he watched snow form on the peaks of the highest mountaintops. “I didn’t know you painted.” 

“I’m not really big on it.” MK confessed. “But, Tang got me some painting supplies a year or two back, so I like trying it out.” Red Son heard the sound of a paintbrush clattering against a mug–probably paint water–as MK continued. “I’ve got a lot of art supplies, actually. Paint, colored pencils, markers, pastels–well, the pastels are almost out, but I still have them–my favorite’s still crayon though.”

“Right.” Red Son snarked. “Your tastes aren’t any different from a human five year old.” 

“You need to stop disrespecting crayons as an art medium.” MK pouted. “Remind me to show you my art next time you come over. Then we’ll see who’s the five year old.” 

Red Son rolled his eyes, a fond smile on his face as MK started talking about how fun it was to use crayons. For all of MK’s stupidity, he knew a fair amount of art techniques, so every now and then he would ramble on about them. And Red Son would enjoy it, sitting back to listen to the lecture, only cutting MK off now and again to ask a question or make a snarky remark. 

Red Son wondered if MK’s soulmate was ever lonely. He knew he would be if he didn’t have MK’s cheerful chitter in his ear. But then again, they couldn’t mourn something they’d rejected, could they? If they didn’t want MK, it just meant he’d spend more time calling Red Son. 

Red Son would admit, he was trying to be a better soulmate, but he was by no means a good one. He was about four hours into his call with MK when he realized his soulmate had asked him a follow up question. He didn’t answer until thirty minutes later–he was too busy bickering with MK about how he refused to watch Monkey Cop. 

Late one night, as Red Son was about to fall asleep, he felt the familiar scribble of pen across his calf. 

At first, he paid it no mind–his soulmate was probably doing some late night sketch work. He figured he could comment on it in the morning–Red Son had spent most of the night making repairs in the fortress after a bull clone accidentally triggered a particularly complicated booby trap, and he frankly just wanted to sleep. 

But Red Son quickly realized that his soulmate wasn’t exactly drawing. He had written out something on Red Son’s leg. Red Son sat up in his bed with a groan, hand futzing around the night table to grab his glasses. He put them on, moving his blankets off him and rolling up his pajama pant leg. 

Red Son’s soulmate was actually still writing out the passage as he began to read, the script surprisingly small and neat given the scribble Red Son had grown used to. 

So, I have a bit of a weird question. And I’m not totally sure if you’ll know what I’m talking about, but it’s been on my mind for a while, and I figured I should ask it. When you first told me you wanted to talk more, you told me you liked the peonies I drew for you. But, you said something that kind of confused me. You said they reminded you of things you wanted and you never had. That I planted them inside you. What did any of that mean? 

Somehow, reading that question brought back some of Red Son’s energy. Maybe it was the memory of that fraught conversation, that confession across his skin. Or maybe it was the more distant memories of peonies on his chest, a garden across his collarbone. Regardless, he couldn’t just go to sleep after his soulmate asked something like that. So instead got up and grabbed a pen from his drawer. 

Red Son sat on the bed, sleepily summoning some more light in his room so he could write his response. He pulled back his other pant leg to write back. 

It’s a bit embarrassing to share. 

Embarrassing wasn’t even the right word for it. It was mortifying. It was a part of Red Son’s life that he kept wrapped up in his ribcage, stems and leaves and roots packed tight within his chest. He didn’t tell people about his soulmate, about his childhood home, about the peonies he used to hide behind that he just had to show them one day. Well, MK knew most of it now, but that was MK. Things were different with MK. And even then, the reveal of Red Son’s secret soulmate didn’t exactly play out how Red Son expected. 

His soulmate’s handwriting brought Red Son back to reality. He responded just below him. 

You don’t have to tell me. I was just wondering. 

Red Son was getting along better with his soulmate, sure, but this wasn’t playful banter or casual conversation. It wasn’t the basic facts he’d been giving his soulmate before. It was a lot more…personal. And while Red Son was trying to get better, he still hadn’t told his soulmate much about himself. He didn’t tell his soulmate any information which could potentially identify him. And he certainly didn’t talk about personal issues. 

But, this did…this did involve him. It involved his art–art he’d made just for Red Son. And it involved a question he asked Red Son–one he didn’t get a real answer to for a long while. Plus, Red Son was too tired to build up many defenses, and he wasn’t very good at keeping secrets in the first place. So after a moment, he replied. 

I always wanted a soulmate. It’s the only thing I think I’ve ever really wanted for myself. And when I saw that you took the time to draw my favorite flowers, I

Red Son’s hand shook as he wrote. 

I suppose it hit all at once. That the only thing I wanted I couldn’t quite have. At least, not the way I wanted to. 

Red Son honestly cringed to himself a bit while writing that. It wasn’t that he found it wrong, it was just a bit more exposing to admit to his own soulmate. And considering how awfully he’d treated him, telling him that he wasn’t really what Red Son wanted was probably a bit of a complete asshole move. 

But after a moment, Red Son’s soulmate wrote back. 

I think I get that. I don’t know if having a soulmate was the only thing I wanted, but I really hoped I’d have one. My dad’s a demon and he has a soulmate, and they always made it look…I dunno. Nice. Easy. I hoped it would be simple. 

There was a pause before his soulmate wrote again. 

It should be that simple. 

Something in Red Son’s chest twisted a bit reading that. He assumed the peonies his soulmate had unknowingly planted were rustling against his heart. 

It’d be nice if it was. 

It would be nice, wouldn’t it? It’d be easier if soulmates were as simple as just stumbling into each other one morning. It’d be nice if being bonded to someone meant they were always by your side. But it was never that easy, was it? Soulmates were just some strange phenomena, probably created by some bored celestial. It held no guarantees of love, understanding, togetherness. He knew that from his mother’s crumpled form under heavy blankets, MK’s fragile smile lit by his cruddy television, by the peonies which nestled into Red Son no matter how desperately he tried to ignore it. But it would be so nice for things to be simple. 

Red Son got so caught up in his own head he almost didn’t catch the question his soulmate asked, now stretched across his forearm. 

If I was a demon, or a celestial, or just not against demon protocol, what do you think we would’ve been? 

Well. That was a loaded question, wasn’t it? And frankly, it seemed like a masochistic one to ask. What did it matter what they could have been? They only had now, didn’t they? 

Well, maybe Red Son was a masochist, because he gripped his pen and answered. 

When I was young, I didn’t particularly care what sort of relationship I had with my soulmate. Just as long as they were there. 

He tried his best not to think about those times, but the memories seemed to float in his head now. Images of his chubby little hands dipped in fresh ink, writing promises he never kept to soulmates who couldn’t read them. 

What about you? 

His soulmate didn’t respond for nearly a full minute. Red Son figured he fell asleep, and was about to pull up the covers when he finally replied. 

Honestly? I’d always assumed you had to marry your soulmate. 

Red Son laughed a bit at that, shifting in his bed as he pulled back the sleeve of his robe for more room to write. 

That’s understandable. It might not be “demon protocol,” as you love to put it, but soulmates were traditionally indicative of how strong a marriage would be. 

He hesitated for a moment before writing in smaller, shakier handwriting. 

It sounded nice. 

The flickering torch light and the whirr of bull clones outside meant the fortress always had a bit of noise, but right now everything felt uncomfortably quiet. Red Son looked down at his arms, slender and sculpted and centuries older than when he used to coat them in ink, as his soulmate wrote back. 

Yeah. It does. 

Red Son’s lip trembled. He wiped his eyes before any tears could threaten to fall. He cried far too much lately. 

I’m sorry again. 

He gripped the pen tight. 

I wish we could’ve gotten what we wanted. 

Red Son's soulmate seemed to take his time digesting what Red Son wrote down. Eventually though, he replied. 

I do too. But, this isn’t too bad. 

Red Son scoffed. 

I can’t tell if you’re an optimist or just that much of an idiot. 

Red Son’s soulmate pointed at the sentence and drew a pouty face. Red Son smiled and rolled his eyes as his soulmate moved back to writing on his leg.

Really though. I’m glad we’re talking a little more. You’re not super open or anything, but it’s been fun anyways. 

Red Son snorted. “Not super open” was a bit of an understatement. Even if he was opening up to his soulmate, he was still a bit worried about really letting him know who he was. He kept any potentially identifying information under wraps. Red Son hadn’t even told his soulmate his name. 

His soulmate was still writing above Red Son’s knee.

That wasn’t like, a dig at you not being open. I get it. Demon protocol is weird and stuff. You don’t want people finding out.

Red Son wondered where he learned about “demon protocol.” Maybe his dad gave him a proper talking to. 

You’re not wrong. But that’s not the only reason. 

Red Son would love to say that he was just so exhausted that he let his secrets slip out. But really, even though his ears rushed with blood and his hair felt ready to light up, this was something he figured he should admit to his soulmate regardless. 

I think if you knew who I was, you’d hate me. 

The admission felt horrifically vulnerable. He could practically hear his heart hammering in his head as he saw letters slowly form on his other arm. 

Well...You don't know that. I’ve befriended villains before, so I doubt I'd HATE you.

Red Son snorted. Villains was a bit of a dramatic term. He probably befriended a particularly mean coworker. His soulmate wasn’t finished writing though. 

I mean, if you start being like, a complete asshole again, I'd be pissed, but if you've done bad stuff that you regret now, that's not a big deal. As long as you're trying to be better now, right? 

Red Son rolled his eyes. Those were ridiculously low standards. Still though, even if he doubted his soulmate truly knew what he’d be getting into if he knew, a part of Red Son’s chest felt a little warmer as he wrote. 

I’ll keep that in mind.  

He yawned as he scrawled some more writing out on his ankle. 

Goodnight, soulmate. You should get some sleep too, wherever you are. 

Red Son put his pen and glasses on his nightstand and pulled up the covers, fully prepared to fall asleep, when he saw writing form on the back of his hand. He moved his hand closer, squinting to read. 

My name’s Xiaotian. 

You don’t have to tell me your name yet or anything. But, I figured you should know. I’m Xiaotian. 

…Huh. Red Son laid back on his pillow, staring up at the ceiling. Xiaotian. Xiaotian. Red Son sounded out the syllables to himself, murmuring so softly he couldn’t even hear it. Xiaotian. Xiaotian. That’s the name of his soulmate, his artist, his gardener. Xiaotian. Xiaotian. 

…His name was Little Heaven? 

Red Son put on his glasses, grabbed his pen, and wrote across his wrist. 

Please tell me you didn’t name yourself after the Monkey King’s stupid self-inscribed title. 

Red Son’s soulmate took a solid minute to reply. 

I was seven and I thought he was cool, okay? 

Red Son groaned. He knew humans were obsessed with the Monkey King, but really, naming yourself after the Great Sage Equal to Heaven felt excessive. Even MK wasn’t that moronic. Or at least, he hoped that was the case. MK hadn’t told Red Son his actual name quite yet–he wouldn’t be surprised if it was something stupid like Xiao Wukong. 

Red Son sighed as he flipped his hand over to write. 

Goodnight Xiaotian. I heard name changes are cheap. 

Even though Red Son’s soulmate wrote back to him, he didn’t bother checking, placing his pen and glasses back on his night stand. He turned off the light and curled into bed, the feel of pen against his skin surprisingly soothing. 

Red Son never got enough sleep. He’d tinker late in the night, but he never used that as an excuse to sleep in. He’d wake up early, either to meditate as the sun rose or to finish up whatever he’d been tinkering with a couple hours before. 

Red Son’s parents were by no means late sleepers, but it wasn’t entirely uncommon for him to be up first, trudging down the hall to the bathroom. And that seemed to be the case today–maybe they’d spent all night watching that reality show his mother had grown so fond of. 

Red Son yawned as the torches flickered, rubbing what few hours of sleep he had out of his eyes. He really needed to get better with time management. You’d think after being alive for over five hundred years, he’d get a decent circadian rhythm. He grumbled to himself as he washed his face, the cold water refreshing enough that it actually helped him. He glanced at himself in the mirror so he could start working on his bed head when-

…Oh. 

Xiaotian hadn’t washed off any of his words. And neither had Red Son. So their conversation remained, scattered across Red Son’s limbs in a frenzied route only they could understand. 

Oh. Gods. Red Son slipped his robe off so he was just in his white undershirt. It gave him a much better view of the conversation that scaled his arms, both of their handwriting shaky whenever they used their nondominant hand. 

This was what I wanted, wasn’t it? The thought occurred to him as he traced the letters of his soulmate’s name on the back of his hand. A soulmate I could talk to? Conversations covering my arm? Smelling vaguely like ink in the morning? It still wasn’t exactly what he’d dreamed of, of course–he certainly hadn’t foreseen a human. But surely, this was close to it. His soulmate was warm and eager to speak to him. And even if they were human, and Red Son still felt uneasy about really letting them in this-this was a start, right? This was the first step to everything he wanted? 

…Shouldn’t he be more excited? 

If this was truly what he'd been longing for since he was a child, if one of his earliest memories smelled of ink, then surely, he should be a bit more excited about this, right? When Red Son’s father returned, he cackled with glee, a massive grin stretched so widely across his face that it hurt. Which made sense, of course, he’d been trying to get his father back for centuries. But he’d wanted this for even longer, didn’t he? So why wasn’t he bouncing around the walls of the bathroom right now? 

Maybe because it wasn’t exactly what he wanted? Well, no, that didn’t make sense–even though his family hadn’t taken over the world with his father’s revival, the reunion itself was a precious thing. Even if his relationship with his soulmate was complicated, the fact that they were talking, really talking, surely should have meant something, right? 

But…no. He didn’t feel excited. As Red Son looked down at the conversation that covered his body, he didn’t feel any of the ecstatic joy that used to bubble in his stomach when he fantasized about his soulmate, even though this was what he’d always dreamed of–what he always wanted. 

This-this was what he wanted, right? 

Something in Red Son's stomach churned uneasily. He wasn't sure how to explain exactly what he was feeling right now. But he tried not to focus too much on it as he prepared his shower. He had to wash off his half of their conversation as soon as possible–he didn’t exactly need his parents learning his secret over breakfast. Red Son used to worry about hiding the art on his skin in the morning whenever his soulmate didn’t have time to wash off, but thankfully, he’d started waking up at a decent time. Not as early as Red Son, but early enough that he was confident there’d be no revelations over the mantou.

Xiaotian's sleep schedule had been getting better, actually. Apparently, Xiaotian's friend had been on his case about waking up at a decent time so he could get ready for work properly, rather than just speed through his routine in five minutes. Red Son agreed. He couldn’t count how many times he’d told off MK for being such an idiot. 

I should hope MK wakes up early. He snorted to himself as he got in the shower. If I have to wait for him any longer than ten minutes in front of that filthy movie theater, I’m leaving. MK had been bothering Mei and Red Son about some new animated movie adaptation of Monkey King’s encounter with the Six Eared Macaque, and apparently the morning showing was the cheapest. So, after breakfast, Red Son would be racing to Megapolis to see them. 

Red Son didn’t care much about seeing the movie, but he accepted for a while now that he couldn’t really say no to MK. Not when he rambled on about the head animator’s art direction with a wide grin, or when his eyes sparkled when he recalled the story to Red Son. MK’s joy was honestly contagious. Even though Red Son would rather find a desert cactus to sit on than willingly spend money to watch a Monkey King vanity project, he found himself looking forward to it.

Or maybe, he was just looking forward to being with MK. Red Son scrubbed the words off his arms, the soapsuds dyed slightly by the ink. He was always eager to spend a little more time with him.

Chapter Text

Red Son liked his soulmate. 

That statement felt so jarring. Red Son always felt like the floor beneath him was shifting when he thought about it. But, it was true. He liked his soulmate. He’d taken the completely moronic route of getting to know his soulmate despite every convention, every tradition, every demon protocol that insisted on his weakness telling him he’d be a fool to do so. And it was…honestly…nice to have Xiaotian in his life. 

Xiaotian was kind. He was cheerful. He was stupid in a way that Red Son was unfortunately endeared to. He was all too forgiving of Red Son, who really didn’t deserve their playful conversations or gorgeous art. Even though Red Son was hesitant to let Xiaotian close, he didn’t regret trying to repair things. 

More and more often, Red Son would have to tug up his sleeves to hide their talks from that afternoon during dinner. He’d spend his mornings scrubbing the ink off his arms, waiting as Xiaotian did the same on the other side. He was half tempted to buy a secret purchase of demon-made pens created just for talking with your soulmate, so it would be easier to wipe his banter away without irritating his skin. 

Red Son had his reservations about being a soulmate, but with time, he was surprised to see their foundations were far less stable than he thought. A part of him just wanted to blame MK for that. It seemed like MK was the catalyst for every change in Red Son. This was no exception. 

But, Red Son had changed too, on his own volition. MK had called him a hero–his hero–but Red Son was the one who chose to train Mei to harness the Samadhi Fire. MK had only told Red Son to stop being a “complete asshole” to his soulmate. Red Son chose to take the careful steps to this fragile new dynamic. Maybe Red Son was terrible at ignoring things, and maybe MK could read him like a billboard, but at the end of the day, he chose to act on his own. 

Sure, maybe being bonded to Xiaotian made Red Son weak. Maybe he really was as inadequate as he always believed himself to be. But…that wasn’t Xiaotian’s fault. If Red Son wanted to be a half-decent soulmate, someone even slightly good or loving or caring, he wouldn’t punish his soulmate for being bonded with him. 

Honestly? MK had a point about soulmates. Red Son had carved a space out for Xiaotian, something small and comfortable which he kept behind closed doors. Even if they hadn’t become particularly close, Xiaotian seemed glad that they were talking at all. Xiaotian might only be in his life for a couple decades, but surely, it was better to be a canvas for that flicker of time than a blank slate forever. So if the two of them were happy, what did being weak even matter?

But it wasn’t…he wasn’t… fuck. 

Maybe Red Son was an idiot to think that it would be anything like he expected it to be as a kid. Things were different, after all. Far more complicated and dreary, in part because of his own villainy. But surely, this should’ve felt…it should’ve been a bit more exciting, right? 

Don’t get Red Son wrong–this was a massive shift in his life. It was a change he’d never expected to ever make. And he was happy with it. But considering how much he’d pined for this, dreamed of this–he expected himself to…to feel more about it. 

This was what he wanted, wasn’t it? Lengthy conversation running up and down his arms? An actual soulmate he spoke to regularly? Its not like he’d grown out of that desire–he was more than aware of what he wanted by the roots that curled in his ribcage. Shouldn’t he be a bit more giddy?  

Maybe it wasn’t as intimate as he dreamed of, but it was closer to his childhood wants than anything ever before, wasn’t it? His plans never worked out, but this was the best he could offer at the moment. Shouldn’t he be happy with the closest thing he could get? Red Son was talking to his soulmate–a soulmate who he liked, and who liked him. He’d wake up to bubbly rants on his legs, to banter from the night before on his arms, doodles of chickens and monkeys and pigs and cows marching along his collarbone. Why wasn’t that enough? 

Maybe it was because he wasn’t more intimate with Xiaotian? Maybe the walls he built for them were keeping him from being truly happy? But-but-even if that was something he intended to do, crumbling down the fortress brick by brick, surely he should be happy with where they were at now, right? It was still his soulmate, cheerful and eager and kind and too forgiving. And even if he wasn’t open about everything, it was still him. If things were normal and Xiaotian was a demon, they’d still have that same initial talking stage of slowly getting to know each other. Surely, the act of writing to each other alone should be enough to sate the ache in Red Son’s chest, shouldn’t it? 

Was he just looking at this with rose-tinted glasses? Was he too old to truly feel that sort of bubbly, ecstatic joy that he once had as a child? If that was true, it honestly sounded a bit depressing. Here he was closer to what he’d wanted than ever before, and he couldn’t even bring himself to be cheery over it. 

But when he first saw his soulmate’s stumbling run on sentences, he remembered a childish glee beginning to rise back from the dead, which was only snuffed by the reveal that Xiaotian was a human. The issues that held Red Son back were growing smaller with each day, but that glee hadn’t returned. 

This…this was what he wanted, wasn’t it? Well, that was a stupid question, of course it was. He’d spent countless hours in the big and quiet and lonely halls of his childhood home writing on his arms, dreaming of a day someone would write back. And now, someone was writing back, so what was the issue here? 

Red Son scrubbed his half of last night’s conversation off his arms. Late in the evening, he and Xiaotian shared old childhood memories. Xiaotian had mentioned how he learned to cook from his dad, recalling memories of kneading noodle dough and sealing dumplings shut early in the morning before his restaurant opened. And in turn, Red Son spoke about cooking with his own father, about how he used to sit on his shoulders and watch DBK massage a large cut of meat with spices so hot the air made him sneeze. 

Xiaotian had made an off hand remark about how one day, if they ever did meet, he’d treat Red Son to a bowl of his father’s home cooked noodles. And even though Red Son doubted they’d meet for a long time, he hadn’t exactly refused. Instead, he’d written out a snarky reply on the back of his hand.

I doubt your father’s noodles are spicy enough for my tastes.

The response was faded now, Red Son’s hand covered in soap suds. He continued to wash the words away, leaving nothing but the faint scent of cloves and patchouli behind. Xiaotian had already washed the conversation off him the night before, so all that was left was Red Son’s responses. But there was one small note from Xiaotian, a cheery Good morning :D  curled into the crease of Red Son’s elbow. 

Red Son stared at it as he showered, his stomach churning with… something, but not the right thing . Honestly, he’d thrown himself into such a fit trying to figure out why he wasn’t excited that it started to feel distressing. If this alone wasn’t enough to satisfy the dreams he had, the flowers in his chest, then would anything be enough? 

The question lingered on throughout breakfast and into the late morning as Red Son found a quiet place in the Demon Bull Fortress to meditate. Hopefully, it would help him calm down, sort out his wayward emotions until he could focus on actually dealing with the issue. He brought his smartphone along with him purely by accident–he’d been watching a VOD of Mei’s livestream from last week earlier that morning, and he’d simply forgotten to place it back in its usual spot in his workshop. But he figured it wouldn’t be too much of an issue anyways. 

At least he thought it wouldn’t be an issue until about twenty minutes in. 

Red Son’s phone vibrated in his pocket, buzzing against his thigh. It was a distraction, sure, but those happen in meditation. He’d acknowledge it before letting it pass, allowing himself to settle back into-

His phone vibrated even more now. Red Son could only assume Mei and MK were trying to contact him. He grunted, trying his best to ignore it for a minute before digging his hand into his pockets and tossing his phone in a random direction. 

His parents wouldn’t bother him when meditating, so the chances they’d barge in and find the phone wherever he threw it was low. The phone kept buzzing on the floor, but it was further away, easier to ignore. Meaning that now, Red Son had nothing to distract him, and he could return to-

Red Son’s phone started to ring. He let out a shout, hair flaring up as he stomped over to his phone and picked it up. “What do you WANT, Noodle B-?!” 

Before Red Son could even finish his sentence, the Noodle Boy was shouting in his ear, words so excited that he couldn’t actually hear what he was saying. He didn’t sound in distress or anything, but it was still incomprehensible. Red Son’s irritation was replaced with confusion as he tried to talk through MK’s babbling. “Can you slow–MK–that’s not–what did you say?” 

MK continued to rant incoherently to Red Son before finally yelling so loudly that it probably blew the poor smart phone’s speakers. “IT'S SNOWING!”

Red Son should’ve destroyed his smartphone months ago. “What.” 

“There’s an issue going on with the weather station, so it started snowing a ton. ” MK explained. “Apparently, it's gonna be like this all week. There’s snow plows all over the city–there’s like six inches already!” 

Oh. So there was an issue going on. Red Son straightened his back, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. “MK, I took over the Weather Station one time a year ago. I can try to repair whatever malfunction’s happening, but it’s by no means an area of expertise-” 

“I’m not asking you to fix it.” MK stopped him. 

Red Son paused, confused now. “But surely, a malfunction in the Weather Station is a bad thing? You’re the hero Noodle Boy–shouldn’t you be trying to get it fixed?” 

MK’s voice got a bit sheepish. “I mean, it’s snowing hard enough that Pigsy said I could take the week off, so I’m not trying to get it fixed sooner. ” 

Red Son snorted at that. For all of his heroics, MK was still more than capable of being a bit selfish when he wanted to be. 

“Plus, they’ve got people on it!” MK said. “People who know way more stuff about that than me. So while I appreciate your super-heroic-initiative to go fix the weather station-” he cooed that last phrase, a hint of smugness in his voice, “That’s not why I called you.” 

Red Son cursed to himself. He did sort of volunteer himself to fix the Weather Station. And to think last year he tried to use it for villain work. He grumbled. Even if he couldn’t deny his more heroic tendencies, it was still embarrassing to hear MK admit it. “So if you’re not calling me to fix the Weather Station, then what’s all this about?” 

 “I wanted to hang out.” MK replied.

Red Son scoffed. “You realize if Pigsy’s closing shop, that means everyone is, right? There aren’t any arcades or miserable food places we can go to.”

“I know.” MK said. “That’s why we’re going to Mei’s to play in the snow.” 

Red Son sputtered. That’s what this was about?! “You called me to play in the snow with you like we’re toddlers? ” 

“It’ll be fun!” MK insisted. “It hasn’t snowed like this in ages, As long as we don’t ruin any of the shrubbery, Mei said the celestial jade garden at her parents' house is fair game for a snowball fight.” 

Red Son pinched the bridge of his nose. “MK, I can’t ‘play in the snow with you.’” It felt absurd to even say that out loud. 

“Yeah you can!” MK insisted. “Okay, if you're busy today, that’s fine, it’s gonna be snowy all week, so you can’t wiggle your way out of this.” 

“No, you don’t-” Red Son covered his face in his hand. “I literally can’t play in the snow. It’s just going to melt if it gets too close to me.” He clicked his tongue in annoyance. “I know you have the memory of a goldfish, but surely you remember the time you got ice cream on my coat?” 

MK huffed. “Okay one, I’m nothing like a goldfish-”

Red Son snorted at that. He still remembered MK’s rant about the Goldfish demon he met out in the desert who almost scammed him for everything he had–literally.

“-Two I didn’t get the ice cream on your coat, it just melted onto it-" Red Son was fully prepared to fight MK on that, but he kept talking. "-And three, sure, maybe I did forget, but that doesn’t mean you can’t come over and hang out with us!” 

Red Son scoffed. “What am I supposed to do, stand there as your personal heater?” 

“Maybe!” MK didn’t even hesitate with his response, making Red Son sputter. The memory of MK’s hand on his face in the bustling bakery flashed in his head. His ponytail sparked at the thought of MK face flushed from the cold, hands on Red Son’s cheeks. 

“Come on, it’ll be fun!” MK insisted. “It’s not like we’re gonna be out in the snow the whole time anyways. Mei’s been working on her motorcycle all morning. Maybe you guys can nerd out over tires together.”

Red Son was about to remind MK that he still couldn’t play in the snow when a thought occurred to him. Maybe Mei couldn’t either. 

She had the Samadhi Fire after all. Back when Red Son controlled the Samadhi Fire, they never had to worry about clearing up any snowfall by the palace when he was burning the halls to ash. Even though Mei controlled the fire much better than he did, there was a solid chance that the snow would melt around her feet all the same. If that was the case, then surely it’d be miserable for her to sit while MK rolled around in the snow like a dog. 

The Samadhi Fire was a lonely burden for Red Son, and even though it wasn’t nearly as lonely for Mei, it still changed things for her. He wouldn’t be surprised if snow days had become a lost treasure for her. If Red Son was there, at the very least she’d have company who understood, to some degree.

“Plus, you can consider coming over as a birthday gift.” MK added. 

Red Son snorted. “A birthday gift to who, exactly?” 

“To me.” He replied. 

Red Son almost dropped his phone. “What do you mean it’s your birthday?!” 

“Okay, to be fair, it’s not my birthday. Probably. Pigsy isn’t totally sure when I was born–” MK said that bit of info was said like it was completely normal – “But usually we do something small around this time of year anyways.” 

Red Son felt dizzy. “Why didn’t you tell me?!” 

“I forgot.” MK replied shamelessly. Red Son tried his best to keep any goldfish-related insults under wraps.

“It’s not a big deal though." MK assured him. "Like I said, I don’t really do much for it– kind of hard to celebrate a birthday when you don’t totally know what day it is.”

That was–that–Red Son was definitely interrogating MK on that further. How on earth did MK not know his own birthday?

To be fair, Red Son should’ve brought it up at some point. He’d known MK for over a year now, and they'd been friends for months, but there wasn’t a peep about birthday parties. It was something he thought about in passing, but he never got around to actually asking MK for a specific date. Apparently, he wouldn’t have gotten one if he tried. 

It wasn’t like Red Son made all that big a deal of his birthday either. His father used to insist on celebrating it, able to recite the story of Red Son’s birth down to the minute. But once he was imprisoned, Princess Iron Fan and Red Son abandoned such family traditions. It was mostly due to efficiency–Princess Iron Fan didn’t care for parties if they couldn’t aid in amassing power, and considering how atrocious Red Son was at public gatherings it wasn’t worth the effort to throw some gala in his name. But even if they wanted to, Red Son doubted he or his mother would bother celebrating. How could they, when his father wasn’t there to celebrate with them? 

This year though, Red Son did celebrate his birthday. It was a small dinner of Red Son’s favorite childhood foods, cooked by his father. He’d gotten a handful of small gifts from them–incense to light while meditating, a new set of screws, a silk robe, gold and garnet necklaces–but he treasured them immensely.

Red Son didn’t expect any birthday celebration though, so he’d never bothered mentioning it to Mei and MK until weeks later when Mei commented on his hair smelling of incense. Red Son told her it was a birthday present, only for the two of them to practically fall over themselves demanding why he hadn’t said anything sooner. At the time, he was confused about why they even cared about missing his birthday, but talking to MK now, the tables seemed to be turned. 

Red Son sighed dramatically. Maybe he would die before his soulmate. Maybe MK would say something so stupid his heart would finally give out. “Alright. Fine. I’ll be there soon.” 

MK cheered from the other side of the phone. Red Son rolled his eyes, trying not to focus on the lingering irritation melting away at MK’s joy. 

“And by the way: don’t say that I’m ‘nerding out.’” He sneered. “I don’t want to hear that from the Monkey King fanboy. ”

“I mean, if I’m a Monkey King nerd, that doesn’t make you less of a nerd.” MK pointed out. “Plus, nerds are super smart, so I’m taking this as you admitting I’m not stupid.”

Red Son sputtered as he hung up the call. He tried to ignore the little spike in his heart rate over MK technically calling him smart. 

Things were fine when they were inside. Red Son and Mei would discuss her motorcycle modifications while MK scrolled on his phone, interrupting at sporadic moments to show off a puppy video. And okay, maybe he did nerd out about tires a little bit to Mei when he came over. But to be fair, Mei had asked him for recommendations on tires with the best traction, and he couldn’t help it. But she was knowledgeable about motorcycles, so she was able to keep up, writing down Red Son’s comments on her phone. And even though MK couldn’t keep up in quite the same way, he still sat on the floor of Mei’s garage, listening to Red Son talk eagerly. 

For lunch, one of the Long family’s private chefs made dumpling soup. Red Son took one bite and almost melted on the dining room table. The broth was a rich vegetable stock that was heavy on the garlic and ginger. The dumplings were filled with mushrooms, cabbage, and lamb, not quite as seasoned as he’d like, but the quality commendable nevertheless. No wonder the Dragon Girl had such a voracious appetite-if Red Son ate like this his whole life, he'd be a glutton. 

It was nice spending time with Mei and MK, the three of them shouting at each other across the luxurious dining room table. Red Son’s stomach felt warm as he ate, although he tried his best to avoid the splash zone and Mei and MK dug in. At least MK had the excuse of being a peasant. He took a sip of some green tea and sighed, content despite the chaotic conversation around him. It was so cozy and comfortable that Red Son almost forgot why MK invited him in the first place. 

But then, MK started talking about snowball fights. And Mei was always down to beat MK in a game. So she grabbed a coat, threw open the door to the celestial jade garden, and ran outside.

Oh. Red Son watched as Mei ran across a snow-covered bridge in the garden, MK trailing along behind her. 

She was fine. The snow hadn’t evaporated with each step she made. When she slid across the frozen-over stream in her garden, she didn’t fall into the river. The Samadhi Fire had no effect on her ability to run around in the snow. 

Of course it didn’t. Mei could actually control the Samadhi Fire, unlike him. And it’s not like her body temperature shot up to Red Son’s once the four rings combined. Whether it was thanks to her dragon ancestry, her own abilities, or a mixture of both, Mei had no issue as she balled some snow up in her gloved hands and chucked it at MK. 

Hesitantly, Red Son took a step outside. The snow had reached the middle of his calves, but within minutes it had melted away, the stone pathway and the grass around it visible now. His body temperature was hot enough that there was a small radius of melting snow around Red Son, the snowflakes evaporating seconds after they touched his coat. . 

Red Son watched as Mei slid across the frozen river with ease, pelting MK with snowballs. MK dodged them without issue, but he wasn’t as used to skating on ice with nothing but his ratty converse unfit for such weather. He immediately slipped and fell on his ass, but he didn’t seem to mind, laughing out loud. Red Son looked at MK as his face split into a grin, reaching his hand out for Mei to help him up. 

Red Son knew it was foolish of him to try, but he bent down anyways, dipping his hands into the unmelted snow near him to try and form it into a ball. It was fruitless of course–the snow kept melting in his hands, water, running down his wrist and into his sleeve. By the time he actually formed a ball, it was so small that it wasn’t really worth doing anything with.

He huffed as he sat at the doorway, watching Mei and MK run around the garden hucking snowballs at each other. He knew this would happen. Of course it would. He’d explained to MK that he couldn’t play in snow the way they could, but MK still insisted he’d come anyway. Frankly, Red Son didn’t see why he turned around and went home now. 

Well, he knew why. MK had asked him to come. Even if he wasn’t really spending time with Red Son right now, it’s not like Red Son could really say no to him. He supposed MK just had him wrapped around his finger like that. 

Okay, well, that phrase felt like a bit much. He had a feeling that if he ever told that to Mei he’d have another conversation about how friends aren’t supposed to feel that way about friends. But-well-whatever, it wasn’t wrong, but he really didn’t have it in him to think about his whole thing with MK right now. 

To be honest, the longer Red Son sat there, the less he wanted to. It honestly felt a bit pathetic to just loiter at the doorstep while Mei and MK had their fun. Normally, they dragged Red Son into whatever inane activity they were doing, but they really couldn’t do that–if Red Son joined them in the snow fight, they’d lose their ammo in about half an hour. And he doubted they wanted their snow day fun cut down that quickly. 

There was an ache in Red Son’s chest, like someone had twisted his heart to wring him out. It was a familiar pain, but it still took him a minute to recognize the feeling. It’d been a while since he’d felt lonely, but sitting at the doorway of the celestial jade garden, he couldn’t help but feel left out. 

Some small part of Red Son sneered at that. You used to find their childish ideas of fun to be miserable. But now you’re sad you can’t play in the snow? That might be the saddest part of this mess.  Red Son curled his lip into a frown. It really was sort of pathetic. 

Red Son stood up from the doorway, fully prepared to yell out that he was needed at home for something, when he saw Mei and MK bounding over to him. 

“Red Boy!” Mei called out as she ran up to him. She grabbed his shoulders to steady herself from falling in the snow. “I’m gonna grab something to drink. You want anything?” 

“N-no, thank you.” Red Son replied. “That's not necessary.” 

