Flimsy. Frail. Fragile.

Humans are fragile, is what Wukong would say. Most of the time, he'd tell you that, and you never knew why or what his purpose was for giving you a piece of information you already knew about. Maybe he's gloating at the fact that he's immortal? A celestial being? But no. You wouldn't know. He couldn't downright tell you that he's been troubled ever since your slip-up with that.. that habit of yours. Screw that; it wasn't a habit; you were hurting yourself all because you were stressed. Nothing could have prepared him for the sight of you huddled with your knees bent close to your chest, back hunched like you were making yourself tiny in the hopes of disappearing, your fists up to your head while your fingers clutched a handful of your hair. He just hoped your nails weren't digging on your scalp.

Wukong gets it. He understands that some things are too much to bear. But you're just a kid.

He's looking after you because, well, he just wants to, and maybe because you give him cookies every time he's over. You were a gem, a sweet child. It's why he's mindful of the way he wraps the bandages on the tips of your fingers, even when a part of him wanted to let you use mittens instead. Nothing happened yet; nevertheless, he won't just stand there and wait for something to happen; he'll never get a good night's rest because of it.

"Hey, it's okay," Wukong gently tells you, rolling an extra round of bandages on your thumb while you were focused on his voice. "We're doing this so we could get rid of that habit you do, remember? Yeah, good."

He's shaking a little as he moves to your other hand to cover the rest of your fingertips. Your hands were soft. They're not made to hurt anyone, not even yourself. You're just a kid. You're just a kid. It's not fair.

"You could... try covering your ears when things get too loud," he suggested, his voice low. "Or you could try to remember me, my face, my voice, my tail, anything to keep you calm, okay?"