Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Exhausted, ragged breathing behind broken ribs is the sound he tries to focus on. He can feel the shards of bone shifting uncomfortably underneath his skin as his chest rises and falls, his teeth clenched together, eyes pinched shut at the uncomfortable sensation. The landing hadn’t exactly been plush, being thrown like a ragdoll against the cold metal on the mech wasn’t the ideal material to land on for his already bruised and battered body.

He's going to make sure the kid knows of his woes, but not right now. Though theatrics are his specialty, he recognizes that now isn’t the best time to be distracting him, especially not when a possessed Wukong is ominously trudging towards him.

Macaque, realizing he might be needed on the battlefield again, focuses all the magic he can muster on healing his fractured bones and stopping the internal bleeding, even though that is where the blood’s supposed to be. The only magic reservoirs he doesn’t deplete the supply of is the one upholding his glamours and the one keeping the sounds of the world dampened.

Slowly rising to his knees from where he had laid sprawled, he sees the girl the Lady Bone Demon had possessed falling towards the hard metal surface. His body reacts before his mind does, scrambling to stand up and reach her in time to break her fall. Luckily, he was fast enough, though he held back a grunt of pain when her back hit his newly healed torso. He hugs her tightly to him, making sure to check if she’s okay before the ground they’re on disappears from under their feet.

He angles himself in the air, mentally preparing for his battered legs to take the brunt of the landing, gracefully planting his feet on the ground in a crouched position as his legs flare up with a burning pain. Laying the poor girl against a rock, he turns back to look at the mech, mentally noting that Wukong, who had landed somewhere in front of him, was no longer possessed.

MK is thankfully able to parry the attack the Lady Bone Demon fires towards the group, though to defeat her completely, he requires more power. Unfortunately for Macaque, that means drawing power from his friends and allies, which now includes him as an honorary member.

So, he scrounges up the last bits of magic he has, wincing as he digs into the reservoir that helps to dampen sounds.

…

The day is won, the heroes retreat and the whole group decides to celebrate by getting Pigsy’s noodles.

Which is just swell for Macaque.

He had used so much of his magic for healing himself and for assisting in defeating the Lady, he had no energy left for this kind of thing. He knows his limits. He knows that when he’s all used up like this, he won’t have the energy to keep the misophonia at bay.

Which is why it’s a relief to see MK sitting away from everyone else, not eating his noodles. A perfect distraction from the relentless sounds of the others enjoying their food.

Appearing behind the kid, Macaque sees that he actually did have a bowl of noodles, though he still wasn’t eating them. Relief washes like cold water over an aching burn, and even though the kid doesn’t seem to be enjoying himself quite like he’d expect him to, he doesn’t dwell on it.

‘‘You were done with that, right?’’ He asks, chopsticks in hand. Though he despises even his own eating noises, it was better than having the kid suddenly start chowing down mid conversation.

‘‘Well actually, I- ‘’

‘‘He was saving that for me? Cause you know, I’M his mentor?’’

Oh no.

Of course he’d show up, snatch the bowl from MK, and immediately shovel the food in his face.

His ears flatten against his skull under the glamour, Wukong’s slurping ringing in his head, lips smacking as he chews. Why can’t he close his mouth? Does he have to chew with his mouth open like a cow? The sound of his swallowing the broth and noodle mixture rattles Macaque’s bones, heart squeezing as he wants nothing more than to rip out Wukongs throat. Punch his teeth out so he can’t eat. Blood splattering wasn’t the most pleasant noise either, but anything is better than this. He wishes Pigsy’s singing had deafened him. It feels like his ears are going to start bleeding. He wants to grip his nails into his scalp and rip out his ears-

Deafen it. Talk over it, say anything.

‘‘Still the same Wukong. Doing whatever he wants with no regard for others’’ Loathing had slipped into the last few words. In the middle of speaking, he had moved from his crouched position by MK to a standing one, turning his head away. Anything to get further away from the relentless sound of Wukongs eating. A scream wishes to claw its way up his throat, wanting to yell at the other monkey, scream at him about how he still hasn’t learned to eat properly. How he should know that Macaque hates these sounds.

‘‘Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind next time you scheme with the enemy.’’ Wukong speaks with a mouth full of mouth. The sound of the food sloshing around in his mouth makes Macaques expression sour with hatred. The swallowing again rings in his ears painfully, and all he wants to do is just punch him, punch his chest so his ribs cave in. Make his lungs collapse and his ribs break. Rip his head off with his teeth-

Wukong gets up and into Macaque’s face, furious. He doesn’t have the right to be angry - he doesn’t know what real fury means. He shouldn’t get to be angry. ‘‘-And almost get us all D E D’’ Macaque pushes back, baring his teeth at Wukong as he does the same. Why? Why does he get to be angry when Macaque has been through so much more? Is tolerating so much.

‘‘Uh, you know you two are the same, right?’’ MK says, breaking through the rage fogged mind as both Wukong and himself turn to yell ‘‘IM NOTHING LIKE HIM’’ simultaneously.

Macaque grumbles, heart burning with hate as he turns away, not caring that Wukong almost falls over. He just needs to get away - everything was too loud. Everyone behind them were eating too, and he could hear it in excruciating detail - every little chew, every little disgusting sound - though it wasn’t nearly as bad as having Wukong basically smacking his lips in his face.

‘‘Hey, where d’you think you’re going!?’’

‘‘Dunno, somewhere where I can do a bit of scheming, probably!’’ He says in his classic teasing tone, mischievous in every sense of the word. It’s nice to distract himself from the sounds by talking - it rumbles his head in a way that makes it impossible to focus on hearing anything else. You could argue he just likes the sound of his own voice, but he knows why he really speaks so much.

‘‘See you around, MK’’

He feels his chest start to ache when he draws even more of the magic, portalling away to his dojo. His safe heaven. Far enough away that he almost doesn’t hear the sounds of the city.

As soon as he pops up from the portal, his glamour drops, revealing his six flapping ears. Quickly, he grabs onto a pillow from the couch, sharp nails ripping into it as he rips it apart with both hands, feathers flying out and filling the floor in a layer of soft white. He turns, balled up fist punching into the wall. Again, again, again, again. The skin rips and the wall turns from the wood brown it had been to a stained red, his knuckles aching but he doesn’t give a damn.

