Expectations

Monty didn't believe in soulmates. Not for himself. At a time, he had been upset, he knew he was attractive, and yet everyone who he went out with turned out not to be the one.

He'd had so many failed trials, that it festered in his mind a notion that perhaps he was meant to be alone. He didn't know how old he was, but he'd been at it for so many years. He pretended he was still 30, and like many others, he sort of was- in everything but mind, which knew his experiences.

And he was tired of it all; nothing had found him a suitable partner. Something was supposed to happen, he didn't know what- people had described it as a touch of warm euphoria. It hadn't happened to him yet. He'd certainly tried. Holding hands with his date always turned up nothing, nor did kissing, or sex, if it got that far.

Waiting for his morning tea, Monty pulled his hair loose and twisted it around his fingers. He'd grown it out again after he'd had it cut a few years back, and had realised he'd liked how it had been before just fine. At least that was something he could control.

Monty's apartment was quiet, peaceful, but he felt a bit empty all the same. He'd been feeling that way for a while. He had no-one to share his life how he craved, it seemed a dream away.

Discouraged, he'd been considering the possibility he was one of those people who didn't have a match at all. They were rare, but it seemed to happen.. at least, he'd seen some cases online and one time in the news. And it had scared him, to know it was a real phenomenon, that it was plausible he could be without a soulmate.

The tea kettle whinged, and Monty stood up from the table to pour the hot water into a mug.

**

A few hours later, Monty headed back home from the bakery with the cake he liked, wondering if maybe he should save it for his dinner. Otherwise, he was a terrible cook, and he didn't want to lose his current apartment to another fire like the one he'd accidentally started before.

Lost in thought, Monty walked right into a wall- rather, another person. Startled, he jumped back on the pavement, to regard with whom he'd collided.

"Oh, I'm sorry." The other man reddened, fixing his glasses. "Are you alright?"
"Fine, thank you." Monty brushed himself off.

The man studied him. "Do you live in Springfield? I feel like I've seen you before..."

"Yes, I do. I'm Monty." He wasn't sure why he was sharing his name, but the stranger intrigued him.

"Waylon." He looked at Monty, his expression curious and... something else. "I'm forty-one, thirty officially." He was taller, more muscular, broad-shouldered, but his demeanour was oddly gentle, to Monty.

"You kept track?"

Waylon shrugged. "I guess so, yes. You don't?"
"No." Monty chuckled. "I might be older than you."
"Don't you know the year you were born?"

"I used to remember... but I stopped keeping track of my age after I turned thirty, and I haven't bothered with it since. I just know my birthday is the 15th of September."

"Mine is December 25th." Waylon nodded.

"Really?"

"Yes, really. Anyway, uh..." Waylon blushed, and stepped to the side of the pavement, to avoid passer-by; Monty followed, curious with this chance encounter. Waylon glanced at his left hand. "You aren't married?"

"No. I've not found anyone yet. I've tried, for years. Mm..." Monty brushed his hair behind his ear. "You aren't either?"

"No, same as you. I've tried, but I haven't felt it, yet, in any sort of mutual touch."
"Me neither, clearly. Do you think you will?" Monty asked.