“Okay!!” Mei grinned. “If you change your mind, just holler." She gave Red Son’s back a particularly hard smack before running inside. He winced at the impact as MK finally caught up to him. 

Red Son expected MK to go inside the house and get something to drink with Mei, but instead, he put his hands on Red Son’s face. His brain short-circuited as MK’s hands practically cradled his face, thumbs brushing against his cheekbones. 

MK shivered, a puff of cold air escaping his chapped lips. “I think my fingers are gonna freeze off.” 

Red Son huffed. Right. Red Son was here for another purpose–to be MK’s personal heater. Why MK couldn’t just go inside to warm up was beyond him. Whatever. He supposed MK needed it anyways–he had thrown on a large brown jacket over his usual clothes, warmer than his typical get up but not nearly enough given how heavy the snow was falling. He still wore the same obnoxious jacket, bright red pants, ratty converse, (Red Son could only hope he wasn’t wearing socks with holes this time.) and though he’d been tossing snowballs around, he didn’t wear mittens like Mei did.

Red Son scoffed. “Shouldn't you be wearing gloves if you’re going to throw snow around all day?” 

MK shrugged. “I mean, I guess, but it’ll be fine.” He squished Red Son’s cheeks as he spoke. “Plus, you’re here to warm me up, right?” 

The back of Red Son’s neck burned as MK smiled at him, face flushed from the cold. He tried not to focus on how snowflakes clung to MK’s hair or how the warmth of MK’s hands somehow permeated through the chill. 

If Red Son let MK hold his face like this for any longer, he’d go insane–insane enough to possibly sit here for who knows how long until MK needed to warm up again. And frankly, he wasn’t going to let himself be that pathetic.

“I’m sure the Dragon Girl has gloves that you can borrow.” Red Son grabbed MK’s wrists and pried him off. “I’m going to head home anyways.” 

“Awww, what?” MK pouted. “Why’re you leaving?” 

While Red Son originally planned to just lie his way out, he couldn’t help but scoff. “What, you thought I’d just sit here doing nothing? If I wanted to watch you and the Pony Girl acting like morons, I’d watch one of Mei’s livestreams.” 

“Oh.” MK’s expression flickered into a frown. “Right.” He looked down at the stone path that revealed itself from Red Son’s body heat. “You really weren’t kidding about melting all the snow, huh?” 

“Of course I wasn’t.” Red Son scoffed, crossing his arms. “But, it’s no matter. It’s beneath me to play such peasant games.” 

Right. It was pathetic that he wanted to join in. He was better off going home and working on something actually productive. So he’d do just that.

He turned around and opened the door to Mei’s home. “I’m going to tell the Dragon Girl goodbye, and then I’ll be on my way–” 

Red Son was about to go back inside when MK grabbed his sleeve. “Wait.” He looked up at Red Son, eyes pleading and… remorseful? 

“...I’m sorry we left you out.” MK said. “I'm sorry I left you out. Sometimes I get so excited about doing a thing, that I forget about how other people feel. I wanted you here so I could spend time with you. So, I'm sorry I haven't been doing that.” He stared at Red Son, lip trembling from the cold as his eyes reflected the light of Mei’s home. 

Red Son stammered a bit, trying weakly to shake MK off him and failing miserably. “I told you, I didn’t want to join you playing in the snow.” He said. “I-it’s for toddlers and peasants. So while it’s suitable for you, it’s far below me. ” He tried to add his usual pomp to the insult, but for some reason that only made MK hold onto him tighter. 

“I’m serious, Red Son. I don’t wanna leave you out.” MK’s fingers fidgeted with Red Son’s coat sleeve. “And I know you didn’t come here just to do nothing. So, I’m sorry you’ve been doing nothing. I should've tried to have fun with you.” 

Red Son could count on his hand the few times anyone had sincerely apologized to him. Most of those apologies were from MK. But this one felt different. Overwhelmingly different. 

Red Son was used to quietly putting his wants to the side. He left his dreams of a soulmate in old childhood walls. He put all his effort into the wants and dreams of his family. The fact that he never made friends was by no means something he was happy with, but he knew he had more important things to prioritize than what he wanted. 

So hearing someone apologize for not prioritizing him? It felt…it felt…

There was an ache in Red Son’s chest as he stared at MK. A paradoxically comforting pain, as soothing as the heat which always ran up the back of Red Son’s neck whenever he looked at MK for too long. That intensity was there again, the tumultuous emotions Red Son wasn’t quite able to name. It rocked Red Son to his core. 

Red Son had to blink away what was surely tears. MK always managed to surprise him, didn’t he? He always threw him off his feet. 

“...Your apology isn’t necessary.” Red Son murmured. “You wanted to enjoy yourself in the snow, and you wanted to spend time with me.” He snorted a bit. “It’s not your fault I melt all the snow in a one foot radius.” 

“Yeah, it’s honestly pretty surprising.” MK said, pulling at the fabric of Red Son's clothes. “You’re so warm that your coat’s still dry–”

Suddenly, MK’s eyes lit up. He looked up at Red Son with a wide grin. “Wait.” 

Oh no. Red Son could feel a groan escaping his throat as he saw what few gears existed in MK’s head moving. “If you touch snow, it’ll melt. But snow can touch you for a little bit, right?” 

Red Son gave MK a baffled look. “What does that even me -umph! ” 

Before Red Son could even finish his sentence, MK had grabbed a small handful of snow and hucked it at his chest. Red Son flared up in anger, the snow melting and the water drying immediately. “What was THA-?!” 

“See!!” MK pointed at his chest where the snowball hit. “The snow touched you for a bit before melting. You can't touch snow, but snow can touch you.” 

MK moved past Red Son to wrench the door to Mei’s home open. “I have an idea. I’m gonna talk to Mei about it. Stay here, okay?” 

Red Son had half a mind to leave the moment MK bounded inside. But MK had asked him to stay, so of course he did. He didn’t have to wait all that long. After about five minutes, MK ran back outside. He expected MK to actually explain what happened, but instead, he grabbed Red Son by the waist and scooped him over his shoulder like he weighed nothing. 

Red Son squawked, face bright red as his hands landed on MK’s back and his knees smacked MK’s chest. This was unseemly. “NOODLE BOY! What’re you doing? !” He hissed. “Put me down! ” 

“I will in a minute!” MK ran across the bridge to the highest vantage point of the celestial jade garden. “If I let you walk around, you’re gonna melt the snow.” 

Red Son sputtered. He wasn’t wrong, but surely, he could’ve chosen a more dignified option than carrying Red Son like a sack of rice. He groaned in agony as MK’s hold on him tightened. The Long family definitely had security cameras in the celestial jade garden. His humiliation was likely being recorded.  Meaning it was only a matter of time before Mei saw it. 

Eventually though, MK did put him down at the far end of the garden on a small slope. The snow around Red Son began to melt, but MK didn’t seem to mind, crouching down near Red Son to start making an arsenal of snowballs. 

“You know, changing my vantage point doesn’t really help with including me in your little snow fight.” Red Son sneered. 

“Well, I had to move you. If one of us threw a snowball at you when you were by the door, it might break something. And I do not want to break one of Mei’s parent’s things.” he shuddered. “This part of the garden has the least amount of priceless ancient artifacts.” 

“Wh-you say that like you’re making me join in.” Red Son tilted his head as he watched MK ball the snow up with his bare hands. “In case you somehow managed to forget in the last five minutes, I can’t touch any snow.” 

“But!!” MK raised a finger up. “Snow can touch you. ” He smiled. “Meaning that we can hit you in a snowball fight, but you can't hit us.” 

Red Son’s mouth fell open. "Are you planning to use me as some sort of snow ball punching bag-?!"

"No no no!" MK raised his hands up in defense. "Let me explain."

He pointed back out at the celestial garden. “Here’s the new game: Mei’s getting her sword right now–”

Red Son let out a shout. “Her sword?! ”

“It’ll make it more exciting.” MK shrugged this off like using an ancestral family sword as a plaything was normal. “But yeah, she’s going to try to hit you with a snowball. The thing is, since you can’t touch snow, you can’t fight back. Which is why I’m gonna try and defend you.” MK put his hand on his chest with a grin, dramatically tipping his head back. 

Red Son did what he could not to kick MK down the hill. 

“If Mei tries to attack you from long range, you can shoot the snow out with a fireball or something, but you can also tell me where she is.” MK explained. “That way, I can stop her from hitting you.” 

“And when she inevitably does hit me?” Red Son crossed his arms. 

“Then you dry off and we switch sides.” MK said. “And we keep doing that until you’re bored, and we find some other thing to do with you.” He smiled at Red Son. "Do you think you'd have fun playing that?" 

…Oh. That’s what was going on. MK was trying to make a game that Red Son could actually play. He couldn’t participate in a normal snowball fight, So ever creative, ever friendly, ever loving, MK worked around it so that Red Son could join in on the fun. 

And that was–that was– fuck–

Red Son swallowed down the emotions that bubbled up in his throat. “Well, you’re going to need a bigger arsenal than that if the Dragon Girl’s using her sword.” Red Son pointed at the small pile of snowballs on the ground. 

“Oh, don’t worry.” MK grinned. “I’ve got this.” 

As if on cue, Mei burst out of her house, sword in hand as she bounded over to MK and Red Son. With a flick of his hand, MK pulled the staff out of his ear–yet another weapon that should’ve had better use than playtime– and charged. 

A part of Red Son was worried that he still wouldn’t have much to do in this new game, but honestly, he found himself getting into it very quickly. Whenever Mei launched a snowball from across the garden to him, he’d shoot a flame back at it, the snow losing its shape and momentum before plummeting to the earth. He’d shout orders out to MK– on your left, duck your head, don’t hit the bridge– and MK would move accordingly. He had a feeling that the three of them definitely damaged at least one priceless artifact, but Red Son was enjoying himself enough that he didn't worry about it. 

Mei was a tough foe, of course–she was always a force to be reckoned with on or off the battlefield–but Red Son found that he and MK made a surprisingly good team. Red Son knew how best to play defense, and MK always had a few clever tricks up his sleeve. So they were able to hold their own against Mei, even though she by no means made it easy. Good. Red Son wasn’t one to balk at a challenge. 

It was fun. It was really fun. When Red Son used to play alone in his childhood mansion, babbling to himself and to a soulmate who could never reply, he tried to make some joy in his lonely halls. He didn’t expect to play with someone ever again after his father was imprisoned. Was this what he’d been missing out on this whole time? Adrenaline in his veins, a smile on his face, MK's voice calling his name? It was honestly better than he could've imagined. 

Red Son ducked his head as a snowball flew past him, a cackle escaping his lips. “Come on, Dragon Girl!” Red Son jeered, a grin stretched so widely across his face that his cheek bones hurt. “You can do better than that! I thought I trained you to be somewhat decent at combat, but apparently a child’s game is too much for you!” 

“ OHHH!! ” Mei clambered up on top on the wooden bridge’s railings, tossing a snowball in her hand and gripping her sword with the other. “Red Boy wants to talk combat??? Lemme school you on something, oh wise master!!” She began to pull her hand back, preparing herself to launch the snowball. “Here comes White Horse Dragon Girl Snowball Attack!!” 

Red Son was about to jeer at Mei for having such an unnecessarily long attack name when she hucked the snowball across the garden. It shot straight towards him, surprising him enough that he forgot to summon a fire to retaliate. Red Son shut his eyes and steeled himself for the impact when MK launched himself in front of him. 

The good news was, MK took the snowball straight in the chest, meaning it didn’t hit Red Son. The bad news was, MK lost his footing enough that he tumbled back onto Red Son. MK’s weight made Red Son fall down, the back of his head smacking against the quickly fallen snow. MK was splayed on top of Red Son, groaning something about how his shirt felt wet. 

“You guys alright??” Mei called out from afar. 

MK sat up a bit, his hand on Red Son’s chest. “We’re alright!” 

Red Son grumbled as he lifted his head up from the snow. “Speak for yourself. I didn’t ask for you to bulldoze me.” 

MK looked back at him with a cheeky grin. “Come on, it was kind of cool jumping in the line of fire. Or snow, I guess.” 

“Absolutely not.” Red Son deadpanned. “If anything, you probably gave yourself a cold with that move alone.” 

“Probably.” MK laughed. “But, you didn’t get hit right?” He patted Red Son’s chest. “So it was worth it.” 

Red Son snorted. “I don’t see how getting yourself sick is worth it.” 

“Well–” MK dusted some snow off his shoulders as he clambered off Red Son. “If Mei hit you, that would mean I’d have to switch with her.” He stood up and stretched his back. “And I don't wanna to do that.” 

Red Son raised his brow as he sat up. “You made the game up, Noodle Boy. They're your rules to follow." 

MK chuckled, running a hand through his hair and shaking the snowflakes out of it. “I know, I know.” He held his hand out to help Red Son get up. “It’s just more fun being by your side.” 

Red Son wanted to retort that MK wouldn’t really know that, considering he hadn’t tried. But, that wasn’t really true, was it? A year ago they were enemies, exchanging blows in the weather station as storms brewed below them. And now, they were in the snow, playing like children. Red Son. Playing like a child. The thought sent a wave of emotion through Red Son, swelling in his chest and bobbing in his throat as he stared up at MK. 

When Red Son took MK’s hand, it was somehow warm despite spending the better part of a day bunching up snow. As he stood up, MK’s smile stretched into a grin. The clouds blocked out the sun, but Red Son didn’t need it–not when MK was by his side, a light that stripped away at Red Son’s walls and read him like a billboard. Being by MK's side was more than just fun. Being by MK meant the world. It was the world. It was the galaxy, the cosmos, everything he could possibly imagine. 

It was all he ever wanted. 

“Alright!” MK pumped his fist. “Back in the game!” He turned around, with a determined grin, but before he took a single step, Mei launched a snowball at his face. MK stumbled back and fell flat on his ass, sticking his tongue out as he wiped snow off his face. And for some reason, watching MK fumble made Red Son burst into wild, wild laughter. 

Everything clicked then. Everything. The hauntings that had loomed over him for months, the ocean’s worth of feelings he was terrified to name. He knew the reason why the lengthy conversations up and down his arms weren’t enough for him. They could never be. They weren’t what he wanted. Not really. Red Son had spent so much of his life pining for a soulmate that he failed to realize that love wasn’t in the skin or in the soul. It was in the heart. In the hands. And MK had held Red Son’s for a long time now. 

There were tears welling up in Red Son’s eyes. He wiped his face, still laughing. His parents were going to kill him. Mei was going to visit his grave just to say I told you so . He could only imagine what his soulmate would do. Red Son knew those worries would cloud his mind eventually, but right now, he could only focus on the warm ache in his chest, his heart blossoming as he tried to catch his breath. 

Red Son had spent so much time crying this year. But he wasn’t miserable. Far from it. It was hard to be miserable when MK looked at him with those bright eyes that could melt gold, that could melt the sun, that had melted Red Son completely. 

“Red Son?” MK looked at him, a bit concerned now. “Are you okay? We can do something else if you want.” 

If Red Son somehow managed to fall asleep tonight, he knew would dream of MK and the snowflakes in his hair, the pink on his cheeks, the worried pout on his lips. But that was alright. For the first time in ages, the peonies that wrapped around Red Son's lungs felt like they had fallen away. MK had planted a whole other garden inside him, that would grow out his chest and across his collarbone, so he could breathe and live and love like he never had before. 

Red Son leaned closer to MK. He tried to sneer, but his voice shook. “I should be asking if you’re alright, if anything.” 

MK laughed, a bright, musical thing that made Red Son’s chest soar. “If Mei thinks a snowball to the face is gonna stop me, she’s got another thing coming.” 

Red Son laughed, and MK laughed with him, eyes squeezed shut as long lashes caught the falling snow. It never really occurred to Red Son that MK was pretty, but right now, it seemed to hit him all at once. He was gorgeous. 

“MK!” Mei called out. “Are you guys good?!” 

“We’re good!” MK yelled back. He craned his neck to look back at Mei, and all Red Son wanted to do was bury his head in the space between MK’s neck and collarbone. 

“Well then quit flirting and get back in the game!” Mei shouted. 

Red Son sputtered, ponytail pluming with fire, but MK didn’t seem to notice. He was thankful for that–Red Son didn’t need his revelation being a two man discovery.

MK looked back at Red Son one more time, speaking a bit softer now. “You sure you’re okay?” 

MK reached out to wipe a tear off Red Son's cheek. Red Son looked down on him, a dazed smile on his face.

How couldn’t he have seen it sooner? Everything he wanted was there. Someone passionate and powerful, who didn't get scared during Red Son's fiery outbursts but held him even tighter. Someone who thought Red Son was smart and good and loving and caring and a hero. Someone who listened to him, supported him, who dragged him along to every stupid event simply because he wanted him there. A wide grin. A warm hand. Wild laughter. 

How couldn’t Red Son love him? 

“Yes,” Red Son's hands shook as they held onto MK’s arm. “I’m alright.” A tear ran down his cheek as he grinned. “This is just what I wanted.” 

Eventually, Red Son got hit with a snowball, and he found himself playing on a team with Mei. And he’d admit, he played a little worse when that round started. It wasn’t on purpose, of course, but could anyone blame him if it was? All he wanted right now was to MK with him again, back by his side. It was worth the snowball to the chest. 

Chapter Text

MK got sick. 

Of course he did. When he sheepishly called Red Son with a stuffy nose a few days after playing in the snow, Red Son spent a solid ten minutes shouting at him for his stupidity. It’s not like Mei couldn’t just let him borrow a nicer jacket or–better yet–an actual pair of gloves. But no, now instead of spending his week off gallivanting in the snow, MK got to sit in bed all day. 

Not that sitting all day in bed was necessarily a bad thing for him. Honestly, MK could use the rest–if he hadn’t gotten sick now, he’d probably burn himself out sometime later. And despite his voice sounding much more congealed on the phone, MK seemed pretty happy. 

“Mei got most of the minor demons to agree to a truce, Pigsy made me enough congee for a month, and Mr. Tang got me a new edition of Monkey King Adventures. ” MK reported cheerfully, sniffing his nose between phrases. “So, I’m basically set.” 

Red Son sighed as he ran a brush through his hair. “At least you’re still as chipper as ever.” 

When MK chuckled, Red Son tried not to melt at the sound. “I know you normally hate any stuff with your parents in it because they don’t ‘do them justice’ or whatever, but this comic’s got a pretty spot on Princess Iron Fan. At least I think so.” He hummed. “If you want, I can lend it to you when I’m done reading.” 

Red Son snorted. “And how long will that take, thirty years?” He tugged on a particularly grody knot. “I’ll save myself the aneurysm.” 

“Hey!” MK tried to raise his voice, but it only irritated his throat, making him cough harder. It wasn’t long before Red Son urged him to hang up and drink something hot to soothe his vocal cords. With how loudly he spoke, they could use the rest anyway. 

With MK being sick, it did mean that there wasn’t much chance to hang out with him. But maybe that was a good thing. Red Son needed to properly sort his feelings out, and the distance would help with that. 

At least he thought it would initially. But lately, the urge to visit MK was stronger than ever. It was bad enough just thinking about the things MK did. Now that Red Son knew how he felt, he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering, from wanting. 

Red Son would imagine himself sneaking out of the Demon Bull Fortress with a bag of ingredients and rushing over to MK’s to make him steamed pears stuffed with rock sugar and goji berries. He’d brew a cup of chamomile tea, keeping one hand on MK’s back for support. He’d make MK actually go to sleep, and not just watch old reruns of Monkey King: The Animated Series. And as MK laid down, Red Son would finally give into the urge to pull up MK’s blanket, tuck his monkey plushie in his arm, and remove the ridiculous bandana he always wore.

Red Son would fantasize about sitting on the edge of the bed, running his hand through MK’s hair. He’d brush out the tangles with his fingers, careful not to tug too hard. And in turn, MK would give him a sleepy smile, sighing contently at the touch. The thought made the back of Red Son’s neck hot, sparks lighting up his split ends. He’d touched MK before, but he knew the intention behind his thoughts were different now. He knew why everything had always felt so intimate with MK. 

One night, Red Son let his mind wander enough to think about MK taking his hand and kissing the bottom of his palm. He imagined the feel of MK’s smile against his skin, murmuring something about how warm it felt. And then, MK looped his arms around Red Son’s neck to pull him in. 

Red Son’s bedroom ceiling still had a scorch mark from that. 

It felt nice to fantasize about those things, as much as it embarrassed Red Son to admit. There was a certain warmth to his desires that was hard not to fall into. But the sappy fantasies which played in Red Son’s mind had to give way to the reality of his situation: loving MK was a terrible idea. 

The main issue, of course, was his parents. An enemy of their enemy was a temporary ally, not a potential romantic partner. Red Son couldn’t even go for the Dragon Girl– at least he was stuck with Mei thanks to the Samadhi Fire, but noooo, Red Son had to fall for MK, the successor of the brainless ape who tore his family apart. 

If he weren’t so busy being grossly infatuated he’d probably feel a lot worse about betraying his parents in such a way. But it was MK –bright, energetic, and kind MK. Loving and caring and good MK. Red Son couldn’t blame himself, really. MK was ridiculously easy to love. 

But Red Son couldn’t really use that as an excuse to his parents. Being friends with Mei and MK was already bad enough, but the Demon Bull Family was well aware of how romantic desires could quash all other loyalties. He doubted his mother and father would take MK’s warm hands or wide grin as a valid justification for betraying his family. 

There was also the issue of what exactly Red Son planned to do with his newly-discovered feelings. Confessing seemed like a bad idea all around. It’d be easier to hide feelings than to hide an actual relationship. And that was assuming MK would even want to court Red Son, or whatever the human equivalent of it was. (The fact that Red Son was even willing to try out human courting made him want to gag. He'd really fallen, in more than one sense of the word.)

MK wasn’t much of a romantic. Whenever a movie had a confession scene or the two leads started to make out, he’d stick his tongue out like a toddler. He didn’t find much appeal ogling over models or actors. He didn’t have any “crushes” – honestly, MK barely seemed to register romance altogether. There was one time MK called Red Son at four in the morning, deeply mortified because someone he’d been talking to at a nightclub came onto him and he hadn’t realized that they’d been flirting with him the whole night. 

MK seemed especially grossed out by the thought of dating Mei, and she was arguably his favorite person. The only time MK discussed even wanting some sort of romantic relationship was when he was talking about his soulmate, and well, they weren’t exactly bonded like that. So the chances that MK would be willing to give Red Son a shot felt…slim. 

So really, loving MK was a terrible idea. He’d be disowned for the feelings alone–acting on them might leave him without MK altogether. Red Son knew that if he had any common sense, he’d keep his feelings to himself. Maybe he’d learn to be content with just imagining MK’s smile against his palm. 

And yet, now that Red Son knew how he felt, knew what he wanted, his love clung to him constantly. His smile would curl up at every stupid text. His hands would twitch imagining his fingers interlocked with MK’s. MK swirled through his mind in warm, cozy fantasies that made him thrash around in his bed like a child. This was all he ever wanted, wasn’t it? MK was that and more. He’d be an idiot if he pursued it, but he’d be a fool not to.

In a way, Red Son was thankful that MK was sick–even if MK was still on his mind, he knew actually spending time with him would only make his chest flare up. He sat in his workshop, idly swiping through Mei’s old VODs with nothing but the pink glow of holographic screens lighting up the room. He enjoyed using Mei’s live streams for white noise, but now he searched with a purpose. 

On screen, MK twirled his staff in the air as he defeated a demon, a cocky grin on his face. He tried to strike some cool looking pose only for Mei to pinch his cheeks and coo about how “baby soft” they were. MK laughed, cheeks dusted pink from embarrassment as he kept telling Mei to stop. 

Red Son never really touched MK’s face beyond attempted sucker punches. MK certainly touched his –Red Son’s cheeks still burned from his palms. But now, Red Son’s mind began to wander. He wanted to cup MK’s cheeks, grazing his thumbs over the light freckles splayed out just below his eyes. He wanted to cradle his face, the warm brown eyes and bright smile and cheeks that were still a bit chubby even after a year of hero work, And maybe Red Son would give MK’s cheek a pinch, just to see him get flustered. 

Red Son groaned, taking off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. This was embarrassing. Over 500 years old, and he was fantasizing about touching MK’s face like some-some-

Red Son rubbed his eyes, a heavy sigh escaping him. Maybe his mother wasn’t too far off with that lovesick puppy description. 

The familiar thud of his father striding down the hall jolted Red Son back to reality. With a few quick swipes of his hand, he got rid of Mei’s VOD and turned on some random video about car mods. He rolled out some random old blueprint for good measure–his parents didn’t ask much about his inventions, so he doubted DBK would realize the blueprints were drafted before he’d been freed from the mountain. 

Demon Bull King knocked only once before opening the door to Red Son’s workshop. Red Son pretended to jot something down on the blueprint before turning to him. 

“Father.” Red Son put the pen down. “Is the TV acting up again?” 

“The television is fine.” DBK grunted. “The oven, however, is malfunctioning again.” 

Ah. The oven had been having some issues recently. Red Son stood up from his chair. “I can look it over, but at this point, it may be worth it to get a new one. There’s always takeout.” They couldn’t order from Pigsy’s Noodles given the state of its delivery boy, but that's besides the point. 

“Get it fixed or replaced by the end of the week.” Demon Bull King said. “I will not be serving my wife takeout for our anniversary dinner.” 

…Oh. Right. 

Demon Bull King always kept track of important dates–birthdays, holidays, and of course, his anniversary with Princess Iron Fan. As a child, Red Son remembered his father throwing lavish parties for his wife, with food piled taller than his little body. DBK would always get Princess Iron Fan some rare, powerful item as a gift–ancient swords, priceless combs, near-indestructible protection charms. And she’d bring him gifts as well, cupping his cheek and cooing in his ear. 

Nearly every gift was abandoned with a thousand other things, lost to time. Princess Iron Fan did nothing to celebrate her anniversary when her husband was imprisoned. She spent most of that day curled up in her bedroom, wrapped in heavy blankets too large for her alone. And Red Son would stay up all night working on failed invention after failed invention, running a hand through his hair and cursing the ape that tore his family apart. 

A few months after DBK was freed, Red Son’s parents celebrated their anniversary for the first time in five hundred years. It was a much smaller event than the ones from his childhood memories. The Demon Bull Family didn’t have the lavish palace, bountiful resources, or the network of allies they used to have. There were no priceless gifts, no banquets with enough food for an army. But the two of them seemed happy regardless. Red Son supposed being able to celebrate together was worth more than all the treasures in the mortal realm. 

“Are you planning a banquet?” Red Son asked. “I haven’t heard you or mother mention anything.”

A bit of steam left DBK’s nose. “I have no intention of making this a dinner party.” 

That was fair. Princess Iron Fan had told her husband about all the allies they had who quickly changed face the moment he lost to Monkey King. That combined with what happened the last time the Demon Bull Fortress had guests over for dinner was probably enough to make DBK wary about having guests in his home. 

“Have the oven fixed soon.” DBK said. “If we must order takeout tonight, attempt to find a restaurant with some basic knowledge on spices.” 

DBK turned to leave. Red Son watched his father grab the doorway as he began to head out. Just under his wrist was his mother’s neat penmanship–a small note for him to help her in her study. 

He spoke before he thought. “Father?” 

DBK paused. “What?” 

His cheeks began to flush. Red Son really didn’t know why he wanted to ask this. Maybe because of the anniversary? Or the writing on his father’s forearm? Or maybe because some part of Red Son ached at the thought of MK never being able to join him with his parents for dinner. 

“How-” Red Son stumbled over his words, embarrassed by his own question. He forced the words out before humiliation clamped his mouth shut. “How did-how did you and mother meet?” 

DBK turned fully back to Red Son now. “Surely, you should know this already?” He grunted. 

“I-I do.” Red Son said. “But, I just…wanted to hear it again. From you.” He couldn't remember the last time his father told the story, even though he was sure he'd heard it from him once, long, long ago. 

There was a beat of silence before Demon Bull King moved back into the workshop, ducking his head so he could get through the door before leaning against a wall. 

“The Brotherhood I was a part of was naive, in retrospect.” DBK said. “The Jade Emperor’s leadership leaves much to be desired, but his power is not to be minimized. For us to think we could take down his armies and overthrow his throne was… foolishly optimistic. ” 

He shrugged his shoulders. “But, we decided to fight anyway. And in turn, the heavens sent their full army down to defeat us. As a celestial maiden, Princess Iron Fan was conscripted in the fight as well.” 

Demon Bull King laughed. “I was so enamored by her that I nearly got decapitated by a common foot soldier.” There was a fond smile on his face as he recalled the memory. “Princess Iron Fan defeated me easily–she’s a powerful enemy, and I couldn’t bring myself to fight her."

"My brothers and I were defeated, but while they were punished for their crimes, I managed to escape." He said. "I spent a decade courting her before she left the heavens to marry me.” 

Maybe Red Son’s mother was right about Demon Bull King being sentimental. He didn’t question Red Son on why he asked about his courtship, and he wasn’t nearly as curt as Princess Iron Fan. But there was something about his father’s story that piqued his curiosity. 

“But isn’t that-” Red Son paused, trying to find the right words. “You might see your old cause as naive now, but at the time, you believed in it, didn’t you?” 

“Of course.” Demon Bull King replied. “I was confident that the Jade Emperor would be dethroned in the stead of Azure Lion.” 

Red Son remembered that name, vaguely. DBK rarely spoke of the Brotherhood he had with Sun Wukong, but he did speak fondly of Azure Lion now and again. His father’s admiration for him was still there, even if his belief in their revolution had died off. 

“So then, when you started courting my mother, did you… stop believing in your cause?” Red Son asked. 

DBK shifted where he stood. “I held little reverence for the Heavenly Court, but my focus was not on overthrowing them.” 

“So then,” Red Son bit his lip, unsure how to word his question delicately. “Your courtship with Mother–wasn’t it somewhat-well-wouldn’t that make you-at least in your brother’s eyes-” 

DBK snorted. “If you’re asking if that makes me a traitor, then yes. I abandoned the cause of my Brotherhood.” He crossed his arms.” My loyalties to them were irrelevant. All that mattered was her.” 

Red Son supposed it shouldn’t be surprising. Demon Bull King was always unapologetic about how ardently he loved his wife. But still, his unabashed admission to betraying the cause of his brotherhood, and by extension, his brothers, threw Red Son off. 

“Do you-do you ever-” Red Son stumbled over his words. “Do you ever feel guilty for being a traitor?” 

Demon Bull King raised his brow. “What for?” 

“W-well,” Red Son stammered. “Surely, going from fighting the Jade Emperor to courting a Celestial Maiden is–well–if your brothers knew, they’d surely be upset to hear you abandon your cause so quickly.” 

Demon Bull King laughed, the noise ricocheting across the walls of Red Son's workshop. “What does it matter? Our cause might have been just, but I had goals beyond the Brotherhood.”

Demon Bull King ran a hand across the neat writing on his forearm. “When I dreamed of my dominion, my brothers were not with me.” His smile grew just a bit softer now, voice rumbling in his chest. “But when I saw Princess Iron Fan, I knew I could not imagine any of my successes without her by my side.” 

… Oh. 

The Demon Bull Family had always valued loyalty. Red Son’s filial duties were among his most important. But it was a family born from betrayal–a brother abandoning his revolution, a daughter eloping with the enemy. The Demon Bull Family knew how romantic desire could quash all other loyalties. So maybe…maybe they’d understand too. Maybe Red Son betraying his family made him a better son than anything he’d ever done before. 

Demon Bull King looked over at Red Son now and frowned. “This line of questioning is unusual from you.” 

Red Son sputtered a bit at that. “I-I was just wondering-”

“Does this have anything to do with your little tryst ?” DBK said the word like it had physically hurt to do so. 

Red Son opened his mouth to shout, mortified that his father would even assume that. But after a small moment of hesitation, he bowed his head, speaking quietly. “Yes.” 

Demon Bull King was quiet for a while. The silence made the back of Red Son’s ears burn. But eventually, he sighed, stretching his back. 

“Your little human would only make us vulnerable.” He grunted. “Enemies would be quick to prod at such an obvious weak point. Your spouse would be an easy target.” 

The word “spouse” made the back of Red Son’s neck flare up. He tried to tell his father there was certainly no talk of marriage when DBK spoke up again. 

“So if you truly cannot bring yourself to leave this human,” He leaned over to look down at Red Son. “You will have to learn to smite your enemies.” 

And with that, he left, ducking his head under the doorway and stomping down the hall. 

Demon Bull King’s words floated in Red Son’s head as he wandered into the kitchen. He grunted, kneeling on the floor and working at the oven as the conversation played over and over in his head. He couldn’t help it. For what felt like the first time in over a year, Red Son felt that he’d finally made a dent through the mountain. 

Maybe his parents would never accept him; maybe he’d have to scurry into the ruined underground of Megapolis to sleep at night. But maybe they would see themselves in him, hopelessly pining for a strong warrior who he longed for by his side. Maybe having the Monkie Kid as a son in law would be seen as fortuitous–two of the heroes who defeated the Lady Bone Demon in the family were better than one. Maybe they’d put their hatred for Sun Wukong aside just this once. Maybe they’d even forgive Red Son for being a traitor. 

As Red Son worked at the oven, a new fantasy played out in his mind–MK eating dinner with his family, cooking with his father, listening to his mother’s gossip nodding eagerly. He’d show MK around the fortress–properly now–and they would make the halls echo with laughter. 

Red Son’s hands shook as he gripped a screwdriver. There was a wildly, wildly stupid part of him who wanted to at least try. He could reach out for the sun at least once, consequences be damned. 

Red Son turned each dial on the oven. The flames burned, warm and constant. It was too late in the evening to start cooking, so he’d order some takeout for his family, and then…then he’d get to work. He’d let himself give into these newfound urges, just a little, to test the waters. Just to see if he could. 

Loving MK was probably the most moronic thing he could do. But he’d been okay with being a fool plenty of times. He befriended Mei and MK in the first place didn’t he? That potential scandal getting discovered would be worse than Xiaotian. 

…Right. Xiaotian. 

Red Son slammed his toolbox shut. 

There was another issue with the whole “being in love with MK thing.” Red Son…wasn’t exactly sure how to bring this up to Xiaotian. 

It wasn’t really an issue. Being bonded to someone didn’t require some sort of romantic relationship between them. The superstition of marital strength didn’t mean soulmates were obligated to marry. Frankly, two demons could spend their lives trying to slash each other’s throats, and the discovery of shared skin would change nothing. 

But still, it felt…weird. Even if being bonded to someone didn’t necessitate romance, it was a fairly common assumption to make. Two bonded demons getting married wasn't required, but it wasn't surprising either. Humans in particular seemed hung up on the romantic undertones of a soulmate-the word itself was always used by them to describe their own destined matches, tied together by red strings around their ankles. It was certainly romantic to Xiaotian–he thought soulmates had to get married. So Red Son wasn't exactly sure how well he'd take the news that Red Son loved someone who very much wasn't his soulmate. 

Honestly, a part of Red Son wondered if it was even necessary to tell Xiaotian. Red Son had been clear to him that he didn’t want to get too close. And while Red Son would argue that Xiaotian was something of a friend, there were still all sorts of intimate details he kept secret. So maybe loving MK would be another one. 