He digs his nails into the wood, scratching it. The scream he had been holding back is finally released, throat aching with his scratchy voice, the agonizing yell ringing through the entire room. His lungs burn and his ears ring, his heart aches and he starts to feel the burn in his knuckles.
He rips one of his clawed hands from where it had been embedded in the wall, using the bony palm to hit his forehead repeatedly.

He breathes through gritted teeth, both hands now planting in his hair as he scratches at his scalp, no doubt drawing blood.

He doesn’t care.

His head starts to hurt where he had been hitting, the bones in his palm feeling sore. He falls to the ground on his knees, hitting his head between scratches as the tears start to flow. It feels as if he’s going to throw up, eyes burning as he just wants to disappear. Gone from the world. Float lifelessly in space. Feel his bones crack with pressure at the bottom of the ocean. Anything but live this hell. Why couldn’t the lady have let him stay buried?

He sobs quietly on the floor.

Chapter Text

It was months before anyone in the group saw him again.

He had been sent food by them, Pigsy’s noodles. They had been much appreciated, gratefully and gracefully thrown in the trash. He kept the note, though, putting it in his drawer of keepsakes, but the food was useless to him.

He had stopped really eating a long time ago, the noises echoing in his head of his own eating making him sick to his stomach. Sometimes he could get a bite or two down, but never more than that. His clothes hid it nicely, but it was starting to show. He especially never ate after particularly bad episodes like the one after the fight.

After a few months, he was starting to get better again. Drinking ice cold water never felt so good after months of not having a drop. His magic had begun to replenish again, slowly but surely. He’d figured out that he needs food to sustain himself now, the lady not having had the curtsy to revive him properly. Damn her.

Though he loathed every second of every meal, consuming as little as possible to sustain his traitorous body, he knows he will need to eat something, and with that comes shopping.

His grocery runs are few and far between, and he makes them as short as possible. Earplugs had been stuffed into every ear with noise canceling headphones overtop, a hoodie baggy enough to be defined as a blanket draped over him.

He didn’t feel like going for full human disguise, covering his more monkey-like traits with the baggy clothes, instead using the magic to further dampen the sounds of the hell normal people called a grocery store.

That wasn’t even misophonia, that was just his base settings being way out of whack. Having super hearing is a pain in the butt.

It does come with its perks, however, such as being able to hear how many civilians there are in a mile’s radius, listen in on secret conversations, hear if there are any threats nearby, and-

Ah

The recognizable heartbeat of a friend

Well, ‘friend’ miiiiiight be stretching it.

Frienemy is still a generous term.

While he stands zoned out in the produce aisle, staring down the peaches, he doesn’t notice the heartbeat getting closer to the grocery store. He barely even hears the exasperated groan that sounds out from behind him, but it slips through his barriers nonetheless.

‘‘Oh, it’s you.’’

Macaque doesn’t even bother turning around. He doesn’t have the energy to deal with that guy, especially not when someone on the other side of the veggie section was chewing gum like it was their mission to be as loud as possible.

He just spins on his heel, speed walking past the dairy section and into the canned foods section. Unfortunately, he could hear a pair of footsteps following not far behind.

‘‘Oh no, don’t think you’re getting away this time! What are you planning? Scheming with another demon to take me down?’’ Of course. Thinking everything is about him, how in character. ‘‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’’

‘‘I would, actually’’

‘‘And why is that?’’

‘‘So I can stop you.’’

That’s just about the moment Macaque stopped walking, Wukong nearly bumping into the other. He looks through the cans of alphabet soup; one of the only foods Macaque had been eating. He grabbed a few cans and stuffed them in his pockets, simply because he didn’t grab a basket at the entrance. That, and so Wukong would think he was stealing. He immediately takes the bait.

‘‘What, resorting to petty theft now? How the mighty do fall.’’

‘‘Why do you insist on bothering me?’’

‘‘Already told you, to make sure you don’t cause trouble. That, and the kid’s been talking about you non-stop’’ Wukong says, dramatizing how tired he is of hearing about the other.

‘‘Let me guess, he mentioned me once?’’

‘‘More like once a week! You probably had to manipulate him into liking you.’’

‘‘That, or I’m just a better mentor.’’

That struck a nerve with the sage - had Macaque spied on him when he admitted to MK that he didn’t feel like a good mentor? Was he seriously going to use this against him now?

‘‘Oh, real mature, Macaque! How long did you stick around after you portaled away, huh?’’ He glares at the back of Macaque’s head as they continue to walk. Macaque doesn’t give him an answer, instead making quick turns around the aisles in a clear attempt to lose Wukong. Oh no you don’t! He thinks to himself, getting Macaque to make a few wrong turns and ending up cornered in the soup section. ‘‘Answer the question, Macaque’’ Wukong crosses his arms and glares at him.

Macaque just looks at him in disappointment. ‘‘You know how I feel about feasts’’ he said. He’d never fully admitted to Wukong just how bad it was, but he had seen his reactions whenever Peng would clumsily slurp from his glass, or when Azure would clear his throat obnoxiously.

Wukong just rolls his eyes. ‘‘Oh come on, it isn’t that big of a deal - it’s just some sounds’’

Macaque’s heart squeezes. The air in his lungs turns to steam and his chest feels uncomfortably tight. He stares wide eyed and snarling at Wukong, whose only reaction was a slight raise in his eyebrow. ‘‘Just sounds?’’ Macaque parrots back. What does he mean, ‘just sounds’?? Does Wukong not know how a migraine pounds in his head whenever he hears someone swallow? How he wishes to rip Wukongs throat out whenever he clears it? How he wishes that he’d been deafened a long time ago? How he wished to rip his own ears out of his skull at every little chew?

‘‘Whatever’’ Macaque says with poison on his tongue, throat burning in the way it only does right before he starts to bawl his eyes out. All he wants to do is scream and yell, but at the same time he wants to throw up and curl into a ball on the ground. He walks past Wukong, bumping his shoulder very purposefully. He hopes it’ll leave a bruise.

‘‘You’re impossible’’ Wukong says in a voice so low he knows only Macaque could hear. The desire to turn around and yell at the man itches on the inside of Macaque’s ribs. He ignores it, walking to the register and paying for his food before going outside and into the quasi-fresh air, taking a deep breath as the sounds of the bustling streets deafens everything else.

He can’t even hear Wukong’s annoyed grumbles as he trudges through the store anymore. He walks away from the building, around a corner, and promptly is swallowed up by a shadow portal.

