Saturday, 30 April

Visiting Waylon at his home in the morning rather than the afternoon presented two differences: a lack of his glasses, and also of the gold circling his eyes.

"Hi, Monty." Waylon's smile upon seeing Monty was contagious. "Come in."

Monty tilted his head. "Hello." At Waylon's insistence, he walked inside, and Waylon joined him, kneeling down to scratch a yipping Hercules' fur. Monty snuck glimpses at Waylon, unused to him not wearing glasses.

"How are you?" Waylon asked, standing up again, giving his attention to Monty.

"I'm fine..." He shifted, realising he didn't know what to talk of. "Have you, ah... eaten breakfast?"

"I had something, yes." Waylon's brow furrowed. "Have you?"

Monty brought his hands together. "I did." Granted, the assistant had made it.

"That's good..." Waylon gave him a confused look.

"Oh," Monty said, "I noticed you aren't wearing the eyeliner." Or your glasses.
Waylon chuckled. "I'm going to put some on, I just haven't yet."

"Ah, yes."

"You're welcome to watch," Waylon continued, "it's not very exciting, though."

Monty waved his hand. "I'll be the judge of that." He wasn't sure why he wanted to watch Waylon apply it, assumed it would be very brief, anyhow. But being around Waylon was lifting his mood, and he was apt to watch. And perhaps Waylon would put his glasses on again after the eyeliner.

"Alright." Waylon laughed, the brightening of his face making Monty's heart swim. "I'll show you. Mm... Do you want to take your jacket off?"

Monty nodded, slipped out of the jacket, draped it on a chair; Waylon led him to the bedroom, to a nook of the space filled with a table, mirror, and various beauty products. A few products scattered on the table surface, but most were in their proper holders. And, there were his glasses, their blue light off.

Waylon sat in front of the table. Monty, on his feet, swallowed. Waylon's eyes, warm and brown, blinked back in the mirror. He picked up a pen, sliding off the top, to reveal colour. He leaned forward, bringing it to his face, and, with some precision, started to trace about his eyelids by the lashes. Monty stared, in rapt focus.
"Do you... always use gold?" He watched Waylon finish drawing around his eyes with the glittering line, fascinated.

Waylon shook his head, set the pen down. "No, I have silver and black and bronze, too... but I like the gold, usually."

"Yes, it complements your eyes," Monty blurted.

Waylon looked thoughtfully at him. "Would you like to try it?" He leaned back from the mirror. "I can apply it for you."

"Oh..." Monty tapped his chin. "I..." The idea was tempting. He blushed. "I'd like to, yes."

Waylon raised his eyebrows, then dropped them, and smiled. "Which colour? I think silver would work well with you, but it's your choice."

"Silver, mm... yes." He liked the gold as well, but he'd rather not he and Waylon had the same colour.
Waylon gestured to the chair facing the mirror from which he'd just risen. "You can sit here."
Monty sat himself. He was still somewhat surprised when he'd regarded the mirror these last few days, how the Serum drug had made him look so much younger. He appreciated the effects, however, and was grateful for it. Though, he was more grateful for Waylon, who was alive as he should have been. Monty had earlier voiced in his head that he wanted badly to stay here, in case there were a chance of his return to the old world.

His desire to stay in this world didn't mean that he didn't miss his old life and, more substantially, the old-world Waylon. But he couldn't dwell on it. He'd found Waylon here, in the distant future, and even if he weren't exactly the same, Monty felt a connection to him. He knew it went the other way, what with how open Waylon acted around him, how quickly they were becoming close.

"...Monty? Are you ready?" Waylon held the eyeliner pen in his hand aloft, his other hand resting on Monty's shoulder. And it felt natural.

"Oh, if you think it'll look alright..." Monty said, glancing up at him. He may have worn eyeliner in his youth, but he didn't remember entirely, nor did it matter; he was apprehensive, but willing.