But that felt…it…that wasn’t…

Something in Red Son’s stomach churned at that thought. It didn’t feel okay for reasons he couldn’t quite explain. It was probably whatever part of him that was trying to be good and to actually foster a good relationship with his soulmate . And while a part of Red Son wanted to gag at the thought, he knew in the end that telling Xiaotian was ultimately the right thing to do. 

Still though, Red Son stalled. The gift he was making for MK wasn’t terribly difficult, but it was time consuming. It took a while to gather the right materials and he’d never made anything like it before, so it took him a few tries to get it right. Between the various hours he spent waiting for things to dry, he could’ve grabbed a pen and written a note to his soulmate. But no, he did everything he could to avoid actually starting that conversation. 

It was only when everything was finished did Red Son finally get the nerve to do it. He’d been spending the last half an hour brushing out his hair. He’d always taken some care into his appearance, but this was different. As embarrassing as it was, he wanted to make himself look suitable for MK. 

Still though, as he kept on brushing his hair, staring at the clouds forming on his legs, he knew he was delaying the inevitable. Snowflakes fell from the storm, gliding down the muscle of his calf. Red Son knew what he had to do. 

Red Son kept a pen on his night table now, just in case he ever wanted to chat with Xiaotian. It was alarming just how easily Xiaotian had become a part of his life, how something so terrifying and taboo became a pleasant routine. Red Son gripped the pen tighter, trying to ignore the unease in his chest.  

There’s something I need to tell you. 

Xiaotian responded quickly. Red Son wasn’t sure if he was thankful he could get the conversation over or upset he couldn’t stall it more. 

What’s up? 

Red Son bit his lip. He really wasn’t sure why he felt so weird about this. 

I’ve made it clear that I don’t want to open myself up. But, because you’re my soulmate, I felt that I should let you know about this. 

Red Son took a deep breath before confessing across his forearm. 

I’m in love with someone. 

There was a long–an agonizingly long–minute and thirty seconds where Xiaotian said nothing at all. And for reasons Red Son couldn’t fully articulate, it made his stomach churn. But eventually, Xiaotian did write back. 

Are you gonna ask them out? 

Was that the human term for it? “Asking them out?” It seemed a bit…well…it was about as rudimentary as Red Son expected for a human phrase. But he couldn’t really judge it, considering who he was in love with. 

Rather than explain the intricacies of demon courting and the culture clash it would bring, Red Son decided to just go along with it. 

Not immediately, but 

Heat flushed onto Red Son’s cheeks. 

I would like to. Eventually. 

There was another long, long period where Xiaotian said nothing at all. Normally, this wouldn’t phase Red Son–Xiaotian was a busy man. But it was fairly late at night. Around this time, if Xiaotian wasn’t out with friends, he was sitting somewhere in his home, doodling on his calf or reading a comic. His responses were usually faster than this. 

When Xiaotian did reply, his writing was small and uncharacteristically neat. 

Hey, can you do me a favor? 

Red Son furrowed his brow as he watched Xiaotian’s writing. 

I’m gonna go take a shower. Can you shower too? 

Oh. Well. Red Son wasn’t really sure what he expected. He supposed he could do that. Red Son doubted Xiaotian wanted a confession written on his forearm. He’d have to redo his whole hair routine, but whatever. It meant being able to properly clean up before seeing MK. 

Of course. 

Before Xiaotian could wash away the snowstorm, Red Son snapped a picture, saving it to the drawing file. It’d be a shame to lose such lovely art so quickly. 

Red Son would admit, as much as he stalled this conversation, it was a relief to get it over with. It was much shorter than he thought it’d be. Maybe Xiaotian really was just busy and had taken it well. And if he didn’t take it well…then…it was out of Red Son’s hands, wasn’t it? He didn't owe Xiaotian a romance. Red Son had no intentions to get close, and he certainly had no intentions to love Xiaotian. Not when he already knew exactly what he wanted. 

As Red Son scrubbed his confession off his arms, a realization occurred to him. His father had asked about his human tryst, and Red Son went along with it, but this was the first time Red Son had actually told anyone he was in love. He supposed there was something ironic about that, but he couldn’t really piece together what. 

Okay, maybe hanging out with Mei and MK really was affecting his gray matter. 

Red Son could have just waited until the next time he saw MK to give this to him. But there was a chance that Mei would be there, and he didn’t want Mei seeing this. She would get the wrong idea (which is to say, she’d get the completely right idea, but one that Red Son wasn’t ready to admit to her.) And sure, Red Son could’ve just asked MK to hang out without Mei there. Their little trio would split off for two-person escapades all the time. But-but-

Maybe it was just that he was excited. Or that he missed being around MK enough that he snuck off late in the night to see him on a whim. If MK could break into his house, why couldn’t Red Son? 

He wanted the gift out of the house, at the very least. If his parents found it lying around somewhere, Red Son wasn’t sure how exactly he would explain it. 

So, there he was, standing on the fire escape, gift bag in hand. He gripped the handles of the bag tightly, careful to keep his fingers from sparking. 

It wasn’t too late in the evening–it was midnight not too long ago. Even if he was sick, MK would still be awake right now, probably munching on dried apple slices and playing some game on his phone. When Red Son looked in the window, he didn’t see anyone in the bed, but he could see a crack of light coming out from under the bathroom door. 

Red Son had half a mind to just wait until morning when the bathroom door burst open. MK, sporting a ratty teal blue bathrobe, had kicked it open, hair still damp as he grumbled something Red Son couldn’t quite make out.

He stomped over to his bed looking fully prepared to sleep when he noticed Red Son, shouted, and tripped on an action figure strewn on the floor. 

MK scrambled to get his bearings before opening the window, a frown on his face. “You know, I thought you were against breaking in.” He snapped. 

MK looked…well…he looked terrible, to be completely honest. Red Son figured that’d be the case–he was mostly over his sickness, but it was clearly still there. His nose was pink and stuffy. His eyes were puffy, dark eyebags underneath. His hair clung to his forehead like a cat out in the rain. He honestly looked like a cat out in the rain-his expression was uncharacteristically stormy. 

Red Son scoffed. “It’s not breaking in. I didn’t burst through your window and give myself a concussion.” He slipped through the window now, sitting on the bed. 

MK huffed. “I told you back then that I didn’t get a concussion.” He walked over to a drawer and pulled out some clothes. He stomped over to the bathroom. Before Red Son could say anything, he spoke again. 

“I’ll be out in a second.” MK grumbled before slamming the door behind him. 

Red Son sat on the bed, fidgeting with the gift bag handles. This…felt…a lot more awkward than he expected it to. Even putting aside the fact that MK had been wearing nothing but a loose–fitting bathrobe, there was something else in the air. MK looked…what was that, irritated? Upset? Miserable? Some weird combination? Whatever it was, it certainly wasn’t what Red Son was used to seeing from him. 

This wasn’t…he hadn’t done something wrong, had he? Surely the issue wasn’t just Red Son dropping by. Mei would apparently break into MK’s all the time. Maybe he was feeling too sick to be his usual chipper self? 

Some deeply irrational part of Red Son gripped his shoulders. Maybe MK knew exactly what Red Son’s intentions were. He was always able to read him like a billboard–why would this be an exception? Maybe he took one look at the gift bag, put the piece together, and had gone into the bathroom to promptly throw up. The thought wasn’t realistic, of course, but it still made Red Son uneasy, shrinking into himself as he waited for MK. 

MK kicked the bathroom door open again, this time with less force. He was still wearing the same teal bathrobe, but underneath was a plain shirt and a pair of boxers. He walked over to his fridge to grab a pitcher of water, but as he grabbed a glass from the drying rack, it slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor with a thud. 

Nothing was broken, thankfully, but MK still cursed under his breath like it had, putting the pitcher on the edge of the kitchen counter to pick up the cup. The pitcher was heavy though, and MK had placed it too far off the counter. As MK bent down, the pitcher began to slip. 

Red Son dropped the gift bag on the ground and practically leapt to the pitcher, grabbing it before it could fall to the floor. Some of the water got on his shirt, his chest now cold and wet. 

“Shit-” MK looked over at Red Son. “Sorry. Sorry. Did you get anything on you?” 

“It’s fine.” Red Son sighed. “Drying off isn’t much of an issue to me.” 

MK groaned. “Still though, it’s my bad.” He grabbed the pitcher from Red Son’s hand and began to pour himself a cup of water. “I’m not in a great mood, and I–ah-aw!!”

MK had poured too much water into the cup. It spilled over his hand and onto the floor. He groaned, putting the pitcher back on the counter.

“You should probably go.” MK said, grabbing some paper towels and tossing them on the floor. “I'm not having a good time, and I don't really have it in me to act like I am. I don’t wanna bum you out.” He began to wipe the spill with his foot, clearly not having the energy or patience to bend down and clean. 

There was a split second where Red Son did want to leave. Whatever plans he had for the night to go seemed impossible now. He didn’t think things would be this sour this quickly. But as he watched MK’s knitted brow as he kicked the soaking paper towels around his kitchen, something ached in Red Son’s chest. Red Son couldn’t leave him like this.

Red Son flicked some of the damp strands of hair that covered MK’s eyes. “You shouldn’t sleep with your hair wet.” 

“Huh?” MK looked up at Red Son. 

“You were going to just go to sleep straight after showering, right? You should actually dry your hair properly.” Red Son tilted his head. “Surely, you have a hairdryer?” 

“I-well-” MK fumbled with his words for a moment before sighing. “I do. I normally take better care of my hair and stuff. I just…” He looked down at the floor. “Don’t really have the energy right now, I guess.” 

Red Son sighed, resisting the urge to cup MK’s cheek. “Go into the bathroom and sit.” He bent down and shooed MK away. “I’ll take care of the spill.” 

MK looked down at Red Son, stunned. “Are you sure? I don’t–”

“If you’re going to just kick around a wad of wet paper towels, you’re only going to make the spill worse.” Red Son grunted. “And then when you inevitably slip on the floor, you’ll make yourself even more miserable. Go.” He pointed to the bathroom door with one hand. 

After a beat of silence, MK trudged into the bathroom. Red Son dried the kitchen floor with a few more paper towels and a bit of fire magic before following MK.

The hair dryer was sitting under the sink. It was cheap, but Red Son figured he could make it work. MK was about to take the hair dryer from him when he turned it on.

“Lower your head.” Red Son instructed. 

MK blinked at him, eyes wide before it finally clicked what Red Son was doing. He lowered his head a bit and Red Son began to dry his hair. 

It was intimate the way bandaging hands and bed nursing was. It made the back of Red Son's neck burn with a now-familiar heat. And while a part of Red Son couldn’t help but relish the feel of MK’s hands between his fingers as he raked through his locks, it wasn’t entirely what he was focused on at the moment. 

Red Son moved the hairdryer up to MK’s roots. “What did you say earlier? You weren’t in a ‘good mood’?” he clicked his tongue at the phrase. “Why’s that?” 

MK opened and closed his mouth a couple times, trying to find the right words. “I don’t–I just–I’m–” he sighed. “I’ll tell you later.” 

Red Son frowned at that, angling MK’s head so he could dry his hair. “By telling me ‘later,’ you do mean that, yes? You won’t just bottle it up out of some harebrained notion that it’s a burden to talk about your problems, yes?” 

“I-I will. Eventually.” He looked away, scratching the back of his neck. “Maybe. It’s not about the burden stuff, I just…” MK sighed. “I dunno.” 

The two of them were quiet for a couple minutes as Red Son continued to dry MK’s hair. At the very least, MK wasn’t trying to bottle up everything. Even if he didn’t want to talk about it, it was still very much there, and MK wasn’t trying to deny it. It was progress, even if it didn’t seem like it. 

If MK didn’t want to talk, then Red Son would be okay with that. He doubted he could do much to fix whatever issue MK had anyways. So if he couldn’t listen, maybe he could lighten the mood. 

“Well, I suppose there’s nothing I can do to make you feel better?” Red Son asked. 

MK snorted under his breath. “Maybe you can finally watch Monkey Cop.” 

Red Son turned off the hairdryer, running his hand through MK’s hair one more time to make sure everything was dry. MK’s hair still covered his eyes like bangs, a dark curtain over warm brown eyes. He understood why MK wore his hair up with that bandana–it certainly wouldn’t be functional to walk around with his vision blocked when MK spent his days driving and demon-fighting. But still, he looked nice like this, soft and cozy and far too easy to love. 

Red Son let out a long, long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. He couldn’t believe he was about to do this. “...Fine.” 

MK blinked. His eyes widened. “Wai-wai-wai-what?” His lip twitched–not quite a smile, but getting there. “What did you say?”  

“I said fine. ” Red Son gritted his teeth. There was no going back now. “We can watch your stupid movie.” He rubbed his eyes, squeezing them shut as he grumbled. “I better not regret this, Noodle Bo–”

Whatever Red Son was going to say was cut off by MK cheering, hugging Red Son so tightly he swore his spine cracked a bit. “Awww, yeah! Finally!” 

Whatever was bothering MK before seemed entirely out of his mind now. When MK let go of Red Son, he was grinning ear to ear, fists pumping up and down in the air enthusiastically. “Go sit down on the bed, I’m gonna get snacks–I’ve got chips, dried salted plums, and-oh!! I still have a bag of that spicy snack you like!” 

As Red Son sat down on the bed, MK kept raving, grabbing snacks from around his house and tossing them on the bed. Red Son grabbed a pillow and watched him babble as he opened up the fridge, the light illuminating his smiling face. 

That was better. Much better. Everything in the world felt a little more in balance when MK was happy. So if it took watching a stupid movie to do that, then Red Son would happily oblige. 

Unfortunately, Red Son’s soft moment was interrupted when MK threw a bag of fried peanuts at the bed and it smacked his face. But at this point, he figured it was par for the course when it came to MK. 

“You know, I honestly didn’t think I’d ever get you to watch any Monkey Cop stuff.” MK said as he grabbed the DVD from a shelf. “I should be sad more often. Maybe then you’ll watch all my favorite movies.” 

“You should not be sad more often . ” Red Son snapped, opening up the bag and tossing a couple peanuts in his mouth. 

“Awww,” MK sat on the bed, leaning over until his shoulders touched Red Son’s. “You do care about me!” 

Red Son resisted the urge to throw a peanut at MK’s face, even though he had every right to do so. As the opening scene for Monkey Cop began, Red Son sighed, taking some dried salted plums and popping them into his mouth. He couldn’t really argue against what MK was saying. He wouldn’t exactly watch this movie willingly.

But, who knows? MK was hugging his monkey plush, grinning ear to ear and practically vibrating off the bed. MK’s judgment wasn’t always atrocious. Maybe this movie wouldn’t be so bad after all. 

Monkey Cop was terrible and Red Son would never trust MK’s judgment ever again. 

The plot was at best childishly boring and at worst littered with plot holes. The effects were atrocious even for the time the movie was made. The Monkey Cop was a clear rip off of the Monkey King, which made no sense given how Sun Wukong was anything but a cop, and he spoke in nothing but the most agonizing, ear-grating one-liners Red Son had ever heard. 

MK loved it though. He kept on tugging on Red Son’s sleeve to pay attention to a random line of dialogue, or a kung-fu move Monkey Cop would do on the bad guys. He’d lurch his body forward to watch the TV, laughing out loud at every stupid joke and gasping at each inane plot twist like this wasn’t the hundredth time he’d watch the film. 

Frankly, the only reason Red Son could stomach the film was because he was watching it with MK. Not that the film was made better by MK’s presence, but it was endearing to see him light up over something he loved. MK was always so wildly passionate about everything, and Monkey Cop was certainly no exception. 

As the credits rolled, MK turned to him, eyes sparkling in the dark room. “Sooo, what did you think?” He moved so close to Red Son’s face their noses were almost touching. 

Red Son shoved MK’s face away. He wasn’t sure he could handle MK being that close to him right now. “It was as stupid as I expected.” 

MK laughed. “Yeah, I figured it wouldn’t be your thing.” He popped one last dried salted plum into his mouth, speaking as he chewed. “The 1982 film’s my favorite, but Kung Fu Monkey Cop: The Movie was also really good. That came out pretty recently, so the effects are even cooler.” 

Red Son sighed. “I don’t suppose you also have some collector’s edition of that, do you?” 

MK looked over at his shelf of DVDs. “Maybe.” He admitted sheepishly.

Red Son groaned. “It’s too late to watch another movie. I don’t want to go home at the crack of dawn. ” He leaned against the wall, not looking at MK. “But, if you want to drag me along to watch it, I will.” 

MK stopped chewing his plum. He looked at Red Son, swallowing. “You don’t have to do that, dude.” He said. “I know we don’t like the same stuff.” 

“Of course I don’t have to.” Red Son grunted. “You think I'd willingly choose to do most of the things you drag me around for? If you want me to, I will." His voice was softer at the end, as if his throat was trying to stop him to speak. "I'll do it for you."  

He hoped that the flush on his cheeks wasn’t obvious. The dark lighting of MK’s apartment hopefully shielded his expression. 

A small smile formed on MK’s face, lopsided and sweet. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He murmured. 

MK stretched on the bed. “Well, I know I can’t get you to watch another movie tonight. But could I interest you in the pilot of the Monkey Cop TV series?”

Red Son groaned. “There’s a TV show? ” 

“Yep!” MK got out of the bed and walked to his shelf. “Mr. Tang has all of it on VHS because he’s old old, but I’ve got the first few seasons on–” 

Before MK could continue, he stumbled over something littered on the floor.

Red Son snickered. “ This is why you should clean your hovel. ” 

“Hey!” MK shot a glare at him. "This isn't even my thing I tripped on! You brought it here!" He picked up the thing he tripped on.

Red Son's eyes widened at the gift bag MK held. Right. There was an actual reason he came over here. 

MK dropped the gift bag onto the bed. “Maybe you should learn a thing or two about cleaning up after yourself.” He said in a snooty voice as he filed through his shelf. 

Red Son sputtered. “Don’t try to make me some sort of hypocrite! This isn’t the first time you’ve tripped over something since I came over, you know! I saw you fall over that Monkey Mech figurine quite clearly!" 

MK stuck his tongue out playfully, pulling out a DVD and heading over to the TV to put it in. Red Son looked down at the gift bag, fidgeting with the handles. 

“Besides,” he murmured. “It’s not for me.” 

MK turned to Red Son, confused now. Red Son gripped the handles of the bag tighter before taking a deep breath. “You said it was your birthday a little while ago. Or, rather, that you celebrate around this time, because you’re not sure when you were born.” He really needed to interrogate MK on what that was about, but that was beside the point. 

“When I forgot to mention my birthday, you and the Dragon Girl threw a fit about it until I agreed to let you get me a birthday gift.” Red Son recalled the memory with a soft voice. The bracelets Mei and MK got him were sitting in a box on his vanity now, carefully hidden beneath gold and bronze, but just as precious. 

“So I think it’s perfectly fair that I do the same to you.” Red Son held out the bag to MK, hoping his hands didn't shake. “Happy Birthday, MK.” 

MK stared at the bag, a stunned look on his face. He sat down on the bed, slowly taking the bag from Red Son.

“You really didn’t have to do this, dude.” He chuckled a bit as he moved the festive tissue paper to the side. “I mean yeah, Mei and I got you something, but I don’t really try to make my birthday a big–”

MK stopped talking as he pulled his gift out of the bag. Red Son watched him with bated breath as his fingers grazed the cover, a faded orange with his nickname carefully etched in the corner. MK opened it up carefully, flipping through the pages. 

“You–” MK’s voice cracked. “You got me a sketchbook?” 

Red Son hoped he wouldn’t leave a burn mark on MK’s wall. “...Made.” He corrected. “It took some research to figure out the best paper for it, but beyond that, bookbinding was just a matter of time.” 

MK pinched one of the pages between his fingers. “You really–” A laugh escaped him. “All those times I told you to get me a new sketchbook–I–I didn’t think you’d actually–” His hands shook as he stared down at the gift. 

“You’re an artist.” Red Son murmured. “And I burned your work. It’s only fair that I give you something new to create with." 

MK closed the sketchbook, running his hand along the etched cover again. His back seemed to curl over the sketchbook, clutching it like it was something precious. For a moment, Red Son was worried MK might start to cry.

But then, MK looked up at him again. “Can I draw you?”

Red Son must have looked surprised, because MK elaborated. “Not now, or anything, but…in general. I like to draw the things important to me. The people I-” He hugged the sketchbook to his chest. “Just-can I?” 

“...Of course.” Red Son murmured. “You can draw me whenever you’d like.”

At that, MK smiled, so warm and bright that Red Son worried he'd melt into the bed if he stared directly at him. Instead, he flicked MK’s forehead, narrowing his eyes. “Just not with crayon. I have some standards.”

MK laughed softly, stretching over to put his new sketchbook on his desk. “Crayons are great. You just hate fun. ” 

“Please.” Red Son snorted. “If watching Monkey Cop and drawing with crayons is your idea of fun, I’m perfectly happy being a stick in the mud.” 

MK grabbed the remote on the bed to play the pilot episode of the Monkey Cop TV show. “...But you’re still here.” He almost whispered out. “For me.” 

Even though the pilot of the show was starting, MK stared at Red Son. It was honestly a bit unnerving. He expected MK to start rattling off different trivia facts about the actors or squealing over the car chase, but instead, he kept looking straight at him. 

“What?” Red Son asked. He wiped his face, wondering if something was there. 

MK pursed his lips for a moment before finally choosing his words. “You know, I was upset earlier. But...not as much as I thought I’d be?”

Red Son raised his eyebrow. MK started to ramble, talking with his hands. “I mean, yeah, I was upset, but part of the reason why I was upset was because I wasn't as upset as I should've been. A-and it confused me, a lot, because I should have been angrier, or sadder, or-or anything. But I wasn’t. And I didn’t know why, but-.” He looked up at Red Son. “I think I know why now.”   

That...was...incredibly hard for Red Son to follow given his complete lack of context.

MK could probably sense the confusion, because he sighed. He moved closer to Red Son, and when his little finger skimmed Red Son’s, it sent a jolt up his body so powerful that Red Son worried his ponytail would set on fire. 

“Do you just–” MK looked at Red Son, almost pleading. “Do you ever think you want something, and then you realize that what you really wanted was something completely different?” 

Ah. That made more sense to him.

“Yes.” Red Son murmured. “I do.” 

MK gave him a close-lipped smile, lopsided and almost bashful. He shifted on the bed, and in the process, he put his hand over Red Son’s. Red Son stiffened at the touch, but he said nothing about it. 

The pilot episode of the Monkey Cop TV show was probably as atrocious as the movie. Or maybe it was a masterpiece. Red Son wouldn’t know. All he could focus on was the fact that MK didn’t move his hand for the full forty minute runtime. 

Chapter Text

Something had shifted. 

Or at least, something seemed to shift? That or Red Son was starting to go a little insane–which, frankly, wasn’t an unfounded theory. But it definitely felt like something had shifted.

Normally, the changes in Red Son’s life were something within him–quiet acceptance, cautious vulnerability, an attempt to be good or loving or caring. And yes, he had changed significantly. He supposed being in love did that. 

Recognizing his feelings already turned Red Son’s world inside out. He suddenly had a greater insight into all his poetics, all his hauntings. But actually accepting his feelings meant a change in priorities too. For what felt like the first time in his life, Red Son was allowing himself to be selfish, to try and chase after what he wanted, everything else be damned. 

Red Son wouldn’t say he was courting MK. Not in any proper way, at least. He hadn’t announced his feelings, and he’d made no plans to go through any real courtnapping. Apparently, whatever he was doing was somewhat akin to human “flirting,” but it wasn’t by any means outright shows of affection. But he allowed some of his fondness to spill out his chest.

Red Son would find himself helping MK more with little things: washing dishes, stitching up clothes after a fight, repairing that miserable hunk of metal called a Noodle Cart. He had honestly gotten used to helping MK throughout their friendship–it was an impulse that he had for quite a long time, to be honest. But he indulged it more now. No matter how much he wanted to melt that stupid pile of car parts. 

Red Son wasn’t one to blush when it came to bragging about his accomplishments, but lately he spent just a bit more time showboating his large array of vehicles or his training regimen earlier that day. It was normal for humans and demons alike to try and impress a potential partner with their strengths. Red Son might not be as strong as the Monkie Kid, but he was more than willing to coo about his passion projects if it meant showing off his own abilities. He gloated without a shred of shame, even when Mei rolled her eyes at his latest monologue. 

More embarrassing was the way he’d fuss over his appearance for a solid fifteen minutes before heading out to see MK. As part of the Demon Bull Family, Red Son made an effort to look presentable, but lately he’d find himself stressing over eyeliner angles and wrinkled shirts more frequently. He knew that MK wouldn’t really notice those slight imperfections, but he couldn’t help himself. Red Son felt beyond idiotic when he was fussing over outfits or that tuft of hair too short to get into his tight ponytail, but he still tried his best to look nice. 

Red Son actually planned more get-togethers with just the two of them. (Not so many that Mei would get suspicious, of course.) They were silly, inane things mostly–snack runs across downtown, sparring outside the city, sneaking into noodle joints that MK could never tell Pigsy he would frequent during off time. Red Son would come home late at night, the smell of Megapolis in his hair and a dreamy smile across his face. 

He tried not to spend too much money in order to avoid a dinner conversation about his spending habits, but Red Son would splurge just a bit. MK would always get bashful whenever he or Mei would offer to buy him things, so Red Son was careful not to offer up his wallet too often. He’d slip a few dollars in the tip jar of Pigsy’s Noodles whenever he waited for MK’s shift to end. Or he’d buy a few too many snacks at the theater for MK to steal when he thought Red Son wasn’t looking. 

Red Son even got MK a new box of pastels. Admittedly, that purchase might have been a bit much. It was a high quality brand, but also an expensive one–far pricier than MK’s noodle delivery boy salary could dream of affording. Red Son feared he may have shown his hand with that move. But in his defense, MK kept complaining about how the pastels Tang got him were nearly gone. Buying him new ones meant Red Son wouldn’t have to hear MK lamenting over it again. Plus, something in Red Son’s heart ached whenever he saw MK’s fingers stained bright pink and yellow as he curled up over his new sketchbook. 

So, yes, Red Son had changed immensely for MK. He’d grown ridiculously soft for the enemy. He even sat through a full season of that Monkey Cop spin-off TV show. If that wasn’t proof of his devotion, Red Son didn’t know what was.  

But that wasn’t the shift. Red Son could recognize the changes in himself and he could explain them just fine. But those changes weren’t the ones that were driving him insane. 

But here was the shift. The real shift. The change that Red Son had begun to notice, that haunted him at night. 

Something was up with MK. 

Well, that made it sound like there was an issue with MK. Which there wasn’t, at least to Red Son’s knowledge. Honestly, MK seemed pretty happy lately. Every time they hung out, he’d spend the whole time grinning ear to ear. But that might be… part …of the problem? Maybe? 

He was always a cheerful person to be around with, but whenever they hung out together, Red Son would notice a lopsided smile on MK’s face. And while MK smiling wasn’t exactly a new phenomena, it looked…different than his usual toothy grin. It felt…softer, somehow. A bit more warm. A bit more overwhelming to look at directly. 

Now, Red Son was aware that insisting MK had a different smile than usual wasn’t exactly evidence things had shifted. If anything, it made him look like a freak–he shouldn’t be studying MK’s face enough to notice such small changes in detail. But there was more evidence. Really. 

Like MK's praise. MK was never one to hold back compliments, of course, but lately it didn’t seem to stop. Every time Red Son would brag about his newest vehicle, or relay his training regimen, MK would immediately shower him with praise about how smart and strong and cool he was, making all of Red Son’s bravado crumble into dust. Red Son would get this close to incinerating his stupid Noodle Cart when MK would suddenly thank him for being so nice– so kind . They’d be sitting there talking about nothing at all when MK would suddenly give Red Son that warm, lopsided smile and murmur about how happy he was to spend time with him. 

MK was always quick to compliment his friends. He was an affectionate person in general. But the praise had ramped up to a point that Red Son couldn’t help but notice a change. It had even gotten to a point where MK would compliment how he looked. 

Even though Red Son felt like a fool for fussing over his appearance, MK actually noticed those little changes enough to comment. He’d shove his face too close to Red Son’s to compliment his eyeliner. He’d tug at Red Son’s shirt fabric to tell him how nice he looked in it. And it was always completely unprompted. 

Once, Red Son had been sitting on the floor of MK’s apartment, trying to fix MK's phone after it got whacked during a fight. After begging for what felt like ages, Red Son allowed MK to watch Mei's new livestream using one of his holographic screens, so long as he didn't touch anything. Even if Red Son trusted MK with his secrets, there were still plenty of confidential things on file. Plus, he worried MK would mess around and somehow delete everything. So MK kept his hands to himself, watching Mei's stream on the bright pink screen. 

It was going fine. MK seemed happy having a larger screen watch the livestream, and Red Son was content with helping MK by fixing his phone. But then, MK lurched across the bed, going through the screen in order to reach out and touch the little tuft of Red Son's hair. 

“How do you keep your bangs up all the time?” MK asked, seemingly unaware at how his touch made Red Son’s nerve endings jolt. 

“They’re not bangs.” Red Son hissed through his teeth. “This part of my hair always goes up.”

MK kept playing with the strands of Red Son’s hair. “So, it’s like a cowlick then?” He asked. 

“Something like that.” Red Son grumbled. ‘

MK laughed at that, a warm and melodious noise that made the back of Red Son’s neck burn. He tried not to set MK’s fingers on fire. 

“I always thought that it looked like a little campfire.” MK said. “Figured it was intentional–you know, fire powers, fire hair, fire…cowlick?” He laughed again at his own joke. 

Then, before Red Son’s eyes, he saw the shift. MK’s typical wide grin morphed into something…different. Warmer. Lopsided. Entirely overwhelming for Red Son to witness. His eyebrows crinkled just a bit, like MK was trying to restrain himself from smiling–which made no sense, seeing how it was MK. But still, he seemed unable to fight back the urge to grin as he spoke. “It’s kind of adorable.” 

Adorable rang through Red Son’s ears for a full week. He kept running his hands through that tuft of hair, trying to simulate the feeling of MK’s fingers. 

MK praising someone for their strengths wasn’t strange, even if the intensity had increased significantly. Commenting on looks, however, was a different story. MK wouldn’t really fixate on appearances beyond doodling eccentric-looking customers who wandered into Pigsy’s. He would say that Mei looked good in her new jacket, but he wouldn’t gush by any means. 

But now if Red Son wore any shirt without sleeves, MK would be all over his biceps, bombarding him with questions on how he trained his arms and if he needed his coat tailor-made to “fit his guns in.” (Which made no sense, since he didn’t fight with guns at all.) He supposed Mei wasn’t kidding about MK having a “a whole thing ” for biceps, even though whatever that thing was still evaded Red Son. 

Then again, maybe MK noticed Red Son’s looks because he’d been staring at him so much lately. 

Normally, MK was alright at focusing on a conversation, but his eyes would inevitably wander to the floor, or ceiling, or window. It wasn’t for long. Lately though, MK’s eyes always seemed to land on Red Son. And he would know–Red Son’s eyes were usually on MK. 

Red Son would always jolt whenever MK locked eyes with him, like he’d been caught in the middle of some heinous act. But MK didn’t seem to mind. His lips would quirk up into that same warm smile, eyes practically sparkling. And even though Red Son would look away, MK wouldn’t.

Red Son could be doing anything– arguing with Mei about a race match, eating a fresh bowl of noodles from Pigsy’s, grumbling about some particularly embarrassing dialogue he had with his mother, and MK would watch him. He could barely escape it. Anytime he looked up or to the side, he’d see warm brown eyes staring back at him. It was starting to drive Red Son a little insane. 

One time Red Son actually asked MK about it. He was sitting at a booth in Pigsy’s, idly reading the menu, when he noticed MK staring at him while he wiped down tables. 

“Shouldn’t you be focusing on your work?” Red Son pointed out. “You shouldn’t be looking at me.” 

“Wiping down tables isn’t that hard.” MK pshawed. “Plus, I told you I wanted to draw you right? So I gotta look at you more.” He held his thumb out in front of him, tilting his head slightly. “Figure out your proportions.” 

That was another thing. The drawing. Whenever MK had his hands on his sketchbook, he would draw furiously, glancing up at Red Son every couple seconds as the sound of pencil on paper filled the room. Sometimes, MK would ask Red Son to turn his head, or move his hand, or sit just a little closer to the window so that “the light hit his eyes better.” 

Not that MK would let Red Son see the drawings. He’d insist that he was only allowed to see it when he was done. Which Red Son found completely unfair, seeing how Pigsy or Tang or even Mei was allowed to flip through his sketchbook, but apparently Red Son couldn’t. He only hand made it, but whatever. He tried not to feel put out by that. He honestly couldn’t, given how apparently Red Son was usually the main subject of MK’s works. 

When Red Son called MK out on it once, he explained that apparently, this was different from his other drawings. If Red Son wanted to card through his Monkey King biography or the hundreds of little doodles he had on scrap paper, he could go nuts, but what MK was trying to make was a gift. And he didn’t want Red Son seeing that gift until he felt it was ready. 

Red Son could respect that; he wouldn’t want to present a new project to his parents if it were only half complete. He didn’t expect MK to be that much of a perfectionist over it, but he wasn’t going to question the process. He’d be a hypocrite to do so. 

Still, that wasn’t really relevant at the moment, given how MK was holding a spray bottle and a cheap rag, not a scrapbook and pencil. 

Red Son huffed at MK. “You’re not even drawing right now.” 

MK sprayed down a table and shrugged. “Well, yeah, but I still need to look at you. I gotta get myself familiar with your features.” He looked up at Red Son with a coy smile. “Plus, I want to look at you. So I’m gonna keep doing that.” 

Red Son coughed into his fist, trying not to spark up in Pigsy’s Noodles. The smoke alarm was quite tricky in the restaurant. 

Red Son could, at least to some degree, understand why MK wanted to draw him as a gift. He’d made him a sketchbook, and MK wanted to do something for him in return. It wasn’t necessary, seeing as how the sketch was essentially a birthday gift, (Or whatever MK’s birth situation was. He really needed to ask MK to elaborate on that.) but the notion was sweet. And Red Son wasn’t going to turn down a free portrait. He’d never seen MK’s art before, but he was sure he’d love whatever MK made for him. Even if his medium choice of crayons was questionable. 

The other gifts, however, Red Son couldn’t really explain. 

Anytime MK and Red Son went out to an arcade, MK would insist on winning him some prize. Red Son didn’t pay much heed to it at first–MK once spent two hours trying to win enough tickets to get Mei a massive foam sword. But his collection of baubles grew very quickly; cheap jewelry, stuffed animals, fidget toys, and figurines all found a home in the back of Red Son’s drawers. One night, he came home lugging a stuffed cow so tall it reached his shoulders, and he had to pass his mother in the halls. She stared at it with a raised eyebrow, but the only explanation Red Son could give was awkward laughter

It wasn’t just little trinkets from the arcade either. MK had stocked his pantry with Red Son’s favorite foods. And not just the spare bags of latiao from snack runs. Now, if Red Son was ever hungry when hanging out at MK’s place, he could open the fridge to find his favorite fruits chilling in a small drawer. If he complained about missing a meal, MK would either order him food from what few human restaurants he found pleasant or whipped something up himself. Red Son saw MK’s spice cabinet grow with each visit, all to accommodate Red Son’s tastes. 

One night, MK asked Red Son to brew some oolong for him, and when he opened up his pantry he found a container of loose pu’er tea leaves. Red Son laughed when he saw it. 