…

Once Wukong has made it back to Flower Fruit Mountain after his spontaneous shopping spree, he’s greeted with an MK who is still busy balancing on his staff outside the cave, holding out two water filled buckets in outstretched arms.

When he hears monkeys chirp in greeting of their king along with Monkey King’s soles scraping against the gravely path, his right hand shoots up to greet him in reflex. The shift in weight makes him lose all his balance, flailing his arms around to stay on top of the staff, only resulting in the water spilling out everywhere as he falls on his face with an ‘oupf!’. He quickly sits up in a crisscross applesauce, as if he didn’t just get a mouthful of dirt and wasn’t sitting awkwardly halfway on top of his staff. The buckets lay toppled over behind him, water seeping into the ground.

‘‘Monkey King!’’ He greets excitedly. ‘‘Did you get some real peach chips?’’ Wukong had promised to go get them some if MK could stay perched on his staff for the entire time he was gone. Which he had done - even when Mei had called him!

‘‘Sure did!’’ He says, sitting down by MK who shrinks the staff back down to ear-storage size. Monkey King pops open one of the many bags, immediately shoveling a handful of the chips in his mouth, crumbs spilling down on his clothes which he brushes off. ‘‘OH! You’ll never guess who I met at the grocery store.’’ he speaks between chews.

‘‘Dadsy?’’

‘‘Nope’’

‘‘Mei?’’

‘‘Wrong again’’

‘‘San-‘’ ‘‘Okay I’ll tell ya’’ Wukong interrupts. ‘‘I met the emo theater kid you’ve been so obsessed with as of late’’

MK gets a look of realization. ‘‘Oooooh! Redson’’

Wukong gives him a look of utter disbelief, before it shifts to one of deep contemplation, and finally settling down to a tired expression as he shrugs and grabs another handful of peach chips. ‘‘I don’t mean your crush, kid.’’

MK rolls his eyes at Wukong. ‘‘Ah, I see, so it was your crush.’’

‘‘Wha- no!’’ Wukong says in a tone so offended MK could almost believe him. ‘‘I don’t have a ‘crush’ on Macaque.’’

‘‘Mhmmm’’ MK hummed, looking smugly at his mentor before reaching for his own bag of peach chips. ‘‘Anyways, how’s your totally-not-crush doing?’’ He crunches down on a chip.

Wukong puts on his thinking face whilst taking another handful of chips. ‘‘Didn’t really get the chance to ask. The guy was being as elusive and hostile as ever. Real jerk’’ He huffed.

‘‘I dunno, doesn’t sound like the same Macaque that helped us defeat LBD. You sure you aren’t just biased against the guy?’’

‘‘Nah, this time I’m being more than generous. That guy was acting like a complete drama queen. Hah! Hey, listen to this; he said that he left us at the celebration because of sounds. Noises! That guy’s always been so sensitive.’’ Wukong talks about it as if it was a hilarious joke, and MK raises a brow at him.

‘‘Seriously? Is it the super hearing thing?’’ He gestures to his ears, and Wukong waves a hand at him dismissively.

‘‘Nah - well, that might be it. Or part of it. What was it he said…’’ Wukong puts his pointer and thumb on his chin, trying to remember what Macaque had said way back in the day when he’d first confessed to having a problem with other people’s noises. ‘‘I think it’s like specific things. He said he haaaaated eating sounds - it was so fun to eat bananas in his face after that’’ Wukong snickered.

MK gets a look of realization. ‘‘Wait, that sounds a lot like Misophonia’’ He whips out his phone as Wukong gives him a curious look. ‘‘Miso-what?’’

MK clicks away at his phone before turning his screen and showing Wukong a block of text. He squints at, looking deep in concentration, before nodding understandingly and thoughtfully. ‘‘Yup, still can’t read.’’

MK turns the screen back towards himself, scrolling down the article and turning the screen back towards Wukong. There’s a picture on it now, showing someone looking distressed and covering their ears with images of people eating, drinking, blowing their nose etc surrounding them. As Wukong looks at it, MK explains.

‘‘It’s this recently discovered thing where someone gets angry at specific ‘trigger’ sounds. The most common ones are human made, like chewing or sniffling, but some have it with crinkling of plastic.’’

Wukong nods and leans back. ‘‘So what you’re saying is that he’s a mentally ill drama queen.’’

MK sighs and turns off his phone, stuffing it in his pocket and leaning back on one hand while searching for chips with the other. ‘‘What I’m saying is he probably needs some help.’’

‘‘Be my guest - I still say it’s bogus’’ Wukong crunches down on another chip.

‘‘Well I think it might bring us closer! He is my mentor after all.’’

That earned him an elbow to his side.

Chapter Text

He was busy miserably choking down a singular slice of white bread when he heard the telephone ring.

The ring tone was turned all the way down, the phone MK had gifted him only vibrating in his pocket. It had paused the song he’d been playing to drown out the sound of his own eating. He swallows the bit he’d been chewing and picks up the phone. Ah, it was MK, inviting him over.

To Pigsy’s noodles.

Of course, he knew it would be closed today, meaning no costumers to eat in his face, but he wasn’t sure if he felt like getting out of bed and putting on all the glamours just to visit the kid. He did sound urgent though. So up he goes, rolling out of bed, throwing on his scarf and grabbing his trusty earplugs. Today didn’t feel like a full-glamour day, so he just magicked away everything that wasn’t already covered by clothes. His six ears had each been fitted with an ear plug under the glamour, and when he felt ready to go, he popped through a shadow portal, appearing in front of the restaurant.

He couldn’t hear any eating, which was a relief, but he could hear a hushed conversation behind the outer walls, the strong aroma of broth wafting from the door. He drops through a shadow portal, transporting himself exactly two feet to the left so he now stands in the doorway. Dramatic entrances were his specialty after all, and he looks around the room, not expecting to see the whole gang; MK, Tang, Pigsy, Sandy, Mei, even Mo! And of course, who could forget the dreaded Wukong.

All his energy was like it had been zapped out of him, but he still put on what he called his ‘bad boy, don’t need no one’ attitude, smiling slyly at the kid that was sitting by the counter as Macaque leaned on the doorframe.

MK smiled and waved ‘‘Hey Mac!’’

MK was wearing his usual clothes, and so was Macaque - though his were crumpled from him having taken an impromptu nap in them. Macaque quirked a brow at the strange atmosphere in the room, not really wanting to step into the restaurant.

‘‘Hey kid - you guys got trouble defeating some ‘demon of the week’?’’ He asked, curious as to why they were all gathered.

