.
.
After he broke up with Julio, Smithers took the first plane available home to Springfield.
It was after midnight when he finally got home, and his keys jangled brightly as he unlocked the door. Hefting his bag over his shoulder, he fumbled for the light switch and switched on the light, the sick yellow light flooding his apartment; crummy couch, crummy TV. Crummy coffee table, which still had a few scattered papers and already-paid bills lying on top of it. Julio's leather jacket was still flung happily over the kitchen chair, and a pair of jaunty red maracas lay conspicuously on the table.
Of course. Only Julio would leave maracas at Smithers' place. He set the bag on the couch and walked into the bedroom, hefting an empty box to toss in Julio's things. His toothbrush. A bottle of his favorite aftershave. A couple T-shirts that needed being laundered. Smithers walked around his apartment and picked up the remnants of their relationship, not pausing to stop and contemplate that just a few short days ago, he was happy and grateful that this man was in his life. It was only after he dropped a pair of red boxers (covered with tiny bananas, of all things), that Smithers realized that it was 1 AM, he had just gotten home from Cuba and he didn't sleep at all during the 10+ hour flight, and here he was, smelling like airport whisky and grease, trying to rid his apartment of his ex-boyfriend. It was stupid, it was ridiculous, and Smithers needed to better manage his time.
Get a grip, Waylon, Smithers thought. Put down the box and take a shower. He could wallow in his failed relationship and his unhealthy love for Mr. Burns in the morning.
xXx
.
"Did joo know," Julio started, spooning Smithers from behind while his accent lilted huskily in his ear. "Did joo know, Waaaylon, that you're squishy just right here?"
"What?" Smithers said, and he let out an unmanly little squeak as Julio nuzzled his neck and playfully pinched a soft spot by Smither's waist, the time at the nuclear power plant making his middle embarrassingly loose and flabby. "Julio, please don't pinch my love handles. That makes me feel self-conscious."
"Bu' tha's why they call them 'love handles,' Waaaylon," Julio purred, and he gave Smithers an affectionate squeeze before hugging him to his chest. "An' I like tha' joo got extra flesh. 'Is more for me to handle."
"Ha," Smithers said, and Julio grinned and mouthed the side of his neck, reaching a hand around to slip into the waistband of his pants.
Julio was kissing him again, and Smithers sighed, quietly. How long has it been since he had sex? Smithers wondered. At least a few years, Smithers thought, silently. There was the one-night stand with John the Cowboy, the ill-considered fling with whats-his-name from the next town over. There was the time he got tipsy at the Springfield Gay Pride parade and spent the evening necking with a sailor in the grass. But all those encounters were one-time things, limited. Mere blips in the long line of singlehood and Mr. Burns obsession. His nights were not the turntable revolving doors of gentlemen callers and light-hearted flings; they were spent either in lonely introspection or else catering to the needs of Mr. Burns, which more often than not made him feel lonelier and unfulfilled. It was enough to think that he was making a difference, that somehow his presence in Mr. Burns' life actually mattered. But there were nights when he couldn't lie to himself, when he just stared wistfully at the tattered company photo of the two of them in his hand.
But he had Julio now, and for some reason, Julio liked him. Him, Waylon Smithers, epitome of boring and uptightness. He felt Julio's soft, dry lips kissing his nape; the warmth of his arm, the feather-light touch of his fingertips wandering up and down his side. Julio was kissing his neck open-mouthed, and that soft touch grew more sure as he slid his hand down Smithers' pants. His fingers glided over Smither's erection and gave him a light stroke upwards. Smithers sighed again, then rolled over so that he was facing him.
Well, Smithers thought, as he pushed back the covers and leaned in to kiss him. This is a good way to end the day.
xXx
.
He was closing up the cardboard box with a roll of packing tape when he realized he didn't have Julio's home address.
Well, damn. He knew his boyfriend (ex-boyfriend, he reminded himself), lived on the outskirts of town. That he owned a bar that was way more upscale than Moe's, that his apartment was full of exotic plants and cheerful colors and a bunch of decorative masks and faux musical instruments hanging on the wall. But he couldn't remember the apartment number and he couldn't remember the name of the street, even though they had been dating for a few months now.