“I thought you said pu’er tastes like dirt.” Red Son smirked at him. “Have you finally come to your senses?”

“Oh, it still tastes like dirt.” MK replied, not looking up from his comic. “That’s for you to drink.” 

Whatever snark Red Son had was knocked out of him at that, but MK barely seemed to notice, flipping through the comic book as he spoke. “I went out a while back to buy you some tea. Y’know, since the bagged stuff is ‘peasant drink’ or whatever to you. I dunno if this brand’s up to your standards or whatever, but the reviews online said it was good.” 

He peeked out of his comic book, eyes crinkled up in a smile. “You like it?” 

Red Son hoped the tips of his ears weren’t smoking. They certainly felt on fire as he went to grab the kettle. 

When Red Son looked into the brand later, he discovered that MK had actually splurged a decent amount on the tea–nothing insanely expensive, but definitely not the wisest financial decision a delivery boy could make. And while Red Son certainly railed on MK for spending his money on something so frivolous, it wasn’t even the most expensive gift. No, the pu’er was dethroned a week ago. 

Red Son and MK were watching some old animated film about Nezha. MK was spending most of the movie raving to Red Son about trivia facts, all of which Red Son quietly listened to. He’d been putting his hair back into a ponytail when he felt the band snap against his palm. 

“Wonderful.” Red Son dropped his arms, letting his hair fan around him. “That’s the fourth hair tie this week to break on me.” He sighed, leaning back on the bed. “I’ll have to buy some new ones.” 

MK hummed as he stared at Red Son. “You don’t have to keep it up all the time.” 

“It would only get in the way.” Red Son snorted. “You do realize I spend most of my time working around very hot and very sharp things? I’d rather not get my hair caught in my newest project.”

“Okay, but you’re not working right now, right? We’re hanging out.” MK said. 

“My point still stands.” Red Son huffed. “It’s less of a hassle when it’s up.”

Even though a fight scene had started up on the screen, MK kept looking at Red Son, tilting his head in thought. Suddenly, his eyes lit up. 

“Oh, wait!” MK futzed around for the remote and paused the movie. “I have something!” 

MK practically fell out of his bed as he scrambled around his house, opening up drawers and murmuring to himself looking for…something. Red Son watched, baffled. “If you make me wear one of your stupid bandanas, I’ll blow a hole through your hovel. Again. ” 

“No, no, it’s not that.” MK laughed as he finally pulled out a box from his drawer. “I just remembered that I got you this.” 

Red Son frowned as he took the box from MK. “Is there a reason you got me something?” He asked. 

“Uh, not really?” MK shrugged. “I was driving around the shopping district for a delivery, and I saw one of the stores had this, and I remembered you saying your hair ties were always snapping, and I dunno. Thought you’d like it.” 

MK stammered now, looking away from Red Son. “It was kind of dumb of me to buy it, but, uh. I did anyway. So. Yeah.” 

He seemed…almost embarrassed? Which was confusing, because there were far more stupid things that MK had done shamelessly. But right now, he couldn’t meet Red Son’s gaze as he babbled more excuses, hands shoved deep in his pockets and cheeks dusted a light pink. 

It was odd, but Red Son decided not to call MK out of it. He opened up the little box. 

Inside was a large metal claw clip, made to look like a branch of white plum blossoms. It was a delicate looking hair accessory, and judging by its appearance, an expensive one too. Red Son took the clip out carefully as he continued to inspect it.

“... How much did you spend on this, exactly?” Red Son asked. 

“Uhh-well-that-that doesn’t matter.” MK looked away, flushed. “What matters is if you like it. So…uh…” He glanced at Red Son now, seemingly having gained the courage to look him in the eye again. “Do you?” 

Red Son ran his finger along the delicate curve of the plum blossom, the back of his neck searing. He wasn’t used to being so…so…what was the word for it? Spoiled? Pampered? He knew MK had a blunt force love, but this seemed like a lot even for him. 

But it was…nice. It was nice to be spoiled and pampered. He liked having MK call him smart, and kind and adorable. He liked that MK’s eyes always seemed to land on him. His ears always pricked up at the sound of pencil against paper. Every little bauble MK got for him was cared for and loved. Even if Red Son couldn’t understand why MK was acting like this, he wasn’t really complaining either. 

“I do.” Red Son murmured. “I adore it.” 

“That’s good.” A weight seemed to lift off MK’s shoulders. “Would’ve sucked if I spent half my paycheck on something you didn’t like.” 

Red Son almost melted his brand new claw clip. “You spent half your paycheck?!”  

“It’s fine !” MK insisted. “It’s not like I’m gonna go hungry– I’m Pigsy’s guinea pig for any new food. Well, me and Tang.” He put his hands on his hips confidently. “I just won’t shower for a little while.” 

Red Son honestly had half a mind to return the claw clip, but after MK kept insisting that it was fine, he finally relented, wrapping his hair in a bun and securing it with the new accessory. He kept finding himself running his hands along the metal petals, still in disbelief that MK had taken the time to buy him something like this. And what for? Just because he wanted to? It was stupid, even for him. 

“My family used to grow plums.” Red Son muttered. “When I was a child, they’d keep them in our garden.” 

MK sat back down on the bed, hugging his monkey plush against his chest. “Yeah? That’s a good thing then, right?” He smiled. “I got you a flower you liked.” 

Look, Red Son couldn’t read MK like a billboard the same way MK could with him, but there was something…different about him. It was just hard to explain what. Maybe it wasn’t that things had shifted, but that MK had increased his… MKness. And, well, Red Son loved MK. There wasn’t a problem. 

Red Son couldn’t help the smile that creeped up his face. “It is a good thing.” He nodded. “But for future reference, I prefer peonies.” 

For some reason, MK found that statement incredibly funny. He flopped onto the bed, laughing out loud for a near minute before finally collecting himself and starting the movie. 

So, there was definitely a shift in MK. And while Red Son very clearly could see it, he wasn’t sure how to… tell people. 

Or more accurately, he wasn’t sure who to tell. It’s not like he could ask his parents for their insight. The bull clones weren’t going to be much help with interpersonal matters. And Red Son had a feeling if he asked Pigsy if MK had been asking strange lately, it would somehow be turned against him. 

So that left Mei. And Red Son wasn’t exactly sure how to ask her about any of this without accidentally revealing his own feelings in the process. It’s not like he didn’t trust Mei with it or anything, but he still wasn’t quite sure what he could do with his feelings for MK. Even with what paltry excuses for “flirting” he’d done, it wasn’t anything beyond testing the waters. Actively telling Mei felt like too large a step. 

But still, if anyone knew something was wrong, it would be her, right? She was MK’s best friend in the world. Even if MK didn’t always come to her about his issues, she could always tell when he was hiding something. 

It was a conversation Red Son figured he should have in person. So when Mei insisted she do his makeup before going out for his first time “clubbing,” he decided to use that opportunity. 

“MK’s been acting different. Do you know why?” Red Son asked as he stared up at the ceiling. 

Mei hummed as she drew across Red Son’s waterline. “You think he’s been acting different? How?” 

Red Son sighed. “It’s nothing bad, he’s just been more…” He waved his hands around a bit before eventually finding his words. “More of himself than usual.” 

Mei raised her eyebrow. “That doesn’t really tell me much, Red Boy.” 

Red Son groaned. “Well I don’t know how to explain it!” He tried to move his head to glare at Mei, but she forced it back up, chiding him. He spoke over her as she continued to do his eyeliner. “He’s just been acting more…more everything lately.” 

“You’re gonna have to give me some more adjectives, dude.” Mei snorted a bit as she fumbled through her makeup bag. “What color mascara do you want? I’ve got black, dark brown, and green.” 

“Black.” Red Son grunted. “And if I knew the proper adjectives, I’d be saying them.” He sighed as Mei tilted his head to do his mascara. “Does he still treat you the same?” 

“Yep.” Mei said, popping the “p.” She stuck her tongue out as she worked. “Why? Is he being mean to you? Because he should know, only I get to bully you.” She jammed her finger into Red Son’s chest. 

Red Son grumbled. “He’s not being mean. It’s-it’s the opposite, frankly.” He prayed that he wasn’t blushing too much. Or at the very least, that Mei would confuse the pink on his cheeks with the blush she’d dabbed on earlier. 

“Well,” Mei closed her mascara. “The only real change I’ve noticed is that MK seems pretty happy lately. And if he’s happy, then there’s no problem, right? He deserves a break from all that Mystic Monkie angst.” 

“But-but still,” Red Son protested. “Don’t you wonder why he’s happier?” 

“I mean, yeah. ” Mei closed her makeup bag. “But he’s my best friend. And he’s your friend too. He’ll tell us when he’s ready.” 

That…was…fair, Red Son supposed. It didn’t give Red Son any answers, but it was a bit comforting. MK was happy. And so at the very least, whatever had caused MK’s shift had to be something good. So eventually, he’d bring himself to talk about it. 

Mei handed Red Son a hand mirror to look at himself. “I’m gonna go potty, and then we can meet up with MK and porty. ” She laughed at her own joke, her grin only widened as Red Son curled his lip in disgust. 

“Ooh, and while we head over to MK’s, you can tell me where you got that claw clip.” She flicked one of the metal petals, the accessory making a light thunk. “It looks fancy.”

“Your hair’s a bit short for a claw clip, isn’t it?” Red Son snorted. He’d admit, he decided it would be… fun to try and dress a bit differently for the occasion. Half his hair was down, while the other was held together by the claw clip. That, combined with the fact that he was wearing a gift MK got for him was…it wasn’t embarrassing, of course, but he was a bit cagey on the matter. 

“I wouldn’t know where it’s from anyways.” Red Son huffed, looking away. “...MK got it for me.” 

Mei’s eyes widened. “ MK got you this? ” She inspected the claw clip more closely now, not pulling it out of Red Son’s hair but definitely tugging it around. “Jeez, how much did it cost?” 

Red Son huffed. “According to MK? Half his paycheck.”

Mei whistled. “Dang. Maybe you’re right about MK acting differently. To you at least. He hasn’t even given me back my comic.” 

Suddenly, Mei grabbed Red Son’s shoulders, popping her face next to his so their cheeks touched. “Awwww, Red Boy. If you and MK start dating, you know you gotta ask for my approval, right?” 

Red Son shoved Mei’s face away. “We’re not dating! ” He snapped, the ends of his hair smoking in a cocktail of indignation and embarrassment. 

“And don’t think this changes your place on the bestie leaderboard!” Mei stood up straight. “You’re still in sixth place.” 

Red Son sputtered, unable to even form the right sentences to curse Mei out. She just cackled all the way to the bathroom, her laughter muffled by the door. 

Red Son grumbled in his seat as he propped up the hand mirror. Mei fidgeted with his hair so much he’d have to redo it. He frowned as he grabbed the claw clip. He didn’t think he’d let anything slip about his feelings, but given Mei’s last comment, he must have. Him and MK, dating. It was completely unprompted. And why would he have to ask for Mei’s approval like they were arranging a marriage? And-and- wait, what number was he now?

Red Son reared his head around to the bathroom door. “What do you mean I’m sixth?!” 

From inside the bathroom, Mei burst into laughter. 

Nightclubs were terrible and Red Son would burn them all down given the opportunity. 

He said that about a lot of places Mei and MK dragged him along to, but he meant it this time. He was going to find every single nightclub in Megapolis–no, China–no, the mortal realm– and he was going to incinerate them. Forget being good, or loving, or caring, he was fully prepared to return to a life of villainy if it meant purging the universe of this scourge. 

Nightclubs were dark, dingy buildings packed with people drinking, dancing, or some combination of the both. It was uncomfortably hot and stuffy, making Red Son of all people sweat. It was unreasonably loud, to the point that Red Son couldn’t even ask Mei a question without screaming at the top of his lungs. Every two minutes, someone would elbow him in the ribs, or step on his shoes, but if Red Son tried to set their hair on fire, he’d be the bad guy. 

Red Son understood why most of the people here were drunk–you could only tolerate these conditions if you were completely plastered. 

It was probably one or two in the morning when the club finally kicked everybody out. While Mei searched on her phone for some cheap 24-hour fast food, Red Son leaned against the wall of the night club, grumbling to himself. His feet were sore from the heels he wore. Someone had spilled some overpriced drink on his jumpsuit, a dark indigo spot right on the center of his chest. 

Worst of all, Red Son made the mistake of letting his hair down. Now, it clung to the back of his neck from how much he’d been sweating, the sensation sticky and uncomfortable. He could only imagine how terrible he looked.

But when MK came over, he didn’t comment on any of that. Instead, he took a lock of Red Son’s hair in his hand, his thumb running across the thick strands. 

“I never understood how you kept your hair all up in your ponytail.” MK murmured. “It almost seems to go up? It reminded me of a torch in a video game or something. Which makes sense, you’ve got fire powers and all, but when you wear it down like this, it almost looks completely different. It has like…I dunno, volume? Thickness? It’s always more hair than I expect.”

Red Son raised an eyebrow as MK ran his thumb along the lock of hair. He was about to remind MK that his hair also seemed to defy gravity when MK smiled. “It’s pretty like this.” 

Maybe it was just the heels, but Red Son almost slipped off his feet.

He opened his mouth to try and respond, but MK continued talking. “I mean, it’s pretty when it’s up too, sure, but I see it up all the time. That’s a familiar pretty. Seeing your hair down’s like…I dunno. A treat, I guess.” He brought the lock of hair closer to his face as if to inspect it, humming. “You should wear it down more often.” 

Okay. Okay. That was a lot of prettys for Red Son to process. His mind replayed MK’s words over and over again. He found his hair pretty when it was down–which, sure, considering how often Mei begged to let her style it, maybe it really did look better out of the typical updo. But MK hadn’t called his usual ponytail ugly. No, he called it a familiar pretty. A pretty that he’d grown used to. Implying that he found Red Son–he thought Red Son was–that he was always–

He couldn’t take it any more. Red Son moved his face closer to MK’s eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong with you?” 

“Huh?” MK’s smile didn’t leave him. 

“You’ve been acting different. ” Red Son said. “Strange. And it’s seemingly all directed towards me. Dragon Girl said you’d let us know when you’re ready, but I want answers, now.” 

MK looked bashful now, glancing to the side. “Do I really act that different?” 

“Yes!” Red Son hissed. MK flinched at that, so he softened his voice. “Not a bad different, mind you. Just…different.” He huffed, looking away. “You seem even more chipper than usual.” 

MK pursed his lips in thought, brow slightly furrowed. He hummed for a bit before looking back at Red Son. “I guess I am pretty happy lately.” 

“Is there any reason why?” Red Son asked. 

MK laughed a bit, scratching the back of his head. “Well, it’s a bit of a long story, but…uh…” He hiked up his shoulders. “A while back, my soulmate and I started talking.” 

Oh. Something in Red Son’s chest plummeted into his stomach. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but some stupid part of him thought MK was happy because of…well…him. 

“He said he was a bit worried about getting super close, but wanted us to talk more. Be friendly, y’know?” Mk shrugged. “And it was nice. Really nice.” 

Red Son could see where this was going. MK’s soulmate had finally wizened up enough to appreciate who he had, and ever forgiving MK welcomed him with open arms. Why did Red Son think he had a chance? The only romance MK had ever spoken about wanting was something like Pigsy and Tang, a love so powerful it connected body and soul. Red Son abandoned what little chance he had to foster that sort of bond for MK, but why would he expect MK to abandon his soulmate for him? 

“So, you two are getting along well then?” Red Son tried his best not to sound miserable. 

MK sucked his breath in through his teeth. “Actually, no.” He crossed his arms. “He kinda told me he was in love with someone.” 

That put a halt to Red Son’s pity party. MK looked at the floor, the subject clearly sensitive to him. 

“We had only been talking for a couple weeks when suddenly he said that he loved someone and he wanted to, like, go out with them. And I mean, it’s not like I can say no. ” MK’s hands began to dance around as he spoke. “It’s not like you gotta marry your soulmate or whatever, I can’t stop him from being with who he loves. So I-I-” 

MK huffed. “Honestly, I think the only reason he spoke to me at all is because he wanted me to-to-I dunno.” He kicked an empty beer can on the ground. “Approve of his new relationship, or something. Make sure he didn’t have any loose ends before asking someone out.” 

…. Well. Red Son watched the empty beer can roll down the street. MK’s soulmate was certainly a piece of work. Red Son took a deep breath, trying not to literally burst out in anger. 

“I mean-” MK put his hands in his jacket pockets. “I wasn’t-it’s not like I was crazy sad about it or anything. I still don’t really know the guy, so it’d be weird to like, cry over him. But I dunno. Maybe I got my hopes up that we’d at least be…be something. ” 

Red Son could understand that. A small part of him wondered if Xiaotian felt the same way. He made a mental note to say hello to him tomorrow morning. It’d been a while since they’d last spoken. 

Still though there was something that baffled Red Son. "But you said you're happy."

“Well, I am." MK looked up at Red Son. “I’m really happy.” 

Okay, that just made things even more confusing. “Didn’t you just say you were upset over your soulmate?” Red Son asked. 

“Well, yeah. I was upset.” MK stepped closer to Red, their chests almost touching. “But, I realized I didn’t really want my soulmate anyways. Or at least, I stopped wanting him a while ago.” 

When MK looked up at Red Son, that new smile was there, wide and lopsided and somehow restrained despite being brimming with some emotion Red Son couldn’t name. MK’s eyes sparkled in the dim streetlight, the only pretty thing on that downtown street in Megapolis. He spoke, soft and low, his breath fanning Red Son’s face. “I found someone better.” 

That…was…

“How drunk are you?” Red Son narrowed his eyes. 

“I’m not drunk!” MK protested, stepping away now. “Do you know how expensive alcohol is here? Plus, Pigsy would kill me if I was hungover at work.” 

Yeah, there was no way MK was sober right now. Red Son didn’t smell any alcohol in his breath, but frankly, he was acting so weird that he had to be inebriated. Red Son was fully prepared to ask MK to walk in a straight line when Mei came bounding over. 

“Okay! There’s a fried chicken place a couple blocks away that’s open for another hour. We can go there to– woof. Red Boy.” Mei elbowed Red Son in the chest. “Are you gonna be okay walking, or are you gonna turn to ash if you take another step?”

“Oh!” MK turned his back to Red Son and squatted. He looked over his shoulder with a grin. “I can carry you to the chicken place!”

Red Son’s hair flared up. “Absolutely not.” He wasn’t going to take a piggyback ride from what was most certainly a drunk man. 

“Come on, it’ll be fine!” MK insisted. “Do you know how many boulders Monkey King makes me carry? It’d be like holding a stick.”

“I weigh more than a stick, Noodle Boy.” Red Son hissed. “No matter how much Dragon Girl insists otherwise.” 

“You get my point.” MK laughed. “C’mon, it’s no big deal.”

Red Son really didn’t want to take up the offer, but his feet hurt more than his pride, so eventually MK hoisted him up. Red Son looped his arms around MK’s neck, head bobbing just above MK as they walked to get food. 

Red Son could smell the cheap conditioner MK used–a soapy scent which barely imitated fruit. How MK had such nice hair when he used such paltry products was beyond him. From the few times Red Son had ever touched MK’s hair, he found it soft and silken. He could only imagine how gorgeous MK’s hair would be if he took proper care of it. 

Maybe he would wear his hair down more often. At least, more often around MK. 

Red Son was the biggest night owl out of everyone in the Demon Bull Family. More often than not he’d stay up until the crack of dawn working, giving him only a few precious hours to sleep before he started his morning routine. Even when he wasn’t working Red Son would stay up longer than usual, tossing and turning in his bed. Demon Bull King would sometimes stay up to catch the latest marathon of Cooking With Chang’e, but he’d eventually slip into sleep around midnight.

As for Princess Iron Fan, she always kept a strict sleeping regimen–early to bed, and early to rise. So it was a bit surprising for Red Son to come home that night to find her in the dining room.

Princess Iron Fan was sipping a cup of tea as she read. She looked up from her book when Red Son walked in, her lip curled in distaste. “Do you normally come home looking this disheveled? ” 

“When I do, you’re normally not up.” Red Son muttered, face hot from humiliation.

Princess Iron Fan sighed, picking up her tea to sip. “Demon Bull King’s been watching some new drama. The lead’s voice is so insufferable I can’t stand to be in the room when he turns it on. But, he’s invested now, so I’ll have to wait until he’s done with his little show.” 

“I see.” Red Son grunted. “I’m off to bed then. I’ll try to get up before breakfast.” 

Red Son walked through the dining room. He wasn’t in the mood to listen to his mother ask why his jumpsuit reeked of booze or why his hair looked like a hurricane. He wanted to take off his heels, flop onto his bed, and sleep in for the first time in months. 

But then, Princess Iron Fan put her book down and raised her brow. “What’s in your hair?” 

Oh. Heat ran up Red Son’s face. “Erm–it’s a claw clip.” He took the clip out, letting his hair fall down his shoulder in waves as he handed it to his mother. 

Princess Iron Fan frowned as she inspected the claw clip. “It looks…” She clicked her tongue. “Cheap.” 

“It’s-it’s not that cheap.” Red Son waved one hand in the air. “It’s quaint. And a perfectly functional hair accessory.” He knew it was probably unwise to defend the claw clip to his mother, but he felt the urge to. “I like it just fine.”

“ Oh. ” Princess Iron Fan sighed as she looked over at Red Son. “I see.” She handed the claw clip back to Red Son. “No wonder you’re wearing something so tacky. Your little tryst got you another courting gift.” 

Princess Iron Fan definitely said something else after that, but honestly Red Son’s mind blanked from her last three words. “A-another? Courting gift?” He squeaked. 

“Well of course.” She snorted. “You think I haven’t seen you sneaking in your little presents? Those tiny trinkets the bull clones keep shoveling out of your drawers? I saw you lugging in that stuffed toy.”  She wrinkled her nose. “That looked cheap as well. Your little human doesn’t have much in terms of means, do they?” 

“I-that’s-” Red Son stammered, unsure how exactly to respond. “It’s the thought that counts.” 

Princess Iron Fan barked out a laugh. “Well, when you can’t count money, I suppose the thought’s all you can count.” She hummed as she picked her book back up. “But you clearly aren’t complaining.” 

“Good night, Mother.” Red Son stomped out of the dining room, wincing with each step. 

The weird web of lies Red Son had created about his human courtship really threw him for a loop. Sure, in retrospect he could sort of see where his parents were coming from. He was spending more time out, he’d been buying odd purchases, and while “lovesick puppy” was a rather embarrassing term, it wasn’t entirely inaccurate. But still, it felt odd to describe any of MK’s gift’s as “courting gifts.” 

Courting gifts were obvious announcements of adoration. You’d shower the object of your affections with whatever item they could possibly desire. It was meant to show not only that you were capable of providing a good life for them, but that you cared about them enough to get them such things in the first place. And MK wasn’t doing that. Red Son hadn’t exactly asked for a giant stuffed cow. 

Well, he did look at it at the prize stand in the arcade for a bit too long. Not out of want, but more curiosity. And he supposed MK took that as a sign to win him the cow, even though it took hours. All those little trinkets MK could at the arcade were because he thought Red Son would like them. And he did–he would admit to futzing around with the fidget toys whenever there was a lull in his work. 

And right now, there was a tin of loose leaf in MK’s apartment because Red Son complained about tea from tea bags tasting like garbage. And MK always kept some lychee in the fridge in case Red Son came over, because it was his favorite fruit. And the whole reason he got that claw clip was because Red Son kept talking about his hair ties snapping, so he spent half his paycheck to help him. And…uh…

Wait. 

As Red Son closed the door to his room, the pieces began to fall into place. MK constantly staring at Red Son. Providing for him however he could, given his meager salary. The torrent of praise about him. MK–MK said he looked pretty. And not just that he looked pretty tonight, but that Red Son had become a familiar pretty. Which implied that MK found him pretty all the time. 

And wait, wasn’t constantly drawing Red Son a bit–that was like, a thing, right? Artists having their muses? Red Son wouldn’t go as far as to say he was MK’s muse, but surely, constantly staring at Red Son to get familiar with his features was a bit odd, wasn’t it? 

And-and-WAIT. When Mei joked about MK and Red Son dating, he figured that was completely unprompted, but if MK never treated his best friend in the world the way he treated Red Son right now, then surely, surely, the way MK was behaving couldn’t at all be platonic. 

But that would mean– that would mean-

Red Son laid back against the door, sliding down to the floor. He had spent so much time fussing around whether or not to fully court MK that he never fully considered that he might be the one getting courted. And why would he? MK wasn’t a romantic. He’d never lamented about being single. He never pined for a person. The closest thing he had to that was his soulmate, and apparently MK had…had…

Wait. Red Son’s mind raced back to earlier outside the nightclub, where MK smiled up at him as they stood chest to chest. He’d said he’d found someone better. And when he said he found someone better, he stepped close to Red Son staring up at him like he was the sun, and not the other way around.

Was that someone…was he…there was no way MK was talking about him, right? 

Red Son’s face burned bright red as he kicked off his heels, sitting on the floor of his bedroom in disbelief. It would all make sense. It would explain the shift. But that would mean that MK…that MK…

Red Son pulled his phone out of his pocket and called Mei. His face was surely a deep shade of scarlet at the moment, but in the privacy of his room, he didn't worry about anyone seeing it. She answered after four rings. 

“Red Boy, it’s like, 4 am.” She groaned. “Why are you-”

“When you said MK had ‘a whole thing for biceps,’ what did you mean by that?” Red Son asked. 

Mei was quiet for a beat before groaning. “Did you seriously wake me up for this?” 

“Yes.” Red Son tried to keep his voice from shaking.

Red Son could hear Mei tossing and turning in her sheets. “He thinks they’re like, nice to look at. He insists it’s not about him finding them hot, but I dunno, he gets pretty fixated.” She yawned. “If he’s been checking you out too much, I can tell him to stop.” 

“Checking me out?” Red Son echoed. 

“Yeah.” Mei said. “He looks at you a lot.” 

Red Son hung up the phone and let it drop to the floor. He knew Mei would call him up the next morning demanding an explanation, but he didn’t really have it in him to care.

Even though he knew should get up and start his nightly routine, Red Son didn't have it in him to do it. His head was spinning, MK's blunt force love concussing him like it never had before. He’d finally found the word for how he felt. Not spoiled. Not pampered. Red Son felt courted.

Chapter Text

So.

Red Son wasn’t used to…to…

To whatever this was. 

It still felt weird for Red Son to say he was being courted. Sure, he felt courted. But that would imply that MK… was courting him. Which felt…pretty unbelievable. 

Sure, the evidence was certainly there. The shower of praise and gifts, the sound of pencil on paper, the way MK’s eyes always seemed to wander towards Red Son. MK’s affections had ramped up to the point that even Mei couldn’t relate to it. Honestly, Red Son would probably look more deluded if he denied the allegations. 

But it was still MK, who stuck his tongue out like a toddler whenever a movie showed anything heavier than a light peck on the lips. It was baffling to think he’d want to date anyone, much less that he’d take such… enthusiastic initiative in courtship. 

Plus, it wasn’t just anyone MK was doing this for. It was him. Red Son was aware that it sounded incredibly self-defeating to think MK wouldn’t go for him, but really? Him? The ex-enemy who just a couple months ago would call him Noodle Boy like it was an insult? Who trashed his home, insulted his father’s relationship to his face, who jeered on about humans like they were ants beneath his feet? That’s who he wanted to court? 

And well, this wasn't really courting. At least, not the proper demon way. Courtships were something announced to the world with pride. They were clear, direct action. Courtnapping wasn’t by any means unsubtle. A lot of MK's actions matched up to typical demon courting, but it didn't have the sort of base in its chest that courtship required.

Frankly, was MK even aware this was courting? He was oblivious to romance. He always acted surprised whenever a confession scene or kiss scene played out in a show. He never understood when customers at Pigsy’s Noodles were coming onto him. His actions might seem more…flirtatious than normal, even from a human perspective on romance, but that didn’t necessarily mean he intended them to be. Maybe MK just liked being around Red Son. Maybe Red Son was just clinging onto an impossible hope. 

Well, that wasn’t fair to MK. Even if he failed to recognize when people were flirting with him, that didn’t mean he was incapable of flirting himself. He was an adult, and perfectly capable of understanding how his actions came across. MK was friendly, and sometimes people interpreted that as him being interested, but he didn’t flirt back. Sure, MK couldn’t always pick up on a social cue, but he wasn’t by any means emotionally unintelligent. 

Gods. Did Red Son seriously admit MK was smart? Guanyin help him, he was doomed. 

Red Son opened the hood of the Noodle Cart with a near violent force, grunting as he surveyed the damage. It had become routine to check up on that miserable hunk of parts. Even after Pigsy had actually opened his wallet to get some proper repairs done, the Noodle Cart still wasn’t all that good a vehicle. Which made sense–it was incredibly old, and MK didn’t exactly drive it around with care. Red Son had seen MK’s flimsy attempt to race driving that thing. He couldn’t imagine how much it had gone through when forced into battle. 

Still though, Red Son took it upon himself to fix it. Whenever MK mentioned the Noodle Cart acting on the fritz, Red Son would pop the hood and make sure everything was running…well, not smoothly, but as smoothly as it possibly could. 

Red Son wondered if MK could tell this was his own method of courtship. Or flirtation, really, given how Red Son had made no efforts to make his feelings explicit. MK couldn't understand why customers would lean across the booth to admire his biceps, but he was always able to read Red Son. Surely, he figured out his intentions by now. 

Well that couldn’t be true, because if MK knew Red Son loved him, he would have announced his courtship. And no, no matter how wired that conversation was, Red Son refused to count what MK said outside the nightclub as an actual confession, even if it had certain implications that he couldn’t quite ignore. Red Son didn’t want the start of his relationship to be on some dingy street in Megapolis. But then again, with how MK looked up at him that night, maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if he’d just brought his face a little closer and–

A puff of soot erupted in Red Son’s face. He sputtered, waving his hands in front of him as he stuck out his tongue. He hadn’t had something like that happen to him in decades. It was amateurish, frankly. But he couldn’t exactly help it. How was he supposed to function normally when he was-was-

Red Son groaned as he slammed the hood of the Noodle Cart down and grabbed his toolbox. From his research, he knew human romances typically had some murky period where no party announced their intent. It was a muddled dynamic where any action could range from a simple platonic gesture to downright seduction. They honestly sounded like more trouble than they were worth. 

Demon courtships were a lot more explicit. A suitor approached you with their intentions, and you could reciprocate immediately, entertain their affections until you made a decision, or you could tear their ears off for even daring to approach you.   If MK’s actions truly were meant to be a courtship, he was certainly going about it in a very human way. 

Then again, could Red Son really judge him? He wasn’t approaching MK like a demon. If anything, he was treating his feelings the way a human would– performing a quiet, careful dance, dipping his toes into inky black waters. Doing small acts just ambiguous enough to shield his pride, but affectionate enough to denote a slight shift in demeanor. 

But Red Son didn’t intend to court MK. He was acting under the assumption that MK most likely wasn’t interested in romance, much less him. Red Son hadn’t made any legitimate plan to court MK, because as far as he knew, he’d be rejected with the same polite smile MK gave fawning customers and leering night club regulars. He hadn’t considered the possibility that MK would…well… also be interested. Red Son had been dipping his toes in water, but he didn't expect MK to grab his leg and yank him in.

Well, actually, that was very MK of him to do. 

Maybe what really threw Red Son off was that…well…this was good. It was what he wanted, even though he never seriously thought he could have it. Red Son’s plans never worked, but that’s usually because some small miscalculation made it blow up in his face. They had never failed upward before. But really, this was beyond his wildest dreams, wasn’t it? There was a chance that MK…loved him back. And that he was courting him, the best way a human could. It didn’t feel possible, so how could it be? 

Red Son knew he had to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. That he wasn’t seeing what he wanted to see, rather than what was there. So when MK asked for him to sleep over while Mei was out of town visiting relatives, he jumped at the chance. As much as Red Son loathed the thought of sleeping on the floor of that miserable hovel, being alone with MK like that might give him the chance he needed to prod for information. 

MK had slept over at Red Son's after his little break-in, but Red Son had only ever slept over at Mei's. This of course, meant that Red Son didn't actually partake in very many sleepovers. MK's home was the primary sleepover location, and while MK always asked about Red Son staying the night, he refused on principle. Red Son was convinced spending the night in that hovel would lower his lifespan by a full century. So when he actually agreed, MK practically burst with joy, babbling on about all the snacks they’d buy, or games they’d play. It was cute, watching MK bounce on the heels of his feet around as he planned out the sleepover. And, well, if MK was happy, so was he. 

Pigsy’s Noodles had closed up shop by now, but MK had insisted on making dinner using the kitchen there. Apparently, Pigsy had been teaching him how to make his family recipe of xinjiang pulled noodle soup, and MK wanted to show off his culinary prowess. He tried not to think about the implications behind MK trying to impress Red Son by cooking for him. 

When Red Son stepped into Pigsy’s Noodles, MK was behind the counter, chunky blue headphones over his ears as he manned the pot. MK hummed a song, sprinkling a few herbs into the bubbling broth. Red Son couldn’t help but watch for a moment, a warmth blossoming in his chest at the sight. There was something intimate about seeing MK cook for him. Maybe one day, Red Son would cook for MK too. That was a nice thought–MK popping over his shoulder as he grilled skewers of spiced meats and vegetables. He’d probably have to use less chilis than normal in the seasoning, but for MK, Red Son would toss out every spice in his kitchen. 

Before Red Son could say anything, MK noticed him. He couldn’t fully stifle his laughter, as much as he tried. “Dude,” MK took off his headphones, the music still blaring out. “What happened to your face?”

“Your hunk of metal on wheels needs an oil change.” Red Son grunted. 

MK walked around the counter and grabbed Red Son’s toolbox from his hand. “Man the soup for a sec? Don’t let it boil too much.” 

“But my hands are filthy-” MK shoved a wooden spoon in Red Son’s sooty hands and ran out of Pigsy’s Noodles. Red Son grumbled, stomping over to the sink to properly wash the soot off his hands before looking over the pot of golden broth. A few minutes of quiet stirring later and MK returned, a damp face towel in hand. 

Ah. That was considerate of him. It wouldn’t be enough to properly clean the soot off, of course. Red Son had all sorts of soaps and lotions for that. He was actually going to ask MK if he could use his shower before he ran off. But given MK’s lack of knowledge on the subject, Red Son supposed it was sweet that he was trying to–

Red Son’s internal monologue was immediately cut off when instead of handing him the towel, MK started wiping his face. 

“Uh-” Red Son looked down at MK, who had a determined look on his face as he wiped Red Son’s cheek. “This really isn’t-” He tried to lift his hands up in protest, but MK smiled. 

“Dude, you help me out with cart troubles all the time. This is the least I can do.” MK said. 

Red Son wanted to protest. This wasn’t about him being unable to take a helping hand, it was a matter of practicality–he’d still have to shower after this. Plus, there was something horrifically embarrassing about having someone else wipe his face. He prayed Pigsy didn’t forget his coat in the shop. He didn’t want anyone walking in on him like this. 

But, this was…this was nice. It was embarrassing because it was vulnerable. Tender. Soot and ash were a familiar issue for Red Son, but it was something the bull clones would clean or he would deal with alone. He couldn’t really remember a time someone he loved had done this for him. His shoulders were still tense and his cheeks still burned hot, but he put his hands down and let MK work. 

