Shines Like the Sun

Sanzo had his newspaper open on his lap and crossed and uncrossed his legs as he read. Smoke snaked out of the cigarette hanging from his bottom lip and the shaven-headed priests that passed by him gagged as they caught the scent, though none of them dared to say anything.

Goku hung by his legs off of the bottom branch of a giant oak tree, watching Sanzo. The afternoon sun caught Sanzo’s blond hair and Goku could not take his eyes away. In the yellow light Sanzo’s hair shone like the sun and shimmered like gold. It flowed like silk and glowed like liquid amber. Goku never found Sanzo more beautiful than in the bright sunlight that ran gold fingers through his supple hair.

There was a soft thud as Goku’s feet hit the ground. Sanzo did not notice, so Goku walked slowly toward him. He could feel the gazes of the priests and novices around him as all of them—from the highest-level monk to the children who came young into the service of Buddha—watched him with displeasure. None of them tried to hide their disapproval of him. Everywhere he went in the monastery there was always someone staring at him with narrowed eyes or a scowl on their lips, their arms crossed as their stare burned a hole in Goku’s back. He would catch a glare and his face would flush so red that he felt the heat on his skin.

He would leave the monastery, finally getting away from the shame and the derision and going to a place where no one knew who he was—if only he could leave behind Sanzo and his golden yellow hair.

Goku walked to where Sanzo sat on a bench in a carefully designed rock garden. That was one of the things that Goku hated about the monastery. Everything was purposely placed and rigidly kept according to some law of order that anyone that was not a monk did not seem privy to. The priests and monks organized everything in complex patterns, from the candles in the temple and the sashes that flew from wooden poles lining the paths on the grounds to the raked sand design in the courtyard and the gardens groomed so that the plants grew to equal height in straight rows. They even organized the rocks! Goku knew from experience that he had only to move one single stone to send the monks scurrying in panic to collect the rogue rock and gently—even reverently!—replace it in its assigned plot of land.

The monastery was altogether a ridiculous place filled with rules and rituals so inflexible and stiff that it gave Goku cramps from always holding himself so straight and still. Sanzo seemed to like it, though. Goku figured that it had to do with the strictly ordered way of life the monks led. Order and calm appealed to Sanzo, whose quick temper was easily triggered by the minor annoyances of the day.

Goku stopped when he was standing right behind the bench. He checked Sanzo’s violet eyes to see them fixed on his newspaper. He put out his hand and gently put it on Sanzo’s hair. When the blond priest did not react, Goku stroked the soft golden locks, very aware of the silky texture and the way the sun reflected off of the strands and winked back at Goku.

He kept petting Sanzo’s hair until finally the man noticed. Sanzo barely reacted, as he was used to Goku acting strangely and often inexplicably. He just shook his head and waved his hand at Goku like he would chase away a fly, then said, “Eh, leave me alone, bakazaru.”

‘Bakazaru,’ stupid monkey. That was Goku’s lovingly given nickname. He snatched his hand back and grinned sloppily at Sanzo, giving him his best ‘it’s just me, the village idiot’ until Sanzo snorted and turned back to his newspaper without asking questions. Goku’s features helped him evade suspicion often; people thought his cheerful attitude and large eyes meant that he was stupid.

Goku knew that he was not the smartest person in the world, youkai or human. He wasn’t quick like Hakkai or clever like Gojyo. There was a lot he didn’t know or understand. It didn’t bother him, though…at least, not much.

“Come on,” Sanzo said, folding his newspaper and tossing it to the manicured lawn. A boy of about ten with a shaved head scurried forward and collected the paper; Sanzo did not seem to even notice him. He stood and crooked a finger at Goku. “We’re leaving.”

Goku jumped off of a big, flat rock that wobbled as his feet left it. Before he had even landed on the sand-covered ground of the courtyard there was someone steadying the rock. Goku rolled his eyes and then ran to catch up with Sanzo.

“Where are we going?” Goku asked, walking quickly to meet Sanzo’s long-legged stride.

“To meet Cho Hakkai and Sha Gojyo,” Sanzo said, strangely formal. “We are to make a journey together.”

Goku didn’t bother to ask how long Sanzo had known this and why he had not bothered to tell him earlier. That was how Goku lived his life, day to day—both by choice and because no one ever thought to notify Goku of what was coming.

He didn’t need to know, though, he thought as he followed at Sanzo’s side. Whatever came, Sanzo would take care of him. He always did.