Oh, Smithers realized. It's because Julio usually stayed at my place. And he drummed his fingers on the stripe of packing tape, frowning at his uncharacteristic inattention.
"Hello, Marge?" Smithers cupped his hand over the phone. "Sorry to bother you, Marge. But I was wondering if you had Julio's address?"
The faucet to the sink was dripping. He could hear it over the rasp of Marge's conversation. "Yes, I was just in Cuba but...well things didn't exactly work out."
Smithers paced. The water dripped like a soothing sound of a Zen waterfall, but Smithers turned the tap anyway. "No, Julio didn't break up with me. Yes, I'm doing okay."
He took a pen and paper and scratched down the address. "Thank you, Marge," Smithers said, and he hung up the phone.
xXx
.
"Why you not wanna hol' my hand?" Julio said one day, as they were walking down the street to the restaurant.
"Oh," Smithers said, glancing back at him. "...you want me to?"
"Yeah," Julio said, and he gripped Smithers fingers strongly. "We are dating, no?"
Julio's hand was warm, and Smithers flushed at the contact. It had only been a few weeks since Homer introduced him, and Smithers didn't want to move too fast. The fact was, Julio was worldly and handsome and could go out with practically anyone, but for some reason, Julio wanted to spend time with him. Smithers found that he was falling head-over-heels for him, and the last thing he wanted to do was scare him.
So Smithers played it cool. He hid the note of excitement in his voice when he suggested the restaurant, pushed down the giddy, schoolboy feeling in the hours leading to their first date. He didn't text back right away - didn't want to come off as too needy - and he certainly didn't want to enter another unrequited situation, like with Mr. Burns.
But Julio didn't play games. Julio texted back whenever Smithers texted him; Julio let Smithers see him get excited. Julio laughed and told him how much he liked being with him. "Why?" Smithers had asked, and Julio shook his head.
"Because you're cute, silly!" Julio said, and there was a warmth and affection in Julio's voice that kept Smithers smiling stupidly for days.
xXx
.
This is what Julio said he loved about him:
He loved Smithers' hair. The tight curls. The boyish crew cut.
He loved how Smithers squinted and scrunched his nose without his glasses. How he was practically blind without them.
He loved hugging Smithers and telling him Why you so serious!, often ending with a sloppy kiss on the cheek or a smiling kiss on the mouth.
"Did joo know, Waaayon, tha' I love your body?" Julio said. "You're so squishy and huggy! It keeps me nice an' warm!"
Julio was always kind to him. Julio didn't flinch when he touched him, always forgave him when he was wrong.
Now he wondered to himself, silently, Why the hell did I throw that away for Mr. Burns?
xXx
.
Two weeks after the break-up, there was a knocking at his door.
Smithers glanced up. It was nearly 9 PM and he was still going over a few reports that needed verifying. The knocking continued and Smithers set down the stack. He walked over to the door, purposefully.
"H-hello. Waaaylon." Julio was standing in front of him, but he wasn't looking at him. His voice was soft, subdued. He was wearing sunglasses even though it was in the middle of the night. "Is it okay wit' joo if I come in?"
"Julio," Smithers said, surprised. "Yes, of course. Please come in."
Smithers widened the door and Julio walked in silently, his hands in his pockets and still wearing the sunglasses. He stood in the middle of the livingroom for a moment, then suddenly turned.
"I got your box. But I am missing some items," Julio said. He took off his sunglasses. "Is it okay if I look around?"
"Yeah," Smithers said. Julio smiled awkwardly and began walking around Smithers' apartment.
"My dental floss," Julio said. He held up the white container, showing him.
"Oh," Smithers said.
"Dental hygiene is very important," Julio said. Smithers nodded. Julio walked into the bedroom while Smithers followed.
"My box of condoms," Julio said. He held up the half-used box, showing him.
"That's very important," Smithers said, hollowly.
"An' I don' wanna forget de lube."
"I think I already threw away the bottle," Smithers said, honestly.
"Oh," Julio said. "Okay."
They stood in the middle of the apartment, awkwardly.
