Resting from their bout of dance, Monty and Waylon took seats in the other lounge area, a more formal space than its counterpart, that doubled for dining. It was next to and in the right rear of the circular bar, opposite the first lounge. Here, the area was cast in softer lights, in contrast to the neon everywhere else. The music they'd just danced to drifted into the background.

"Are you hungry?" Waylon asked. They were sat in a half-circle booth, nestled against the wall.

"A bit, yes." Monty smiled, fingers on the side of his drink, the alcohol loosening his mood. After they'd danced, they'd approached the bar and he'd ordered another of the same drink he'd had earlier, though he didn't intend to finish this, was afraid of becoming inebriated. He didn't want to add the effects of drunkenness to this experience that was already so surreal.

"Me too." Waylon pointed at a flat insert on the table. "You can order something there, like we did at the bar."

Monty leaned forward. The insert had a screen showing the club's name. He tapped it and the screen changed to show a list of food items. Monty scrolled down the names, nothing catching his interest, until he came to the 'desserts' section.

"Oh, they have cake..." Monty re-read the description. "Layers of chocolate mousse, white chocolate... mm. I'll have that, and... do they serve milk?"

"Milk?"
"To have with the cake."

Waylon nodded. "Er, right. Uh... I have no idea. I've never tried to get milk here. But maybe they have it..."
"How do I place an order?"

"Just tap on what you want, and it'll give you an option to order. I'll pay."

Monty nodded.

He ordered the cake, and found milk under 'beverages', though he almost ordered goat's milk instead of cow's. He wrinkled his nose, not having expected there to have been more than one type of milk available, but there were several.

Waylon paid for Monty's cake and milk with another swipe of his phone; he moved his wrist without actually opening the phone, and the transaction completed. Monty watched, fascinated. That was a function his own phone was missing. Perhaps he'd need an upgrade at some point. Waylon could help him adjust to a newer model, he was sure.

The cake arrived shortly, along with his milk, in a pinkish fluorescent glass.

"That looks good," Waylon commented, as Monty poked it with his fork.

The cake must have had twenty or so layers made up of delicate slivers, alternating milk chocolate mousse and white chocolate ganache. The top was laid with some dark chocolate ganache crafted in miniature French curves, the swirling revolutions like the pattern of a dance- or maybe he was subconsciously alluding to their earlier performance together. Among the curves were two parallel threads of marzipan that went over the top of the cake and draped itself over the sides. A few pieces of fruit, shining metallic gold under the soft lights that had the texture and, as he found after a tentative nibble, and Waylon's reassurance it was okay to eat, the taste of raspberry, accented the side of the plate.

Monty drank his milk, which was cold and refreshing, nodding in accord to Waylon's statement as he bit into the cake again. "It's excellent."

They stayed for a while after they both finished eating; Waylon had ordered something with tortilla chips, but Monty forgot what it was called.

He grew weary through their conversation on miscellaneous topics, covering his mouth with his hand as he yawned. His phone read that it was past 23h already. Waylon must have noticed his state, because he suggested they go; Monty agreed.

()

"I'm taking you back to your house, right? Unless there's somewhere else you need to go." Waylon strapped into the driver's seat, igniting the controls on the dashboard.

"Hm? Yes... that is, to my house."

It wasn't as if he could go home with Waylon for the night... could he? No, of course not... But the feeling of longing he'd had when Waylon had dropped him off at his house the first time resurfaced, as if he'd wanted to never leave Waylon's side. What would he say, though... 'could I sleep on your sofa, Waylon?' However, if he were going that route, he'd rather sleep in the bed with Waylon, not on the sofa.

Monty frowned, out of Waylon's purview, who was focusing on the car anyway. What was going on with him? Could it be his grief at losing Waylon the first time around could be making him more susceptible to wanting intimacy with this version? That he was trying to compensate for his loss?

But he didn't think it was that simple. This Waylon was growing on him dramatically. Already they were good friends, and Monty couldn't help wanting more.

He had to put it from his mind, even briefly, so he wouldn't fixate on it.

Monty settled back in his seat, the bright stretches of headlights and neon of the vibrant nightlife against the dark sky lulling and distracting him.
"So what did you think?" Waylon asked then.

"Of the club, ah, Decker's?" Monty stretched, the streets growing smaller and its illuminations becoming specks as Waylon pivoted the car into the air. "I... I had fun; I've never been anywhere like that..."

"I had a great time, too." Waylon's hooded eyes glanced at him, sparkling. "You're a fantastic dancer." He grinned sheepishly.

"Oh, yes..." Monty tossed his hair. "You weren't bad yourself."

"You think so?"

"I know. We danced very well together." Monty chuckled, though his laughter faded, and he swallowed. He'd never danced with Waylon before, in his old life, and clearly, he had missed out. But he knew he never would have tried in the first place, and so the point was moot.

He stared out the window, trying to distract himself in the twinkling cityscape, and found his words again. "We were far better than anyone else out there. I wouldn't just say that to placate you." He turned back to Waylon, giving him a small smile.

