CW: Suicidal thoughts, implied overdose attempt. Emotional hurt/comfort.
I wrote this for anyone in times of need. If you are struggling with these kinds of thoughts, please talk to someone you know, and trust. You are not alone.
The night was quiet in your house. Too quiet. The wind seemed to hesitate before brushing against the branches. Not that Wukong ever mind the silence, but tonight, it felt wrong. Off. Like the world had taken a breath and refused to let it go.
He sat up on the couch where he’d been dozing off, his ears twitching. There, just faint enough to be missed, shuffling. Not the normal sort of movement you made before bed. This was slower, heavier.
Wukong swung his legs off the side of the couch, tail flicking nervously. Something in his chest pinched as he padded toward your room. The door was cracked open, a thin line of dim light spilling into the hallway.
He pushed it open. “Hey… you okay?”
You were sitting on the edge of your bed, hunched forward. The air smelled faintly of your shampoo, but beneath it was something heavier. Your eyes were locked on the small orange bottle in your hands. Your face was pale, drawn tight, like you were somewhere far away.
Wukong’s heart dropped. He knew what that bottle was. His chest tightened, claws curling reflexively against the doorframe.
“(Y/N)…” His voice was soft now. Not the usual playful drawl, but careful, like he was afraid the sound itself would shatter you.
Your fingers trembled around the bottle. You didn’t look up, just stared at it, like it was the only thing in the room.
He crossed the space between you in three long strides, crouching in front of you so he could see your face. His tail curled around your leg automatically, a grounding touch.
“Hey, look at me.” His voice cracked a little, but he kept it steady. “Please.”
You blinked, slow and mechanical, but your eyes finally moved to his. The deadness in them made his stomach twist.
Wukong reached out, carefully placing his hand over yours, gently easing the bottle from your grip. “This isn’t the way,” he murmured. “I’m not gonna let you go like this.”
He pulled you into his arms before you could speak, wrapping you tight against his chest. His fur brushed your cheek, warm and soft. You could feel his heart hammering under your palm, fast and panicked, but his arms stayed steady around you.
“You’re not a burden,” he whispered into your hair. “You’re not too much. I’m here. Right here. We’ll get through this together, okay, Peaches?”
Your shoulders shook as tears finally escaped, soaking into his fur. Wukong held you tighter, one hand rubbing slow circles over your back.
He didn’t try to fix it right there. He didn’t tell you to stop feeling what you were feeling. He just held you like you were something precious, something worth staying for, until the tension in your body began to ease.
When you finally spoke, your voice was small and hoarse. “I'm sorry…”
“Don’t apologize.” He said softly, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. His own were wet at the corners. “You’re my world, (Y/N). You don’t ever have to go through this alone.”
You buried your face in his shoulder again, clutching his clothes. Wukong pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head and rocked you gently, as if by sheer will he could keep the darkness away.
The night remained silent outside, but in your room, there was the sound of his heart, his breathing, and the quiet promise he whispered over and over:
“I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
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