Waylon spent his days doing whatever his boss, Charles Montgomery Burns, told him to.
Mr. Burns was all he ever had. His father died while he was still too young to form memories, his mother hung herself after her husband's death, and no one talked to him in his school years. He was an introvert. No friends.
And so, the only person ever there, was the one he fell deeply in love with. Mr. Burns was the only person that cared about him, despite how little.
Waylon knew he was something of a pawn to his boss. It was clear. He never paid any attention to that fact, always content to cook and serve him whenever he wanted.
Until the day he was halfway through a confession of love after both of them nearly died.
They were skydiving and the parachute had slipped off of Mr. Burns and he lost consciousness. With minimal hesitation, Waylon jumped down to save him.
He grabbed him in the air and activated his parachute. Turning in midair so that he would hit the ground instead of Burns, he landed them safely.
Waylon took advantage of Burns' state and embraced him. It was short lived, however, as Burns got up and claimed to do it all by himself.
"Oh, Smithers, do you always have to be underfoot?"
"I'm sorry, sir. If there were a less spectacular way to save your life, I..I should have found it."
Burns took off his helmet and swished his silver hair to make himself presentable. Waylon thought it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, staring with admiration in his eyes.
"Mr. Burns, coming down, I...I thought we weren't gonna make it. And I thought I'd never get to say something I've always wanted to. The truth is, sir, I'm in love with-"
"The sound of your own voice? Yes, well, no dogwood I, listening to the nightingale trill her unending tune! Don't take this the wrong way, but you mean nothing to me. Someone I give less thought to than the little piece of popcorn stuck in my tooth. Ooh, can you remove it?"
Smithers used a metal dental pick to remove the kernel.
"I'll see you back at the office. Don't be late!"
He sadly took off the parachute and went back to work.
After the day had ended, he sat down at his desk to write in his journal. He did this occasionally, whenever something really good or bad happened, and it was nearly full.
His brown jacket was on the back of his chair with his suspenders and bow tie. There was a previously hidden bottle of scotch that was now on his desk along with an ashtray and several cigarette butts.
He sighed and put his head in his hands. He felt like he was about to boil over. A confession he always kept to himself was shut down halfway through him saying it. That hurt, of course, but what Burns said to him felt like he had crushed his heart with a sledgehammer.
His neat handwriting was soon filling up the page, it was nothing but laments.
"My life is full of thoughts only of him. I don't know if I'm wasting my time or not anymore. I lost my faith decades ago. Never once were my prayers answered. If anything, it's all gotten worse. I want to feel something again. No other man could ever match his worth to me. I can't find anyone else, they are all inferior to him.
I feel so hopeless. The scotch isn't helping at this point and I can't afford therapy.
If I have any kind of chance to be with him more than what we ever were, I'm not sure it's within my reach."
A tear fell and stained his paper. Then another, and another, until he was laying his head in his arms on his desk and sobbing until he couldn't breathe.
He opened a drawer to get some tissues and clean himself up, but something caught his eye.
And it was something shiny.