‘‘Oh, no no no! Nothing like that’’ MK waved his hands in the air before patting the seat by him as an invitation for Macaque to sit down. From the corner of his eye, he saw Wukong rolling his eyes and leaning back in his seat. Jerk.

Macaque entered the room in stride, ignoring the part of him that wanted to warp out of there and curl into his covers to sleep for the next millennia.

Leaning against the counter to keep from sitting down, he looks around the room. ‘‘So, not a demon of the week - why’d you call, then?’’ He asks no one in particular.

‘‘Well, I just wanted to ask you how you’re doing’’ MK smiles innocently at him.

Oh no.

What had he done this time?

He squints his eyes at MK suspiciously, trying to decipher the hidden meaning. MK sweats nervously. ‘‘I’m doing just fine? Seriously, kid, you’re acting weird- or, weirder than usual’’ he quickly corrects.

The act drops and MK sighs, scratching the back of his neck. ‘‘Well Monkey King told me about how you were acting strange when you ran into each other-‘’ Macaque shoots a glare at Wukong- ‘‘And told me that you’d said something about hating sounds.’’

Now that offended Macaque. Because, what? Macaque had confided that in him when they were still friends - when he still had faith that Wukong wouldn’t use it against him.

He turned out to be wrong, of course, the memories of him smiling smugly at him while eating bananas is a mental image that will never leave him. Wukong hadn’t told anyone else in the brotherhood about his aversion to noises, though, and Macaque had thought that it meant he knew it was a sensitive subject.

Guess he was wrong about that too.

Why was his eye burning?

‘‘Uh, but, that sort of sounds like this thing I’ve heard about.’’

Macaque tries to focus on MK instead of his gut churning. The hushed conversation between Pigsy and Tang he tries to ignore as well.

‘‘I kind of wanted to ask you if you felt like the description matches you?’’

‘‘Whatever. Shoot.’’ Macaque says shortly. Just let me go home.

‘‘Well, it’s called Misophonia, and it’s this thing where you get really angry at sounds! Eating is like, the most common of them! Does that sound like you?’’ MK asks. Macaques heart stutters.

It had a name? How had he not found that out before now?

‘‘Not at all’’ Macaque lies through his teeth. Why should he ever admit to something like that, in front of so many people no less? No chance.

‘‘Told you he’s just a drama queen!’’ The smug bastard says, smiling at Macaque like he had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. As if to say, ‘I knew you were faking it’. Then Macaque heard a noise that made his stomach drop.

The crinkling of a chip bag.

Wukong looks at him, open bag in hand. ‘‘Not a problem, right?’’

Macaques blood boils and his fur blisters with unbridled rage.

Before he could do anything, the ear-ringing crunch had already been made, and Wukongs inability to close his mouth when eating only amplified it.

Macaque immediately turned his dampers up to the point where he was nearly deafened, growling at Wukong as his shadow portal swallowed him up, leaving MK baffled and Wukong smug as ever.

MK turns to Wukong. ‘‘Dude! What even was that!?’’

‘‘Uh, Macaque leaving?’’

‘‘Nuh uh, man! That was uncalled for’’ Mei interjected.

‘‘Mei’s right, you should go apologize!’’

Wukong sits up fully and scoffs, getting up and leaving the chips on the table. ‘‘Fine - even though he said it wasn’t a problem - fine. I’ll apologize’’ His arms are crossed and he closes his eyes, making a halfhearted script in his head. When he opens them again, he’s astral projected himself to wherever Macaque was in order to apologize, doing it in the restaurant just so MK could hear how ‘sorry’ he was.

What he wasn’t expecting was to witness the glowing form of Macaque sitting on his knees, turned away from the projection of Wukong, aggressively ripping something. He saw how Macaques tail was whipping around agitatedly behind him, could hear strained growling and the sound of cloth ripping.

His face turned from a nonchalant casual expression to one of doubt and distress at seeing the other like that. He felt a knot of guilt forming in his gut, hearing a heart wrenching sob interrupt the growls. Though his face wasn’t visible, it was clear to anyone that he was in absolute agony, and before Wukong could wave the astral projection away, he saw Macaques hands go from ripping the sheets to hitting his face.

Never had he seen Macaque acting like that; never had he been so hysterical, seemingly not even noticing the astral projection. He cranks his neck towards MK, if only to confirm to himself if what he saw was real. MK’s brows were furrowed in an expression of horror at the scene with a strained sympathetic frown.

The silence rang loud through the restaurant, and even though only Wukong and MK had seen what happened, the rest of the group could feel the tension in the air.

Wukong had screwed up. Big time.

Chapter Text

Macaque was in his dingy dojo, laying on his bed with headphones on, blasting Three Days Grace and wiping away at the tear stains on his cheeks, eyes dry and a nausea creeping in on him.

Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder, and he immediately flinched away, yelping as he fell off the bed. How had he not heard- oh. Right. He’d basically deafened himself apart from the practically whispered vocals of ‘I hate everything about you’. How fitting.

Peaking up from where he had fallen to the side of his bed, he sees none other than MK. He quickly ducks behind the bed again, taking a shaky breath before wiping his face with his left hand, glamours going back up to cover the horrendous scar and six ears, along with the puffy, red irritated eyes.

He pulls off the headphones, lowering the dampeners and standing up swiftly as if he hadn’t just been bawling his eyes out.

‘‘Didn’t expect visitors’’. He curses his voice for the shakiness.

MK looks at him with pity. Why does it always have to be pity?

‘‘Oh Macaque…’’

‘‘I’m gonna stop you right there’’ Macaque interrupts, crossing his arms. ‘‘You’’ He points at MK ‘‘Saw nothing. That was me practicing my stage cry. Pretty realistic, right?’’ One hand had moved to his hip, the other gesturing as he speaks. He’s back in the persona, and MK can tell. Uh-oh.

‘‘Soo-‘’ ‘‘I saw what happened.’’

Macaque freezes up.

‘‘Uh- let me explain that’’ MK starts. ‘‘I saw how you reacted in the restaurant when Monkey king did that, and I told him to apologize, and he was going to! But, he astral projected, and it let me see you too, and I saw you and you were crying and-‘’ Macaque stopped listening, trying not to panic. He’d been seen like that?

Macaque quickly interrupts MKs rambling ‘‘It was probably Wukong using some BS illusion magic - you know the guy! Just some weird prank’’

‘‘Macaque.’’

