:P

You Don’t Have to Be Okay

The music loops again.

It’s the same song now—you’re not even sure how many times it’s played again. The melody has blurred into something constant, like background noise for the heaviness sitting in your chest. You’re not really listening to it anymore… but you don’t turn it off either.

It fits.

The room is dim. Curtains drawn. Air stale. Time doesn’t feel real in here.

You’re staring at your screen, but not seeing it.

That’s when the door opens.

Slow. Careful.

Sun Wukong doesn’t burst in this time.

No dramatic entrance. No jokes right away.

He just stands there for a moment.

Watching.

Taking it all in the music, your posture, the quiet that isn’t really quiet.

“…Hey.”

His voice is softer than usual.

You don’t respond.

He steps inside anyway and shuts the door behind him with a quiet click. For a second, he looks like he might say something snarky, something normal—but it dies before it reaches his mouth.

Instead, he walks over and sits beside you.

Not touching yet. Just… there.

The mattress dips slightly under his weight.

The music keeps playing.

“…You’ve been in here a while,” he says after a moment.

You shrug.

Or at least, you try to. It barely counts.

Wukong exhales slowly through his nose, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. His tail flicks once, restless, before settling.

“Alright,” he mutters. “Cool. Silent mode. I can work with that.”

He leans back on his hands, staring up at the ceiling like he’s giving you space, but he doesn’t move away.

Minutes pass.

Not awkward. Not exactly comfortable either.

Just… quiet.

Then—

“You know what I hate about this kinda thing?” he says suddenly.

You don’t answer, but your eyes shift slightly toward him.

“It’s not loud,” he continues. “Not like a fight, or… you know, something obvious you can punch.” he lets out a small, humourless huff. “It’s sneaky. Gets in your head and just… sits there. Makes everything feel heavier than it actually is.”

Your fingers tighten slightly around the fabric of your sleeve.

“…Yeah,” you whisper.

He glances at you, softer now.

“Yeah.”

Another pause.

Then Wukong shifts closer—just a bit—and nudges your arm lightly with his.

“You wanna tell me what flavour of awful we’re dealing with today?” he asks. “We got ‘everything sucks’? ‘I suck’? ‘nothing matters’? Or the classic combo platter?”

A weak, almost invisible breath leaves you.

“…All of it.”

He winces slightly. Not dramatically—just enough to show he feels that answer.

“Yikes,” he murmurs. “That one’s a heavy hitter.”

You stare down at your hands.

“I don’t know how to stop it,” you admit. “It just keeps going. I try to distract myself and it just… comes back worse.”

Wukong nods slowly, like he expected that.

“Yeah. That’s kinda its whole thing,” he says. “Annoying, persistent, zero respect for personal boundaries…”

He trails off, then glances at you again.

“…Not your fault, though.”

You tense slightly at that.

He notices.

“I mean it,” he adds, more firmly, but still gentle. “Your brain’s being a jerk. That doesn’t mean everything it says is true.”

You don’t argue.

But you don’t agree either.

Wukong sighs quietly and shifts again, this time, close enough that your shoulders are almost touching.

“Hey,” he says. “Look at me for a sec?”

You hesitate.

Then, slowly, you do.

His expression isn’t exaggerated or playful like usual. It’s… steady. Grounded.

“I’m not gonna throw some ‘fix everything’ speech at you,” he says. “Because that’s not how this works. And honestly? If someone tried that on me, I’d launch them into the sun.”

That earns the faintest flicker of something in your expression.

He notices immediately.

“Hey—there it is,” he says quietly. “Tiny reaction. I’ll take it.”

You look away again, but not as far.

Wukong leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees.

“But I am gonna stay,” he continues. “As long as this takes.”

Your throat tightens a little.

“…Why?” you ask, barely audible.

He blinks, like the question catches him off guard.

“Why?” he repeats. “Seriously?”

You shrug again.

Wukong stares at you for a second—then lets out a soft, incredulous laugh.

“Wow. Okay. Your brain is really out here spreading misinformation today.”

He shifts, turning more toward you.

“Because you’re you,” he says simply. “Because I care about you. Because you don’t deserve to sit in here alone while your thoughts gang up on you.”

He pauses, then adds, quieter—

“And because I know what it’s like.”

That lands.

You glance at him again.

Wukong doesn’t elaborate right away. He just looks back at you, something heavier sitting behind his usual confidence.

“…There were times,” he says slowly, “where I got stuck in my own head too. Couldn’t shut it off. Didn’t want help—even when I needed it.”

He looks away briefly, jaw tightening just a bit.

“Difference is,” he adds, “you’ve got me.”

The room goes quiet again, aside from the music.

Then—

Very gently—like he’s giving you time to pull away—he reaches over and takes your hand.

His grip is warm. Steady.

Not tight. Not loose.

Just… there.

You don’t pull away.

He lets out a quiet breath, almost like relief.

“Okay,” he murmurs. “Step one complete.”

You blink slightly.

“…Step one?”

“Yeah,” he says, glancing at you with a small, softer version of his usual grin. “You didn’t shove me off the bed. That’s huge.”

A tiny huff escapes you.

Not quite a laugh, but closer than before.

“Step two,” he continues, “we make this room slightly less… sad cave.”

He gestures vaguely around.

“No offense.”

You glance at the curtains.

“…I don’t feel like moving.”

“Good news,” Wukong says immediately. “You don’t have to.”

Before you can question it, he stands up and walks over to the window.

“Hey, what are you—”

Too late.

He pulls the curtains open just enough to let a sliver of light spill into the room. Not blinding. Not overwhelming.

Just… a crack.

You squint slightly, but it’s not unbearable.

“See?” he says. “Minimal effort. Maximum dramatic effect.”

He walks back over and sits down again—closer this time, shoulder brushing yours.

“Step three,” he says, quieter now, “we survive the next little bit.”

You frown slightly.

“…That’s it?”

“For now? Yeah.”

He squeezes your hand gently.

“No big life overhaul. No ‘fix everything.’ Just… this moment. Then the next one. Then the next.”

You lean into him a little before you can stop yourself.

He stills for half a second, then relaxes, letting you.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “That’s it.”

The music is still playing—but softer now. Less suffocating.

Wukong shifts slightly, resting his head lightly against yours.

Not heavy. Not trapping you.

Just… there.

“You don’t have to be okay right now,” he says quietly. “You just have to be here.”

Your grip tightens around his hand.

And for the first time in a while—

The weight doesn’t disappear.

But it doesn’t feel quite as crushing either.

Wukong glances down at you, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips.

“See?” he murmurs. “Told you I’d stay.”

And this time—