« Puis elle commençait à me devenir inintelligible, comme après la métempsycose les pensées d'une existence antérieure » ~ Marcel Proust, Du Côté de Chez Swann

Friday 17 June

Days passed, and a lull had begun to settle over him, as his mind reshaped, and legions of old memory dropped into an abyss. 'New' things that started to make more sense became commonplace. Monty felt less like he was being invaded, and more like the events manifesting in his head were his memory.

Still, he re-read the journal and didn't recognise what he'd written down, which was scary. He'd once had real recollection of all these things, and now they were becoming nothing to him. The thought made Monty shudder and clench the journal, knowing there was nothing he could do to reverse the process. He was powerless.

But, as he'd thought before, his headspace was becoming less and less liminal, settling into... reality. Understanding more of the world around him as time went on gave him confidence and made him feel like he belonged. Concepts that would've been nonsense to him before, like Ethernet, were second nature now.

And then there were his recovered memories of Waylon Sr, beyond what he'd watched on the tapes. The scenarios in his mind he could relay to Waylon, knowing they were true, they had happened to him and his old friend. Did that mean whatever he'd experienced in the old world wasn't real? Monty shook his head. He didn't have an answer.

"I'd have no issue with telling you stories of your father, now that I have the memories... returned, and I know they're real, of course," he said, perched on Waylon's sofa, "but..."

"Hm?"

"I can't help but wonder if... everything else between Waylon Sr and I in the old world simply didn't happen."

Waylon gaped at him. "What you experienced in the old world is real, though," he said. "Monty, I watched you struggle through losing your memories of it all..."

"Yes, I know." He remembered well.

"And what about the glasses, and the previous versions of us, our dreams?" Waylon's brow contorted. "And even though you can't remember the old world's version of my dad, it doesn't mean it isn't real."

"Yes, I... I know it was a real place and I was there, but it's beginning to feel as if I've never lived any life but this one... despite the evidence." He thought of the journal.
"Is that what happened in the beginning, back in... April?" Waylon asked, "except in reverse..."

Monty sighed. "You're correct, yes..." He tied his hands together. "The entire process is very strange. But, in any case..." He brushed a hand on Waylon's shoulder. "we can talk of this later. I wanted to share something with you." The story he had in mind he hoped that Waylon would enjoy.
"Oh, sure. Go ahead." Waylon nodded.

"It was the 24th of December, in 2098," Monty said, "and your father told me his child would be born the following day, in the morning." The words flowed from him, as the memory sharpened. "I remember being annoyed that he wanted to spend time with your mother, Evelyn, fussing over you, before he came to the winter holiday party that we were having on the 25th." Monty chuckled.

"Did he go to the party?" Waylon sipped his tea.

"He showed up, but not for three hours after it had started. Told me all about what he'd done, and showed me a few photos and videos of you. Mostly the photos were of you sleeping."

"Well, I'd just been born, so..." Waylon shrugged. "That doesn't surprise me."
"No." Monty crossed his legs. "He was very proud, you know, of you and of Evelyn, rather enthusiastic."

Waylon smiled, sniffing. "I'm glad to hear it."

"And he'd be proud of you, today," Monty said.

"Do you think so?"

"I do. He loved you, Waylon, every moment you spent together, you saw the tapes- so did I."

Waylon sniffed again. "I... I did see them. Thank you." He turned to the window. "I wonder what he would've thought about us... you and I being together."

"I'm not certain... I suppose we can only speculate."

"Yeah. His son and his friend... hm. I guess all we could do is ask my mom, if you'd be willing to meet her sometime."

"I don't know if your mother... approves of me."
"But she's never met you, right?"

"No. Fine, if the occasion arises, we can find out," Monty agreed.

Monday 20 June

On Monday, Waylon proposed they watch the sunrise together one morning. At first, Monty hadn't been very enthusiastic about the idea of getting up earlier than needed, but Waylon had partially convinced him of the activity's value. Besides, he'd had a nice time star-gazing before.

"Sometimes I think that I'm lucky to live where I do," Waylon had said.

"In what way?"