“You know, lately you’ve been super helpful.” MK muttered. “I mean, you always have been, obviously.” He shrugged. “But maybe I’ve just noticed it more now? I dunno.”

Ah. So MK hadn’t pieced together Red Son’s real intentions. That was a relief. Red Son wasn’t exactly good at keeping his feelings in, so he was glad he hadn’t been exposed quite yet. 

“Like, even though you keep saying you hate the Noodle Cart, you still fix it whenever I point out an issue.” MK said, moving to wipe Red Son’s other cheek. 

Red Son huffed. “The real issue with your cart is that it hasn’t been torn apart for scraps yet.” 

MK stuck his tongue out at Red Son. “You know what I mean.” He swiped the towel under Red Son’s eyes, in a careful arch, sighing a bit as he did. 

“I just…I kinda wish I could help you more, y’know? Even the scales a bit.” MK admitted in a quiet voice. “Pigsy and Sandy and Tang need help, and they always know they can come for me. Even if Mei doesn’t ask all the time, I do what I can to support her. But sometimes, it’s hard to figure out how to help you.” 

Red Son snorted. “I’m not going to pitch into your irrational impulse to help everyone in a ten mile radius.” He raised his eyebrow at MK. “Surely, it’s just exhausting to be everyone’s little hero .” 

“Okay, sure, I get a bit burned out from helping people sometimes.” MK shrugged as he wiped Red Son’s forehead. Red Son wanted to protest that MK certainly got more than just a bit burned out, but then, MK cupped his cheek, a toothy grin on his face. 

“But maybe I want to be your hero.” He said softly, leaning close to Red Son’s face. 

That's not how Red Son expected him to word that. He sputtered, turning his head away so MK wouldn’t see the ridiculously embarrassing expression on his face. Your hero was going to spin around his head for the rest of the night. 

MK laughed, wiping a bit of soot off Red Son’s nose. “I’m definitely gonna have to wash this face towel.”

“If you hand wash it, it’ll get the soot off more easily.” Red Son muttered, voice not fully working. 

The soup was good. Still not Pigsy’s Noodles level of quality, but given how impatient MK was about letting the broth simmer, it was as flavorful as it could get. Even though it needed more peppercorns, Red Son ate eagerly. He supposed food just tasted better when someone you loved made it for you.

MK insisted on doing the dishes, since he wanted to be a "good host," which meant Red Son had time to properly wash the soot off him. He took a shower and slipped into a set of clean pajamas before leaving MK's bathroom. 

MK had been washing the dishes in Pigsy's kitchen, but he apparently finished while Red Son was still washing the soot out of his hair, because now he was watering his houseplants with a small, decorative mug. 

MK pouted when he looked back at Red Son. “I still think you should’ve brought your onesie.” 

Red Son huffed. “So you can send the Dragon Girl more pictures? Not a chance.” 

“That’s not why.” MK put the mug down on the windowsill. “It’s so I could put mine on and we could match.” 

Red Son opened his mouth to say something snippy, but whatever fire he had died off when he looked at the cheerful grin on MK’s face. He missed the days when MK did have such a hold over him.

“Fine." He relented. "Next time, I’ll bring the stupid cow onesie.” 

MK’s grin grew wider now as he cheered. “I don’t think I’ve seen you wear it since I bought it.” he sat down on the bed. 

“What, you think I’d wear that thing in public?” Red Son snorted.

“Maybe you should.” MK shot back. “You’d look cute.” 

Red Son sat on the bed with a huff, praying his ears only felt like they were on fire rather than actually being lit up. 

“Oooh, so I have a question.” MK said, moving closer to him. “I know normally we watch stuff on my TV, but I’ve been thinking. Y’know how you got those big face holograph screens that you use to watch Mei’s livestreams?” He leaned forward, clasping his hands together. “Do you think you could pirate any movies there?” 

Red Son looked over at MK, trying his best to glare, but found his defenses very quickly shattered the moment their eyes met. He groaned. Every time he thought he couldn’t get any lower. 

“You’re lucky that I have superior cyber security to your puny mortal tech.” Red Son sneered. With a swipe of this hand, a large magenta screen formed in front of the two of them. 

MK cheered. “You’re the best!” He hopped out of bed. “You choose the movie this time. I’m gonna grab some snacks.” 

Red Son didn’t particularly care about what movie they watched. But he wasn’t just here to enjoy his time with MK. Red Son was here with a mission. He couldn’t just bring up romance out of the blue–he needed to create a setting. A mood. An opportunity to discuss the topic without it coming off as unprompted. 

When MK came back, he looked at the movie Red Son chose incredulously. “Huh.” He tilted his head as he sat down. “Didn’t think you were into romance movies.”  

Red Son shrugged, grabbing the bag of latiao MK always kept in stock for him. “My father’s been watching Cooking with Chang’e for almost a year. I was curious how humans would interpret her story.” 

MK hummed, grabbing his monkey plush and looking down at its face. Red Son watched him, a bit embarrassed by the choice now. “I-if you think you’ll find it boring, we can watch something else.” He said. “I know you’re not particularly interested in love stories.” 

“Huh? Oh, no it’s fine.” MK assured him. “It’s not like, my favorite genre ever, but I’m down to watch it. I mean, you watched a bunch of Monkey Cop stuff with me, and I know how much you hated it. He leaned over to Red Son, bumping their shoulders. “I’ll do whatever makes you happy.” 

MK cracked open a bottle of suanmeitang, completely unaware of how his words made Red Son’s ears steam.   “Plus, I went to the moon that one time. I kinda want to see how similar movie-Chang’e is to the real Chang’e.” 

Red Son pressed play on the movie, grabbing a pillow to place between the wall and his back when he paused. “Wait, when did you go to the moon-? ” 

“Samadhi Fire stuff–I’ll tell you later.” MK assured him, shoving his hand in the latiao bag Red Son was holding and popping a few sticks into his mouth. Red Son was about to snap at MK to get his own bag when MK leaned his head against his shoulder. The casual touch wasn’t by any means unusual coming from MK, but given everything else, it made Red Son’s face turn beet red. 

The movie itself wasn’t anything particularly special. The movie’s effects aged decently, but some scenes were particularly painful to watch. Chang’e and Hou Yi were devoid of any real personality beyond good and noble. Still though, it was entertaining enough. At leas the costumes were pretty. 

MK was probably getting bored, because he started to talk over the movie. “Pigsy’s a huge fan of Cooking With Chang’e, actually.” He said. “When we went to the moon, he accidentally stole her recipe book.” 

Red Son snorted. “I’m assuming that didn’t go over well.” 

“Nope.” MK laughed. “But, it was an accident, so she took it well. He even got to guest star in an episode.” 

Huh. If DBK mentioned that episode, Red Son had forgotten about it. “Well,” He snorted. “Maybe all it’ll take for my parents to like you is bonding over mooncakes. ” 

“Maybe.” MK hummed, reaching across the bed to grab an apple from the array of snacks he’d tossed onto the mattress. He bit into it, chewing loudly before speaking with his mouth full. “ Do you think your parents would actually like me one day?” 

Red Son glanced over at MK. He was watching the movie, trying his best to look casual, but Red Son could feel MK physically tense up as he asked the question. He didn’t see why there was any need for MK to feel nervous about it–Red Son was the one who had to worry about that. 

“It would certainly make things easier if they did.” Red Son said. “I don’t know if they’ll ever stop seeing you as an obstacle to their goals. There’s a reason why I haven’t told them about our…relationship.” 

He shrugged. “But they’ve made no plans to shatter the current alliance. And you’re infuriatingly easy to like.” 

A smile curled up MK’s face at that. “You think I’m easy to like?” 

“I also think you’re infuriating.” Red Son grunted. 

“Yeah, but, you still like me anyways, right?” MK’s expression was downright cheeky. 

Red Son crumpled up his empty snack bag and threw it at MK’s face.

MK pouted as he threw it at the trash bin by his desk. It landed next to it, but MK made no effort to leave the bed.

“Well, if you’re not going to say it, then I will.” MK announced.

Red Son scoffed. "What's that supposed to-"

MK face was so close to Red Son's their noses nearly touched. He put his hand on Red Son's forearm and wore a wide, lopsided grin as he spoke. “I like you, Red Son.” 

Even though the movie was still playing, Red Son swore he couldn’t hear a thing. The soft magenta light of the screen made MK’s features look even more welcoming than they usually were. He could feel MK’s breath against him, the smell of apples and plums hitting his nostrils. MK’s hand squeezed Red Son’s forearm, the warmth of his palm surely enough to burn him. 

“I-” Red Son swallowed, an overwhelming heat spreading across the back of his ears and neck. “I know you like me.” 

MK made a small noise at that, shrugging his shoulders. “Do you?” 

Wait. Was this-was this one of those human confessions? The ones that were all muddied and complicated because one party kept expecting the other to actually “make a move?” Was–was MK “ making the move?” 

Red Son coughed into his fist, looking away from MK. Right. Okay. Maybe it wasn’t anything like that. Maybe MK was just trying to assure Red Son that they were friends. Just because MK was staring at him with that same lopsided smile, and his grip on Red Son’s forearm felt securing and comforting, that didn’t–that didn’t necessarily mean anything.

Still though, it certainly felt like it meant something, judging by the way MK’s thumb kept running over Red Son’s arm. Or the smile MK was giving him. Or the fact that his face was so, so close to his right now. And given all the other evidence, it was starting to get pretty difficult for Red Son to deny–

The sound of Chang’e’s actress shouting made MK and Red Son jump. MK let go of Red Son’s forearm, instead throwing his empty bottle of suanmeitang at the trash bin. He managed to miss even worse than last time, so he got out of bed to fix it, leaving Red Son in the bed still trying to piece together when exactly just happened. 

 The movie ended shortly after that, and things seemed to simmer down. MK made Red Son play some co-op puzzle game with him. Apparently Mei had mentioned it off hand on a livestream about a week back, and MK thought it’d be fun to play with Red Son. 

“With me?” Red Son echoed. “Why not with Mei?” 

“Eh, Mei and I are more into fighting games than puzzle stuff. Figured this was more up your alley.” MK tapped Red Son’s forehead. “You’re the genius, right?” 

The game was fun. The artstyle was cutesy and the mechanics made gameplay seamless. The puzzles were just complicated enough to keep Red Son and MK engaged without being needlessly complicated. Honestly, Red Son was surprised he hadn’t heard about it before. Sometimes Mei would review games while streaming, and he usually tuned into listen, even if it was just to have some white noise. 

It was only when the game ended did Red Son remember Mei’s review. She called it a couple’s game. 

“Erm-” Red Son looked over at MK. “Remind me again why you wanted to play this with me specifically?” 

“I dunno.” MK said, getting off the bed to stretch. “When Mei talked about it, I just thought of you.” 

As MK skipped off to brush his teeth, Red Son tried his best not to melt the plastic controller. He was mistaken. Things hadn’t simmered down at all. 

Every night was a work night for MK. That didn’t stop him from staying up until dawn playing games or portying, of course. Red Son, however, cared about MK, and capped the evening off by the time the clock hit midnight.  

“C’moooon.” MK whined as Red Son swiped his holographic screen away. “Just one more episode of Monkey Cop. ” 

“Absolutely not.” Red Son snapped. “Sleep is associated with brain growth. And given how often you watch this garbage, your brain needs all the growth it can get.” 

MK puffed up his cheeks like the world’s angriest hamster. “Fine.” He crossed his arms before laying on his side with a thump. 

Red Son rolled his eyes at MK’s antics. “You’ll be thanking me in the morning.” He said. 

“‘Oh, you’ll be thanking me in the morning,’” MK pitched up his voice for a terrible impersonation of Red Son. “Well it’s not morning right now, is it?” 

“It’s midnight.” Red Son countered. “So technically, it is.” 

“No one actually counts midnight as morning,” MK snapped. 

Red Son rolled his eyes as he got up from the bed, putting his glasses on MK’s desk. “Well, if you want to fiddle on your phone all night, you can. But I’m going to sleep.” He said. “It’s a long trip from here to the fortress.” 

“Awww, what? You’re not staying for breakfast?” MK dropped his faux-anger. 

“What breakfast?” Red Son snorted. “You wake up so late you never have the time” He turned to MK. “Now: where do you keep your other blankets?” 

“My other wuh?” MK sat up on the bed. 

“Your other blankets. And pillows. And your broom for that matter too.” Red Son curled his lip in disgust. “I need to make sure the floor isn’t completely filthy.” 

“Uhhh, one, my floor isn’t filthy; I cleaned the apartment up specifically for you.” MK said. “Two, even if you were sleeping on the floor, you wouldn’t be the one making the bed–”

“What do you mean even if–” Red Son put his hands on his hips.

“And three! ” MK spoke over Red Son. “You’re not sleeping on the floor.” 

Oh. Red Son frowned. That was new. Red Son always slept on the floor during sleepovers. During their first sleepover, Red Son let MK take the bed without even asking, and whenever they slept over at Mei’s, she would get him a comfy air mattress while she and MK cuddled up on her bed. They’d always asked Red Son to join them, but he'd say. Sleeping with other people in bed seemed so stuffy and uncomfortable-

As MK moved back in the bed, Red Son realized where he was sleeping tonight. 

“You–” It took everything in his power not to flare up. “You’re serious?” 

“Mei and I do this all the time.” MK said. “And I know she told you I’m a bed hog, but that’s not true, okay? This bed’s just tiny. ” 

He said that like it made anything better. The thought of sidling up next to MK in that rickety little bed, with barely any space between them, was-was-it made Red Son’s head spin. He was frozen where he stood, stammering out meaningless noises. He saw the way MK would practically clamber on top of Mei in his sleep. Was he going to do that to Red Son–

“Uh-” MK began to sit up properly now. “Actually, I can sleep on the floor.” He smiled awkwardly, glancing away. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to make you feel weird.” 

Before MK could get out of bed, Red Son moved without thinking, grabbing MK’s shoulders. “It’s fine.” Red Son assured him. “I can sleep here with you.” 

MK blinked up at him. “Y’sure about that?” He asked. “You seemed pretty weirded out earlier–”

“It’s fine.” Red Son repeated. “It might get stuffy considering my body temperature, but if you don’t have any issue…” He swallowed, hoping his voice didn’t shake. “I don’t either.” 

MK looked up at him for a moment before nodding, moving into the bed until his back hit the wall. Red Son joined him, pulling the blanket up over the two of them. 

“L-like I said, it’ll likely get stuffy.” Red Son stammered. “So if you don’t want the blanket, or need me to sleep on the floor–”

“You’re fine. I doubt it’ll be that bad.” MK assured him. “It’ll be like having a big, warm space heater.” He fluffed up his pillow before resting on it, a smile on his face. 

Red Son huffed. “If you say so.” 

The two laid in the bed, facing each other. There wasn’t much light in the room beyond what little was shining through MK’s window, but Red Son’s eyes adjusted quickly. MK was staring at him, a small, soft smile on his face. It was the same look that he’d been giving Red Son so often lately–restrained yet brimming with emotion. The sort of look Red Son had never seen MK give to anyone else. If only Red Son could just dig a little deeper, read MK the same why MK could read him. At least then he’d know if he was clinging onto a false hope. 

“I still think it’s kind of funny that both of our dads like Cooking With Chang’e. ” MK murmured. “Well, your dad and Pigsy.” 

“Please.” Red Son snorted. “We both know that Pig sees you as his kid. No matter how terrible he is at admitting it.” 

MK laughed a bit at that, looking away. “I mean–that–I guess.” 

“Well he raised you, didn't he?” Red Son pointed out. “Even if he doesn’t view himself as your father-which I sincerely doubt-he’s clearly your guardian.” 

"...Huh." MK picked at the edge of Red Son's pillow, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "I never thought of it like that."

A thought occurred to Red Son. “You always say you view Pigsy as your father, but what about Tang? Wouldn’t he have raised you too?” 

MK hummed, giving the question some thought. “I mean, I guess? Pigsy's the one who took me in, so I always viewed him as my dad dad, while I viewed Mr. Tang as like, my dad's kind-of-husband. But he's still a part of my family. I love him a lot." He laughed to himself. "I think if I called him 'dad,' he'd be happy about it though. He wouldn't try to stop me." 

Red Son rolled his eyes at that. Whatever issue Pigsy had with accepting his role as MK’s dad was beyond him. Regardless, something MK said gave Red Son pause. 

“Kind-of-husband?" Red Son repeated. "Aren’t Pigsy and Tang married ?” He figured they were, given how they were one, soulmates, and more importantly two, attached to the hip. What even was a kind-of-husband? 

“Oh, uhhh.” MK shrugged. “Yes and no? They live together, and they’re gonna be with each other for the rest of their lives, so they definitely see each other as married. But they’re not technically married. Apparently there’s a bunch of weird legal hoops you have to jump through if humans and demons marry the human way.” 

“There’s always courtnapping.” Red Son pointed out. 

MK laughed. “Yeah, but Pigsy always thought that was, uhh,” He winced as if already knowing Red Son wouldn’t like what he was about to say. “Kind of barbaric.” 

Red Son clicked his tongue in annoyance.“Courtnapping is only barbaric if the demons involved are barbarians.” He stated. “There’s more to courtnapping than the kidnapping part.” 

“I mean, I don’t really know.” MK shrugged. “Pigsy didn’t explain the intricacies of it to me too much.” He shifted in the bed as he spoke. “But, from what Pigsy did tell me, I think they court each other all the time.” 

Red Son raised his brow at that. Thankfully, MK elaborated. “Pigsy said that even though a lot of courtnapping stuff was pretty barbaric and old fashioned, deep down, it’s about showing you partner you can keep them happy and provided for. And I think Pigsy and Mr. Tang do that now.

“Like, Pigsy always lets Mr. Tang eat for free because his work hours don’t give him time to eat a lot. And Mr. Tang always showers Pigsy with compliments.” MK recalled. “Pigsy saves up to buy Tang new books, and sometimes Tang surprises Pigsy with new cooking supplies. It’s not really traditional courting or anything but it’s…”

A soft expression formed on MK’s face as he moved a bit closer to Red Son. “It’s a nice compromise.” 

…Oh. Something in the back of Red Son’s mind clicked.

Even though Red Son had felt courted, he wasn’t confident calling what MK was doing courting. Courting didn’t have the same muddied atmosphere as human romance, and whatever MK had been doing still lacked any real, explicit intention. 

But Red Son had been looking at it on a strict binary–human flirtation, demon courtship. Maybe MK wasn’t announcing his intentions to whisk Red Son away and made him his husband, but he showered him with praise. He didn’t fill his room with gold and silver, but Red Son’s drawers still had all sorts of little trinkets. He didn’t defeat all of Red Son’s enemies to show off his strength, but he fussed over a pot of soup just to impress him. 

Red Son had made the mistake of assuming MK would be at all conventional. But why would he be? This was its own sort of affection, a unique hybrid between MK’s world and Red Son’s. Familiar in its shape, but a blunt force to the back of his head all the same. It was a compromise.

In a way, Red Son was doing the same, wasn’t he? Watching bad TV shows and endlessly toiling on a cart wasn’t by any means the typical shows of affection even humans shared with each other, but it was how Red Son expressed his love. Even if he wasn’t outright attempting to flirt, or court, or whatever, Red Son still tried to show his love to MK in his own little way. 

“It does seem nice.” Red Son murmured. He hoped his pillowcase wasn’t charred. “They seem like a very happy couple.” 

A thought suddenly occurred to Red Son. He sat up in the bed. “Neither of them have keys to this apartment do they?” 

“Uhh, Pigsy does, but he doesn’t come in unless I’ve invited him.” MK said. “Why?” 

Red Son deflated at that, relieved. “I’d rather not have either of your parental figures walk in to see this. ” He waved his hands between him and MK’s bodies on the bed. 

MK laughed. “We’ll be fine. The only people who break into my house are you and Mei.”

“I never broke in.” Red Son sneered. “I simply drop by unannounced.” 

MK left out a pfft at that, shifting in the bed. “Plus, even if they do see us, what’s the worst that can happen?” He asked. 

“I’d rather not have them make any assumptions. ” Red Son deadpanned.

“What kind of assumptions would–Oh. Ohhhh.” MK shook his head. “Nah. I sleep with Mei like this all the time. They probably think we do this already.” 

The fact that Red Son and MK had become so close that the two of them sharing a bed wouldn’t raise alarm bells completely threw Red Son for a loop. But before he could make sense of that MK moved even closer. 

It suddenly occurred to Red Son just how small this bed was. MK’s chest was practically pressed against his. His breath fanned Red Son's face, almost curling around his cheek. All Red Son could see was MK’s eyes, nearly pitch black in the dark but still glittering all the same. 

“If they did think we were a couple,” MK asked, his voice so soft Red Son had to move in even closer to hear him legibly. “Would you mind?” 

It took everything in Red Son not to immediately set the bed on fire. 

How was he supposed to respond to that? On the one hand, he could immediately insist that he’d mind if they were a couple but that would come at the expense of inadvertently rejecting MK. On the other, he could say he wouldn’t mind, but that left him incredibly open for MK to prod about his actual feelings.

Why would MK even ask this kind of question? Much less whisper it to Red Son while they were laying in bed? MK was stupid, but he wasn’t that stupid. Surely, surely, he knew that he wasn’t coming off the slightest bit platonic.

Red Son weaved his answer together carefully. “If they thought we were a couple, the last place I’d want them to discover that is when I’m in your bed.” He said. “I think the Pig would attack first and ask questions later.” 

MK laughed at that. “Okay, fair enough. I’d make sure they didn’t pull you out of the apartment by your hair.” 

“My hero.” Red Son deadpanned. He shifted in the bed. He thought MK would be the one uncomfortably hot, but apparently not.

“Shouldn’t you be the one concerned about them seeing us as a couple?” He asked. “They might kill me, but they wouldn’t go easy on you either.” 

“Nah.” MK shook his head. His hand rested against Red Son’s chest as he smiled up at him. “I wouldn’t mind if we were a couple.” 

That was not the question Red Son had asked. 

Red Son prayed to every god out there that MK couldn’t feel the way his heart hammered in his chest. His words bobbed up and down his throat. Did MK want Red Son to blow up his apartment again? Because at this rate, he was going to burn the block to ashes. 

Red Son had asked if MK would be concerned about being seen as a couple. Not if he’d mind being one. That was too large a distinction for MK to blunder. There was–there was no way he could possibly have made that mistake, unless he said that on purpose. 

But still, on that infinitesimally small chance that MK had made a mistake, Red Son spoke.

“That–” Red Son stammered. “But–you told me you get annoyed whenever people think you and Mei are a couple.” 

“I mean, yeah.” MK said. “She’s my best friend.”

Red Son’s tongue felt hot and leaden, but he forced himself to speak anyway, his voice strained and high-pitched. “Then what makes me any different?” 

MK opened his mouth to speak, but then, his lips twitched.

He laughed a bit too loudly into Red Son's ear. “Uhh, well-you’re not–” Words seemed to fail him as he scrambled to give Red Son some sort of answer. He pursed his lips, sucking the air in through his teeth. “You know what? Nevermind. Pigsy and Tang aren’t gonna come in here anyways. So we don’t have to worry about that.”

MK rolled over in the bed, shoulders hiked up. “Good night.” 

That…didn’t go how Red Son planned. He expected MK to actually elaborate on why Red Son was any different but Mei, but that seemed to backfire completely. He cursed under his breath. Of course he had to push it too far. 

"...Sorry." Red Son murmured. "I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable." 

MK didn't say anything in response. The dim light coming from the window silhouetted his frame under the blanket. MK looked like he was curling in on him himself, like he was almost...almost embarrassed. 

As much initiative MK had been taking, answering Red Son’s question seemed a bridge too far. And, well, Red Son could understand that. If MK had prodded him any more about just how much Red Son minded being seen as a couple, he’d probably melt into the mattress. Maybe for all of MK’s shows of affection, he was dipping his toes in the water just the same as he was.

So, if MK needed Red Son to pull him in, then…then he’d try to do that. 

Red Son sighed as he shifted in the bed. “Earlier tonight, you told me you wanted to be my hero.” He murmured. “Was that really true?” 

MK didn’t respond to that beyond curling up even more into himself. 

“If I need your help, I’ll ask you of course, but beyond that, I’m not interested in feeding whatever desire you have to run yourself dry lending your hand to others.” Red Son snorted. “Honestly, your loved ones aren’t going to disappear the moment you stop helping them.”

Well, Red Son was probably a hypocrite for saying that, but he chose to ignore that for the moment.

He moved a bit closer to MK now–not quite against him, but close enough that Red Son could smell the cheap conditioner in his hair. He sighed into him. “You do more than enough for me just by being here.” 

That got MK turn around and look at him. Even though having MK’s on him made it even more unbearable to speak so candidly, Red Son forced the words out anyways. 

“I don’t need you to do anything for me but stay.” He muttered, reaching a hand out to brush a lock of hair from MK’s face. 

MK’s lip quivered so much that Red Son worried he’d somehow upset him. But then, MK reached over and wrapped his arm around Red Son, burying his face in his neck. 

“I–” He spoke into Red Son’s collarbone, warm breath, heating his skin. “I really-I just–” He looked up at Red Son, restrained and overflowing all the same. “You’re the best.” 

Red Son wrapped his arm around MK, allowing himself to bring him close. He gave into the urge to pull up the blanket, to bury his nose into MK’s hair. It was the closest thing he could give to a confession that night. And as MK’s legs tangled with his, he figured that was the closest thing he’d get to hearing one back. 

Whenever Red Son slept over at Mei’s, he would wake up first. His sleep schedule made it so that he was late to bed and early to rise, a combo unhealthy as it was unpleasant. The only difference between waking up at Mei’s and at MK’s was that the world seemed to wake up with him. 

Well, that wasn’t the only difference, but that's besides the point. 

When Red Son woke up, the sun was peeking in the window. The streets weren’t busy, but he could still see mortals driving to work in their cars, or walking down the street with grocery bags, or fiddling with the keys to their businesses as they got ready to open. The Megapolis ambiance was muffled by the closed window, but Red Son could still hear it nevertheless. 

Red Son didn’t need the world to be quiet for him to sleep–the pipes in the Demon Bull Fortress creaked and hummed throughout the night. But still, the sound of the city was something Red Son hadn’t fully grown used to, even back when he used to live under it. 

MK didn’t seem to mind though. He slept peacefully through it, arms and legs still snaked around Red Son’s body. MK’s mouth was slightly ajar, a small snore escaping him every few breaths. His hair was an absolute mess, sticking up in random places. Red Son raked his fingers through it, trying carefully not to wake MK up. He needed all the sleep he could get. 

Red Son never thought he’d be happy about having such an atrocious sleep schedule, but watching MK snore into his pillow, the centuries of sleepless nights seemed worth it. 

He lingered in the bed for a while, watching the slow rise and fall of MK’s chest, but eventually, Red Son unraveled himself from the mess of limbs to get ready for the day. He packed a small bag of toiletries along with a change of clothes, so he trudged into the bathroom, quietly shutting the door behind him. 

Everything that happened the night before kept playing over and over in Red Son’s mind. MK wiping the soot off his face. His hand squeezing his forearm as he told Red Son he liked him. The game Mei had called a couples game, that made MK think of him. Their conversation while lying in bed. 

As Red Son kept thinking about last night’s event, he found that he couldn’t really bring himself to deny it anymore. Red Son’s plans rarely worked, but for the first time, everything had fallen perfectly into place. MK liked him back– wanted him back. 

He’d have to make preparations– real preparations now. Where would be best to confess? Not somewhere obnoxiously romantic–MK wasn’t really the type for that–but surely, somewhere a bit special. Maybe he’d take MK to some pretty beach, where the smell of salty waters could bring them back to the Dronecopter. Or somewhere in snow-peaked mountains, so Red Son could put his hands on MK’s cheeks to keep him warm. 

He’d have to prepare a speech too–nothing incredibly scripted, but something coherent enough to express how he felt. He’d explain that even though they were supposed to be enemies, even though MK was a mortal, even though it was the dumbest thing he’d ever done, that Red Son loved him like nothing else. That MK was all he had ever wanted. 

And then, he’d buy him gifts, and shower him in praise, and he’d finally give into the urge to bury his face in the space between MK’s neck and collarbone. 

When Red Son left the bathroom, MK was still sleeping. He sat down at MK’s desk chair, a fond chuckle escaping him. He looked adorable, limbs splayed out as he snored in his sleep. Red Son would give anything to wake up to MK's quiet snoring and tangled limbs again, and again. Maybe if everything went right, he would. 

Last night, MK seemed upset Red Son wasn’t staying long in the morning. Maybe he’d make them breakfast. He was pretty sure MK had some frozen dumplings in his freezer–he could steam those while slicing up some apples and peaches. Last time he checked, he was pretty sure MK had an orange in the back of his fridge. Maybe Red Son would cut that up too, and make MK a pretty platter of fruits to feast on in the morning. 

His mind set, Red Son got up from the chair and grabbed his glasses. He was about to walk over to the fridge and get to work when he noticed something.

Sitting on MK’s desk was the sketchbook Red Son had made for him. 

MK still hadn’t let Red Son see inside the sketchbook. And sure, Red Son understood why–if MK was seriously trying to draw him something as a gift, he wanted to make sure Red Son saw the best version possible. But…

Red Son glanced over at MK. He was drooling on his pillow now, snoring without a care in the world. Red Son made a mental note to wash his pajama shirt in case any drool had gotten on him. 

It…it wouldn’t hurt to look, right? Red Son had never seen MK’s art before. MK didn't really keep it hidden or anything, Red Son just never got the chance to look. And well, he had that chance now, didn't he?  Muses got to see whatever work in project their artist was working on. Why was Red Son an exception? Plus, MK didn’t just draw him. He was sure there were plenty of other subject matters in that sketchbook for him to admire.  

One look. He told himself. Just a quick one. 

With that, Red Son picked up MK’s sketchbook and opened it. 

Red Son wasn’t really sure what he expected. He had always teased MK for his choice in medium, saying it was childish and beneath him, but he never actually assumed MK was untalented. But it’s not like he had any idea about MK’s actual skill level. For all the times he’d explained art techniques to him, Red Son had never seen MK actually implicate them. 

The art spread across the sketchbook was gorgeous. And it was art. Despite being clearly stylized drawings, there was something about them that seemed almost alive. The colors were vibrant, crayon and pencil blending near seamlessly. The line art was crisp and fluid at the same time, masterfully drawn as if they were meant to live in the sketchbook. Red Son could draw precise blueprints and the rare bored scribble, sure, but nothing like this. Nothing that looked like it could dance across the page and leap off…leap off…

Red Son…had seen this before.

Not the physical art. He’d never seen MK’s work on paper, but he’d seen this art before. The use of bright colors. The bold, almost decisive looking line art. The dragon that curled around the page. The monkeys that napped on rocks. The branches of a peach tree, with fruit so succulent it made Red Son’s mouth water. The little orange blossom in the corner, with its name written underneath it. The "y" missing in "chrysanthemum." 

He’d seen this art before. He’d been keeping it on file for over a year. 

MK's apartment began to spin. There was no way. There was no way. With his free hand, Red Son wiped his eyes, pinched his cheek, even slapped himself. He had to be dreaming, or hallucinating, or something, but the drawings in the sketchbook didn't change.

It-it couldn't be him. There was no way it could be him, that MK was actually him. The art style was similar–okay, fine, it was identical, but it couldn’t-that didn't mean that-MK wasn’t–he wasn’t–he couldn’t be. 

But what other explanation was there? 

A memory flashed in the back of Red Son’s mind, from way, way back, when they were fighting the lady bone demon. Red Son had made some off-handed comment about the sticky note he’d seen on MK’s old sketchbook, and MK whipped his head around like Red Son had uttered something life changing. 

“You know about the peonies?”

Red Son had assumed that of course he knew about the peonies. He’d read the note reminding MK to buy them. But MK seemed so shocked that Red Son had discovered them, like they were supposed to be a secret only knew about. 

But, MK couldn’t be the only one who was supposed to know. He said he drew them as a gift, didn’t he? A gift that didn’t turn out as planned. And when Red Son thought back to the question his soulmate had asked them the day he grew that garden in Red Son’s chest and across his collarbone, didn’t Xiaotian ask–

You said your favorite flower was peonies a while back, so I bought a few and learned how to draw them. Do you like it?

MK’s sketchbook smacked onto the floor with a WHAM.

The noise startled MK awake. “Wuh-what was–that-?” He looked around his room before finally focusing on Red Son and the sketchbook on the ground. 

“Dude!” MK clambered across the bed to snatch his sketchbook off the ground. “Why'd you peek?! I told you I didn’t want you seeing your portrait!” He skimmed the page Red Son was on with a frown on his face. "Okay, none of my sketches of you are on this page-" He looked up at Red Son. "You didn't see any of my other drawings, right?" 

Unable to speak, Red Son shook his head. 

“Good.” MK sighed in relief. “Seriously though, dude, you don’t look at someone’s drawings unless they say it’s cool. It’s like, artist etiquette 101.” 

MK shut his sketchbook, hugging it to his chest. “But, uh, now that you have seen it,” He looked up at Red Son. “What do you think?” His tone turned smarmy as he rocked back and forth on the bed. “Told you I’d make you eat your words about crayons, right?” 

There had to be some god with who loved to mock him for the fun of it. Or some family that cursed him for burning their village down when he was toddler. Or maybe, it was Red Son's fate, that none of his plans could ever just work. 

Something constricted around Red Son’s chest. He recognized the sensation-roots around a ribcage. How long had it been since he felt like that? He thought MK’s warmth had finally done away with the garden that made a home in his chest and across his collarbone, but he'd forgotten just how much peonies loved the sun.

Red Son’s words did find him, eventually. But even though he was staring at MK, in that moment, he spoke to Xiaotian. 

“I love it.” He murmured. “I could stare at your art forever.” 

Chapter Text

It was safe to say that breakfast was. Uh. 

A bit of an awkward affair. 

Red Son’s did have plans to whip up breakfast for MK. But he kind of had other things on his mind at the moment. Whatever flowery language that had floated through his head about apples and orange slices were forgotten now. 

It probably wouldn’t have mattered anyway. Once MK was up and out of bed, he insisted on handling breakfast. Something about it being his apartment so he had to be a good host. Red S on normally would've made a snarky comment at the concept of MK being a host for anything, but he didn't have it in him to be sarcastic. So now, MK was digging through his fridge trying to find something for the two of them to eat. 

“You know, maybe it’s kind of a good thing you woke me up.” MK’s voice rang out through the sound of plastic containers and bottles getting shuffled around. “I actually have time to get ready.”

MK continued to search through the fridge. “Normally I just scramble to work in like, ten minutes. If I’m really quick, I can eat like, half an apple.” He laughed to himself. “Maybe you have a point about trying to wake up earlier.”   

If Red Son were paying attention, he probably would’ve rolled his eyes and crossed his legs with a sneer, that of course he had a point, MK’s sleep schedule was terrible . And then MK would point out that Red Son stayed up just as late as he did, so technically MK got more sleep than he did. And Red Son would sputter for a solid five seconds trying to defend himself before MK laughed. And then the room would get a little warmer–or at least, the world would feel a bit warmer to Red Son. 

But he wasn’t paying attention to any of that. Red Son was sitting on the edge of the bed, still staring at the sketchbook which sat on the corner of MK’s desk. 

A part of him wanted to crack open the sketchbook again just to see if his eyes had played tricks on him. He knew MK would get mad though–not like, genuinely angry, but upset enough that Red Son wouldn’t want to risk it.

