Waylon took a deep breath, stirred the batter for his sunflower seed bread. His hand shook a little, and he bit his lip. His earlier errands had distracted him, and he'd had a good time with his friend Mattrick at lunch, though thoughts of Monty perpetrated his mind. Monty had made such an impression on him in the short time they'd spent together yesterday. Waylon had taken a walk when he'd come home, in attempt to calm his anxiety, as time ticked closer to 18h. But his nerves had climbed higher instead.

It was 17h45. Waylon poured the batter into a pan and slid it into the oven, checking that its settings were appropriate. It wouldn't take more than five minutes, and then he'd leave it and the chicken/rice in the heat until he and Monty actually were sat. The cake could stay in the refrigerator.

Wanting to get out of the kitchen, Waylon walked to his sofa. He eased onto the cushion next to Hercules, who moved to crawl into Waylon's lap. Waylon stroked Hercules' fur, closing his eyes. Tried to focus on the quiet, to collect himself before Monty's imminent arrival. He didn't know why he should be so anxious; Monty had been genial the other day, wanting to engage with Waylon, and interested in seeing one another again. They'd gotten on very well. But Waylon wanted them to continue to get on so well. He didn't want to mess anything up that might convince Monty that Waylon wasn't worth his while.
Waylon did one last check around the apartment, his heart bouncing in his chest, a few minutes to 18h. Everything seemed ready. Waylon took another breath, exhaled. The clock moved to 18h, then 18h01 and 18h02.

At 18h03, a knock sounded.

()

In front of Waylon's door, Monty hesitated, but knocked, and tied his hands together. Waiting, he stood back, basking in the early evening atmosphere, picking up distant chattering and music from different directions, long shadows from the buildings and some trees overlapped by rays of the sun.

"Hey."
Monty jumped to attention, meeting Waylon's bright gaze. "Hello."

"Come in," Waylon invited, warm light cast behind him, aromas of whatever he was cooking wafting out and enticing Monty. The door closed behind them, and Monty exhaled, happy to be here again, despite the small size of Waylon's apartment. It was... comforting, in a way. "How are you?"

"Fine, thank you." Monty smiled. "What did you make?"

"I made sautéed, marinated chicken and cauliflower rice in a wine sauce, and there's sunflower seed bread. I hope you like it."

"I'm sure..." It wasn't a meal he would have thought of at all, but Waylon seemed to know what he was doing.

"And for dessert..." Waylon chuckled. "I'm keeping that a surprise, if you don't mind."

"Certainly."

"Everything is on the heat..." Waylon pointed to a collection of steaming opalescent containers in... some sort of clear oven. "... And I have to set the table. Do you want a drink?" He gestured at a bottle of wine. "It's really good, if you like something sweeter, though it has a bitter aftertaste."

Monty accepted a glass, and he stood in the room, conversing mildly with Waylon, Hercules running about between their feet. Waylon pulled together the dinner preparations and then invited Monty to sit down. A steaming plate of chicken and the... cauliflower rice in sauce was sat in front of him, and between them was a thick slab of sliced bread.

"Do you cook this well for yourself every night?" Monty asked, padding his bread in sauce.

Waylon shook his head. "No, I don't think I'd be able to do that." He laughed. "I guess you have servants to cook for you?"

"Er... I have a few." Monty hoped he wouldn't ask about assistants... or if he did, Monty could just make a general comment.

"Oh yeah, you said you had some staff." Waylon speared a bit of rice. "Do you have any assistants, or are they human?"

Monty squeezed his napkin, feeling he'd jinxed himself by having just thought about the topic. "I have an assistant." He hadn't seen much of anyone else who worked for him, only Pseudo Smithers.

"I don't know if I could afford an assistant, but I don't think I'd want one," Waylon said, "I'd have to see. So you don't have anyone else in the house, who you live with... besides the assistant- do you have animals?"

"Two Dobermans." Monty was happy to change the subject.

"Adults or puppies?"
"Adults, both male."

"What are their names?"

"Winston and Snapper," Monty said, "I wonder if they'd get along with Hercules, mm?"

"Well..." Waylon glanced at Hercules, who was eating his own dinner. "Are your dogs... friendly?"

"It depends. They're very energetic, though. I was outside with them earlier today. They'd, ah, just returned from their grooming."

"Oh, that sounds fun," Waylon said, "and... if you wanted, I could bring Hercules over, to see if there's any hope of friendship. You could bring your dogs here, too, but maybe not in the apartment..." He put more rice onto his plate.

"I'll, ah... think on it." Monty would have to be sure the assistant wasn't around, if Waylon came over, to jeopardise the situation. "It's a good idea."

"It'd be fun," Waylon agreed. "Oh, by the way... do you need me to drive you home again?"

"Er..."
"Did you drive here yourself...?"

Perhaps he could have Pseudo Smithers pick him up, since it would be dark outside and Waylon wouldn't see it, if he came outside with Monty. Of course, Monty wanted to spend more time with Waylon...

"No, I had my assistant drop me off." He hesitated. "If you're willing, though, I'd like you to drive me home."

Waylon nodded. "Alright, I will, then." As far as Monty could tell Waylon didn't seem annoyed at the prospect, rather delighted.

()

For dessert, Waylon had Monty stay at the table while he brought it over, Monty wondering what it could be.

"I hope you like this." Waylon placed a dish in front of him and then one for himself on the other side of the table. "It's raspberry chocolate torte."

A slow smile rose on Monty's face, as he admired the handiwork of the cake, the fresh raspberries and drizzled chocolate. He dove his fork into it, taking a bite, his smile growing. "You made this, hm?"

Waylon reddened. "Yes."

"It's delicious," Monty told him.