Waylon chuckled. "If only because there's this great vantage point on the roof of my building where you can see everything, and when the sun rises..." He sighed. "I'd love to take you up there one morning, so you can see it, too. Maybe Wednesday? There's supposed to be great weather then."

A sunrise? Monty had dismissed the idea at first, deciding it wasn't important enough to wake up for; the time they'd spent stargazing before had been different, since that was at night. However, clearly there was a reason for its attraction that he wasn't seeing, if going by Waylon's fervency. It was summer, so he didn't think it would be cold up there...

"What do you think?"

"Hm? Ah...what time does the sun rise that day?"

Waylon flicked open his phone. "Seven, but I like to go a little earlier, to see the sky, it's worth it... I'd do it often when I worked for that journal, since I had to get up anyway. Do you want to come with me?" His eyes, hopeful, blinked at Monty.

Monty considered. "I suppose, yes."

Wednesday 22 June

Now two days later, Monty followed Waylon to the roof, refreshed from the coffee he'd drank, time nearing seven. He'd worn a light heated jacket, feeling chilled, and kept it on as he emerged onto the rooftop, leaning his head back to gaze into the pastel sky of pink clouds that grew brighter and illuminated in slices of yellow the closer they were to the sun, a distant beam of golden light. The blue was a duller shade behind the clouds, accenting them perfectly. Monty exhaled.

"I think it's amazing," Waylon said somewhere to his left. Monty released his lock on the view and turned back to him. "I have an area I like to sit at..." He reached for Monty's hand; Monty fit it into Waylon's, and they walked over in front of some large energy generator or other, humming with power, to a bevelled ledge with a flat section. The apparent bench seemed a safe distance from the edge of the roof.

They slid onto the seat, Monty leveraging Waylon's shoulder to lay his head on. His eyes flicked ahead to the sprawling town, towers blinking, gleaming exteriors cast with incoming sun. Individual rays scattered across the sky, which changed rapidly as the sun rose higher, painting the clouds, contrasted with shadow hanging on the planes turned away from the sun itself. Monty squinted, shielding his eyes, but drinking in the scene, in its natural splendour.

"You okay?"

"Mm... yes." Monty shifted his view to regard Waylon, taking a short break from sky-watching. "Thank you."

"For taking you up here, or for asking how you were?"

"The former. It's a sight to behold, certainly." Monty gestured, then dropped his arm, yawning, tired despite the coffee he'd had.

"I'm glad you've gotten to see it." Waylon smiled. "Do you... want to go back to bed?"

Monty shrugged, his eyelids lowered. "I don't know, perhaps..." He blinked, the sun settling in, weaving over and between buildings translucent ochre bands. "It's beautiful," he murmured, before yawning again.

"It is."

Monty nodded drowsily, glad to have Waylon's shoulder to rest on, and closed his eyes.

()

Monty pulled down the covers to his waist, and rubbed his eyes, confused. Hadn't he just been on the roof?

Waylon's bedroom was dark, but slivers of light under the window's curtains poked through. Groaning, Monty looked on the table for his phone, squinting at the screen. It was almost noon.

He shuffled to the window and yanked on the curtains himself, remembering Waylon's weren't automatic. The sunlight grazed him, overlapping and covering the room. Monty shielded his face, backing away and leaving, the door closing behind him.

Waylon was at the kitchen table, reading something on a screen from his phone, dismissing it when Monty entered the open space.
"Hi."

"Hello. Did I... fall asleep?"

"Er, yeah, you must've been really tired." Waylon chuckled. "I didn't want to wake you up, so I carried you back here."

Monty reddened profusely. "Oh... I suppose that was the easiest thing to do... hm." He took a chair next to Waylon's. "And you've been awake the entire time?"

"Yeah, I guess so. Hm... are you hungry?"

Monty tapped his foot. "I'd like some food, yes."

"Alright... I'll put together some brunch, since it's close to the afternoon. I didn't have too much to eat yet." Waylon pushed back his chair, walked into the kitchen, and gave Monty a glass of water, then started on the meal.

While he waited, Monty read on his phone, as the air gradually filled with aromas of whatever Waylon was cooking.