Waylon smiled. "You'll look great. And if you don't like it, we can take it off."

Encouraged by his confidence, Monty let him work, for the brief amount of time it took to apply. Waylon's pressure was gentle, deliberate, and firm, his soft breathing soothing.

"You can open your eyes."

Monty blinked, then examined himself in the mirror. "Oh..." He put a hand over his mouth, trying to hide the slight grin.

"What do you think?" Waylon held onto one arm with his other hand, also looking at Monty's reflection, smiling nervously.

"I..." Monty dropped his hand, unable to mask his odd delight. He turned his head to either side, admiring Waylon's flowing linework around his eyes and above his eyelids. Waylon hadn't gone heavy, only painted thin strokes, subtle, yet still visible. "I like it."

Waylon sighed, losing any nervousness he'd had. "Good. It's a nice look on you. Makes your eyes a bit more vibrant. I'm glad you like it."

Perhaps this was the next step beyond his liminal headspace, transitioning into the new world. Here he was in Waylon's apartment, as he'd already been a number of times, and now he wore eyeliner. What might be next, he wondered?

"Oh!" Monty said, "You..." He looked up at Waylon to be sure he was seeing things correctly. Waylon still hadn't... "You never put your glasses back on, after you applied your own eyeliner."

"Hm?" Waylon's eyes went to the pair on the table.

"Don't you... need them, to see?"

"No," Waylon said, "I wear them when I want to, remember I told you about the private browser I have on it?"

"Yes..." Monty thought. "Oh... that's all you use them for..."
"Right. I guess you just haven't seen me without them until now."

"Right," Monty repeated.

He tried to swallow, but his throat was jammed. Waylon only using his glasses as an accessory made him feel even more disconnected from the old-world Waylon. The revelation was jarring, at least, despite being so superficial. On the other hand, Monty enjoyed getting an unobscured view of Waylon's eyes.

"Is there something wrong?" Waylon's voice was cracked with concern. "Do you not like the eyeliner?"

"No, I do, it's very striking," Monty admitted, "truly, Waylon. I'm fine. I was just... confused by the purposes of your glasses, I... thought you needed them to see, but you don't."

"Oh. Well, okay. Good." Waylon creased his brow, but seemed convinced enough. "Sorry for the confusion." He leaned his weight to one side. "What would you like to do? We could take a walk, it's nice outside."

A walk? "Where would we go?"

"There's a quiet path, nearby, through trees. It's very relaxing," Waylon explained. "And it's a loop, so you don't have to walk back the way you came. I was going to take Hercules on a walk, anyway."

"Mm." It didn't sound like a terrible ordeal, going outside. And trees were something he was used to. "Alright, then, you've persuaded me."

()

The path was indeed quiet; trees all around them obscured any buildings in the periphery but let in floods of sunlight. It made Monty almost forget he'd ever stepped into the future, if for a second.

Monty held his hands behind his back at first, afraid he'd reach over for Waylon's hand if he didn't, but eventually dropped them to his sides. He didn't have the courage to realize his impulse.

Waylon glanced down at him from his walking vantage point, Hercules ahead of them on his wireless leash, the same kind Monty's dogs had. Maybe one day, he could walk here with Winston and Snapper alongside Waylon and Hercules.
"When we go back in," Waylon said, "I could show you what my dad left for me, like we talked about on Thursday. And... play a game, maybe. I think I promised to pull out the cards. How does that sound?"

"A fine plan," Monty agreed, "and I did find something he gave me, as well... a folder of many files. I, er... forgot they were on my computer." Yes, I forgot. "Interviews during the time I took Serum."
"Oh, that's interesting. Just the interviews?"

Monty scowled. "There's other, more personal content, that I've not viewed it yet. What is it he said in the video...? Sixty hours of footage, yes... I don't know if there are other things aside from that folder, but I have some photographs around my house."

Waylon nodded. "That's cool." He gazed ahead to the trees as they walked. "If I ever came to your house, maybe I could see the pictures?"