Plus…well…he knew what he saw. Red Son stared at MK as he pulled two small bags from the fridge, his words foggy. He knew exactly what he saw. 

Everything had started falling into place so easily. Red Son had barely even considered courting MK and suddenly he was getting showered in affections beyond his wildest dreams. It had all hit Red Son so quickly. Too quickly. He should’ve realized fate wouldn’t let things be simple. When had anything ever been simple for Red Son? When did things ever just go his way? 

His soulmate. Gods, MK was-he was-

Red Son had spent most of his life believing all he wanted was a soulmate and a year believing that wasn’t possible. And now when he finally realized that he wanted, finally let go of the bramble that had grown in his chest, now he learned that MK was his soulmate this whole fucking time. 

It felt like a joke. Any moment now, Mei would burst through the window with her phone in her, shouting about how he’d been “PRANKED, BOYYYY!” and how this stream was gonna get “A bajillion views!” Or MK would suddenly start talking with Jin or Yin’s accent and accidentally reveal that this whole sleepover was a ruse from the trickster demons. 

But that couldn’t make sense. The only person who knew about Red Son having a soulmate at all was…well…was MK. 

Well. Red Son huffed, a sardonic smirk curling up his lip. Wasn’t that ironic? 

“Red Son? Red Sooon?” MK sighed. “Look, dude, if you’re not gonna pick one, I’m picking for you.” 

“Whuh-?” Red Son snapped out of his thoughts only for a small pastry bag to smack him in the face. He fumbled with the bag for a moment before finally grabbing the bun inside. 

“You didn’t tell me what you wanted, so I gave you the red bean bun.” MK said, already, taking a bite out of his pineapple bun. “Because, y’know, red bean, Red Son? Figured it fit.” He shrugged. 

As Red Son stared down at the red bean bun, MK kept talking. “I don’t have time to properly cook anything–I mean, maybe I could’ve steamed some frozen dumplings, but I figured you’d be all grossed out by frozen food.”

He sat crisscross on his desk chair. “And look, I’ll admit–I got these pasties like, a week ago with Mei, and they’ve been sitting in the back of my fridge since. But they’re still good. I think.”

Admittedly, Red Son wasn’t particularly focused on the quality of his red bean bun as he stared at MK babble. It felt surreal to actually be…in a room with his soulmate. Talking. Red Son had never given Xiaotian a distinct voice in his head. He barely even gave him a face. 

To Red Son, Xiaotian had always been hands, covered in ink and paint and lead. He was bright and bubbly letters. He was the art as much as he was the artist. Red Son was aware that could potentially come off as a bit…well…a bit cruel. For a while, that was intentional. 

All Red Son had known about Xiaotian was that he was human, and he certainly didn’t want that for himself. So why bother trying to imagine his body? His face? His voice? It would only make the roots in his ribcage twist, make his chest ache. Sure, it was dehumanizing to never give Xiaotian a real face, but that was the point. Red Son didn’t want a human, no matter how often he was reminded that he was bonded to one. 

His views had changed, of course. He did…he liked Xiaotian, and the whole human thing mattered less and less with each conversation. But still, Red Son hadn’t ever really tried to picture Xiaotian’s face. It just…hadn’t really occurred to him to do so. Honestly, that was on him, for lacking the initiative to use his imagination. 

To be fair though, Red Son had never tried to imagine how his soulmate would look in the first place. It didn’t really matter, did it? They could be tall, short, fat, thin; they could have a face that shined like a celestial or scowled like a monster. That was all irrelevant. What mattered was that their arms were covered in conversation, that their hands were speckled with ink, that they were a companion intertwined with Red Son’s side. 

Red Son knew what he wanted though. He had fuzzy images of wide grins, warm hands, wild laughter. And he thought he had finally found that in MK, bond be damned. He didn’t need a soulmate to have a companion intertwined with his side. And the only person Red Son wanted to stay by his side was MK. 

The old roots in his chest twisted round his ribcage. It really was ironic. 

“Hey, uh…” MK’s had a small frown on his face. “You good there Red Son?” He held out his pastry. “If you want the pineapple bun, it’s fine, you can have it.” 

Red Son blinked, coming back to reality before scrunching his nose up in disgust. “You’re not serious, are you? You’re halfway through it.” Red Son pointed at the bite marks in the pineapple bun.

“It’s not that big a deal.” MK waved the bun in Red Son’s face. “I mean, we’ve eaten snacks from the same bag. And we went out for hot pot a while back. This is basically the same thing.” 

Oh, wonderful. He was bonded to an idiot. 

“That is not the same as eating something you bit into! ” Red Son sputtered. 

“Aw, c’mon.” MK made a psh noise as he took a bite out of the bun. “A lil indirect kiss never hurt nobody.” 

If Red Son weren’t busy spiraling over MK being his soulmate, he probably would’ve been far more thrown off at the implication behind MK kissing him. He took a bite into the red bean bun, grumbling under his breath. 

As MK watched Red Son eat, his brow furrowed in what seemed to be concern. “But, really.” He spoke a bit softer now, lips turned slightly in a small smile. “Are you doing alright? You’ve been kinda quiet.”  

“Ah.” Right. This…Red Son should tell him. It was MK’s right to know just as much as it was his. Red Son opened his mouth, taking a deep breath, but stopped himself. 

Look. Look. He would tell MK. Really, he would. But his entire world had been flipped on his head. He felt like he’d been hit in the back of the head with this information. Red Son could barely comprehend what he’d just learned, so talking about it right now just seemed like a recipe for even more chaos than there already was. Maybe MK could barrel into battle without a plan, but not Red Son. That’s not how he did things. 

He just needed to get himself together. He needed to straighten the thoughts that whizzed around his head, confused and stunned with zero idea on what to do. Red Son needed to recoup and think everything through. He would tell MK everything when everything was a little easier to carry. 

So for now, he cleared his throat and straightened his back. “I-” Red Son’s eyes dashed between the sketchbook and the red bean bun in his hands. “I just have a lot on my mind.”

MK hummed disapprovingly as he chewed loudly on his pineapple bun. He looked like he was about to ask Red Son to elaborate so before he could, Red Son sneered. “I’m sure you wouldn’t understand. Not much in your head beyond noodle broth.” He leaned forward to flick MK’s forehead. 

“Hey!” MK shouted, cheeks puffed up from pineapple bun chunks and indignation. It was cute, albeit terribly ill mannered to pout with his mouth full. 

As Red Son watched MK rub his forehead, something inside of him twisted and ached terribly. He missed the life he had a few hours ago, when the only pain in his chest was pining. 

On one hand, it felt like an absurd coincidence. 

Really, a billion people in China, and somehow Red Son’s soulmate had been in front of him practically the whole time. The chances of that were near impossible. 

Sure, there was plenty of flowery poetry about bonds and fate bringing two souls together, but that wasn’t literal. There wasn’t some cosmic entity knocking demons together. Waiting for some invisible force to bring you to your soulmate was at best hopelessly romantic and at worst plain hopeless. 

Demon Bull King and Princess Iron Fan accidently marrying their soulmate was a sweet story, but the actual chances of something like that happening were less than miniscule. Demons didn’t often meet their soulmates on a morning stroll. And with Red Son’s soulmate being a human, the chances were even smaller–every century he swore the human population skyrocketed. They multiplied like rabbits. Or maybe cockroaches. 

For Red Son’s soulmate to be someone already in his life was an impossibility. For it to be MK? You couldn’t write a worse punchline. 

But, on the other hand, MK being Red Son’s soulmate felt…well…

Look, he’d admit, in retrospect, there were…he wouldn’t say glaring neon signs or anything, but…some cues. 

Like, sure, there were a billion people in China, plenty of them were Monkey King fanboys, starving artists were a dime a dozen, and while they weren’t a particularly massive population, MK was by no means the only trans man living in Asia. But looking back, uh, “starving artist with a day job in a hole-in-the-wall noodle shop who juggled a dozen other responsibilities” might have been a bit more of an uncommon phenomena than he judged. 

To be fair, Red Son didn’t have a total grasp on modern human societies. As far as he was aware, lots of artists juggled all sorts of jobs! When Xiaotian explained his work to him, he just figured it was the same case. 

And okay, yes, maybe when Xiaotian said he was working at his adoptive father’s noodle shop, it should’ve rung a few bells, and maybe when he was bragging about how his dad makes the best zhajiangmian in the world, he should’ve thought that was a little strange, but humans did that, right? Exaggerate the grandiosity of their products to make it slightly more appetizing? Pigsy’s Noodles surely weren’t the world’s longest noodles, and that zhajiangmian surely wasn’t the best in the world, and it made sense for him not to put it together.

Honestly, the way Xiaotian described his dad felt like a dead giveaway now. A grumpy restaurateur who didn’t believe in nepotism with a tough exterior but a (supposedly) gooey inside. And he had a soulmate. Those weren’t exactly common to have. 

Not to mention, it explained the seeming contradiction of Xiaotian’s dad having a soulmate while he also had no idea how “demon protocol” worked. Of course MK didn’t know any proper demon customs. His dad was Pigsy, who was at best an anti-traditionalist and at worst just self loathing. And his bond with Tang was by no means a common one, for demons or humans alike. MK had a very unconventional upbringing, in quite a few ways. 

Plus, didn’t Xiaotian mention having rich friends? Whenever Red Son suggested borrowing cash from them, Xiaotian would always say he didn’t want to “bother them.” Whatever that meant. It was the same excuse MK gave to Mei when she offered to buy him food, the same one MK gave Red Son back when he insisted on taking him clothes shopping. Sure, on its own having wealthy friends wasn’t a dead giveaway, but combined with everything else? Well…

And on top of that, Xiaotian always drove around in a cart. Not a truck, a cart. And he drove badly. The day Xiaotian had started writing to him while driving was the day the truth should’ve hit Red Son in the back of the head. Truly, only MK would be that stupid. 

Red Son was starting to feel a bit like an idiot for not realizing sooner. Really, Xiaotian and MK were quite similar. A sociable artist who spent his evenings drawing and his mornings regretting it. A delivery boy with a no-nonsense father/boss. A trans man who sleeps with his binder on despite his friend yelling at him to get it off–wait, was Red Son the friend who was yelling at him?

Oh, that made this so much more surreal. How many times did MK talk about Red Son to Red Son without knowing? Shit, how many times did Red Son talk about MK to MK? Oh, heavens, he told Xiaotian he was in love. He confessed to MK without even knowing. That realization made him accidentally incinerate a blueprint he’d been working on for a solid two months. 

Actually, there were a lot of conversations that really should’ve connected the dots for him. 

Like–like the pastels. Xiaotian had mentioned a set of expensive pastels he got as a gift some years back that he was running low on. MK spoke about running out of pastels too–it was why Red Son had bought him a new box. 

Sure, Red Son didn’t think much about it at the time–every now and then he’d have to restock on blueprints and technical pens and the like. But maybe both Xiaotion and MK running out of their very expensive pastels they got as a gift given years ago should’ve raised an alarm back there. 

And then, of course, there were the monkeys. 

Xiaotian had never really explained why he was always around all the monkeys, but he still drew them all the time. Red Son had first theorized his job just involved a lot of monkeys, but that went out the window once he learned he was a delivery boy. Then, he figured it was just that his location was fairly close to some sort of zoo or jungle, only to learn that Xiaotian lived in a sprawling city, delivering noodles and drawing in his spare time. 

The monkeys, for the longest time, had been an itch in the back of Red Son’s head that he couldn’t quite scratch whenever he saw them grinning on his forearms. But then one day, when hanging out with MK and Mei, MK pulled out his phone to show Mei some “cute picture of a monkey” he got during training and it hit him. 

He’s the Monkie Kid. He trains on Flower Fruit Mountain. The mountain full of monkeys.

Mei and MK had to spend twenty minutes apologizing to the poor restaurant owner whose booth suddenly set on fire. 

The owner, luckily, was a big Monkie Kid fan, and insisted the only way he wouldn’t ban the three of them was if MK took pictures with everyone in his family. So as MK set up for an impromptu photo-op Mei pushed Red Son out the door. 

The moment they were outside, Mei punched his arm. Hard. He shouted in pain as she hissed under her teeth. “Dude, what the hey?! That’s like, one of my favorite places to eat!”

“Their food was mediocre anyways.” Red Son barked back. 

Mei narrowed her eyes at Red Son, clearly unamused. “Insult this place again, and I’m gonna kick your teeth in.” She jabbed her finger into his chest. 

Mei crossed her arms, stepping back from Red Son now. “I thought you were in control of your powers. It’s kind of the whole reason you were my teacher that one time.” 

“I was your teacher because no one else in the world could understand the Samadhi Fire but me.” Red Son pointed out. “And I can control my powers just fine. Today, I just…” 

Red Son bit his lip, looking down at his feet. Mei’s brow knit into a frown. “You what?” 

He kicked a pebble on the curb, unsure of how exactly to explain this to Mei. MK said he hadn’t told anyone about his soulmate but him. And even though this was Red Son’s secret, it was MK’s too. If Mei didn’t know about MK’s soulmate, then it wouldn’t be right for her to know about Red Son’s. At least, that’s how he figured it in his head. 

It’d be nice to talk to her about this, of course. Mei was shockingly good at being a voice of reason, and he needed a bit of reason in his life right now. But there was a chance telling Mei would blow up in his face, and he really, really didn’t want to take that chance. 

But now, Mei was staring at him, her expression flickering between irritation and concern. Red Son had been staring down at his feet, completely quiet. Mei was good at looking through people’s facades–she knew Red Son loved MK before he did. Even if he lied to her, she would see through it in a heartbeat. And, well, he had a feeling that wouldn’t end well. 

Before Red Son could come up with a lie though, MK bounded out the door with a grin. “We’re not banned!”

Thankfully, Mei immediately dropped the subject at the good news. She cheered, dragging MK and Red Son together into a bone-crushing group hug. Red Son must have let out some sort of involuntary noise, because MK started to laugh, smile stretched out into a grin so wide it hurt. Red Son couldn’t help but watch MK, eyes squeezed shut as he leaned his head against Mei’s shoulder to support himself. 

The last time Red Son had seen MK laugh that hard was when he got him that claw clip. Red Son had mentioned he preferred peonies, and MK laughed so much he couldn’t breathe. He didn’t understand what was so funny about peonies back then. But in retrospect, maybe he should’ve asked why. 

Frankly, this was all MK’s fault. 

Well, “fault” was a strong word, it implied that he did something wrong. And he didn’t. But really, he could’ve cleared up his identity immediately if he just said he was the Monkie Kid.

It wasn’t like he was keeping his identity a secret or anything. When walking down the street, plenty of passer-bys would ask MK for a selfie. People would come into Pigsy’s just to hand him fan mail. Every other nainai in Megapolis would pinch his cheek and call him a nice young man . He was the face of a lipstick ad.  

All MK would have to write was go Hey bud! How’s your day been? I just stopped Yin and Jin from putting thirteen thousand ramen flavor packets in the city’s water supply. Or I hope you’re okay right now, I’m off to fight the Spider Queen, or, y’know the whole ‘Lady Bone Demon’ thing that put a stop to the drawings? Well, fun fact: I defeated her! Isn’t that neat?! 

If MK had just said he was the Monkie Kid from the get-go, Red Son wouldn’t have had to deal with…with all this. Or at the very least he wouldn’t have to deal with it as soon. At least, that was what he thought for a day or two.

But then one evening, right when he was finally dozing off to sleep, when he suddenly shot up in his bed. 

That night that MK and Red Son fought about soulmates. Didn’t MK say he told him about being the Monkie Kid? 

But-but that didn’t make any sense. Red Son would’ve seen it. Even back in the early days when he largely ignored what his soulmate said, he would’ve recognized Monkie Kid written somewhere on his thigh at some point, wouldn’t he? 

When did MK say he mentioned it? He said it was only once, right? When–When–

“After I defeated your dad for the first time, I wrote all about it. But, like everything else, they didn’t reply.”

There was no way. He told him that early? 

Red Son got out of his bed and began to pace back and forth now. That was impossible. Impossible. Red Son would have absolutely recognized if his soulmate had confessed to being the Monkie Kid because the Monkie Kid was all he was focused on at the time. There was no way he could’ve ignored something as blatantly obvious as that, right? Right? 

…Right?

Red Son stopped his pacing. An old, fuzzy memory was coming back to him now, from the night his father was defeated. He was crouched over his desk in the corner of his workshop, body still aching from the pain of getting run over by that jet-car-thing MK had flown in on out of the blue.

Even though it probably would’ve been wiser to go to bed and let his wounds heal, he rolled out a blueprint to draft a new contraption to defeat the Monkie Kid anyway, ignoring the bruises on his face and the chip on his tooth that cut his tongue and whatever scribble his soulmate was talking about underneath his bandaged arms–

Guanyin, goddess of mercy, alleviate his- oh at this point, it was safe to assume Guanyin wasn't looking out for Red Son.

Red Son remembered thinking that his soulmate was writing about how the Monkie Kid saved the world, but he didn’t think his soulmate was telling him that he, the Monkie Kid, had just saved the fucking world. If he had pulled off his bandages, he could’ve known so much sooner. 

Actually now that he thought about it, there wasn't the only time Red Son could’ve figured out MK was his soulmate. He only knew about the peonies because he’d seen the post-it note sticking out of MK’s old sketchbook. If he actually bothered to open it up, he would’ve seen his art. Sure, Red Son hadn’t been staring at it for over a year, but he was familiar enough with the art style that he would’ve pieced it together quickly. 

This whole time, he could’ve known who his soulmate was if he’d just…peeled off a bandage. Opened a book. 

That night, Red Son didn’t get much sleep. He spent the evening pacing around his room or lying in his bed, head spiraling into other worlds where he actually bothered to pay the slightest bit of attention to the happenings around him. Was he just that dense? That oblivious? No wonder he was bonded with MK–he might be more of an idiot than he is.

He didn’t speak much during breakfast, both physically and emotionally exhausted from his sleepless night. And he didn’t speak much later that day during lunch with MK. MK wanted to buy some jianbing during his break and he brought Red Son along. Despite all the chaos, Red Son was actually looking forward to spending time with MK, as he always did. But he was so exhausted he could barely enjoy it. At one point, he almost walked into traffic–he was so tired, he was doing an MK move. 

“You know, I don’t wanna be that guy, but for someone who’s always talking about my sleep schedule, you kiiinda look like you’re about to melt onto the sidewalk.” MK raised his eyebrows a bit, shouldering Red Son as they walked back to Pigsy’s. 

“Stop talking, Noodle Boy.” Red Son grumbled. 

MK laughed, thankfully changing the subject. “Do you have a new project?” He asked, taking a bite of his jianbing. “Oooh, is it some super smart genius stuff?” 

Red Son looked down as MK as they turned the corner. Xiaotian had mentioned having a genius friend, didn’t he? He supposed that Xiaotian was talking to Red Son about himself by accident. The logistics were still a bit confusing, but that was probably because Red Son was fully prepared to curl up on the street for a power nap. 

“No.” Red Son sighed as they finally reached Pigsy’s. He tilted his head up, eyes, squinting so the glaring sun didn’t blind him. “I just have things on my mi–”

Red Son’s words left his throat when his eyes landed on the sign in front of Pigsy’s Noodles. He’d seen the logo plenty of times before–on plastic bags, posters, the works. There was a big neon sign for Pigsy’s Noodles inside the shop and outside too. But he’d never really looked at it before. Or, rather, he didn’t focus on how the logo looked. 

A grinning, cartoon pig, holding a bowl of noodles. 

Xiaotian didn’t always draw that stylized, but every now and then, Red Son would notice a bored doodle of a pig with a toothy smile. He found the drawings cute–not as grand as some of his other masterpieces, but still art in their own right. But he had assumed it was just that. A pig. Maybe even a silly rendition of Zhu Bajie. But…but…

In the top left hand corner of the grinning pig sign was a signature. MK. It was undeniably his art, just as much as it was undeniably his soulmate’s. 

“You drew this logo?” Red Son murmured so softly he thought MK wouldn’t hear it, but he did. 

“Oh. Uh. Yeah. I guess it was my first commission, technically.” MK looked up at it. “Pigsy paid me and everything. I’m really proud of it.” 

How hadn’t he noticed that? He had sent bull clones to spy on this dump for what? Months? And he never picked up that MK drew this. Shit, he hadn’t even looked at the logo long enough to pin together it was his soulmate’s artstyle. 

Red Son had spent nearly a year loitering around Pigsy’s Noodles, waiting for MK to end his shift, eating dan dan noodles in the booth seats, fixing that miserable pile of metal that calls itself a cart, and all he had to do to find his soulmate was look up? The glaring neon signs showing Red Son the truth were supposed to be rhetorical. 

“Yknow, if you need to take a nap, you totally can.” MK said. “My room’s a bit of a mess, but you’re used to that, so-”

“I’m going to melt it.” Red Son murmured. 

MK blinked, confused. “You’re gonna what-”

Red Son took the last bite of his jianbing before incinerating the wrapper. “I’m going to melt that sign.” 

A ball of fire sparked in Red Son’s hand. 

It took a solid ten minutes of MK trying to pin Red Son down before he finally gave up on burning down Pigsy’s Noodles and everybody in it. MK was lucky Red Son was so tired. 

Red Son did agree to take MK up on that nap. He had to promise not to melt the sign while MK was at work, but he was so exhausted he forgot to do so the moment his head hit the pillow. 

When MK came home from his shift, Red Son was still there, laying on the bed and staring at the ceiling. He turned on the light and Red Son groaned, draping his forearm over his face. MK ignored it. 

“You’re not the first demon who tried to destroy that sign.” MK said, taking his jacket off and throwing it on his desk chair. “Some of the Spider Queen’s little robot guys took the sign off and snuck it into the sewers.” 

Wonderful. Red Son thought to himself. His outburst wasn’t even original. 

“I had to go get it back. It was, uh, not the best.” MK admitted. “The Spider Queen was rebuilding her mech, and I destroyed it because I thought she wanted to take over again. But, turns out she wanted to fight the Lady Bone Demon, and…well…” 

MK’s words faded away. He was quiet for a beat before finally speaking up again. “Sorry I’m being a bummer.” Red Son heard the sound of the fridge opening and MK yawning. “Maybe I didn’t get much sleep either.”  

Red Son rolled over on his side to look at MK, who was pouring two cups of water at the counter. He still had a smile on his face, but it was small. Quiet. Maybe even reverent, as he put the pitcher back in the fridge. Red Son couldn’t imagine what MK had experienced down in the sewers looking for Pigsy’s sign. He certainly couldn’t imagine how MK was still smiling while thinking about it.

Maybe that was the real reason why he couldn’t wrap his head around it. The real reason that all the figurative and literal glaring neon signs soared straight past Red Son’s head. A soulmate was supposed to be your equal. The bond was supposed to symbolize your strength–not just as union, but within yourself as well. But MK…MK was…

Well he was stronger, obviously. MK had sent Red Son running away with his tail between his legs more than he’d like to admit. He'd defeated demon and after demon. He could lift the Monkey King's staff-it took Red Son ages to finally make a gauntlet powerful enough to do that, and he picked it up by complete accident.

But it wasn't just that, really. MK was everything. 

MK was strong, and passionate, and charismatic, and a lot smarter than people gave him credit for–even Red Son. He was a natural leader, a natural hero. He was always there to lend a helping hand, charitable to a fault. And he was loving. So, so loving. 

How on earth could someone like that be bonded to Red Son? 

MK sat down at his desk, facing Red Son. He held out one of the cups of water to him. Red Son sat up and took it, taking a quiet sip. 

“Fighting the Spider Queen was a challenge.” He recalled. “I’m sure she gave the Lady Bone Demon a difficult time.” 

MK hummed at that, looking down at his water. “I think about her more than I want to.” 

“The Spider Queen?” Red Son raised an eyebrow. 

“No. I mean, yeah, sometimes I have nightmares that she spun me up in her web to eat me, but-that’s not who I mean.” MK shook his head. “I’m talking about…” MK’s smile flickered now as he stared down at his cup. 

Ah. Her. Red Son sighed as he moved closer to MK. He could understand that. Even though the Lady Bone Demon had been dead for months now, the world still wasn’t quite done stitching up the fractures that had run across the countryside. It was the same for MK, even if he didn’t talk about it much. He wondered how many other wounds MK had yet to stitch up. 

“Well, if it’s any comfort, I think about her too.” Red Son said. 

“Really?” MK looked up.

Red Son barked out a laugh. “Please. How could I not? The only reason she possessed my father and nearly destroyed the world is because I stole that key from you.” 

“I mean, to be fair, that’s kind of on me.” MK leaned against the back of the chair. When Red Son shot him a look, he held up in free hand in defense. “I’m just saying, I definitely could’ve done a better job fighting your mom.” 

“Please. You might have gotten the best of the Lady Bone Demon, but you could never defeat my mother.” Red Son snorted. 

“But really! If I’d–I dunno. Stopped you from stealing the key, or returned the Trigram furnace sooner, or-or-or done something different, she wouldn’t have…I dunno.” MK leaned over the chair now, back hunched. “I just keep thinking about all the things I could’ve done to stop it.” 

Red Son frowned as he looked at MK. It was rare for MK to open up without prodding. Maybe he really hadn’t slept all that well. Red Son wondered if he should get MK a nicer pillow. Or maybe try to convince Mei to bring him back home from portying a little earlier. 

“Even if you’d never done those things, I doubt that would’ve stopped her from coming back.” Red Son leaned over the bed to get closer to MK. “She and her little thrall were rather eager to enact their plans of world obliteration.” 

His voice had softened in some attempt to be comforting. It was never his strong suit, but for MK, he’d try. 

“You defeated her, didn’t you? If you weren’t around, she’d probably find some other peasant to bring her to power. And once she did that, then there’d be no hope left.” Red Son murmured. “The world would have fallen to her putridity if it weren’t for you.”

“And you.” MK pointed out. “Mei would’ve never learned how to harness the Samadhi Fire–”

“Yes, I’m aware that you dragged me along to join you in your heroics.” Red Son groaned. “But we’re not talking about my accomplishments. No matter how noble or praiseworthy they are.”

MK snorted into his cup. 

“We’re talking about you.” Red Son said. “The only reason I, or anyone else in your little crew, are heroes is because you’re one. And the only reason we stood a chance defeating the Lady Bone Demon is because you believed we could do it. Maybe you should focus less on your supposed failures and more on your actual victories.” 

MK looked up at Red Son, a small smile curling on his face. “You literally do that all the time.” 

“Once again, we’re not talking about me, Noodle Boy.” Red Son chided him. “We’re talking about you. And you are a hero. With a revoltingly good track record.” 

“Now come on.” Red Son gave the tuft of MK’s hair that hung over his bandana a soft swat. “Spending all day thinking about what could have happened is only going to stir fry your noodle brain even more.” 

Red Son leaned to the side to put his cup on MK’s desk before laying back down on the bed. He was about to shut his eyes to nap again when MK moved his chair a bit closer to the bed, cupping his face as he propped his elbows on his lap. 

“You are praiseworthy.” MK said, a small, lopsided smile on his face. “Even though you’ve made some mistakes, you really are. I’d talk about you all day if I could.” 

The air in MK’s apartment shot up a solid twelve degrees. Red Son was honestly surprised he didn’t smell smoke–surely, the ends of his hair were sparking over that. His lip twitched as he stared at MK, the roots in his chest twist around his lungs and heart. He still couldn’t fully understand how easily MK could shower him with praise. He always had a good word for Red Son, even back when they were just enemies with a bigger enemy. It made Red Son's heart twist in his chest. It made the back of his eyes prick. 

MK was looking over at Red Son with that warm, overwhelming, loving smile. He was close enough that Red Son could catch all the little details of his face–each freckle, each acne scar, each eyelash that clung to his cheek. And of course, those pretty brown eyes, that could take all the light in the cosmos and melt them. A little heaven.

Red Son had never really imagined what his soulmate looked like or how they acted, but truthfully, he couldn’t imagine anyone like MK. At least, not for himself. 

Red Son turned over in the bed to face the window only for MK to cry out in protest. “Nooo! Turn back around! I wanted to draw you like that.”

“You wanted to what? ” Red Son turned his head to see MK grab his sketchbook. 

“You looked all relaxed, and your hair was spread out all across the pillow, and the light from the ceiling was catching in your eyes in a way that was–was–" MK fumbled over his words before slumping over. "Look, just, move back. Please?”

MK gave Red Son what he’d been told by Mei was “puppy dog eyes.” Such an underhanded tactic would never work on him of course. MK was just lucky that Red Son loved him so much. 

He turned around in the bed, sighing. His eyes wandered over to MK, dutifully drawing in his sketchbook, tongue sticking out of his mouth in concentration. It was weird to see MK drawing now that he knew who he was. It was strange knowing all of MK’s favorite techniques to shade, or color, or keep the other eye symmetrical on a face. He somehow felt both closer to MK than ever and far, far away.

MK glanced up at Red Son for a moment when he paused. “Do you draw?” He asked. 

“No.” Red Son replied. 

“Really? Not at all?” MK shoved his hand in his box of crayons, searching for a new color. 

Red Son thought for a moment before shrugging. “I doodle. If I’m exceptionally unfocused.” 

MK smiled. “Well, you should show me your doodles sometime.” 

Red Son hummed, watching MK pick out a red crayon and put his brown one away.

“One day. Eventually.” he muttered, trying to keep his lips still to not mess up the reference. “I promise I’ll show you everything.” 

Chapter Text

Red Son wouldn’t really call working on tech a distraction. 

He'd been making tech and working with metal for most of his life. Red Son had probably spent a century’s worth of time cooped up in a forge, clanging away at sheet metal and fiddling with screws to pull his father out of the mountain. And while he would feel some pride in making an invention, he wouldn’t say it made him feel better.

It certainly didn’t take his mind off the Demon Bull King’s imprisonment. Those 500 years did not pass by idly. If anything, work was honestly the opposite of a distraction–his father’s imprisonment fueled him to keep working till dawn, day after day, year after year, century after century. 

Back when he used to fight MK, Red Son wouldn’t go into his workshop just to blow off some steam. He’d unfurl a new blueprint and start furiously planning something, even though his wounds still ached with each move. And after that first incident with the Lady Bone Demon, when DBK’s eyes glinted a cold light blue as he accused Red Son of being a traitor, Red Son had almost driven himself mad trying to build something, anything, that would prove his loyalty. 

Any issue he had, any fight he lost, any goal he failed to achieve, and Red Son would be back 

in his workshop, fixing up a new car engine or upgrading a flamethrower for General Ironclad. He’d stumble out in the early mornings, hands dirty with soot, marginally satisfied at best and enraged at his own ineptitude at the worst. If there was a problem, he’d try to fix it, and when he had to fix something, he’d usually go in his workshop to do it. 

Sure, Red Son worked a lot because he liked to keep his hands busy. And he did enjoy building things. Few things brought him more joy than finishing a new car and taking it out for its very first test drive. But he’d be lying if he said if his passions were massive stress relievers . If anything, his worries clung to him tighter, made him grip his hammer tighter, clang at the red-hot metal with more ferocity. 

If Red Son were completely honest, he didn’t really have a lot of stress relievers for most of his life. Even his meditations were agitated–they were based on focus, on concentration, on eliminating every obstacle in his way. He never really tried searching for peace of mind. He had too much work to do for all that. Serenity, theoretically, was supposed to come once all his goals were achieved. Things didn’t exactly play out like that, but Red Son still worked with that mentality anyways. 

Things changed a bit when he started spending time with MK and Mei. Red Son wouldn’t say that spending time with them was stress free– the nonsense they dragged him into was so infuriating he was convinced he’d start to wrinkle before reaching 600. But he’d admit, those stupid shenanigans did get his mind off whatever tense dinner conversation with his father he had the night before. 

But given his current, uh, issue, spending time with them wasn’t really helping. 

Red Son still hung out with his friends, but it wasn’t really much of a distraction anymore. 

It was hard not to think about Xiaotian when he was leaning his head on his shoulder, snoring loudly in the movie theater. Red Son could have never imagined really meeting Xiaotian, much less feeling the warmth of his cheek against his bare shoulder. It was hard not to think about MK when Xiaotian was aimlessly doodling monkeys on his forearm–monkeys which surely were resting on peach trees on Flower Fruit Mountain. Everything just reminded Red Son of the elephant in the room–or rather, the elephant only he could see, and therefore he couldn’t point out. 

Like a few days ago. MK wanted to play some cheap board game based on Journey to the West, but the rules were ridiculously complex even for Red Son. He got tired of trying to explain the game setup to an increasingly bored Mei and MK, so he went to the bathroom to cool down–literally and figuratively. 

In retrospect, maybe he should’ve yelled at Mei and MK to pay more attention, because what Red Son came back to knocked the wind out his chest. Mei had taken off her letterman jacket and outstretched her arm to MK. With one hand, MK held Mei’s arm steady, while the other carefully drew around her triceps with a bright green marker. 

Neither of them realized Red Son was standing behind them. Red Son didn’t make a noise, watching as MK drew on Mei’s arm. He’d seen MK scribble in his sketchbook, but he’d never seen MK draw on someone’s skin. It felt...odd. Like something Red Son wasn't ever supposed to see. He couldn’t help but graze his fingers up and down his forearms, like his skin was jealous that Mei got to be the canvas this time. 

“How do you have markers this bright anyways?” Mei asked as she looked down at her triceps. “The colors show off real good.”  

“Oh, Pigsy got them for me.” MK said, looping the tail of the emerald green dragon around Mei’s wrist. “He figured I should have actual art supplies to draw on myself. It’s from some demon brand. They’re supposed to be made to show up on your skin.”

Red Son knew about those, vaguely. There was a relatively small market of stationary made by demons for writing to your bonded. He never considered buying any for himself, but in retrospect, that explained why all of Xiaotian’s art looked so vibrant on his skin. 

MK must have dumped all his markers out onto the floor before he started drawing on Mei, because they were strewn across the apartment. One was just next to Red Son’s boot.

When Red Son picked the marker up, he couldn’t help the tremor in his hands. How many times had he felt the tip of that little felt marker? How many pieces of art lived on his skin, immortalized in a computer file he kept to himself? 

It had been a few weeks since he’d discovered that MK was his soulmate, but the shock of it continued to hit Red Son in waves, smacking him in the back of the head time and time again. Some poetic part of Red Son viewed himself as an ever-shifting canvas. He didn’t ever think he’d get to hold the other art supplies. 

“Oooooh, I wanna try!” Mei scrambled to grab a marker and popped the cap off before yanking MK’s arm to her and doodling on his bare bicep. 

Immediately, Red Son felt the cold tip of the felt marker on his arm. He jolted at the feeling. It was surreal to see Mei drawing as MK pushed her away while feeling the lineart shake. He knew that MK was his soulmate the moment he went snooping in that sketchbook, but seeing and feeling the same drawing was a whole other sensation, a whole new tidal wave to envelop him.

Red Son was wearing long sleeves, but he still clutched his bicep anyways, like he was terrified MK would turn his head and see straight through the coat fabric. Yeah, he had to stop this somehow. If he had to keep physically feeling Mei drawing a grumpy face on MK’s bicep, Red Son was going to turn the entire block to ash. 

“Are you two done being imbeciles?!” Red Son tried to snap, but his voice shook. 

Thankfully, neither of them seemed to notice the state Red Son was in, probably too invested in their own stupid shenanigans. 