"Oh, Waylon, by the way, do you have immersion add-ons for your telescreen? I was wondering before."

"Uh... not really. Sorry. I used to have some, but I sold them, because I wasn't using them often."

"Mm. Some time we should go on Ethernet, to browse, at the least... you know, my tele-screens have them, and I haven't used them in a while either, but..."

Waylon turned away from his cooktop. "...You know what Ethernet is?"

"Of course I do, everyone does, why- oh, the past life. Most of my memories have been restored." He wouldn't have used the term 'restored' before. It would've felt wrong, but now it didn't.

Waylon blinked. "Oh, uh... yes. That makes sense."

Monty mulled over the delivery of his words while Waylon continued to work, then asked, "Is there something wrong with my remembering? Aren't you... happy, that I'm myself now?"

"No, there's nothing wrong with your memory coming back. I'm sorry if I made it seem that way." Waylon approached the table with two plates of eggs and French toast, before seating himself. "It's interesting, the way you said that, though... about being yourself."

"It's true, isn't it?" Monty cut his French toast into long sticks. "With my memory returning, I'm... myself." He shrugged.

"Yeah, I guess you're right... but you were always yourself."
Monty waved his hand. "Yes, I know. I meant, I've come closer and closer to the identity I have here."

"I'm glad you feel okay about it."

"About what?"

Waylon set down his fork. "Since you were so upset, before, about losing memory of your old life, which I can understand... you seem to feel better, now."

"It's bothered me less, I suppose. I do feel better," Monty agreed. When he'd been in process of losing memories, he never would've thought he'd agree with that statement, but... now things were different.

Waylon smiled. "That's good."
"As is your brunch."

"Oh, thanks." Waylon's face turned red, making Monty chuckle. "Glad you think so."

()

To Monty, the idea that he'd ever had a previous life felt like a dream now. He knew he had come from the past, and knew how much he'd grieved not at all long ago, but it didn't feel real anymore. It was strange.

"I know it's true," he said to Waylon, sitting on the sofa, "that we both came from another place... but all that's left of it, for us, is what I wrote down in the journal." He put his chin on his hand. "I don't remember anything, anymore, really." He shook his head. "We spoke of this before, but I almost have trouble believing I was ever someone else, or lived in a different time. I suppose I've always been here, in a way."

"Hm... How do you feel about it, now? Is it still scary, to you?"

Monty thought. "No... I don't mind that much, the forgetting, now that it's over... I'm glad to have recorded what I could, despite the many blanks..." He sighed. "I do regret that there were probably memories of you, from that place, lost to time, that I couldn't remember at the time of writing. And now there's no chance of me recalling. But..."

Waylon nodded, gazing at him, his brow furrowed in thought. "That doesn't mean you can't make new memories, of me, of us. I love you." He smiled.

"I love you too." Monty patted Waylon's hand. "I agree."

"Speaking of making memories," Waylon said, "you liked Decker's, right?"

"Yes, mostly."

"I was thinking we could go again, not necessarily today; we should plan ahead a little- but it would be fun."

Monty nodded. "I'll have to find a different outfit to wear." He twirled a hair in front of his ear. He'd have to go back to his house for that- he had scarcely been there since the fight with the assistant. "You'll come with me, to my house?"

"Of course."

"I'd be lonely going by myself, I think," Monty said, smirking. "Truly, I'd rather have you with me than go alone, every time," he added, his smile softening. Waylon made his life far less lonely than it had been when Monty had 'arrived' from the old world, fresh with grief. A mostly empty house, and no Waylon, only an uncanny android. He'd been happiest around Waylon, as he was now.

Monty shuffled closer, laying his head on Waylon's side. Behind, Waylon's fingers fanned through his hair, the motion leading Monty to close his eyes.

An alert from his phone interrupted their quiet, though, and Monty huffed. Waylon handed the device to him, and Monty looked down at it. "Hm..." Incoming call from UServ Corp. Why were they contacting him again?

"You're getting calls from UServ?" Waylon blinked. "Is that where you got your assistant from?"

"Yes." Monty accepted the call, and it was as if he'd gone back in time a couple of months, to that 'first' day. "Hello?"