"You could see the files, too, hm?"

Waylon chuckled. "Yes, if you'd be comfortable with that."

"I don't see why not."

Monty asked then, watching the dappled light over Waylon's face, "And which sort of ephemera did he leave for you, again? You'd said... videos...?"

"And the journals, yeah. Some physical mementos, like books; my mom has a lot of them. I have what's on my computer, and a few effects I keep in my bedroom."

"I see."

()

"Okay, so... you're not in any of these, as far as I know," Waylon said of the videos he had, "the ones I've seen, some of them take place in the Serum complex, but they're not about the company."

"Who's in the videos? You and your mother?"

"More so my mom, since Dad died when I was really young, but yes." Waylon smiled. "Do you want to watch one with me in it?"

"Yes, of course."

Waylon clicked on a video file called Waylon Jr, 26/5/2099. "This one's about four minutes."

The player opened with footage of an infant in some crib or other, with tufts of brown hair on its head, sitting up and hugging a big stuffed animal toy to its body.

"Evelyn just bought Waylon Jr this last week," said Waylon Sr's voiceover, pivoting the camera to zoom in on baby Waylon. "I believe it's a... koala. Waylon seems very attached to it." He chuckled. "They're ... almost six months already."

Baby Waylon looked up, grinning, reaching out his hands. The camera angle changed, and there was Waylon Sr holding him with both hands. "Can you say hello?" Baby Waylon turned his head away into his father's chest. "I guess not." Waylon Sr bent his head and pressed a kiss to his son's hair.

Monty glanced at Waylon next to him, whose eyes were misted with tears. Monty reached over and gently squeezed his hand. Waylon looked back at him, then wrapped his fingers around Monty's. Their hands stayed intertwined for a minute or two. Monty hadn't intended for a longer duration, but he liked how it felt, and there was no pressing need to let go. Waylon seemed to think the same.

When the video was over, Waylon took out that tissue apparatus he'd had the other day, and cleaned his face. "That always happens to me when I watch this." He sighed. "Are you okay?"

Am I okay? I'm not the one who was crying; what about you?

"Yes," Monty said, "I suppose I'm not as affected by this as by what we found in Serum, but..." He thought. "Oh. Why did Waylon Sr refer to you as 'they'?"

Waylon tilted his head. "Uh, that... I know it was different when you were a kid, but children are neutrally referred to as 'they' until they decide their identity themselves. And whatever they decide on, some people might still change it, later in their life... And there're people who stick with 'they', of course."

Was this something he, Monty Burns, citizen of the future, should have known? In any case, Waylon had been gracious enough to explain it. "Hm... fascinating. And you chose 'he', yes?"

"Mm-hm. Anyway... should we watch another?"

"You want to watch another?" Monty raised one eyebrow.

"I don't mind... oh, this one's my first birthday." Waylon opened a new video, Waylon Jr's First Birthday, 25/12/99; Christmas 2099.

Waylon, now a year old, was sat behind a chocolate cake on a table. It was dark, save for the candle on the cake and the multicoloured lights in the background. A group of people was stood about, including Evelyn Smithers.

"Da!" Waylon cried, as Waylon Sr came into the scene.

Waylon Sr ruffled his hair, smiling. "Are you ready to eat your cake?"

Waylon pointed at the cake, as if in confirmation. Around him, the other people sang a rendition of 'Happy Birthday' that Monty had never heard. Waylon Sr picked his son up and helped him to extinguish the single candle, giving him a little kiss. Upon the zoom-in it seemed to not be an actual candle, but a hologram, that still acted as a candle. Everyone clapped and Waylon laughed, being settled back into his highchair, as the central lights came on again. Evelyn cut the cake and placed a large slice in front of Waylon, who grabbed at it with his hands, before Evelyn slid a pink fork into his right hand. Waylon stabbed the cake with the fork, still smearing crumbs and frosting on his face as he ate.