"Okay," Julio said. He held up his condoms and his dental floss. "Now I go." And he started walking toward the door.
"Julio, wait," Smithers said, and Julio turned. "I'm really sorry it ended up this way."
Julio looked at him. The rims of his eyes turned dark and red. He could see his eyes start to water.
"'Is okay," Julio said, and he put on his sunglasses. "Now I go."
"Julio-"
"I not gonna beg, Waaylon." Julio clutched his dental floss and condoms like a shield. "You no like me. I understand. But I wan' you to know...Waaylon, in Cuba, I was gon' tell you I love you.
But I guess that makes me a-stupid, huh?"
Smithers blinked fast. There was a warmth behind his eyes and a tightness in his throat, choking him. "You're not stupid," Smithers said.
"'Is okay," Julio said. He nodded. "I hope you're happy wit' Mr. Burns," Julio said. His voice broke. "Goodbye, Waaaylon."
And before Smithers could say anything Julio rushed quickly through the door.
xXx
.
He was sitting at his desk, mulling over the last gasps of his relationship.
"What the devil are you doing, Smithers?" Mr. Burns said. "Didn't I ask you to release the hounds?"
"I already released them, Sir," Smithers said, automatically. He stared at the picture he had taken with Julio the month before - the two of them smiling in a photobooth, Julio grinning and mugging the camera while Smithers blushed happily and smiled.
"Well. See to it that that upstart gets properly mauled," Mr. Burns said, and Smithers watched silently as the old man walked with his arms behind his back, the stoop of his posture like an ugly question mark.
Smithers tapped on his phone. On Instagram, Julio was already posting pictures of himself dating different men; one man sipping margaritas while Julio cupped his thigh; another man dancing next to Julio in a club. "TIME OF MY LIFE!" one caption said, and Smithers sighed, closing the window on his phone, miserably.
He made a mistake. He made a mistake. He let his insecurities and his neuroses get the best of him. He threw away the love of a good man for a kind word from Mr. Burns.
His job performance review was excellent. His prospects of not dying alone were less so.
And it wasn't just that Julio was a warm body to curl up to, some placeholder to fill the vague emptiness that he felt with Mr. Burns. He missed him, and in his blind infatuation with Mr. Burns, he didn't realize just how much he had come to care for him.
"What the blazes - Smithers! What are you doing there?!" Mr. Burns said, and Smithers jumped up, startled.
"Forgive me, Mr. Burns. I was just-"
"Mooning over your last failed romance I take it. Sniveling like some pathetic man-baby. Smithers! Call him up and grow some balls!"
"What?" Smithers said. Mr. Burns frowned at him.
"Your paramour," Mr. Burns said. "Your would-be Latin lover. Him," Mr. Burns said, and one withered finger smacked in the middle of Smithers' screen. "If you're going to keep mooning about him, you might as well just call him."
"But Sir, he's...well...he's already seeing other people, and-"
"Stop your yammering, you blithering idiot. It is obviously a ruse! He is posting these things to trick you."
"Why are you..." Smithers hesitated. "...Why are you telling me to contact him?" Mr. Burns waved his hand.
"Because I'll not let the members of my staff wallow away, marinating in the stink of failed romance," Mr. Burns said. "It is unbecoming, and quite frankly, mildly annoying. Go," Mr. Burns said. "Go 'snapchat' or 'facebook' or whatever it is you young people do when you want to have sexual relations. I'll be in my office. Don't bother me until you do."
xXx
.
That night, Smithers hovered over his phone, frowning.
He had gotten Julio's number again from Marge, since he had deleted his contact after the break-up. In his bedroom, he hunched over the phone and agonized over whether to text him or call him. Maybe I should email him, Smithers thought, and he mulled over his options, silently.
2 AM, and a couple beers for courage. He clicked the Message button, then though the better of it, not wanting Julio to think Smithers was making some sort of booty-call.
Screw it, Smithers thought, and in a moment of courage, dialed the phone.
"H-hello?" Despite what Instagram said, Julio was probably sleeping alone. "Waaylon?"
"Hey," Smithers said. He swallowed, then took a breath, quietly.
"You left your box of tic tacs here, and I thought maybe you'd want to come over."