‘‘Sorry, kid, but that’s just not-‘’

‘‘Macaque, you were crying.’’

Macaque pauses, frowning. He goes back to crossed arms, grumbling ‘‘Can’t I enjoy some good music?’’

MK walks over to the side of the bed Macaque had fallen off of, taking a seat on the mattress and patting the spot by him. Macaque sits down beside him, elbows leaning on his knees to keep his right leg from jumping anxiously. The silence lasts only a few seconds before MK speaks up.

‘‘You know’’ MK starts before stopping again. ‘‘You look really cool under your glamour’’ He smiles at Macaque who huffs, smiling to himself as he continues to stare at the floor. ‘‘Thanks, kid.’’

MKs thoughts were racing while Macaques head was still hot, thoughts fogged with tears and stuck in a thick tar. MK breaks the silence.

‘‘I heard about something that could help with the miso- uh, the noise thing’’

Macaques ears perk up under the glamour despite himself. If there was a way out of this hell, he’d jump at the chance.

‘‘It’s this thing called exposure the-‘’ ‘‘No.’’

MK frowns at Macaque, who glares at the floor. The mere thought of putting himself through the noises on purpose is preposterous. Why would he ever agree to such a thing?

‘‘Just hear me out, please?’’

Macaques tail swishes against the sheets behind him. MK takes the silence as a cue to continue.

‘‘It gets you used to the sound- like, it gets your brain to think ‘hey, this sound isn’t actually dangerous!’, and you kind of stop fearing it, so your brain doesn’t put you into fight or flight’’

‘‘Cute theory kid, but I’m not doing that’’ It’ll be too painful. I’ll never make it. I’ll blow up and yell and scream at them. I’ll actually tear up my ears. Macaque keeps those thoughts to himself.

MK can read him, though. He looks forwards and away from his second mentor, racking his brain for another way to convince him. Suddenly a memory flashes in his mind, and he gets the idea.

‘‘The Lady Bone Demon told me something. Y’know, before she disappeared.’’

Macaque stays silent, eyes trained on the wall, the floor - anywhere but MK. He refuses to look at his mentee when his eyes hold nothing but sorrow and unshed tears, he can still feel the warm pulse under the glamour.

MK continues.

‘‘She told me that everything we do only leads to one thing - pain.’’

Macaques tail thumps irritably.

‘‘But’’ MK looks over at Macaque. He doesn’t return his gaze. ‘‘I choose to believe that there’s more to it. I actually talked to Sandy about this! He said that, even though things you do might lead to pain- when you make it through the pain, there’s something after! Even if you’re in pain, it’s not forever. You have to remember that the pain, it’s temporary. Agh, Sandy was way better at explaining this, maybe you should get the advice from the source.’’

Macaque knows what MK is hinting at. MK knows that Macaque knows what he’s hinting at. The one thing he dreaded most of all; therapy. Not just exposure therapy, but talking about your emotions therapy. Cringe.

‘‘Smart words’’ is the only thing Macaque can get through his broken voice. He reaches up a hand and wipes his still damp face. MK just laughs and smiles ‘‘Yeah well they’re all Sandy's! I’m not the best at this whole uh, deep emotional brooting conversation’’

‘‘Well Sandy seems to have tought you a thing or two. Looks like you got a third mentor, kid’’

‘‘Ay! Not everyone who teaches you stuff are mentors!’’

MK shoves Macaque, and he pushes back. It’s a nice moment.

Maybe he really should try talking to Sandy.

Chapter Text

Macaque is stuck.

He’s sitting on a fur covered couch, in a room that smells like wet cat, the sea and a floral tea. It’s a strange combination to say the least, and it had made him scrunch his nose when he first arrived at the front door of Sandy’s boat. Before he had the chance to portal away, social convention intervened as Sandy had opened the door and greeted him.

As he’s directed to take a seat on Sandys couch, he could hear waves splash against the sides of Sandy’s boat, along with the calming rumble of a choir of cat purrs.

Almost as soon as Macaque had taken a seat in the corner of the surprisingly comfortable couch, a cat had hopped onto said couch and climbed into his lap, kneading its sharp claws into his thighs before settling down. He rested one hand on the head of the cat between the ears, occasionally giving a few scratches.

So now he’s stuck here, sitting on this couch until the cat decides to relinquish its hold over him.

Sandy returns from having poured two cups of tea into the sink. He had had them ready, hot and warm on the table when Macaque had come in, only realizing his mistake when he saw Macaques face scrunch up at the sight of them. He was quick to apologize and grab them, pouring out the perfectly good tea. Making tea for guests is a reflex for him, but on second thought, making tea with someone who loathes drinking noises might have been an oversight.

Returning to his seat across from Macaque, he leans back and lets Mo climb from one shoulder to the other, giving him a few chin scratches. ‘‘So, mister Maquack, what’s brought you here?’’

Macaque gives him a questioning look with a confused smile. ‘‘I thought you already knew?’’

Sandy smiles kindly ‘‘I meant it as in, what’s made you take the step and reach out for help?’’

‘‘I didn’t. MK practically had to drag me here’’

‘‘Well, what do you think could be reasons?’’

Macaque looked down at the cat on his lap, giving it another scratch behind the ear. The rumbling purr got louder and the cat lifted its head to allow Macaques claws to scratch under the chin and on the soft fur of its neck.

‘‘Hm. Could be these cuties.’’ Looking at Sandy he can tell the answer was far from sufficient, Sandy smiling and looking at him, expecting more reasons, the kind look in his eyes saying ‘go on’.

‘‘Another could be… I don’t know. Been bothering me for a while. Might as well try to get rid of it.’’

Sandy nods, content with the answer. He leans forewords, hand reaching out for a teacup that wasn’t there. ‘‘Ah’’ he says as if in realization, leaning back in his seat as the cat that resides on his shoulder climbed down his shirt, claws digging into it and dragging the fabric while it slid down his front, landing on his lap where it made itself comfortable. Macaque supposes fur covered shirts are par for the course when you live in a ship with filled to the brim with cats.

Sandy smiles kindly at him, now with a cat on his lap. ‘‘You did a great job communicating your emotions, mister Maquack’’

Macaque looked at him surprised before averting his eyes, looking back at the soft cat still loudly purring on his lap. He huffs and smiles to himself. ‘‘Thanks’’

Sandy gives him a moment, petting Mo before continuing. ‘‘So, how’s it feel when you hear the triggering noises?’’