"I don't know if we were better than everyone, but it's nice to hear." Waylon's cheeks blossomed with pink.

Monty waved his hand. "Ah, Waylon, you're too modest." He shivered, supressing an urge to take Waylon's hand, to be close, have Waylon's arm around his shoulders...

All too soon, the slanted blue roofs, its edges like wisps, appeared in the car's headlights. Anxiety tread on him, at leaving Waylon, at being practically alone in the house with the assistant. But he couldn't bring himself to tell this to Waylon. Instead, he said goodbye, clutching his bag of clothes, holding on to every glance between them, until the car disappeared, its presence a speck of light. A speck that was Monty's entire world.

He flinched, swallowing the lump hanging in his throat. He had to stop feeling this way all the time; he didn't need Waylon every second, or even every day.

Monty's lip quivered, pressure jabbing his chest, as he entered the house. It was almost midnight. After checking via the communicator that the assistant was on its charging port, in sleep mode, Monty began to climb the stairs, yawning. He took off his clothes, glad to be out of the heels. Monty prepared for bed, taking a shower, and removing the makeup from his face. Perhaps due to the rather mindless nature of the tasks, Waylon didn't leave his mind.

After the shower, he changed into his pyjamas, what he'd woken up wearing the first day, fabric soft and cool against his skin. He inched under the covers, closing his eyes to relax with Bobo in the insulated mattress and blankets, leaving him comfortable and never hot or cold. Despite his drowsiness, he thought about Waylon, one thought in a slew of many worries and questions about his life now.

He was still in the bedroom, but stood and dressed in the outfit he'd worn to Decker's, and it was suddenly daytime. Monty gasped, starting at the person sitting with crossed legs on the bed. His former self. Other Monty was clad in the usual dark green suit and salmon tie, his eyes watching Monty beneath thin grey brows.

Monty blinked, finding his words. "You're...you're me!"

"Yes-"

"You're from before..."
"Yes," Other Monty said again. He folded his hands.

"How... why are you here?"

Other Monty shrugged. "To speak to you."
Monty crossed his arms. "That's all? Hm."

"And clearly, I've- that is, you've changed..." Other Monty stroked his chin.

A mirror appeared in front of him. Monty rolled his eyes, watching his reflection do the same. "Yes, and? I don't need a mirror to see that for myself."

"This is the future, eh?" The mirror had disappeared; Other Monty scrutinised Monty's clothing, flitted up to his hair, looked around the room. "I couldn't have imagined I- you would ever..."

"That I would ever what?"

"Become this. Then again, neither of us could have predicted I'd wake here, as you- that you'd come to exist."

"No... but we're the same person, I'm still you, I'm me."

"Yes, and I'm you..." Other Monty agreed, "your soul hasn't changed either, hm? We're of the same soul- whatever that really is."
"Yes, I'm the same person as I was."

"But you're conflicted with your identity and such."

"I suppose."

"You had a wonderful time with Waylon at that... neon bar establishment," other Monty continued, "dancing together. And then afterwards, you couldn't keep him out of your head..."

Monty's face burned. "Yes, and I would never have been able to think about these things to the depth I did, before, when I was you."
"No," Other Monty admitted, "you love him, we both do..."

Monty nodded. "Yes."
"As you said, when you were me, you wouldn't have had the mindset nor opportunity to think of him in a more intimate manner. But now..."

"Now, what?"

Other Monty tilted his head, smirking. "Now you do think of him that way."

"I... I do...?" Monty's heartbeat echoed in the still room, sending oscillations through his chest. "I do..." he realised. He couldn't fool anyone, least not himself. "...I'm falling in love with him," Monty finished, shivering.

Other Monty nodded. "And what are you going to do about it?"

"I... I don't know."
"You know what you want."

Monty mirrored his previous incarnation's nod.

"But you're afraid, aren't you?" Other Monty raised his eyebrows.

Monty snorted. "When did I become so wise?" He waved his hand, resigned. "I've never been in this particular situation; I don't know what's going to happen. I am afraid, fine. And I can't... I can't lose him like we already did."

Other Monty turned sullen. "No," he agreed, "you can't. Though it sounds more like losing him here would mean being rejected."

"I'd rather not have to see either."

Other Monty chuckled drily, his expression solemn. "Yes."

Again, it was daylight. He'd slept the night through. Monty yawned, glanced around, almost expecting the other Monty to be there with him. But his former self wasn't a physical being anymore, he was a part of Monty now.

And what had happened, in the dream... they'd talked about Waylon, and the bar last night...

Monty groaned, sinking under the covers. He'd told other Monty that... he was falling in love with Waylon.

Obviously, he couldn't tell Waylon. It was a truth he was having some trouble wrapping his head around, himself. But even now, as he lay contemplating, a slow smile spread on his face at thought of Waylon, his memory going back to the night before, how much he'd enjoyed going to Decker's, despite being overwhelmed at points, and dancing with Waylon, being by his side, wishing the night hadn't had to end-

Monty rolled his eyes. His lovesick mind would be the end of him.