At the manor again, rather than staying indoors, they went outside into the gardens, walking together.

"It seems like a long time ago that we went jogging here," Burns said. Waylon nodded, remembering the eventful bar visit that had followed. "But then, we were here again only some days ago…" Though, Waylon thought, much had changed between them since the last time they'd done this.

Now they walked slowly, their focus on one another.

"Waylon."
"Yes?"

Burns turned towards him. "When we were speaking earlier, before we left the hospital, and I said I had no qualms about being together in public-"

Waylon should have expected him to change his stance. "And now you don't want to do that."

Burns glared. "I was not finished. I mean what I said then, but- I do not want to do everything for the public to see. I am sure you can agree to that?"
"I- if that's what you want, but-" What is he afraid of? "If this is about your reputation, I don't think that it would be affected negatively."

Burns looked at him for a while. "Fine, perhaps it is somewhat how I am perceived, but I cannot seem vulnerable. I do not want to feel like I did with Eloise, either. And do you remember, what I was before? Now that I have this youth, I cannot let myself-"

"You can't let yourself do what you want?" Waylon didn't want to interrupt Burns again, but he was becoming indignant. "You aren't weak or vulnerable, you never have been. What happened to 'I can do what I want'? You can't worry about what everyone else is thinking about you all the time, and you shouldn't."

Burns didn't scold him again for interrupting, but narrowed his eyes in thought. "And what about the article?"
"It's garbage. And anyone who takes it seriously isn't worth your time, none of those people at the gala who brought it up. You can't waste time stopping yourself from doing what you want because some lowbrows get ideas from it. Then you're letting them get to you."

"Yes…" Burns stopped, "why should I give a damn what these Neanderthals have to say?" He straightened himself and put his hand on Waylon's shoulder. "Then, I shall do what I wish. Thank you."

Waylon sighed. "Of course. Er, does that mean you wouldn't mind doing some things, at least, in public? Normal things, like holding hands-"

"Holding hands? Are we five?" Burns scoffed.
"-or, er, kissing. Just little things."

Burns nodded. "Yes, that should be fine." He added, "I only want for some activity to remain between you and I and no-one else."

Waylon smiled to himself at the last statement. "And do you still want to look into Tim?"
"Oh, that…" Burns wrinkled his nose. "You did already start that ordeal. And he did write that without thinking he would have consequences for the way he wrote about me- us. I suppose a bit of interrogation will do. Tim will have to accept resignation, or he will face… repercussions."

Burns seemed to understand he shouldn't have to worry about others' views of him so often. But Waylon didn't expect him to completely overcome his fear of damaging his reputation, or of how he was perceived. It would take time to mend further. But time they seemed to have.

Waylon slipped his hand into Burns', whose hand fit into Waylon's, fingers around and between his, and they were whole.

"Waylon, stop."
Waylon lifted his head from Burns' chest. First kissing the side of Burns' face, he had moved down onto his neck and shoulders and then below his collarbone some. "Is something wrong?"

Burns shook his head. "No, no, but your glasses-"

"My glasses?"

Burns twisted his hair over his shoulder. "I do like how you look with them on, of course, but they are digging into my skin. They may pose further problems. Perhaps you should take them off."
Waylon sat up and looked at him. "But… I can't see anything if I do that."

"Have you never worn contacts?"

"Actually, not really."

Burns nodded, thinking. "Wait here." He slid off the bed and headed towards the bathroom. Waylon had a good guess of what he was doing. But he simply waited while Burns rummaged through drawers, muttering.
Minutes later Waylon was presented with a pair of contacts. "You don't need glasses." Why did Burns have them in the first place?
"I have many things laying around that I haven't used yet," Burns continued, "but these presented the perfect opportunity."

Waylon frowned, wondering if there were more to the story than that, but took the box. He wasn't the biggest fan of contacts- glasses were easier to manage, he liked them enough, and he'd hardly considered switching. And did he want to, now? "This… seems unnecessary," he told Burns. "And I don't think this is really why you wanted to stop."

Burns stared at him and then sighed. "Fine. It was only an idea." He sat down next to Waylon, and looking elsewhere, said, "It is possible I was exaggerating. Your glasses were but a… minor nuisance, if anything." Was Burns apologising? But what had been the point of this? It seemed such a trivial spot to fuss over.

"Monty, if there's another issue…"

Burns still regarded the wall, his hands twisting together. "No."

The fabric of his shirt was mildly interesting as he too avoided looking. "Was there… something about what we were doing that you didn't like?"

He feared something was unravelling already, and he would rather have had Burns say what was bothering him now. Is that why he wanted to stop?

"No, not… I was enjoying that," Burns said, quietly, "do not misunderstand me, I have no intentions to stop. But I fear…" He faltered, and began again, "I must tell you, I have only been very intimate with other men twice, and that was long ago, such that I have some vaguer recollection if it. I've had smaller flings here and there, but I have seldom been 'all the way' with one for years."

Waylon gazed at him. Burns avoided eye contact, his face red. "Ugh… I'd rather not say so, but in some ways I feel as if I were still so old. Weak." His voice was laced with vitriol and contempt. "And that cannot be."
"But you aren't… I mean, you aren't the same as you were before. And that time and place don't seem to exist anymore, anyway. So you can't look back." Waylon watched him. "But you were never weak," he added, "not even before."

He felt somewhat touched that Burns had admitted his nervousness when Waylon knew it wasn't easy for him to do so. But he wondered what thoughts in Burns' head continued to propagate the notion that he was weak in any shape or form.

"What are you suggesting?" Burns asked, turning towards Waylon again, his eyebrows furrowed. "That I forget most of my life?"