Monty chuckled, watching baby Waylon eat haphazardly. Again, he looked at Waylon in the other chair. Waylon wiped under his eye with his fingers, sniffing.

"Waylon..." Monty sighed. "You knew you'd cry if we watched these, I assume? And yet you put yourself through it for my benefit?"

"It's okay. I wanted you to see them." Waylon gave him a small smile. "It's just hard, sometimes, which is why I don't watch these very often."
Monty touched Waylon's shoulder. "I... I understand."

Waylon nodded. "Thank you."

Monty fiddled with his hands. "Certainly. And, thank you, for showing me."

"Oh, of course...."

Monty nodded back. "Mm."

Waylon stretched, getting to his feet. "Maybe we should take a break, though, from watching anymore. Oh, uh... I'll find my cards...! Do you know how to play poker? We could also play gin or cribbage." He blushed. "My mom taught me."

Monty laced his fingers together. "You have... poker chips, then?"

"Yeah. I'll be right back; we can play in the living area."

Waylon seemed eager to move on from the videos, and Monty could imagine why. Like Monty had told Waylon, he personally wasn't as affected by the videos as by what they'd seen in Serum. Still, they were sentimental videos of his friend, who seemed no different from the Waylon Sr Monty had known. He'd enjoyed the glimpse of baby Waylon and Sr's life in the footage. And Waylon had shown the videos to Monty knowing what effect they would have on him, but his desire to show them to Monty had overruled, apparently.

()

Waylon had never watched the videos his father had left with another person besides his mother, before Monty, it being such a private, tender collection of memories. He hadn't been afraid for Monty to have caught him crying while watching them, though. Their mutual openness of grief at Serum had helped cement that lack of fear. Monty hadn't turned away, not that Waylon had expected him to, especially considering his friendship with Waylon Sr. But Monty had comforted him, in both instances, taking his hand, letting Waylon know he was there, and Waylon was grateful for his presence.

He'd left Monty in front of the computer, and Waylon went to his bedroom, where he kept the poker supplies in a box. He carried it into the living area, past Monty, who was still sat on his chair, eyes moving from Waylon to the box he held.

"Poker chips?" Monty asked.

"Yes, and the cards." Waylon smiled at him. He opened the box on the table by the sofa, and began to arrange the materials.

()

Waylon had set up the cards and the poker chips on the table in front of the sofa. Monty stood from his chair in front of the computer, and strolled to the sofa instead.

"These are pretty old; they were Dad's ..." Waylon said, "well, I got them from my mom, but they were his." He ran a finger over the surface of the deck of cards. "Er, would you like to be dealer?"

Monty fingered a chip, nodding. "Mm." He was happy enough to play a game where holographs weren't involved. This was more his speed.

Now, Monty watched Waylon, unable to determine if he had any good cards. He himself had a pair of queens and another of twos.

"Are you trying to tell which cards I have?" Waylon asked.

Monty waved his hand not holding the cards. "I couldn't tell which cards you had, unless I could see through them, which I can't. I was watching you for any reaction, but you have a formidable poker face, I must say."

"Thank you." Waylon threw three of his ten remaining chips into the middle of the table. Monty sighed and put in four, leaving him with nine. They'd both started with fifteen.

"Okay," Waylon said, "here's what I have." He laid out his cards, all of them diamonds, a flush.

"Damn." Monty smacked his own cards down. "You've won this round."

"We can play again. It's just luck." Waylon chuckled.

"Strategy, too."

"You're right. Still, there's a lot of luck involved." Waylon picked up his cards. "Do you want to play again?"

"Yes, of course. Though I'll win, this time." Monty lifted his head, smiling, and handed his own cards to Waylon for shuffling. "Maybe I'll be fortunate, with you as dealer instead of myself, hm?"

"We'll see." Waylon caught his eyes, amused, and Monty blushed, his chest warm.

"Certainly."