Macaque shifts in his seat. The cat on his lap gets up clumsily, bumping its head against his chest to ask for more pets. He obliges.

‘‘Well… where do I even begin.’’ Macaque scratches the back of the cat’s neck as it settles down once again.

‘‘Let me try rephrasing to be more specific, that might be easier: how does it feel when someone eats or drinks in your vicinity?’’

One of Macaques hands reach for his sleeve on the opposite arm, pulling at it slightly and fiddling with it anxiously. ‘‘Well that's certainly a place to start. Well, then, I guess it feels like someone’s claws sinking into my skull? But it’s not a physical pain- more like my heart jumping to my throat but sinking into my stomach? Makes my ears hurt too, that’s for sure. Throat tightens up till I can’t breathe. I feel like a ticking time bomb with emotions all over the dang place. They’re impossible to reign in’’ and the only way to alleviate is by my stupid temper tantrums.

Sandy nods understandingly whilst smiling sweetly, though not with the usual pity behind the it Macaque so despises.

‘’That sounds really distressing’’ he says after the pause.

‘’Yeah, no duh, genius’’ Macaque retorts.

Sandy smiles kindly.

Macaque regrets snapping at him.

‘’...sorry’’

‘’No worries, mister Maquack! Today’s the first day, it’s not gonna be easy in the beginning’’’

Macaque scowls to himself. Of course it wouldn’t be easy.

‘’Now, I know you’re very opposed to exposure therapy’’ Macaques tail moves beside him irritably. ‘’But let me try to reframe it for you. It’s about triggering that exact response, and when the difficult feelings come, you not only hearing your emotions, but listen to them and let them pass right on through, like water through a dam - not all at once, just let it come out calmly. Acknowledge the current, and remember to respect the flow of the water, or in this case the flow of your emotions. Let it go through you at its own pace, let yourself feel it, and then breathe them out.’’ Sandy makes flowy movements and tries to build up the scene with his hands, helping to visualize the metaphor.

MK was right, Sandy really is good at this whole ‘emotional talk’ thing. The purrs of the cat on his lap gets louder as he scratches the cat under its soft chin, getting to scratch his nails through the soft fur on its chest.

‘’That’s how I think about my own emotions, but you might have a different interest that would be good for it. You put on shadow plays in your theatre, right?’’

Macaque nods and can’t help but feel happy that Sandy remembered that fact about him. Maybe he wasn’t as outside the friend group as he thought.

‘’Alright, imagine you’re putting on a performance. How do you think of it when you step onto the stage?’’

‘’Like putting on a costume’’ Macaque answers. ‘’It’s like putting on a mask and becoming someone completely different’’

‘’Alright!’’ Sandy clasps his hands together, figuring out a way to apply his metaphor to Macaques interest. ‘’So, imagine you’re on the stage, trying to get into this costume. It’s a bit like trying to build a dam for your own emotions to properly portray the characters own emotions, correct?’’

Macaque nods in agreement. ‘‘Yeah, but, in theatre, you don’t really separate yourself from the character - you can use your own emotions to fuel the ones of whichever character you’re playing. Like if I’m feeling one thing and the character is feeling another, I can usually think of something that lets me channel the emotion I’m feeling into the character. Like if I’m angry, I can redirect that energetic feeling into excitement or happiness. That, or I can distract myself from whatever I’m feeling.’’

Sandy clasps his hands together smiling brightly. ‘‘Wonderful! We can most definitely use this to help’’

Macaque quirks an eyebrow.

‘’Now imagine you’re in an eating situation’’ Macaques heart rate spikes a bit, and Sandy continues. ‘’You’re going to imagine it as playing a character, except the character is yourself.’’

Confused about where this is leading but intrigued nonetheless, Macaque nods.

‘’When you’re on stage playing a character, it doesn’t matter how you’re feeling, because you can channel it into something else, or you can distract yourself from your own emotion in order to play the character.
Going back to the eating situation, when you feel the emotions start bubbling up, your heart hurting etcetera, you can distract yourself by, say, engaging in the conversation around you, thinking about your next play and how you’ll put it on, what props you need to get or build - the options are endless. Channeling your emotions into a different one in the eating situation might be a bit difficult, though, so I recommend distractions for now’’

Macaque just looks at Sandy, considering this. He never did try to just be in the situation before, usually portaling away or otherwise getting out of having to listen to the horrible sounds.

‘‘It’s going to be hard the first few times, but this is about showing your mind that the noises aren’t dangerous. It’s about feeling the bad things, and instead of leaving when they get worse, learning to stay in them, and learning that it passes - the longer you go without your earplugs or dampeners, the easier It gets’’

It’s a little difficult to understand - how could it be so… so easy as just not wearing earplugs or sound dampeners? That couldn’t be right. Macaques doubt was visible on his face, and Sandy smiled kindly.

‘‘The more you put on dampeners, the more you’ll have to consciously think about how bothered you are by the sounds. We can try eating dinner together tomorrow - you won’t have to not wear dampeners the whole time, just two minutes.’’

Macaque looks at him like he has three heads. Two minutes? Is Sandy crazy? He can barely stand a second, let alone two minutes!

‘‘If you want to get better, we’ll have to start here’’ Sandy explains. Macaque takes a shaky breath. Maybe he could do this - maybe he could convince himself that it was okay, and that it wasn’t as bad as he’d convinced himself over the years, but he can still feel an ache in his chest over the thought of it.

‘‘…Sure’’ He regrets saying it as soon as it left his mouth, but Sandy smiles brightly at him.

‘‘Wonderful! Which foods are easiest?’’ Sandy finds a paper and pen, while Macaque raises an eyebrow. ‘‘To listen to, that is. Which foods are easiest to hear people eat?’’

Macaque pauses to mull it over, and Sandy waits patiently. ‘‘Probably…’’ he pauses again, going through the list of foods in his head. ‘‘Spring rolls?’’ He looks at Sandy who nods and writes it down. ‘‘Great! I’ll ask Pigsy if he can make the group some for tomorrow. Who would you want there?’’

Another pause. ‘‘Preferably no one’’ he chuckles to himself ‘‘But probably Tang and you. Maybe Pigsy, since he made the food and all. Definitely Mo.’’ Sandy nods and writes it down, looking up from the paper. ‘‘What about MK?’’ he questions, and Macaque is quick to answer ‘‘I don’t want the kid to see me like that. Don’t want to worry him’’

‘‘Y’know, he’s not just your mentee - I think he’d want to see you progress’’ Macaque chews on the inside of his cheek and pets the cat still situated on his lap. ‘‘If he wants to’’ Macaque shrugs.