"Mr Burns! Hello."

Monty sighed. What had been the man's name there... Raina? "Yes, what is it?"

"It's Darren Raina, I spoke to you last time, in April?"

"I recognised your voice."

"Ah, good. Listen, I wanted to call you personally again because our output servers notified the technicians that your assistant had been destroyed somehow- is everything alright? Would you like us to replace it? It's very simple to do."

Monty closed his eyes again, furrowing his brow. "Replace the... no, absolutely not. I've no need for one." He shivered, images of the assistant's remains all over the floor stark in his head.

"Are you sure?" Raina asked to Monty's chagrin.

"Very much so. Is there anything else?"

"Oh, well, no..."

"Then I'll not take more time speaking to you. Goodbye, Mr Raina."

"If you ever change your mind-"
"Yes, I know, I have your information. Goodbye." Monty ended the call, and scoffed. "I'd be happy to not hear from them anymore, at all. Mm..."

"I don't think you'll have to." Waylon stretched, extending his hand to wrap around Monty. "And if they call you again, you don't have to acknowledge it."

"Yes, that's an excellent point. I would hope they don't call again, it would be quite desperate of them, hm?" Waylon nodded; Monty knotted his fingers together. "But, let's move on from that." He settled into a comfortable lounge position, laying his head once more on Waylon's shoulder.

()
That evening, they decided to take a trip out to eat, at a restaurant in the uptown district. Waylon had convinced his neighbour to watch the dogs for them while they were gone. Ever since he'd gone to the floating district by himself, Monty had been wanting to go again, with Waylon.

At the restaurant, they sat outside on a second storey terrace balcony, the air warm. The terrace provided a view of the sprawling district, buildings' edges cast in glowing sunlight, the same that they'd watched in the morning on Waylon's roof.

"It's beautiful up here," Waylon commented, his head turned to the side, before his gaze fell on Monty. "So are you," he murmured, as Monty poked at his vegetables with a fork, before meeting Waylon's eyes, smiling.

"You always know just what to say, don't you?"

Waylon sipped his water. "I'd like to think so." His cheeks burned red.

Monty laughed, stretched out his hand to touch Waylon's cheek. "You're rather handsome yourself, my dear." Of course, this comment just made Waylon blush more.

After the meal and back in the street, they joined hands, walking about. They crossed one of the bridges to the central island, and Monty pointed to the shops he had seen on his first venture. He showed Waylon where he'd had the persimmon-pear tea, and bought a cardamom-vanilla blend this time. They passed the bakery and Monty mentioned the croissant he'd eaten. In the shop window was an array of other pastries; scones, pies, petit fours, Danishes...

Monty shivered. For whatever reason, the last item, though its selections looked delicious, were unappealing to him. Some repulsion made him flinch and walk past the bakery, Waylon behind.

"Something wrong?"

Monty shook his head. "I don't care for Danishes, is all. I think I used to enjoy them, but I can't imagine how." He shrugged. "Let's go on, shall we?"

()
Returning home to Waylon's apartment, it was almost 21h, and even though Monty had fallen asleep again that morning, he was tired now. After he yawned a few times, Waylon asked, "Do you want to... go to bed soon?"

Monty shook his head. "No, it's far too early. Let's do something for a while."

That 'something' turned out to be a game of blackjack with the playing cards, followed by a visual serial on the telescreen. Monty's eyelids grew weighted with fatigue, and he nodded off more than once during the second episode. He came to, Waylon smiling at him.

"What's so funny?" Monty grumbled, yawning once more.

"You're very... cute, that's all." Waylon chuckled.
"Cute?" Monty couldn't see the association between himself and that word. He reddened, his cheeks hot. "I don't..."
"You kept falling asleep on my shoulder," Waylon elaborated, tucking Monty's hair out of his face.

"And you find that endearing?"

"I do, yes." Waylon sighed, which turned into a yawn. "I think I'm almost ready to sleep."

"I'll join you, then." Monty blinked. "If I lacked willpower, I could fall asleep here on the sofa, but I'd rather your bed."