"Thank you."

"Do you know what you're making for our excursion Thursday, or are you keeping that to yourself?"

"I can tell you it won't be cake, something lighter... honestly I haven't made up my mind yet. But I will."

"What, ah..." Monty turned his eyes to his cake, "what are you doing tomorrow?" He couldn't possibly spend more time with Waylon, when they'd seen one another today and yesterday and would reconvene again the day after tomorrow.

"I have a meeting... and I need to work on something I'm writing... I have a doctor's appointment... I'll be pretty busy." Maybe Waylon didn't think anything of Monty's question. "And you?"
"I might go into town..." Monty mused. He wanted to explore in more depth how Springfield had changed, to gain a better sense of his surroundings.

"Oh, maybe I'll see you, I'll be in town around two. I'm meeting someone at a bar... we might have a drink... it's a bar with an outdoor veranda in the front, so if you're nearby... it's across from the trad theatre, actually."

Monty, suddenly cold, set his fork on the plate. "You're meeting someone? A date, then?" His throat felt heavy, and he wasn't sure why... a part of him didn't want Waylon to go on a date...

"No, not a date." Waylon sighed. "I'm just returning a jacket of theirs I was borrowing, and I wanted to catch up, it's a good opportunity."

"I see." Monty resumed eating his cake. He was oddly relieved.

Waylon took Monty back to his house later that night, in cargo a few pieces of leftover cake that Monty had been happy to accept.

()

Wednesday, 27 April

After Pseudo Smithers had dropped him off downtown, Monty had made it his mission to see as much as possible. He'd walked around a bit, fascinated by the novelties in shops he passed, things he didn't understand, loud colours and transcendental technology. He took time to study passer-by's clothing, feeling less out of place himself as he did so. His own clothing here was completely normal.

Monty entered the Old Springfield district, his stomach groaning. He didn't want to spend a long time in a restaurant, so he stopped at a café and bought a sandwich. He was still a bit confused by the monetary mode and transactions everyone used. He had to either enter his pin number or use a DNA scan. Not knowing his pin number, he opted for the latter mode. He made a mental note to figure out what the pin was, though.

Now it was 14:15. There was the bar, where Waylon had said it would be. By the trad theatre, Monty stopped, narrowing his eyes, scoping out the scene across the street. Waylon and a dark-haired person were sat together on the restaurant's veranda, a jacket draped over the arm of the unknown person's chair. So Waylon had been telling the truth about that, not that Monty hadn't believed him. But... he didn't like the way their heads leaned closer together, or how Waylon touched the other person's arm, how they patted Waylon on the back...

Monty glared. He said it wasn't a date... so what exactly is happening?

It seemed like a date. But why did it concern him, if Waylon were on a date? It wasn't necessarily true that this Waylon would also be in love with Monty. Besides, to Waylon, they'd just met two days ago.

But Monty's stomach dropped watching the two amuse themselves. He felt betrayed. And he couldn't let the matter rest.

Cautiously, he made to cross the street, though he was wrapped in fear of being hit by a truck, or any sort of automobile, that didn't obey pedestrian laws. He didn't cross for a few minutes, waiting for the road to be devoid of vehicles. He was sure that vehicles here in the future had more safety features, but it didn't matter, especially after what almost happened the other day.

Safe on the opposite pavement, Monty resumed his walk to the bar. He stopped, wondering if Waylon would notice him.

"Monty!"

Monty groaned. Why did Waylon have to look so cheerful?

"Er, hello." He gave a feeble wave, approached the veranda. Close enough to the table, he said, "Might I have a word with you?"

"Uh, sure..." Waylon glanced at his companion. "I'll be right back." He rounded the veranda, following Monty. "Is there something..."

"I thought you said it wasn't a date."

Waylon blinked. "What? We aren't on a date- I... I told you that last night. Monty, I don't understand why you... what the issue is."

Monty panicked, his stress flaring. This could be a turning point down the wrong path if he weren't careful. He couldn't lose Waylon so early on.

"Never mind, I... I don't mean anything; you're of course allowed to do what you wish... I was just confused, I suppose. I didn't mean to sound hostile..."

Waylon seemed bewildered. "Alright... is it anything else?"

"No..."

Monty wished that Waylon would touch him, as he had his friend. Monty wanted Waylon to hold him, to stroke his skin, for them to share a hug, to feel Waylon's arms around his body...

"I'll see you tomorrow morning," was all he came up with.

"Are you sure there's nothing bothering you?"

Plenty of things, my dear Waylon. "No."

"Well, uh... it's nice to see you, I should probably get back to Satlya."

"Of course."

"I'll see you tomorrow, alright?" Waylon brushed his hand on Monty's shoulder, "bye, Monty."

Monty craved more of the touch he'd just received. "...Goodbye."

()

"Who was that?" Satlya asked when Waylon returned to the table.

"Oh, um, he was a friend of my dad's," Waylon offered, "so I've been talking to him about what that was like."

Satlya nodded. "He looked kind of familiar... not sure why, but... that's great. He's been able to tell you more about your dad?"

Waylon wasn't surprised Satlya had found Monty 'kind of familiar', considering his status, but he didn't want to bring that part up. "Yes, he told me some stories..." He drank from his water glass.

He figured that he could talk about Monty for the rest of his and Satlya's time together, but refrained. He wanted to think more about the odd exchange he and Monty had just had, for one, and he didn't want to take up all his friend's time by going on about someone they'd never met. As for what he'd talked about with Monty... why had Monty cared, or seemed to care so much, whether Waylon was on a date or not? What had he said... that he was confused? Was there something else he wasn't telling Waylon? Hopefully, they could talk about it tomorrow morning, and Waylon would get clarification.