‘‘Great!’’ Sandy says, ripping the paper off the note block it had been attached to, folding it and putting it in his pocket. ‘‘Would you want to tell them yourself?’’ Macaque shakes his head and Sandy nods understandingly.

‘‘Well, I think you’ve done a great job today - I’m excited to see you tomorrow. Let’s say we meet again the day after tomorrow, yes? Touch base, see what we think’’

Macaque gives a curt nod, and Sandy stands up, Mo jumping off his lap and onto the floor. The cat on Macaque’s lap jumps off too, and he gets up, attempting to dust his pants off to no use - it’s like the cat hairs are fused to the clothes. He accepts it and follows Sandy to the door, waving goodbye and stepping off the boat. Maybe he’ll walk home today - he’s got a lot to think about.

Chapter Text

By the time MK and Tang had set the table and the room was filled with the smell of spices, Sandy was getting worried Macaque wouldn’t show. They had agreed to meet at the restaurant at 6 pm to have a bit of conversation before eating, if only to make it feel a little more casual, but now it’s 6:30. Sandy had pulled out his phone to message Macaque, when suddenly shadows gather by the opening of the restaurant, a portal swirling in the doorframe as Macaque rises from the abyss.

Sandy smiles in his direction and puts his phone back into his pocket. Macaque acknowledges Sandy with a curt nod, strolling into the building and actively trying not to fiddle with the lint in his pocket nervously.

His heart was beating a mile a minute and he keeps his distance from the table, instead walking over to Sandy and leaning against the wall next to him in the way that screams ‘I’m totally not gonna have a panic attack. Totally’.

‘‘I’m glad you could make it’’ Sandy says with a beaming smile. Macaque wants to read passive aggression into it, but there is nothing but a comforting presence oozing from the other. ‘‘Yeah, well, gotta have something to talk about next session, right? Can’t exactly skip out’’ especially not since everyone put in so much effort. His eyes follow the steaming spring rolls as Pigsy carries them in, setting the platter on the table and wiping his hooves in his apron. Tang comes in with the rice, also steaming hot, and places the dish on a coaster. Pigsy had left before comeing back from behind the kitchen counter, having hung up his apron as everyone gathers around the table. Macaque pushes himself off the wall, stiltedly walking up to take his seat.

Having gotten to choose the seating arrangements, he was sitting at the corner of the table beside MK with Sandy placed in front of him, Tang seated beside Sandy and across from Tang was Pigsy. He hadn’t wanted the kid to be here, but alas, he’s actually thankful he won’t have to sit beside Pigsy or Tang. They always made such disgusting noises.

The anxiety was just building and building, like bile, it rises up his esophagus. Macaque could freely admit that he'd taken every chance he had gotten to procrastinate his arrival. The pit in his stomach only grows as the rolls are passed around the table, and though no one is eating currently, his skin still feels too tight on his body and he wants nothing more than to teleport away.

Two whole minutes, it kept replaying in his head. Two minutes where I won’t be allowed to have any barriers, ear plugs - nothing.

Every time his mind repeats it, the desire to curl into himself grows stronger.

He had barely noticed when he was passed the plate himself, MK having to tap his shoulder to get him to notice the steaming food in front of him. Neither the heat nor smell had registered in his mind as he grabs a single one and passes it across the table to Sandy. When Sandy doesn’t immediately grab it, he looks up, frustrated, only to be met with a concerned Sandy.

Looking around, he can see all eyes are on him.

Shoot.

There goes his carefully crafted cool guy image.

In an attempt to salvage the scraps left of his ego, he casually leans his elbow against the dining table, trying to keep the open body language he would have had on stage.

Sandy smiles at him and grabs the platter, pulling it close to himself and taking a deep breath.

‘‘Ahh, it smells lovely, Pigsy’’ he says kindly. Macaque notices the slight look Sandy gives him, encouraging Macaque to copy him and smell the food. He takes a deep breath, and- hey, you know, this actually smells delicious. The fried casing of the spring rolls was the most potent fragrance in the room, but if he focused, he could also smell the meat and vegetables hiding inside, along with the soy sauce MK had poured in his dish.

It brings a smile to Macaque's face, tail behind him relaxing from its previous uneasy flicks. He’s so preoccupied pouring his own sauce that when Tang takes the first bite, he barely notices.

But notice it he does, jumping in his seat at the sudden crunch. He looks to Sandy for guidance, seeing him making eye contact and taking a deep breath in through the nose and exhaling through the mouth. He tries to copy it, but his chest feels tight, too tight to do any breathing exercises. Feeling nauseous, he doesn’t want to eat or drink anything - the noise would only be louder inside his own head.

Sandy, not noticing his distress, takes a bite, and Macaque growls under his breath involuntarily. He truly hadn’t meant to - it was an accident, but he did it anyways. His eyes sting and he feels as if he’s about to cry, hearing them crunch, chew, swallow, oh no- he sees MK lifted his glass, gulping down the water. His inner voice immediately yells. Has MK not learned how to properly drink? How can one human be so immensely loud, it’s too much- he won’t make it. He’ll perish. This is it- his heart is beating way too fast and he can’t breathe

‘‘Macaque’’

I can’t breathe. I’m drowning, everything is too loud. They’re so loud, won’t they just stop crunching-

‘‘Macaque’’

There’s a blue hand in his field of vision, pulling him from his thoughts that felt more like a pit of tar, the bad thoughts still clinging to him uncomfortably as he looks up.

He just now noticed what had happened. He had entirely shut down, body acting on its own as he had glared at his plate with hands clutching around his ears, nails digging into the scalp beneath his fur, tail behind him puffed up as if he were in a fight for his life. Macaque’s first impulse is to ignore what’s happened, but he realizes it’s too late and everyone at the table already saw.

‘‘You can relax, it’s okay, mister Maquack’’ Sandy says so kindly, but Macaque is too caught up in the whirlwind of anger and frustration, the crunching and chewing still echoing around his head. It’s everywhere, inescapable, no matter what he does. It’s as if every sound is a blooming bruise on his mind, and he sneers with annoyance at Sandy.

‘‘Maybe I would be able to if you guys just stopped eating for one godsdamn second-‘’

‘‘We did stop eating, Mac’’ MK says worriedly beside him, and Macaque startles. Wait, what?