"It's not just my bed anymore, really... it's both of ours." Waylon stretched, stood up. "You're here so much... not that I mind at all." He rubbed Monty's shoulder, and turned off the telescreen for the night.

()

Tucked under the covers, Monty hugged Bobo, adjusting himself next to Waylon, who had already laid down.

"Goodnight, dear," Monty said, closing his eyes.

"Goodnight. I love you."

"Love you too..."

A change in the light quality outside Monty's eyelids, and the room became dark, moving along his drowsiness.

Certain that he'd been asleep in Waylon's bed a moment ago, Monty started when his feet were on the floor, and he was stood in his bedroom at the manor. He was dressed instead of being in his pyjamas, and Waylon was missing. He squinted at the brightness of the day, his eyes trying to focus.

Leaning a hand on the table was an older man with grey hair, wearing an antiquated suit and tie. Meeting Monty's eyes with the same light blue, he put his hands together, straightening as much as his curved posture allowed him to. Still, he was almost the same height as Monty, appearing a bit shorter due to the hunch.

"Ah," the man said, "so we meet once more, hm?"

Monty creased his brow. "Who are you?"
The older man chuckled. "You don't recognise me?"

Monty shook his head. "No, should I?" He frowned. "Wait, you look a bit like me, before I took Serum... and I had... a dream with you, a while ago, didn't I..."

"Yes, because I'm you, from your previous life."

"Oh!" Monty was startled, but now the dream he'd had was starting to come back to him. Although, most of it was missing from his mind now. "Of course... I didn't realise it was you- me... from the other place. I'm surprised you're here."

"I'm a part of you, even if you can't recognise me, or remember being me anymore."

"No, I can't remember, anymore... I'd forgotten what I'd looked like, too..." Monty sighed. "But I thought I'd lost every trace of who I used to be."

"No, not everything. You lost your memories, but not who you are." Other Monty smiled. "That won't change."

"Since you're here... is there some memory of the old world you can tell me?"

"No," Other Monty said, "those have been lost to time, and I'm a part of you, not a separate entity with memory."

"Mm, I see." Monty had figured as much. "I... suppose I don't mind."

"You shouldn't," Other Monty agreed. "You'll gain nothing from dwelling on it."

Thursday, 23 June

"I saw my old self again in my dream," Monty said, "It was a sort of... follow-up; I had a different dream with him ages ago."

"Do you remember what you talked about?"

"He..." Monty closed his eyes. "He said he was a 'part of me' despite my lack of remembrance towards that world."

"Hm." Waylon nodded, laying his arm across the covers. "That reminds me of the dream I had." He moved his arm to graze Monty's head and shoulders. "It's strange, isn't it?"

"What?"

"How the versions of ourselves from the past are still with us, in a way, but.... They aren't us; we aren't them anymore."

Monty was quiet, the words settling over him. Waylon was correct. It wasn't as if either of them had memory of the past now. What he'd written in the notebook could give clarity to past events, but not recollection. Their subconsciouses had provided them metempsychosis in so far as the bare representations allowed.

And Monty wondered if Waylon's dream, where he'd spoken to his old self, had been a product of subconscious, of his mind conjuring an image and plausible conversation based on what Monty had told him and Waylon's knowledge of the general past. Or had really been old world Waylon's ghost... as ghost Waylon had told Monty in that dream?

Monty, on the other hand, had 'arrived' with his old memories intact, at first, and could remember what he'd looked like before. Even with his lost memory, he still had an inkling of his former appearance, but that could be because he wasn't the one who had died in the old world. It was confusing to think about. "I see, yes; I agree."

He added then, "I remember, when I woke and I was here, not in the old world, I was afraid and bewildered, and..." He closed his eyes. "Like I wrote in the journal, something had happened to you, an accident... and I didn't know what I would do, alone and in a world I didn't understand- until my memories came back, of course, but..." He sniffed. "It's fortunate we met again."

"You found me again." Waylon laid his hand on Monty's. Monty tilted his head, shuffled to Waylon, who kissed his hair.

"And I'd rather be here, with you, than miserable in the other time," Monty whispered, "and alone, without even an assistant that resembled you." He shivered. "What a life that would've been."