"No… just try to… keep going forward, now." Burns rolled his eyes. "Well, you know what I mean." When Burns didn't say anything, he continued, remembering the contacts still existed, "Do you still want me to wear these?"

Burns glanced down at the box. "No, I told you already. It doesn't matter." He looked back up and took Waylon's hand, pulling him back towards the position they had been in on the bed.

Burns, laying down, grasped the buttons on his shirt, undoing the still-closed ones near the bottom. Waylon watched him curiously. Burns turned his head. "What are you gawking at? I was rather hot." His hands fell from his shirt, and one rested partially on Waylon's arm, long fingers loosely gripping his wrist. Burns moved onto his side then, and rested his head on his other hand.

Waylon moved yet closer to him and slid his hands around Burns. Burns moved his own hands to accommodate the position.

Burns gazed at him, and leaned in closer. Waylon tilted his head, revelled in their quiet intimacy, Burns' touch that electrified him.

Later

They sat sipping tea on a balcony off one of the parlours; this one looked over the grounds and gardens. The late afternoon was brisk and clear. There was no wind except a small breeze that enhanced rather than intruded.

Burns' hand fell on top of his not holding the teacup on the seat they shared. Waylon set the cup down and turned more towards Burns, taking his fingers gingerly, in a relaxed manner. Burns leaned towards him, resting his head back against the cushion of the seat. He closed his eyes.

"Are you tired?" Waylon asked.

Burns opened his eyes again and shifted his head. "No. I just thought it would do good to relax some; we've been rather occupied lately. Though, if we had stayed in my bed I may have fallen asleep, which I don't want to do."

"Oh."

Burns asked then, "Do you think time travel is possible?"

"…What?"

"I would have said no, but, as things are…" Burns gestured to himself, "what do you think?"

"Of you? I think you're very enchanting."

Burns sighed. "That's not what I'm asking. I know you like to gaze at me, but do pay attention."

"I knew what you were asking."
"Yes, I know, just answer the question."

"I guess it's possible," Waylon said seriously, "since you've sort of time travelled in age. But I think it would be a lot more complicated." He studied Burns' profile. "What were you thinking about?"

"To place my age to a time. If everything had gone backwards, we would be in another era, though I am not sure which year precisely… somewhere in the twenties, perhaps." He sighed again, though not from irritation, perhaps yearning. "It is just a thought."

"It's an interesting thought." Waylon thought of his dream in Paris, but didn't want to mention it.

"Hm."

They sat for a while. Waylon felt Burns slowly relaxing further towards him, and he settled back, letting Burns rest against him.

Eventually they returned inside. Waylon had left his phone in the parlour and now he picked it up, checking his mail when he saw he had a notification from his personal email account. One email from his friend caught his attention. It detailed a dinner party invitation.

He turned to Burns. "How would you feel about meeting my friends?"
"Your friends?"
"I was invited to a dinner next Saturday, and I can bring someone."

Burns raised an eyebrow. "I see." Then he asked, "What sort of dinner is it?"

"Mostly casual. I mean, it's formal, but the atmosphere isn't, it's not like the gala," Waylon said, thinking back on the previous dinners and parties. "The person who's hosting- he's not as rich as you, but he has a nice house and kitchen. He always puts together these gourmet menus. I think he's from France."

Burns nodded. "And your friends- are they all-"

"Most of them are gay or otherwise LGBTQ, yes." He wondered if Burns knew what that acronym meant. "I'm not sure exactly who will be there."

"Hm. Next Saturday, you said?"

"Yes. Seven-thirty. I have the address too." Burns seemed to be considering. "We don't have to go if you don't want to," Waylon added.

"I did not imply that…" Burns placed a hand on the table. "I will take your invitation."

"Oh. Right, I'll let him know." Waylon scrolled in the email and clicked 'yes' on the invitation and also on 'guest(s)'- 1. He was surprised that Burns had said yes, but realised maybe he shouldn't have been, considering how far they had come already. Still, this would be an event with a number of people Burns wasn't familiar with, who would likely think of him as Waylon's partner.

"I had the strangest dream last night," Burns announced as they were eating dinner, outside, that evening. They sat across from one another at the smaller table, closer together than they would have been in Burns' dining room. They ate from plates of duck, roasted asparagus, and rice pilaf.

"Oh?" Waylon took a sip of wine.

Burns wrinkled his nose. "I had the displeasure of watching a version of myself who became subservient to Eloise. I did not enjoy it, and I could not do anything but watch." He shivered. "I never wanted to imagine that sort of scenario, not now…" He gazed at Waylon, his expression softening, his chin resting on his hand. He moved rice around on his plate.

"Monty…?"

Burns looked up. "Hm? I'm fine. How do you find the duck?"
"It's very good." He took his knife and cut off a piece. "The sauce too." Did Burns only want to discuss the flavour of the duck, then? What else had he been thinking? "Are there, er, any other details of your dream you want to share?"

"Hm…" Burns twirled a hair around his finger. "There's not many details to tell, I'm afraid…" He shivered. "I- he, this other version, was a meek, cowardly ninny. He gave into everything she wanted at once. But- he looked miserable, as I saw, I remember… and I suppose I would have been too, had I stayed that course. You were nowhere in sight, either."

He sighed, shook his head. "What a tragedy that would have befallen me. I do wish I had never caught a glimpse of her. That I did not know her name or of her existence. But… that is behind us now."

Burns smiled at last, and leaned over the table, took Waylon's hands, his hair falling forward. The table was just small enough that they were able to lean together in the centre without much awkward positioning between them. Waylon met him halfway, Burns' lips pressed over and under his.