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Chapter 7 // Morning

Sunlight.

He blinks slowly, gazing up at the ceiling emptily. He feels warm. Heavy.

This feels like a normal morning.

…until something warm and solid shifts against his left side, and a white tail thumps loudly as he lands on his neck. Soft, cloudy fur brushes his skin, making him smile slightly at the familiar touch.

Shifting the blankets carefully, he pries the twitching tail off his neck before it coils around it. He holds it up gently and stares at the limb, half-stunned, half-asleep, part of him quietly wondering if he’s dreaming again. Letting old memories haunt him, remind him of what was lost.

…but then the tail slides out of his lax grip, and the object pressed against him twists and turns, fingers clutching onto golden fur as a long, tiny yawn fills the room. Wukong strains his ears to listen to every facet of it -and he keeps still when the other occupant of the nest sleepily crawls up his frame and looks down at his face, golden eyes blinking slowly, heavy with sleep.

With the sunlight filtering in from the window, it makes the pearly white fur shimmer like glass. It makes the Six Eared Macaque look like a living cloud, a poofy little pale blob of fur with two eyes, an orange-pink facemask and two tiny, twinkling golden eyes.

“Hi.” Mihou whispers in the quiet stillness of this perfect morning.

“Hello.” Wukong feels a small grin tug his lips as he looks at his little brother, not even wishing to hide the fondness in his voice.

Mihou makes a soft grunt, leaning down to rest his head on Wukong’s chest. It’s only a brief, fleeting thing, as the child makes another noise and straightens up once more, looming over Wukong’s face.

Tiny hands slap against his cheeks as the little monkey grabs his face, squishing it between his small hands. Wukong looks up at the child leaning against his chest, watching tiredly at the way the Six Eared Macaque carefully observes him.

“You look old.” Mihou mutters, not for the first time.

Squish. Wukong hardly blinks at the two hands squeezing either side of his face together like he's some sort of overly ripe fruit.

“...are you going to get wrinkles soon?”

Against his will, a dry snort leaves Wukong.

“Not quite.” He tells Mihou through his squished face. He reaches up and gently grabs wrists a third of the size of his own, holding them gently as if the smallest of harsh motions would shatter them. He swallows, thinking. “No wrinkles any time soon, silly.”

“Silly.” Mihou warbles back, leaning down and booping his nose with his own. The sensation tickles and makes Wukong’s heart soar at the childish motion. “Everyone gets wrinkles.” The child scolds lighty. “Everyone. ‘specially those who keep frowning.”

“Not me.”

“Mhm.” Mihou sounds unsurprised. “Because you’re the Monkey King?”

Wukong offers him a small, lopsided grin. “Because I’m the Monkey King.”

Mihou rolls his eyes.

“Mhm.”

“Mhm.”

“Mhm.”

Wukong lets go of his wrists and sinks his fingers into the soft, cloudy fur of Mihou’s sides. The child squeals, his laughter ringing through the room and filling Wukong’s weary heart with warmth.