Looking around, he can see all eyes on him. Sandy and MK look worried, brows furrowed, and MK looks just about ready to hug him. Pigsy looks a mix of surprised and skeptical, as if he doesn’t believe a person (or demon, for that matter) could have such a severe reaction to what is, essentially, just some noises.

Blinking, Macaque also feels a wetness in his lashes, like he had been about to cry. His heart is hammering away and he’s still shaking, even though it’s technically over.

He takes a short breath. He’s okay.

Macaque straightens his back and clears his throat, trying to get his hands to rest on the table before realizing he’s too tense to. Giving up on resting, he lifts his tail onto his lap and pets the hairs down from their puffed-up state, trying to ignore the eyes on him as best he can and get his breathing back to normal.

Tang looks at Pigsy, trying to figure out what to say but coming up with nothing. MK looks at Sandy, and Sandy gives him a reassuring smile before turning back to Macaque. ‘‘You did great for the first try, Macaque.’’ Macaque could hear every little scrap of food he had in his mouth, it sounded so disgusting when he talked. Can’t Sandy clean his mouth, or better yet, just shut up? Can’t he see how distressing he’s being? Can’t he tell how every hair on Macaque stands on end with stress, how his tail has puffed up again after he had diligently patted it down?

‘‘Macaque, did you catch that?’’

Sandy has been talking, but all Macaque could focus on was the horrible noises.

>em>Screw this.

Shadows swirl for a second before Macaque is gone, leaving everyone in favor of going to his theatre.

Immediately, he puts up the noise blockers again, sounds of the city disappearing along with all other noise. The only thing he can’t seem to escape is the sound of his own body, his heart pumping and haggard breathing.

He’s kneeled on the stage, facing the nonexistent audience as he claws at the sides of his head. The crunching, the disgusting sounds of saliva, the horrible, horrible eating and drinking. It echoes in his head, bouncing around and repeating. Over and over and over and over.

No matter how many barriers he puts up, the sounds persist. Loud crunch after sickening swallow after sickly sniffle, every single noise won’t leave him.

He reaches his shaky hands into his pocket, grabbing the earplugs he always had on him and, in his desperation, messily dropping them all over the floor. Damn his hands, why won’t they work- why won’t they let him grasp onto something, anything.

He digs his nails into his arms as tears cool against his cheeks, stuttered breathing and harsh sobs filling the room. The sounds in his head persist and his inner voice screams at him in agony

The sound barriers, they aren’t enough, he needs more quiet - he needs- he needs something, anything- music, maybe white noise, something to focus on.

Once again he teleports, from the hard wood of the stage to fresh air.

His hair whips around as he falls, ears flopping around at the sides of his face as the sound of the wind deafens any thoughts. His tears are pulled from his face by the air, like a caring hand caressing every drop from his tired eyes. Unbeknownst to him, his scarf has managed to untie from his neck and leave it bare, the cold air brushing kindly against the scarred skin and making the fur whip against it.

Usually when he does this, he points his feet down to break the fall slightly, but today, he simply falls and lets his limp body configure itself however it wishes, twisting and twirling him as he falls before he hits the surface of the water headfirst. The ice cold surrounds him, and he lets out a breath in relief, bubbles tickling his chin as they make their way to the surface.

The water breaches his clothes, seeps through his fur and hair, getting into his lungs when he takes a deep breath.

He curses his immortality, his ability to breathe underwater and his stupid ears. His six reasons for being this screwed up in the first place. Everything would be better if he didn’t have them, ripped them off a long time ago.

Everything would be so much easier if he was just.

Normal.

…

The water had been so nice, he’d let himself sink so deep down he couldn’t even find the light, surrounded by darkness, not even able to see his own hands in front of him. The darkness had allowed him to leave all his usually glamoured features exposed - no one could see him or judge him, not even himself.

His heart had calmed a long time ago, no longer thundering in his chest as if it were trying to break out his ribcage. He had stopped hyperventilating and was no longer digging his nails into his skin, just floated around until he decided it was enough, teleporting back to his home, landing in the bathtub with a wet slap against the porcelain. He had pruned under his fur, but he still needed to wash off the salt and wring out his clothes.

Speaking of which, when he was almost finished drying himself, he noticed his scarf missing. Typical.

It took twenty clones and an hour for him to give up on finding it, accepting defeat and going back to the tub to wash off again.

Now, he’s walking along the harbor near Sandy’s boat, an hour late for the appointment they had set up. Or at least, he assumes he’s an hour late. The sunset told him all he needed to know; that he’s too lat,e and Sandy is now most likely busy feeding his millions of cats.

Every once in a while, his feet scrape the ground - sometimes he finds a loose stone or piece of pavement to kick. His glamoured ears flop at his side when he hears another set of feet walking along the edge of the water. Macaque doesn’t bother looking up at whoever it is, expecting the person to just walk past him, but when he hears purring, he finally lifts his head.

Walking towards him is Sandy, a content Mo on his shoulder looking at him with bored cat eyes. Sandy is clearly smiling, much to Macaque’s confusion.

Sandy is still a bit away when he speaks, probably expecting Macaque to be able to hear him. Of course, he does hear him. Not named the Six Eared Macaque for nothing.

‘‘I’m happy to see you, Macaque’’ he says. Macaque snorts. Sandy continues, still walking closer.
‘‘Got us worried there - we looked all over for you!’’ Sandy laughs and Macaque’s brows furrow. ‘‘Why?’’ He asks incredulously, and Sandy huffs a confused laugh. ‘‘Well, we started to miss you after the first day. MK got to use his golden vision on the second day, and Wukong searched for you all over Flower Fruit Mountain on the third day.’’ Sandy laughs again.

‘‘I was asked by MK to apologize to you for the state of your Dojo. He may have been a little frantic in his search’’ Sandy laughs warmly. Macaque thinks he sounds like Santa from those movies.

Okay, Macaque is sure he wasn’t gone that long. ‘‘You’ve gotta be kidding’’ he says in disbelief. He'd been gone that long? And MK had torn apart his dojo? Ugh. But also, aww. He was worried.

Oh no

He was worried.

Macaque had almost forgotten how he left them. Riiiiiiight. The dinner.

Sandy, ever the mind reader, turns his side to Macaque and asks if he would like to join him for ‘cat time’, which is apparently their new code word for a therapy session. Sandy begins the walk to the boat. Macaque follows.