MK snatched the marker away from Mei, putting the cap back on and sticking his tongue out at her. She stuck it out right back. Now, MK turned to Red Son with a smile. “Sometimes, Mei asks me to draw stuff on her arm. Like a temporary tattoo, y’know?”

Mei sighed, leaning back until her head rested against MK’s bedpost. “My mom thinks tattoos aren’t ladylike, so I gotta make do with this.” She raised her arm up to show off the half-finished dragon. 

Suddenly, MK’s eyes widened. “Do you want me to draw on you, Red Son?” 

Nope. Nope. That wasn’t happening. That was–that would be–

“A-absolutely not!” Red Son shouted–a bit too loudly, because he heard Pigsy yelling at them to keep it down from downstairs. 

“Awwww, come on! It’ll be fun!” MK insisted. “I can draw whatever you want–the marker doesn’t cause ink poisoning if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

“Ink poisoning isn’t real, Noodle Boy!” And that was not what Red Son was worried about. 

Alas, MK was persistent. He spent the next half hour trying to get Red Son to roll up his sleeve so MK could draw a bull or a fire pillar or “something cool and flamey and edgy,” which was apparently what MK thought Red Son liked. But Red Son refused. He stayed strong, even when MK tried to hit him with puppy dog eyes. 

“I don’t want you drawing anything on me, MK.” Red Son snarled through the downright pathetic blush on his cheek over seeing MK’s pouty expression. “If my parents saw, they’d have nothing but questions.” 

That was the excuse Red Son gave, and MK seemed to take it without any issue. But Red Son knew that wasn’t the case at all. He learned to hide all the art that crawled up his limbs and danced across his skin, so his parents wouldn’t find out a thing. And more importantly, he loved MK’s work. All of it. He just didn’t quite want MK to find out that way. 

He didn’t really have a plan on how MK would find out, mind you. Red Son fully intended to tell everything to MK once he sorted through…well, everything. But everything was a lot to sort through. 

Later that evening, when Red Son was about to go to bed, he felt that felt marker again. He looked to see writing on his own triceps. 

Hey, sorry about the doodle on your arm-my friend got to my markers and she kind of went nuts. 

Red Son knew that already, of course. He'd seen it with his own two eyes. It felt jarring to see the difference in how MK spoke to him and how Xiaotian did. It was odd to see his soulmate assume they knew that little about each other, when really, MK probably knew Red Son better than anyone. 

Before going to sleep, he grabbed a pen and wrote back to MK. 

No need to apologize. I'm just glad your art style didn't suddenly worsen dramatically.

MK tried to defend Mei's doodle, saying that he was moving too much for it to look good, but Red Son pulled up his sleeve and went to bed.

Now, Red Son sat in his workshop, a blueprint unfurled in front of him as he tapped his pen against the paper. He had a fair amount of tasks he had to attend to. One of the bull clone squadrons needed serious repairs after accidentally falling down one of the ravines surrounding the dangerous terrain of the Demon Bull Fortress. Demon Bull King’s armor needed new upgrades. Red Son’s race car engine was making a noise that sounded eerily similar to the Noodle Cart, and that was unacceptable. 

But Red Son wasn’t working on any of those things though. He was tapping away at a blueprint, small dots peppering the corner of the paper, his mind completely distracted by MK-or by Xiaotian-or whatever. 

Honestly, it wasn’t even that he felt stupid. Well, it was that, sort of. There were way too many obvious clues in retrospect. If all he really had to do was open up a sketchbook, take a good look at a neon sign, and actually think about the connecting links between MK and his soulmate, Red Son would’ve put two and two together ages ago. 

Red Son thought what he’d wanted was a soulmate–something that he had, but he couldn’t really hold or call his own. It was a pain he let sow in his chest, wrap around his lungs and blossom in his ribs. But overtime, he found that he wanted something more than that–he wanted support. Companionship. Love. Red Son realized he wanted MK. 

So, to be completely honest, MK turning out to be his soulmate felt a little like a slap to the face. 

Okay, that made it sound like Red Son was unhappy about being bonded to MK. He wasn’t. He loved MK, and this didn’t change that by any means. But after suffering so much over wanting something he couldn’t have, it did feel a bit like his whole emotional revelation about not really wanting a soulmate was tossed out the window. 

No, Red Son didn’t feel stupid. He felt…he felt toyed with. Emotionally, this all felt like one big, pointless circle around a bramble of peonies. How much did Red Son’s chest ache over his soulmate? How many times did he feel roots around his ribcage, petals fluttering in his chest? If Red Son had learned the truth earlier, he wouldn’t have spent this long agonizing, right? 

Well, maybe not. If Red Son learned he was bonded to the Monkie Kid of all people, he probably would’ve disowned himself.

Red Son grunted as he swiped his hand, a large holographic screen lighting up the workshop with a magenta glow. The New Year was just around the corner. The Demon Bull family was making plans to celebrate it together properly this time. No playing street vendor, no Spider Queen conquests, and certainly no saving the world. 

It would be a year since MK first began to truly haunt him, since Red Son took notice of his wide grin and warm brown eyes that melted the sun. It would be a year since Red Son’s entire world turned upside down. He wasn’t sure when exactly he fell in love with MK, but it wasn’t unreasonable to argue that their conversation on the Dronecopter sparked something. MK had called Red Son loving –too loving to be a villain. He didn’t even know how right he was. 

It felt weird to know that his soulmate was talking to him then. Even weirder that it could very well have been the first step Red Son took to falling in love with him. To some degree, loving MK sort of defeated the purpose of giving up on a soulmate, didn’t it? Red Son knew that there wasn’t really any fate to demons and the ones they bonded with, but it definitely felt planned. The whole situation was just too ironic. Some celestial had to have been pulling strings in the background. 

But, Red Son knew that wasn’t the case. Fate didn’t play a role here. Maybe luck had a factor in it though–it was just Red Son’s luck for his plans to be metaphorically tossed into the air right when everything was going his way. 

Almost out of instinct, Red Son found himself opening the file of drawings. Now this was a distraction. More often than not, it wasn’t by any means a good distraction; most of the time it would replace one of his woes with another. But sometimes, paging through his soulmate’s art did help. Seeing the works which once thrived on his skin helped Red Son unwind. He always loved Xiaotian’s works, long before he loved Xiaotian. 

Looking through his gallery had a different feel to it now that Red Son knew the artist behind the work. He understood the context of a lot of the drawings now: the napping monkeys were all references from Flower Fruit Mountain, the green dragons were in honor of Mei, the cartoon pigs were sketches of the logo for Pigsy’s Noodles. Red Son could even identify a few of the plants that scaled down his arm as houseplants from MK’s apartment. 

Knowing that context made the works feel…intimate. More alive than they already were. It gave the art a story with a powerful undercurrent of affection. Even the more basic, impersonal sketches like thunderstorms or mountain ranges had meaning, just because Red Son knew it was MK’s work. 

That was one thing Red Son appreciated, despite everything. He didn’t think he could love the art that lived on his skin more than he already did. But knowing who drew the art and the stories behind it gave him a new appreciation for it–one that wasn’t only deeper, but more tender as well.

Red Son had never really considered thinking about the deeper story behind Xiaotian’s works. Sure, it was mostly because Red Son spent a long time never even considering getting to know Xiaotian, but it was also because he simply wasn’t artsy enough to think about the deeper meaning. Knowing MK meant knowing his art, so loving MK meant loving that art tenfold.

Red Son stopped scrolling when he reached the picture of his chest bursting with peonies. Well, he thought to himself. That’s something good out of this, isn’t it? I get to appreciate MK’s art even more than I already have. 

A muffled buzzing noise snapped Red Son out of his train of thoughts. He opened up his desk drawer to see that MK was calling him. 

Of course. Red Son sighed as he picked up his phone. Of course he calls now. It could’ve been Mei, or one of those sketchy human “telemarketers” but no, it just had to be him. 

Red Son answered the call and pressed the phone to his ear. “What is it?” He asked, staring at the artwork on the holographic screen. 

“Uh, hey Red Son.” For whatever reason, it sounded like MK was whispering into the phone. “Are you home right now?” 

That was a bit of a weird question to ask. “Where else would I be?” He snorted. 

"I dunno, maybe hanging out with Mei, or at like, some fancy demon dinner party–wait, right, you don’t get invited to those.” MK muttered under his breath. 

Red Son’s scowl deepened. “I’m aware.” 

“Right! Right, sorry.” MK laughed, sounding a bit embarrassed. 

Red Son sighed. As unnecessary as the comment was, he knew MK meant no real harm. And well, he couldn’t stay mad at him long. One of the many unfortunate symptoms of being love, he supposed. 

“Well, in any case, yes, I am home.” Red Son leaned back in his chair. 

“Okay, but where?” MK asked. 

… Where? What did he mean where? This conversation was getting more and more strange by the second. 

“I’m in my workshop.” Red Son replied slowly. “If you want me to come over, I may have to pass up the offer. I have several matters to attend to.” 

He absolutely wasn’t attending to those things, but MK didn’t need to know that. 

“Oh. Uh…” MK sounded a bit awkward now, almost…embarrassed? “Well, the good news is, I’m not asking you to come over.” He sucked his breath in through his teeth. “But I am gonna need you to come to your room.” 

His room? Why did Red Son need to go to–

Everything clicked immediately.

“MK.” Red Son held his phone so tightly he was probably cracking the case. “If I go into my room and see you in there, I’m going to set you on fire.”

There was a long beat of silence before MK laughed awkwardly. “But if you set me on fire, you’ll burn my–” 

Red Son ended the call. With a swipe of his hand, he left his drawing file and shut off the holographic screens. He wrenched open the door of his workshop, grumbling and cursing with every step until he finally reached the door of his room. 

Surely, there was no way MK was this stupid, right? This was just a prank that he was pulling with Mei to piss him off. Or maybe he decided to try astral projecting to Red Son and missed by a couple yards. There was no way that MK was in his room right now, because that would be absolutely absurd. 

But, of course, Red Son's life had been nothing but absurd lately. Red Son flung the doors to his room open to see MK sitting on the floor, a phone in one hand and a large rolled up piece of paper in the other. 

MK looked up at Red Son with a smile, like this was a totally normal occurrence. “Hey Red Son.” 

Red Son shut the door to his room and locked it before launching a fireball at MK. 

MK yelped, just barely rolling out of the way. “Dude! I’m holding paper! And you should know, that’s super flammable.” 

Red Son ignored that completely, leaning over MK to hiss. “You are such a moron. You realize the bull clones could have reported you for trespassing, right? The night has barely started, my parents are very much awake, and they’d squash you like an ant for even daring to step foot in our territory after you stole from us .” 

“Hey, me stealing the Samadhi Fire saved the world.” MK said. “Plus, I’ve done this before. If you go through all the volcanic air, the bull clones can’t see you come in or out.” 

Red Son opened his mouth to retort when he realized that actually, bull clone vision was in fact pretty mediocre at detecting unfamiliar entities in the thicker areas of volcanic smoke around the Demon Bull Fortress. It was something he’d been hoping to patch for some time, but never got the chance. Which meant another errand for him to do. He would have to thank MK for reminding him to do that after he was finished admonishing him. 

“Well regardless, you shouldn’t be breaking in right now.” Red Son put his hands on his hips, sneering. 

“I didn’t break in. ” MK waved his hand and made a psh noise. “The window was open.” 

Red Son was going to pop a blood vessel. “How many times do I have to explain that my window being open isn’t an invitation?!” 

“Awww, c’mon. Think of it this way: this time I didn’t fly into your wall!” MK grinned like this was a great accomplishment.  

This was it. This was the man he was bonded to, body and soul. An idiot. But Red Son was one too, because he was still in love with that moron, knowing he was an idiot.

Maybe all those saying about soulmates being equals in strength also rang true for intelligence. Red Son was starting to feel MK-levels of stupid these days. 

“You’re supposed to be smarter than this, Noodle Brain.” Red Son chided MK. “Even with the fragile alliance my family has with you, they wouldn’t be okay with you showing up unannounced. And they still aren’t aware of our friendship.” 

“So what you’re saying is you think I’m smart?” MK smiled up at him.

MK was lucky he was adorable, or he would’ve turned into soot on the carpet. 

“That was not the point.” Red Son pinched the bridge of his nose. “You could have just called if you were bored. You didn’t need to break in unannounced.” He held his hand out for MK to grab. 

MK pulled himself up with Red Son’s air before wiping some of the soot off his jacket. “Well, it’s not breaking in, so–”

Red Son shot MK a hard enough glare that he backed away from that argument. “Okay, okay, maybe I should’ve called. That’s on me.” He scratched the back of his head, glancing down at the floor. “I, uh, guess I got too excited.” 

“Excited for what?” Red Son crossed his arms. 

MK brightened up at the question, rocking back and forth on his heels before holding out the rolled up paper to Red Son. “I finished it.” 

Red Son blinked, a little confused by what MK meant by “it.” He took the roll of paper from MK’s hand carefully and slowly unfurled it to see–

… Oh. 

“When I finished drawing you, I got so excited that I just had to give it to you now. I know I could’ve waited until the next time we hung out but…I dunno.” MK said, a bit bashful. “I just needed to get it to you now.

“I’ll admit, it took me a while to get all your features down, and to be honest, I’m not totally sure if I got your nose right?” MK laughed awkwardly. “I know you’ve probably gotten like, fancy portraits by actual artists or whatever, but I think this is pretty good. I hope, at least.” 

Pretty good wasn’t nearly enough to describe it. 

MK was right–Red Son had sat through painting sessions before. Back when he was young and still lived in his childhood palace, his mother conscripted demons to draw their whole family. Red Son remembered squirming on his mother’s lap for what felt like days before finally seeing the results. At the time, he found the portrait boring and immediately waddled off to play in the garden. It wasn’t worth all the time he wasted sitting there when he could’ve been writing to his soulmate. 

This portrait wasn’t anything like that. MK’s artstyle didn’t focus much on realism, but when Red Son looked at the portrait, he could see it captured all sorts of little features. He got the arch of his eyebrow, the curve of his eyes, the slope of his nose. He got every angle right, his sharp jawline and sharper widow’s peak. The colors were gorgeous too–bright, warm, vibrant colors that made the portrait look alive. The sparks of Red Son’s hair looked ready to catch the paper on fire. 

But what fascinated Red Son the most about the portrait was his expression. Drawn on his face was the smallest smile, just barely noticeable unless you focused on the curl of his lip. It was shockingly devoid of the usual anger or pomp he carried himself with, to the point that it looked almost unfamiliar. 

Red Son couldn’t help but laugh. “When have I ever made that expression?” 

MK tilted his head as he looked at the drawing. “Honestly? You only started doing it recently.” He said. “You don’t do it a lot, but sometimes we’ll be hanging out, and you just…melt into it, I guess.” 

Was that really what Red Son looked like around MK? That couldn’t make sense. He looked far too serene given the number of headaches MK gave him on an hourly basis. 

“I thought about drawing one where you looked more serious, but to be honest,” MK’s smile softened as his eyes flickered up to Red Son. “I like when you look like this the most.” 

Ah. Maybe this was how Red Son looked at MK in rare moments where he let his affections slip. Or maybe it was just one of those few moments where Red Son actually felt calm, where all his anger and worries drained out of him.

Was this really how MK saw him? Did MK really see Red Son as the sort of person who could look at him with such gentle affections? The Red Son in his portrait looked...loving. He looked caring. He looked good.

Red Son still had no idea how MK could see him as any of those things, but to be honest? He wanted to look like that to MK. Red Son wanted to be that loving and caring and good, if not for MK, then for himself. 

“You said you weren’t a ‘real’ artist?” Red Son looked up at MK and scoffed. “That’s rubbish.”

“I mean, it’s not really a full time job–I don’t even sell my stuff.” MK shrugged. “So I’m not like, a professional or anything–” 

“Please.” Red Son waved one hand as he rolled up the portrait with the other. “I’ve yet to see any supposedly ‘real’ artist’s work that I’ve adored more than yours.” 

Okay, that might have revealed a bit too much of Red Son’s hand. He coughed into his fist. “At any rate, just because you don’t sell your works doesn’t mean you’re inferior to any supposed professional.” He held his chin up high, hoping that the back of his ears weren’t steaming. 

MK stared at him for a moment, eyes wide before breaking into a grin. “Thanks, Red Son.” 

Red Son did what he could to speak over the heavy thudding of his heartbeat. It was frankly embarrassing how loud it was–a part of him worried MK could hear his heart smacking against his roots and ribcage and give himself away. “At any rate, I’ll have to have it framed.” 

“Framed?” MK echoed. 

“Of course.” Red Son said. “Art should be properly displayed. Surely, you agree with that sentiment as an artist yourself.” 

“I-I mean yeah, but-won’t your parents ask questions?” MK asked. 

“I’ll tell them it was a gift from you to celebrate a year since defeating the Spider Queen in battle.” Red Son said. He began to mutter to himself now. “My workshop’s not a good place for it–maybe I can hang it somewhere in my room? I have a study, but I don’t go there nearly as much as I should.” 

 He turned to MK. “I’ll figure out where to put it later. For now, what matters is a frame.” 

“You gonna buy one?” MK asked. 

“Of course not.” Red Son scoffed. “I have more than enough scrap material in my workshop to make a portrait frame. Plus, I’ll trust the frame is heat-resistant if I made it.” 

“Ooooh wait a sec!!” MK stepped closer to Red Son, hands clasped together. “Can I come see your workshop? I’ve never seen you work there before.” 

Red Son frowned. “That’s not possible. My workshops several stories down–I doubt I’d be able to sneak you through the fortress.” 

“It’ll be fine! I can sneak through the vents or something.” MK put his hands on his hips. “Not my first time sneaking around the Demon Bull fortress.” 

These words didn’t comfort Red Son in the slightest. MK probably could sense that, because he laughed. “Or we come up with something else.” 

Suddenly he snapped his fingers. “Oh!! I forgot I could do this, hold up.” With a flash of golden light, MK suddenly shrunk to the size of Red Son’s pinky finger. 

“See?” MK’s voice sounded comically high pitched from the floor. “Now you can keep me in your pocket and take me to your workshop!” 

Red Son tilted his head as he looked down at MK, amused. “When I told you my parents would squash you like an ant, I didn’t mean it so literally.” He plucked MK up by the hood of his jacket and brought him to eye level. 

MK protested this like an angry cat, squirming around and shouting for Red Son to pick him up nicely. Red Son chuckled at that before finally slipping MK into his pant pocket. 

“If I hear a peep out of you, I toss you down the nearest sink.” Red Son warned as he left his room. 

Thankfully, MK seemed to get the message, because Red Son was able to travel though the Demon Bull Fortress without any issue. Once the two of them were back in the workshop, Red Son scooped MK out of his pocket and placed him on his work desk. 

In a flash of golden light, MK returned to normal size, sitting on the corner of the desk and kicking his legs. “Dude, your phone went off while I was in your pocket–Mei’s live right now, you gotta turn it on.” 

Red Son snorted. “I thought you wanted to watch me work.” He laid the portrait out on his desk and grabbed a ruler as he began to measure out the sides of the paper. 

“I do, but she’s playing the new Monkey Mech DLC, and they added a new character based on Erlang Shen, and I’ve been waiting to see her play this foreverrrr.” MK whined. "Can you pleeease pull it up on your big screen?" 

Red Son groaned. With a swipe of his hand, a large holographic screen appeared in front of the work desk. He pushed his work stool over to MK with one hand and pulled up Mei’s livestream on the other. 

“Here.” He said, pressing play. “You could’ve used your own phone to watch this or just gone home, but whatever.” 

“But your holographic screen stuff is cooler! Way bigger too.” MK marveled at the sight of it as he sat down on the stool. “Plus, we’ll be watching it together, which is way more fun.”

“Correction: you’ll be watching it. I’ll be barely listening while doing my work.” Red Son snorted as he recorded all the measurements on a small scrap of paper. 

“Well, the point is that we’re together.” MK looked over at him with a smile. “So, I’d say it’s more fun.” 

Red Son could never understand how MK could be so forward in his affections. His blunt force love always hit him with the same impact, that made him see so many stars he thought the heavens themselves were crashing over him. 

“I’m going to get started. Let me know if you need anything.” Red Son turned away from MK to find the proper material for making a portrait frame. 

Red Son found that he always enjoyed what few domestic moments he had with MK. Whether that was drinking tea together, stitching up clothes after a battle, or waking up to MK snoring in his ear. And this too, was a domestic moment Red Son couldn’t help but treasure.

The sound of Mei’s laughter filled the room as MK babbled his commentary to Red Son, his attention constantly shifting between the livestream and Red Son’s work. Red Son would say something here and there, usually mocking Monkey Mech’s atrociously inaccurate character design, and MK would laugh, making the whole room get warmer. 

Red Son had never actually made a picture frame before, but he had a basic idea about how they worked. He was sure he could make one with relative ease. He had some bronze, some steel, and some glass that was heat-resistant enough to not melt from one of his outbursts. He needed to make sure the delicate artwork was preserved from all his rage. That his bad couldn’t incinerate all the good MK somehow saw in him. 

A thought occurred to Red Son as he began to plan out the portrait frame. Red Son had seen plenty of MK’s subjects, from chattering monkeys to blooming peonies. But he never once thought he could see himself drawn in that style. Red Son was Xiaotian’s canvas–nothing more. But to MK, Red Son had become a muse. 

It was an odd shift. One that wasn’t unwelcome, but that Red Son never thought possible. Xiaotian was never supposed to know who Red Son was. He wasn’t supposed to know his name, his face, his expressions in rare quiet moments when he basked in a tender love. He wasn’t supposed to read Red Son like a billboard. But now, Red Son had his soulmate’s portrait of him laying on his desk for him to frame up on his wall. And that…that was…

Something bobbed in Red Son’s throat. His eyes pricked with tears. Red Son didn’t know why he was feeling so emotional over that thought, but it seemed to envelop him now. He was thankful his back was turned to MK as he tinkered on the other side of the workshop. 

“You took your time on this drawing.” Red Son murmured. “I couldn’t go a day without seeing you nose deep in your sketchbook doodling me.” 

“Yeah.” MK laughed, glancing away from the livestream. “I can show them to you next time you’re over at Pigsy’s.” 

Red Son hummed at that as he began to work with the bronze to make the frame. “Do you often draw people?” 

“Oh yeah.” MK replied. “Customers, strangers on the street, a demon I’m fighting if they ask nicely–and my friends, of course. Could never get Tang right though? I can’t make him look cool.” 

“If you want to go for accuracy, then there’s no issue.” Red Son snarked.

“Hey!” MK pointed at Red Son from his seat. “Mr. Tang is cool!... Kinda!” 

Red Son snorted at that, an amused smile curling up his face as he worked. 

“I draw a lot of things, honestly.” MK said. “But honestly? If I had to draw one thing forever, I think I’d draw my friends forever. I don’t think I’d ever get bored.” 

Red Son heard MK’s voice soften now, just barely audible over Mei’s gameplay. “I like drawing the people I love.” 

MK’s quiet words played over and over again in Red Son’s head. Love. Love. The people I love. As he went to grab his toolbox, his grip on its handle tightened. 

“And I…assume that includes me.” Red Son murmured, glancing over his shoulder to look at MK. 

“Yeah.” MK smiled, warm and lopsided and divine despite very much being mortal. “It does.” 

As Red Son worked on the frame, he couldn’t help but bask in that thought. That he was someone who MK loved. He wondered if MK would draw for him more often. If he did, Red Son would have to make more frames, hang up more art. He’d build a new wing in the fortress for him to wander through each day, in awe of the art MK made for him. 

In a way, he’d already been doing that for over a year, before he even knew MK. Red Son had kept countless art pieces on file to quietly admire. But he didn’t have to be quiet about this art. He didn’t need to hide it away beneath an avalanche of files, of shut it off with a flick of his wrist whenever someone came near. He could hang MK’s art somewhere it’d be seen. Where it’d be loved and appreciated as loudly as it deserved to be. 

Red Son never had any plans to meet his soulmate, his beloved artist. He certainly never thought that his soulmate would draw him, would draw for him. How many more times would MK give him some silly doodle or breathtaking masterpiece for him to hang up?

Red Son could be a muse and a canvas, an admirer and a painting. He could have chattering monkeys and swirling storm clouds and slender dragons and blooming peonies exist beyond his own skin and bones. He could have MK tell him the story behind every art piece, and in turn Red Son could shower him with all the praise he deserved and then some. 

And that…that sounded…

“Shit.” MK balked. “Uhh, Red Son? I tried to go back on the livestream and I think I messed it up?” 

Red son looked up to see that somehow, MK had removed the livestream window altogether. “Give me a minute. I’m in the middle of something.” He groaned, hands holding metal so hot it practically glowed. 

“Oh, well, if you’re busy now, I can try to figure it out.” MK said. “It’s basically like a normal computer, right? Shouldn’t be too hard.” 

Red Son huffed as he turned back to his work, the step too crucial for him to look away. “If you touch any file you’re not supposed to, I’ll broil you alive.” 

“Awww, but then you wouldn’t get any more pictures!” MK pouted. 

Affection swelled in his chest at that, as the fantasy playing out in Red Son’s head became all the more alive. He could see MK sitting in front of an easel, carefully sketching something, his hands colored in bright spots from the pastels Red Son brought him. Red Son would lean over MK’s shoulder to murmur about how nice the art looked, how his works always seemed to come alive. When MK would place his hand over Red Son’s, he’d only get marginally annoyed by the pastel debris on his palm. 

And when MK was finished, Red Son could see himself putting it in a frame and hanging it up in his home. Or their home, if he really wanted to let his mind run wild with possibilities. Their home, fruit trees growing in the backyard, with oolong loose leaf in the shelves and spices in the cabinet, MK's art on every wall, making the house teem with life. 

Like any artist, MK would try to pick at what few flaws there were and Red Son would scoff and tell him to keep quiet so that he could properly appreciate the art piece. Or maybe instead of telling him to shut up, Red Son would just kiss him instead. 

Maybe Red Son was stupid for not realizing who MK was sooner. But maybe that was a good thing. If he’d opened up that book, or stared at that sign, or figured out the truth sooner than he did, Red Son probably would’ve run away from the only thing he ever really wanted. Not a soulmate–or at least, not just a soulmate–but from MK. Bright, kind, beautiful MK. 

If he found out MK was his soulmate just from opening his old sketchbook, Red Son probably would’ve never attempted to ally with him out of some harebrained notion of keeping his dignity. He would’ve never met the person who thought of him as loving and caring and good, who insisted it with such fervor that Red Son wanted to be that way too.

If he’d found out before speaking to Xiaotian, things probably wouldn’t have gone well either. Even with MK being the Monkey King’s successor, Being soulmates with a mortal was still supposed to be a sign of weakness. But honesty, if the universe had decided to intertwine their souls because they were equals, how could Red Son complain? He’d never met anyone stronger. He’d never heard of a greater hero. Who would ever look at MK and accuse him of being weak just because he was mortal? 

Being bonded to a human was supposed to be a tragedy, but the more Red Son thought about it, the more it occurred to him that he was happy with this. That he’d be happy being with MK, even if it was only for that flicker of time demons of his stock would share with mortals. He was honored to burst with color and art for even a moment. 

Red Son had been spending so long trying to make sense of MK being his soulmate, but it didn’t really change anything, did it? Red Son was still in love with him. He still wanted to be with him. If Red Son was willing to face whatever challenges came his way pursuing MK, he was certainly more than willing to deal with any potential consequences of pursuing his soulmate. 

As Red Son finished the portrait frame, his mind began to race again. He’d have to tell MK everything. Everything. He’d tell him about how he loved all the art that flickered across his skin, how he longed for MK to stay intertwined by his side, how he’d spent centuries in a near monotonous routine pushing for a goal but having nothing he truly wanted, and that meeting MK changed everything– everything– for the better. 

And he’d tell MK that he loved him. But that was probably a given. Red Son was never good at keeping secrets–

“Hey, Red Son?” MK’s voice brought Red Son back to reality. “Do you remember what you told me about my art?” The workshop was oddly quiet beyond MK talking, his words coming out surprisingly slow and deliberate given the way he usually spoke. 

Red Son raised an eyebrow as he began to file his tools back into his tool box. “That it was rubbish for you to claim you weren't a real artist?" 

“Not that." MK murmured. "When you first looked in my sketchbook, and I asked you what you thought of my work." The workshop was oddly quiet save for MK's near-whisper. "You said you could stare at my art forever. Which, I thought was kind of a weird thing to say." 

Red Son hummed. "Yes. I remember." He shut his toolbox with a clang. “Don't try to argue with me on that point Noodle Boy, because I'll wi-"

“It wasn't the first time someone had told me that." MK cut Red Son off.

There was a long, pregnant pause before MK murmured. "...It wasn't the first time you told me that." 

It suddenly occurred to Red Son why the workshop sounded so eerily quiet. MK hadn’t brought back up the livestream. But the screen was still on, the soft magenta glow lighting up the workshop, illuminating Red Son from behind him.  

When Red Son turned around to look at MK, he wanted to believe that MK had just muted the livestream, or that he’d given up on trying to find it. He wasn't ready to talk about it right now. Red Son never worked well without careful strategy.

But he knew his luck. There was only one other time Red Son had told MK that he would stare at his art forever. It was their first conversation, a lifetime ago, as Red Son wrote to his soulmate for the very first time. 

A laugh escaped Red Son’s chest. Or maybe a sob. It sounded more like a wheeze, as if the roots in his ribcage shoved out whatever bit of naive joy he had out of his lungs. Well, this just feels beyond cruel. I didn’t even get the chance to come up with a plan. 

MK was standing now, staring at Red Son with an expression he couldn’t discern. And opened up behind MK was the last art piece Red Son had been staring at. On the screen was Red Son and the peonies that once blossomed across his torso and spilled out his chest, a garden across his collarbone. 

Our collarbone. The pretentious little royal in Red Son chided him. A garden across our collarbone. 

All the fluffy literature and poetry demons wrote about their bonded used a confusing mix of singular and plural to talk about their shared skin. It was meant to showcase how you were both your own distinct person while also being deeply intertwined with someone else’s body and soul. As a child, Red Son liked that. He couldn’t tell if he did now.

Red Son had wondered once what sort of garden lived in MK’s chest, if at all. He knew that answer now. It was the same as his. MK breathed with the same roots wrapped around our ribcage, the same flowers in our chest, the same garden across our collarbone. 

Chapter Text

Red Son was used to things never going his way. 

He didn’t always fail. MK liked to remind him of that. And MK would know better than anyone–Red Son’s victories were almost always by his side. The possessed Demon Bull King hadn’t slaughtered his family. The world wasn’t under the control of the cackling Spider Queen. The universe hadn’t incinerated or wiped clean in the name of destiny. Even when Red Son freed his father, MK was there, ready to fall into Red Son’s life and change everything. 

Still, more often than not, Red Son’s plans blew up in his face, literally and figuratively. He might have made a gauntlet powerful enough to free his father, but it took five hundred years, and five hundred more failures. 

So, while Red Son couldn’t call himself a complete failure, he was used to things not going to plan. And when things didn’t go to plan, he’d do what he always did. He’d get angry. 

Whether it was some invention gone wrong or a humiliating defeat, Red Son would blow up–in every sense of the word. He'd burst out in anger, fire burning anyone who dared come near. He’d scream and shout, stomp and kick, incinerate everything that irritated him in the slightest, even if the only thing he really should’ve been mad at was himself. 

It wasn’t always the most productive, or reasonable response to failure, sure. But, Red Son had always been fickle, irritable, easy to displease. Anger came easily, far more easily than other emotions. Plus, he was a fire demon–wouldn’t it make sense for him to have a fiery temper?

And, well, it was better to be angry than humiliated. Better to be wrathful than weak. Red Son’s ego had always been far more fragile than he was willing to admit. He’d stare at the sparks that flickered in his palms, a bitter self loathing in his throat as his failures piled on top of his shoulders, as his weakness blossomed in his chest. Anger, at the very least, could wrap around the miserable hunk of glass he called his self esteem, to make him seem bigger and better than he really was. 

So when it finally settled in just what MK had found, Red Son reacted the way he always did. With anger. 

Red Son launched himself across his workshop, a hideous snarl taking over his face before he could even comprehend why. “I gave you one rule, Noodle Boy.” He hissed, pointing at MK. “Not to touch any file you’re not supposed to.” 

He knew it was an irrelevant point. But it was the only one he could grasp onto, the only thread he could cling to as his world seemed to melt at his feet far, far too quickly. He wanted to plan this reveal out, to tell MK his own way, but he should’ve known better. That wasn’t how MK did things. Like always, MK smacked down from above, throwing Red Son’s plans completely off course. 

MK sputtered as he took a step back, seemingly thrown off by Red Son’s anger. “I-I know you said that! But I-I saw it when I was looking for the livestream, and I remembered you said you’d doodle sometimes, so I figured, hey, Red Son’s looked through my drawings before, if he can break that rule, so can I-!”

“Is that really the best you can come up with?!” Red Son snapped. “Some sort of gotcha for breaking a preposterous rule about artists and their privacy? That’s your best excuse?!” His lip curled into a snarl, as cruel as an ungrateful dog biting at a kind passerby. “I thought heroes weren’t the type to play eye for an eye.”  

MK flinched at Red Son’s words, and the fire in his chest faltered. There wasn’t an actual reason for Red Son to be angry at all of this. He knew more than anyone that his anger more often than not was just a humiliating display where he desperately tried to pick what shards of dignity were scattered around him. He knew there was no justification for his cruelty. And there certainly wasn’t a reason to lash out at MK, of all people. He knew better than to bite the hand he loved. 

But then, MK’s hurt shifted, his brow furrowing into a glare. “Well, it’s my art.” He pointed out. “So if anyone should get to look at it, it should be me, right?” 

That question snuffed whatever bark Red Son had entirely. He faltered, trying to come up with a response, but he couldn’t get any words out before MK spoke up again, voice louder now. “And-and wait a minute. Why are you the one who’s angry? You’re the one who’s been hiding this from me. ” MK pointed at Red Son with one hand and put his other hand over his chest, clutching his shirt. “What, are you mad that I found out?!” 

“I-” Red Son took a step back now, raising his hands up in self defense even though he’d thrown the first punch. “It’s not that I’m mad that you found out. I just- I wanted to plan how to tell you-”

“Oh, you wanted to plan.” MK scoffed. “You didn’t even have a plan for telling me, you just wanted to? That’s why you’re mad? Seriously?” 

Whatever snarky insult Red Son had planned bobbed in his throat now, the heat of shame overriding any initial spark of anger. 

“I drew those peonies for you like a year ago.” MK turned back to the screen and stared up at the portrait, the peonies that poured out Red Son’s chest and across his collarbone. “And you just…had it here? Saved? This whole time?” 

He took a step closer to the screen and began to swipe through the files, to older and older images of art. Red Son didn’t stop him. A part of him wanted to. Every new picture MK saw was just another piece of Red Son he’d hidden from the world, forced out into the glaring sun. But how could he stop him? MK was looking at his own artwork, after all. It was part of him too. 

MK stopped at one image, of Red Son’s leg covered in hibiscus blossoms circling around the question Do you have a favorite flower? I can draw it for you next time if you want. He paused on it, bug-eyed and sputtering. 

“Seriously? I hadn’t even met you at this point.” MK turned to Red Son. “How far back does this go?” He asked. 

 “...I started maybe a week after you’d first spoken to me.” Red Son wrapped his arms around himself, unable to look MK in the eyes. "You had drawn a branch of pear blossoms up your arm,” he recalled, “And I…I had thought…”

He had thought they looked elegant. Dignified. A stark contrast to the spastic confusion and stumbling run on sentences that made up his first impression of his soulmate. The only other drawing he’d seen from his soulmate was that infuriating doodle of a grinning Sun Wukong, and while the art style was technically cute, it gave Red Son no insight into any greater artistic talents. But this? This was something else entirely. This was a masterpiece. 

Red Son remembered sitting in his workshop, staring down at his arm as the branch extended up his forearm, soft white petals just barely grazing the bottom of his soot-covered palm. A part of him was chiding himself for wasting his time when he was supposed to be working on a blueprint for his gauntlet idea, but whatever protests he had were quieted by the cool tip of felt marker running across his skin. 

He’d wanted to ignore it. He wanted to hike up his sleeves and get back to work. But at the time, Red Son had found himself transfixed by it, the art that climbed up his arm. The little white flowers looked so fragile that foolishly, Red Son worried the petals would start to burn if he touched his arm. He knew that wasn’t how this sort of bond worked, but some irrational part of him feared it. So just in case he flared up and seared away the pear blossoms, Red Son took a picture, filing it away for him to admire when every petal had fallen off his skin. 

But then, MK kept drawing, and Red Son kept saving them to look at later, and now…he had a whole gallery filed away. 

He would’ve told MK that if it didn’t feel like there was a lump of charcoal stuck in his throat. Any flowery poetry about his love for MK, for his art–it all seemed to burn in his lungs, ensnared by the peony roots that had clung there for so long now. So instead, Red Son stood there, hand gripping the triceps where fragile white pear blossoms once grew. 

For a solid minute, MK stared at Red Son, mouth gaping as he tried to comprehend what he was telling him. But then, MK's shocked expression morphed into an ugly fusion of horror and anger. A look of betrayal. 

“Red Son.” MK gripped the worktable, soot and lead staining his fingers. “Did you know we were soulmates the whole time? ”

“Of course I-” Red Son tried to correct MK, but he started to yell over him now. 

“Did you seriously know about this–about–about us– this entire time?! And you didn’t say anything?!” MK snapped. “I knew you didn’t want a human for a soulmate, but you could’ve said something!” He clutched his shirt again, gripping at the fabric so tightly some small part of Red Son wondered if the threads would fray. 

The tides had turned faster than Red Son could comprehend. Suddenly, MK was the wrathful inferno, expression knitted into a grimace, while he was the stuttering mess. Red Son stepped forward, trying to explain himself. “MK, that’s not-”

“I told you how awful it was to get ignored.” MK’s voice cracked with each word. “I told you how much it fucking sucked to have a soulmate who wouldn’t even tell me why they ignored me. And you still said nothing?! ” 

“MK, please-just listen-! ” Red Son pleaded, raising his voice a little louder. 

“What, was it just that embarrassing that it was me?!” MK shouted. “Is it still embarrassing?! Was I just–Am I just not–”

“MK!” Red Son reached out and grabbed MK’s shoulders. 

The touch made MK stop shouting, but it also made him jolt. Red Son couldn’t remember if MK had ever flinched at his touch before, even back when they were enemies. That alone made Red Son’s heart ache so badly he almost started to weep, but he tried his best to keep himself together. 

“I only found out a few weeks ago.” Red Son spoke, softer now. He wasn’t used to being the soft spoken one in a heated conversation, but he tried his best anyways. “I’ve been filing those drawings because I...I like them. And when I opened your sketchbook, I…” 

He swallowed, glancing over at the holographic screen, at the dark green leaves and the hibiscus blossoms colored red and orange, at the question that once lived on his thigh. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d stared at that photo-at all those photos that once stretched across his skin. 

“I saw your art, and I knew who you were immediately.” Red Son murmured. 

MK wasn’t convinced. “But-but I told you that I was the Monkie Kid.” He argued. “You had to at least have known since I defeated your dad.” 

“I didn’t see that message.” Red Son said, his voice pleading for MK to believe him. 

“It was a really long message, dude!” MK shouted. “How could you possibly have missed it?” 

“Well, considering I was bandaged neck down from you running me over, it didn’t matter how long the message was.” The snark was admittedly unnecessary. Red Son supposed he couldn’t truly be soft, no matter how hard he tried. 

MK spoke quieter, but his facial expression didn’t soften in the slightest. “But-then-that still doesn’t make any sense.” He crossed his arms and looked down at the floor, almost curling into himself. “You had to have figured it out sooner. You had to.” 

A dry laugh almost escaped Red Son. He really should’ve put the pieces together sooner. Whatever beliefs he had about being the smarter one between the two of them had long since fluttered out the window. 

Red Son could’ve explained to MK how he’d been a complete idiot, wandering past the literal and metaphorical glaring neon signs for the past year since he’d known him, but instead, he spoke in a voice so quiet he could barely hear himself. 

“I did reach out to you. After you spoke to me about your soulmate.” Red Son muttered. “I told you the peonies were gorgeous.” 

MK flinched like Red Son had punched him in the stomach. “Oh. Right.” 

“I’d told you I wasn’t sure how open I wanted to be, and I'll be first to admit I shut you out. But everything I hid from Xiaotian , I told MK-I told you.” Red Son said. “So if you need any proof that I didn’t know who you were, then. Well.” He bit his lip, hands gripping MK’s shoulders just a little tighter. “There’s always that.” 

MK was quiet, taking that information in. To Red Son’s immense relief, he didn’t start to shout again. But he did step away from Red Son’s hands, wrapping his arms around himself. 

“So…you’ve known for a while now. So why didn’t you tell me as soon as you figured it out?” MK asked.

“I…didn’t know how to.” Red Son admitted. “But-!” He lifted his finger in the air, desperate to try to regain some goodwill. “I-I did plan to! Or-well-I planned to come up with a plan to tell you.” He wrung his hands together and grinned, an awkward laugh escaping his mouth before he could stifle it. 

“Oh. Okay.” MK raised his eyebrows, lip curled in hurt.. “Glad to know you planned to let me in on this eventually.” 

The painfully forced smile faded now–Red Son supposed he didn’t have the strength to maintain any semblance of joy at all this. He swallowed, the tension in the room thick and stuffy. 

The Demon Bull Fortress was never a quiet place–pipes creaked, bull clones stomped, magma rumbled just below the earth’s crust. Red Son’s workshop had its own ambiance to it, all steam and metal. But even with that noise it was painfully quiet as Red Son stared at MK–or at Xiaotian–at his soulmate. 

MK broke the silence first. “So now what?” He stared down at his feet. 

“Hmm?” Red Son blinked, looking over to him. 

MK leaned against a shelf of old blueprints, of Red Son’s many failures. “Now what do we do?”

Red Son knew he probably should’ve asked about what to do, where to go from there, but…he hated this. He hated the tension between the two of them, the painful silence, the distance that felt like a thousand miles even though it was really only three steps away. And he hated seeing MK look at him like that, his expression uncomfortable and hurt. So even though it was never his forte, Red Son found himself trying to lighten the mood. 

“I should’ve known it was you.” He sighed, tilting his head. “Only you would name yourself after the Monkey King.” 

MK finally cracked a small smile. “I told you. I was seven and I thought he was cool.” He glanced up at Red Son. “He’s still cool.” 

“He’s not cool. ” Red Son sneered. 

“ I think he’s cool.” MK pouted slightly. 

A low chuckle left Red Son’s mouth at that. “The first time you spoke to me, you drew a doodle of that ape, and I lamented how my soulmate was a Monkey King fan.” He let out an endeared sigh. “I should’ve figured I’d be bonded to the biggest Monkey King fanboy of them all.” 

That joke didn’t land as well as he wanted it to. MK’s smile vanished as he curled up on himself more. “Yeah, well. Sorry about that.” he murmured. 

Red Son winced. That didn't go how he had hoped it would, but at the very least, MK wasn’t angry anymore. It was something, even if it really wasn’t all that much. 

This reveal was…abrupt. It had brought an unnecessary amount of tension between the two of them that could have easily been avoided. But, at the very least, it meant that MK knew now. They were both on the same page. Red Son…Red Son could still work with this. 

Red Son’s plans never worked, but he was always able to go home, recoup, and try again. For every failure that lined his shelves, he did eventually free his father. As tumultuous of a reveal this was, he could still work with this, couldn’t he?

He still loved MK. Even if this wasn’t exactly how he wanted MK to find out, it didn’t change that he still wanted MK more than anything else in the world. And now that MK knew, they could trudge through all the weeds and brambles together, couldn’t they? Red Son would just tell MK everything, and they’d work through it from there. More often than not, Red Son’s victories had MK by his side. So why would this be any different? They could figure everything out, together.  

Red Son cleared his throat. This wasn’t by any means a romantic time or place. It wasn’t the ocean shore or snowy mountain he’d fantasized about whisking MK away to. But, he could work with it. He could try to pick up the fragments that had blown up in his face. He could be romantic later. Once the dust settled, Red Son would wipe MK's face of all the soot. 

“...This…” Red Son waved his hand, trying to find the right words. “This doesn’t change anything about how I feel about us.” He looked up at MK. “Nor does it change how I feel about you.” 

MK looked up at Red Son, an unreadable expression on his face. Red Son could never quite read him like a billboard the way MK could read him. 

He stepped closer to MK as he spoke, a small smile creeping up his face. “I know this wasn’t the ideal way to learn about your bond with me, but it isn’t…this isn’t the end of the world by any means.” 

Red Son laughed, the only peace offering he could give. “I might’ve been angry about being bonded to the Monkie Kid before, but it’s not an issue now.” 

For some reason, MK only seemed to look more upset at that, but Red Son carried on, reaching his hand out. “And so if-if you want-” Red Son began to stammer, what courage he built up hammering in his chest. “You and I…we…we could–” 

“Red Son.” MK put a hand on Red Son’s shoulder, cutting him off. “You don’t have to do this.”

MK’s words completely threw Red Son off. “Excuse me?” 

“I know that we’re like, friends and all, but I don't need you to do this” MK tilted his head. 

This…wasn’t what Red Son thought MK was going to say. His brow furrowed. “I don’t have to do what? ” 

“You know, being like– friendly, or close as soulmates or whatever.” MK said. “I-I know how you feel.” 

Judging by the way MK was acting, Red Son would definitely argue he had no idea how he felt. “What’re you talking about?” 

MK sucked his breath in through his teeth, glancing at the holographic screen before looking back at Red Son. “Look, I-I know you don’t actually want a human for your soulmate. And you know-it’s okay!” MK cringed at his own words before shrugging. “I mean, it’s not okay, but it is what it is.”

That was–that–what did being human have to do with any of this? Red Son tried to speak up, but MK just kept barreling through with his explanation. 

"It's nice that you're trying to like, find a compromise here or whatever, but I know you don't really want that. So, don't bother, okay?" MK gave Red Son a weak smile. 

Compromise?  What was he-

"I-I won’t tell anyone about us-unless you want me to. Which, I kinda doubt you will, since you said soulmate stuff is like, a bad political look, or whatever–" MK shook his head. "-point is, I’ll keep it a secret. And if you need me to draw on you less so you can hide us better, then I’ll do that too.” 

“Hide us?” Red Son echoed. 

“Yeah. So people don’t find out.” MK shrugged. 

This…was not how Red Son expected MK to react to this.

“Wait-” Red Son tried to reach out for MK’s arms, but found himself pulling back. For the first time, Red Son wasn’t sure if he was welcome to the touch. “Why would I try to hide you?”

“Uhh, because a human soulmate makes you like, ‘weak’, or whatever.” MK did air quotes at the weak. “I know how you feel about having a human for a soulmate. I mean, you told me yourself.” He laughed, but it was clear he didn’t find anything about this funny. “I don't agree with you, but hey, what can I do?" 

“MK, being bonded to you wouldn’t mean I was weak. ” Red Son insisted. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I got Monkie Kid powers. But I mean, considering I told you I was the Monkie Kid from like, day one, I know that doesn’t really matter as much as the human thing.” MK pointed out.

“I didn’t see that message!” Red Son reminded MK. “I had no idea who you were! And-and I just told you that I don’t mind being bonded to the Monkie Kid–frankly you could probably send any demon who claimed you were weak across the hemisphere–”

MK winced, making a noise like he’d been actually kicked in the gut. “To be honest, Red Son?” MK looked at him, an awkward expression just barely veiling pain. “I don’t think I’d want to hang out with someone who saw me as an exception to a dumb rule anyways.” 

The realization struck Red Son like a bolt of lighting.

When he found out Xiaotian and MK were the same, the two combined seamlessly. They were both bubbly, energetic artists, far too kindhearted and far too forgiving for their own good. They were similar in nature–so similar that it was obvious that they were one in the same. 

But MK’s soulmate wasn’t kindhearted. He was a cruel demon, too prideful to even give MK a real rejection. He was miserable enough to block out the sun. He was a villain. And even though MK had fought against Red Son to take over the world, he hadn’t considered him a villain for a long, long time. 

Red Son had assumed it would be as easy for MK to accept him as his soulmate as it was for him to accept MK as Xiaotian. But he’d neglected to remember that for all the times MK called Red Son loving and caring and good, he hadn’t been any of those things to Xiaotian. 

“Look, I-” MK glanced away. “I’ll keep my distance, okay? At least for a little while.” MK’s hand gripped his arm, the hold strong but still shaky. “I know that it’s bad enough to be friends with your old enemy, but being soulmates with him while he’s just a human will probably make it worse.”

No, no, that wasn’t–none of that was necessary. Red Son might have been bothered by having a human as a soulmate once, but that-that was ages ago, before he’d spoken to Xiaotian and learned how lovely he was, before he’d befriended Mei and MK despite the political havoc that would break loose should the truth be revealed, before he realized just how much he wanted to be good, and loving, and caring, to stay by MK’s side–

“And, uh, not gonna lie, Red Son.” MK pursed his lips, cringing where he stood.  “I think I need some time away from you anyways.”

Red Son’s heart dropped. 

“You…” He stepped away from him, the peonies in his stomach weighing heavy as stones against his lungs. “You don’t want to be friends anymore?”

“I didn’t say that!” MK protested. “I-I still like hanging out with you.” He bit his lip and looked down at the floor. “I…I love being with you. But I just-I-” 

His hands began to cover his face, like he was shielding himself from Red Son. Or maybe hiding? If Red Son was honest with himself, it was probably both. 

“I need some time to…to process this, you know? To get-get over some-uh-yeah.” He stammered. “I gotta-I gotta get over you.” 

“Get…over me?” Red Son echoed weakly. 

“Get over-uh-both of you? I guess?” MK turned his head up, hands covering his eyes. “I mean, I was already over my soulmate, but that’s because I-I had someone better, you know? I mean, why would I be sad about some demon who didn't want me when I had…when I had you?” 

A low laugh escaped MK's lips. “But, I mean, if you’re my soulmate, then I don’t really have someone better anymore.” 

MK’s voice was soft when he spoke, but the words pierced Red Son more than anything else he’d said tonight. How long had it been since MK had seen him as the villain? How long had it been since he was right? Once, Red Son would’ve given anything for MK to hate him, to make him weep like a toddler as he tore apart everything he held dear. Now, regret overwhelmed him, wrapping around his chest and curling in his throat. 

“So, yeah.” MK said. “I gotta get over the fact that you’re my soulmate. And I…” MK took a shaky breath, and to Red Son’s horror, he realized MK was trying not to cry. “I gotta get over that you don’t really want me around.” 

“MK-” Red Son stepped forward to protest, to argue, to insist that MK had everything completely backwards, that all Red Son wanted, more than anything else in the world, was for him to stay. 

But then, MK laughed, moving his hands from his face to look at him. “I mean, this is probably a good thing, right?” He asked. “You’ve got better stuff to do than hang out with me. Don’t you have someone you’re trying to court?” 

A memory smacked Red Son in the back of the head. For just a moment, he was sent back to the dingy streets of Megapolis, the crisp night air cooling the wet stain on jumpsuit, the club-goers drunkenly stumbling past him, all while MK talked to him. 

“We had only been talking for a couple weeks when suddenly he said that he loved someone and he wanted to, like, go out with them. And I mean, it’s not like I can say no. ” MK’s hands began to dance around as he spoke. “It’s not like you gotta marry your soulmate or whatever, I can’t stop him from being with who he loves. So I-I-” 

MK huffed. “Honestly, I think the only reason he spoke to me at all is because he wanted me to-to-I dunno.” He kicked an empty beer can on the ground. “Approve of his new relationship, or something. Make sure he didn’t have any loose ends before asking someone out.” 

When Red Son had first heard MK's theory, it made sense to him. MK’s soulmate seemed like the kind of fool who would be stupid enough to pass him up just for a chance to chase some paramour. A piece of work, he remembered thinking. But that wasn't why Red Son stopped talking to Xiaotian. He'd stopped talking to Xiaotian because he had fallen in love with-

“Oh. Wow.” MK’s eyes widened as he looked at Red Son, a realization struck across his face “You never told me you were in love with someone.” 

MK started to laugh now, shoulders bunched up as he seemed to shrink even more. “Wow. So there was something you’d tell Xiaotian, but not me. That's kind of nuts."  

Wait-that-that wasn’t- Red Son tried to protest, but MK began to ramble now, voice high and strained. “I mean, it’s fine, it’s not like you have to tell me these things-it’s not like I tell you everything- well, okay, I tell you a lot, but still, being in love is a pretty big thing, so I get why you wouldn’t-” 

MK suddenly gasped, cutting off his own spiraling monologue. “Ohh, is it Mei? Because that would make sense. You guys would be cute-”

“Wha-NO!” Red Son exclaimed. “I’m not in love with Mei! ” 

“Okay, okay!” MK raised his hands up in defense. “Jeez, is Mei that bad? I know she’s human too, but she’s still a dragon, I feel like that would be okay.” 

“That-that’s-” Red Son sputtered. “That’s not why I’m not in love with Mei, I’m-I-!” 

“And-oh. Oh, wow. ” MK smacked his forehead. “Dude.” His hand slumped down as he looked at Red Son. “No wonder you got so weird whenever I tried to flirt with you.” 

A whole new mixture of emotions swirled through Red Son now. He was able to assert with confidence that MK had been courting, or flirting or just pursuing him, but to hear MK admit it was something else entirely. It was supposed to be a good thing, a happy thing to hear. But there was no joy in learning that. At least not right now, as MK’s smile cracked up his cheek, uncomfortable and clearly fake. 

“ Wow. I mean-sorry about that. I didn’t really think you were into anyone at the moment.” MK admitted, cheeks pink with what Red Son could only assume was humiliation. “I thought I had–I dunno, maybe not a chance, but-but I thought there was something. ” 

As MK scratched the side of his neck, he tried to laugh again, but it just came out as a sigh. “Guess I was wrong.” 

Before Red Son could even fight back, MK clenched his jacket sleeve. “You know what? I-I should probably go. I-I still have dishes I have to clean at Pigsy’s.” 

“W-wait, MK-” Red Son couldn’t let him leave like this. He reached his hand out, pleading. “You’re-you’re wrong about this. This isn’t- I’m not-” 

He knew what he wanted to say. That MK had everything wrong. That Red Son loved him. That he was wrong about soulmates, and humans, and demon protocol, and he knew it. But the words were trapped in his throat, entangled by old roots that he’d never quite learned to rip out his chest. 

“Like I said, dude, you don’t have to do this.” MK said. “I-I appreciate that you wanna stay friendly but, I don’t really know if I want that now? And I know that you don’t.” 

Red Son stammered, mouth bobbing open and close like a fish as he scrambled for something, anything, that would make MK stay. He had hoped he could come up with some heroic speech or comforting gesture, but instead he asked in a small, pathetic voice. “You don’t want me?” 

The question seemed to strike MK, who stared at Red Son for a beat too long. His hands fell to his side, like all the energy he had was sapped out of him.

“....Of course I do.” MK confessed, voice far too small and quiet for someone as bright and loud as him. "I think I'm always gonna want you." 

Suddenly, golden smoke burst around MK. Red Son tried to wave it away, thrown off for a moment by it before remembering MK’s trick from before. From the corner of his eye, Red Son spotted MK slipping through one of the floor vents in his workshop. 

“MK!” Red Son leaped to the vent, nearly tearing off a chunk of MK’s bandana before he slipped away from his fingers. 

Panic began to set in as Red Son heard the thud of MK’s ratty converse running through the vents. He was going to lose him. He was going to lose the only thing he ever wanted, and it was all his fault. 

He acted quickly, even if he didn’t act with any real foresight. With a few swipes of his hands, he called every bull clone general patrolling the fortress. 

“The Noodle Boy is inside the fortress.” Red Son’s voice trembled as much as the rest of him. “Find him, and bring him back to me immediately. ” 

He knew it was a stupid idea to call the bull clones. The Demon Bull Family might have had a truce with the Monkie Kid, but it was a fragile thing, and MK intruding was certainly cause to shatter it. Surely, one of them would report to Demon Bull King or Princess Iron Fan, and what little peace there was would fall apart. And it certainly wouldn’t get Red Son back in MK’s good graces if he stuck the force of the entire Demon Bull Family against him. 

But Red Son was desperate. He couldn’t see MK, couldn’t hear his footsteps. The sweet fantasies he had of wide grins, warm hands, wild laughter, were slipping from his fingertips, crumbling to dust, all because he couldn’t explain himself to MK fast enough. And the bull clones were quick, efficient, numerous–even if MK had thwarted them before, they were the only chance Red Son had to get MK back into the workshop. To get MK back.  

Outside the workshop, Red Son heard the stomp of bull clones rushing through the hallways. They all grumbled and groaned, repeating Red Son’s order to one another to find him, find him. He could’ve gone out into the hallways, stomping alongside them, turning the fortress upside down until he could get back to MK. But Red Son didn’t have the strength. He crumpled over the floor vent, nails scratching the metal floor panels of his workshop. 

If any of his plans, if any choice he’d made from the moment MK had written a warm hello in orange text across his arm, if anything would go his way, he prayed it would be this.

Of course it didn’t work. None of Red Son’s plans ever did. 

And this one in particular was especially stupid. Shortly after General Ironclad reported that MK had escaped, Princess Iron Fan burst into Red Son’s workshop. 

“Explain to me why exactly your father and I learned just now that the Noodle Boy was in our home?” She snapped. “What happened? Did he try to steal something from us again?” 

She looked down at Red Son, who was kneeling next to the floor vent. She scoffed. “Did the Noodle Boy knock you unconscious again too?” 

“...The Dragon Girl was the one who sucker punched me. Not him.” Red Son replied, voice hollow. 

Princess Iron Fan furrowed her brow as Red Son spoke. For a moment, Red Son wondered if she’d ask if she was okay, but then she groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I don’t know what he could possibly want now. Your father and I have made no progress on conquering the world, but that little ape still broke in anyways?” 

She huffed, flicking her hand to summon her great iron fan. “Well, if it’s a fight he’ll want, it’s a fight he’ll have.” 

“W-wait, Mother-” Red Son protested, sitting up straight now. “MK–The Noodle Boy wasn’t trying to break our truce–”

“Well, if that was the case, then there’d be no reason for him to be here.” Princess Iron Fan snapped. “Unless you dragged him here from the desert again?” 

“I-I didn’t! Not this time.” Red Son stood up. “The Noodle Boy just…he wanted…” Red Son sucked in a breath. He wasn’t used to lying to his mother, but he wasn’t sure what else he could do. “He was visiting to say hello.” 

Princess Iron Fan paused, bringing her fan down but not flicking it away. “He wanted…to say hello? ” 

“He-” Red Son swallowed. “Surely, Father told you at this point about what happened with Spider Queen?” 

Princess Iron Fan snorted. “I had to pry it out of him like it was a tooth, but yes.” 

“W-well, it’s been almost a year since the Spider Queen took over the city, and because I did… technically team up with the Noodle Boy, he wanted to just…drop by and say hello.” Red Son explained. 

Princess Iron Fan waved her fan away now, crossing her arms. “So, he wanted to celebrate the anniversary of your little alliance. ”

“...Yes.” Red Son lied. “But, I had assumed the worst, and called the bull clones on him. The Dragon Girl informed me that the Noodle Boy meant no harm.”

“You still keep in touch with her?” Princess Iron Fan asked. 

“Well, she holds the Samadhi Fire, and as her teacher, it only makes sense we maintain some contact.” Red Son explained.

That did have a nugget of truth to it; one of the reasons why Red Son maintained contact with Mei after the Lady Bone Demon was defeated was so they could talk, mentor to student. But there was another reason too–one that he couldn’t admit to his mother, and that he took far too long to admit to himself. He wanted Mei to stay in his life, even though she was annoying and loud and had a lifespan a bit too short for comfort. 

Red Son wondered if after this, he'd even have Mei in his life.

Princess Iron Fan’s lip curled. For a moment, Red Son worried that his mother saw right through him–he wasn’t the best liar, and Princess Iron Fan was good at cutting to the point.

But then, she sighed. “Well, that’s still no excuse to break in.” She leaned against the door frame now. “If he wanted to say hello, he could’ve come in like a proper guest.” 

She tilted her head as if a thought occurred to her. “Did he even bring a gift? Even if he was intruding, he’s still a guest.” 

The photo frame was on the other side of the workshop, just beyond Princess Iron Fan’s gaze. The picture was there too, laid out next to it–the first piece of art that MK had given him that was meant to stay. 

“...No. He didn’t.” Red Son murmured. 

“Well.” Princess Iron Fan scoffed. “It’s expected, but still disappointing.” She turned away to leave the workshop. “I’m going to stop your father from tearing down that noodle shop brick by brick. It’d be a shame if that Pig had nowhere else to cook.” 

With that, Princess Iron Fan left, shutting the door behind her. 

Slowly, shakily, Red Son stood up. He had thought the Demon Bull Fortress felt oddly quiet before, but with MK gone, he swore he couldn’t hear a thing. He took small, careful steps to the other side of his workshop before finally reaching the frame and the picture. 

Red Son picked up the frame. Just moments ago, he had allowed himself to go drunk with fantasies of a home filled with art, a gallery that he could live in with MK. As if he deserved such a sweet, gentle thing. 

He could’ve had it, maybe. In another life, where he was actually good, and loving, and caring like MK had always insisted. But it’s not like MK believed that anymore. And Red Son certainly couldn’t either. How could he, when he had squandered the only thing he’d ever wanted? 

The emotion that coursed through him wasn’t quite anger, but it ran white-hot all the same. Red Son’s hands flared up, and the frame began to melt in his hands. He tossed it aside with the rest of the scrap metal before any of it could drip onto the floor. 

He didn’t burn the picture though. A part of him wanted to, but he couldn’t bring himself to destroy anything MK had made. It was part of the reason why he kept all those drawings on file, why he’d never bothered to delete them to save storage space. How could he possibly bring himself to destroy art as gorgeous as that?

The Red Son MK drew was softer, kinder. Better, was what MK called him. It’s what he wanted to be. It’s what he tried to be. But maybe Red Son really was meant to be a villain, destined to hurt the people he loved most. Destined to burn every bridge and loving hand that came his way. 

When his hands finally cooled down, Red Son took his portrait and rolled it up. He walked over to his shelf of blueprints. As lovely as MK’s art was, Red Son wasn’t sure if he had the right to hang his better on his walls. 

The night when MK had drawn his first picture, Red Son researched pear blossoms while looking at the picture of his triceps. He’d learned that they would only blossom for a few days in the spring before falling away. At the time, he’d found it ironic–a fickle flower that could barely last two weeks, drawn by a human who probably wouldn’t make it a full century. But now, he wondered if the irony lied somewhere in him.

Red Son slipped the portrait between all his other failures. His knees buckled and he collapsed, clinging to the shelf for support as he began to sob.

Chapter Text

Red Son always kept his hands busy. 

He always had things to do, after all. Red Son always had some goal to strive for, whether it was bringing his father home, taking over the world, or fighting whatever demon tried to pull his family apart, even if it meant siding with the enemy. 

Even if he wasn’t actively working towards something, Red Son labored. Every month or so, something in the fortress would break and Red Son would trudge down the hall with his toolbox to fix it. Bull clone maintenance was a near constant in his life. At some point each day, he would find an area outside just far enough away from the noise of the Demon Bull Fortress to train or meditate. Red Son focused his energy on becoming more powerful, honing his flame, so he could obliterate anyone who stood in his way. Needless to say, it was rare for Red Son to go to sleep early. 

His work showed in his hands themselves. The skin of Red Son’s palms was tough, covered in knicks and scars from centuries of labor. Princess Iron Fan had chided him during adolescence for not taking care of his hands enough. She said he’d get “peasant hands,” and insisted that he’d wear gloves or use some sort of lotion. But Red Son found that barring some especially precise cases, it was easier to use his own hands for metalwork, and gloves would only get in the way. Plus, hand creams Princess Iron Fan would stack up on his night table often dried up with one outburst anyways. So, just like she predicted, Red Son’s hands hardened with labor, the way a peasant’s would. 

Red Son liked being busy. It was stressful, sure, and it meant he didn’t have much free time for himself, but he had always figured it was better to do something useful than nothing at all. 

Well, he used to think that way. 

He used to work on projects. He used to meditate. He used to train. He used to research recipes for father or new books to read with his mother or scour through museum archives to find something that once belonged to his family. And he used to go outside the fortress, to work on luxury sports cars stored in the Long Family’s third garage, or to fix the sputtering engine of a broken down Noodle Cart. 

He used to spend time with friends too, even though he always kept himself busy. Or, rather, he used to have friends. Mei still texted Red Son regularly, but whenever she asked for him to watch a movie or head out to the arcade, Red Son would tell her he was busy and go back to doing nothing. 

(The last time he’d rejected her proposal to go out, Mei pouted about how lately, MK was always busy too. He hung up quickly after that.) 

If there was some sort of malfunction with the bull clones or if a booby trap activated when it wasn’t supposed to, Red Son would wordlessly fix the problem. But he couldn’t bring himself to fulfill his duties with the same enthusiasm as before. To be honest, Red Son couldn’t bring himself to do much of anything. 

Red Son would go through the normal motions of the day. Get up, get dressed, eat, and then…nothing. He’d wander through the fortress to places he was supposed to work, but more often than not, he’d just…sit in his workshop, staring listlessly at the wall, or ceiling, or the vent, or the shelf full of failures. 

He had lost his motivation. Lost his spark, if he wanted to be more poetic about it. Red Son knew it wasn’t productive, or healthy by any means, but it’s not like there was anything for him to really work towards. His father was back home and–at the moment–content with not taking over the world. To be honest, if his parents did decide to try and conquer Megapolis, Red Son didn’t think he could stomach it. He didn’t think he could handle seeing MK on the battlefield as enemies–as a hero and a villain, good versus evil. And he knew for a fact MK didn’t want to see him at all. 

So, no, Red Son hadn’t been doing anything lately. It was hard for him to strive for something when he’d lost what he wanted most. What he wanted for himself. All he could do now was flicker through his home, the halls bigger and quieter and somehow lonelier than ever before. 

“Red Son!”

Princess Iron Fan’s voice cut through Red Son like the wind. He jumped a bit, splashing his bowl of fo tiao qiang into the dining room table. 

Princess Iron Fan clicked her tongue at the soup broth stains on the tablecloth, but made no snide remark.  “Your father asked you a question.” 

“...Oh.” Red Son cleared his throat, mixing the contents of his soup. “Apologies, what was the question again?” 

Demon Bull King grunted. “I had asked if there were any easier methods of obtaining the ingredients for fo tiao qiang. ” He took a swig of wine and groaned. “It’s somehow harder to find shark fin now than it was in the Ming dynasty.” 

Red Son looked down at his soup, his reflection in the broth. When Red Son was little, he used to watch his father cook while sitting on his shoulders. Fo tiao qiang was especially tasty– it wasn’t quite as spicy as Red Son’s other favorites, but it was meaty, and as a child Red Son loved anything with meat. Demon Bull King would have a surprisingly careful hand as he butchered the shark and prepared the abalone for the soup. The deep brown broth simmered in the massive pot he used, the fragrance so heavenly that Red Son practically fell off his father’s shoulders to get closer. 

Demon Bull King always kept him from falling though. And he’d whisper in his ear about how the smell of fo tiao qiang was apparently so heavenly that Buddhist monks would abandon their vow and jump over the temple wall for a taste. A wicked grin would always cross his face as he amused himself with the idea of tossing the monks into the pot for a taste. And Red Son always squealed with delight, both at the prospect of monk meat and the warm huff of breath from his father’s snout. 

It was a warm memory–one that used to make Red Son’s heart and stomach ache when he and Princess Iron Fan ate dinners without him. It was still a good memory, even if Red Son didn’t sit on his father’s shoulders and giggle about monk meat anymore. But it didn’t do much for him now as he stared down at the broth. He chided himself at that–such a precious memory should lift his spirits. At least, it would for any half decent son. But nothing seemed to raise his spirits lately. 

Princess Iron Fan huffed. “If you won’t answer your father’s question, at least be polite enough to eat.” She plucked a piece of abalone from her bowl and stretched across the table to put it in Red Son’s. “Skipping meals made by the bull clones is one matter, but refusing your father’s food is another.” 

Ah. Right. Normally, when Red Son skipped a meal or spent a night awake, it was because he was working on something. But now,  when he slipped away from the dining table or sat in his workshop until the crack of dawn, he just…couldn’t find the energy. He knew that was a nonsense statement–downright contradictory, even, to insinuate he was too tired to sleep. That didn’t stop him from staring down at the floor vent, eyes heavy and stomach rumbling. 

“It is fine if he cannot stomach the soup.” Demon Bull King grunted. 

“I thought you were the one who liked to complain about our lackluster appetite.” Princess Iron Fan snorted. 

“Tonight is an exception. Dinner was below my standards.” Demon Bull King sighed. “It is not my usual recipe. I had to replace the human thighs with chicken.” 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Princess Iron Fan cooed. “How many times must I remind you? Eating humans has fallen out of style. It’d be harder to find a good butcher for monk meat than finding shark fin now.” 

Demon Bull King grumbled something about all the completely unreasonable shifts in the world over the last five hundred years. Princess Iron Fan laughed as she took a sip of fo tiao qiang, licking the broth of her lips. “It tastes just fine, even without the usual monk meat, darling. There’s no reason not to clean our plates.” 

Red Son just barely paid attention to his parents’ banter. Normally, their domestic moments gave Red Son pause. His chest would ache with some sort of desire for half the companionship they found in each other. His chest still sparked with want, but it was drowned out by a foot of ash. There was no real point in wanting anymore, was there? He’d burned any chance of finding that sort of love. He’d burned everything to ash and dust. 

Princess Iron Fan gave Red Son a quick side glance as she took a sip of wine. “Plus, if anyone here were to complain about the lack of human , it certainly wouldn’t be our son.” 

What bits of fo tiao qiang Red Son had eaten curdled in his stomach. He had a terrible, sinking feeling that he knew exactly what his mother was going to say.  

Princess Iron Fan’s lip curled up into a teasing smile. “I doubt he’d want to visit his sweetheart while picking their uncle from his teeth–” 

Red Son shot up from the table, his chair making an uncomfortably loud screech across the metal floor. It was loud enough that it stunned Princess Iron Fan into silence. He hadn’t intended to get up so dramatically. Red Son’s hands shook as he stood up straight, taking a deep breath. 

“Forgive me.” Red Son’s voice cracked when he spoke. A part of him recoiled at how pathetic he must have sounded in that moment. “I…I have something I need to attend to.”