Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The authors claim no ownership of the characters within, nor received any compensation for this work.
Three pairs of tired, anxious eyes watched as the LED display on the VCR changed from reading 6:59 to reading 7:00. A collective sigh whispered through the basement common room, and three sets of shoulders sagged. It was now officially no longer night, and their missing fourth member had still not shown his face since yesterday afternoon.
Aya disappearing after a strange and inexplicable event wasn't all that unusual; in fact, it was a pretty common occurrence. However, he usually came back after a couple of hours, after doing whatever mysterious things Aya did to cool off and calm down. Besides, the strange and inexplicable events didn't usually involve the reappearance of someone who had seen the four of them do what they did, and who knew as much about Aya as the strange British boy had. Aya might be anywhere. They might all be in danger, if that boy decided to tell the wrong people what he had seen.
"Maybe he'll come back for his shift?" Omi volunteered, ever the optimist. "You know Aya-kun, he never misses... his..." Trailing off, the young boy sighed, shaking his head. After all, there was never really any telling about Aya. All they could do was wait and see.
Heavily, Omi, Ken and Yohji trudged up the stairs, intent on trying to begin a normal day no matter what might lay in wait for them. They might as well begin the day like any other, they told one another. No use in looking suspicious.
Omi was the first to enter the small communal kitchen that lay behind the shop, and his squeak of surprise brought the other two running. The youngest boy could do nothing but stand there, large blue eyes wide in amazement at the unbelievable scene before them.
The kitchen was *clean*. It was sparkling clean, more so than it had ever been, perhaps since before they all had moved in. Dishes had been moved off the counters and out of the sink, the table had been cleared off, and the chairs were neatly tucked in underneath it. The various papers and magazines that usually piled on the tabletop were now neatly stacked in three little piles, it seemed, according to whom they belonged.
Most amazingly of all was that actual food had been prepared, using actual cooking implements. A pot - so clean the boys barely recognized it - simmered on the small stove, wafting the smell of fresh miso through the room. On the counter next to the stove sat a plate of prepared omelets, covered to keep them warm, and a tall stack of Western pancakes along with a tub of butter and a pitcher of maple syrup ("We have maple syrup?" mumbled Ken, in a daze). Along with all of this, a box lunch sat ready and waiting on the table, with 'Omi' printed on it in neat characters.
The three of them stared alternately at the vision of the kitchen, and then each other, in pure bewilderment. After a beat of silence, all three turned and tore out of the room, up the stairs to Aya's apartment.
Before they could press their eager ears to the door or even knock, the door swung open, and there stood the stranger from the day before. Ruffled auburn hair, bright green eyes, right about Ken's height but with a definite look of authority about him... despite the fact that he was wrapped in a kimono that they all knew perfectly well belonged to Aya and that they didn't dare touch on the pain of death.
"Good morning, Omi, Ken, Yohji," the stranger told them politely but briskly, his Japanese clear and crisp but with a rather lovely British accent. He nodded to each of them in turn, shocking all three into silence since they certainly didn't recall telling him their names. "My name is Cye Mouri," he continued, "and I'm sure we'll all get to know each other much better, but for right now you'll just have to do without us for the day."
"Uh... us?" ventured Omi, the first to find his tongue again.
From the recesses of the apartment came a low, sleepy sound, and Aya appeared behind Cye, sitting up in bed. "Cye-chan?" he mumbled, rubbing his cheek with one hand and glancing around the bed area, obviously expecting the boy to be somewhere nearby. Their reserved, modest teammate, who never appeared in public missing an article of clothing and hardly ever ventured as far as short sleeves, was absolutely bare to the waist. The shiny black sheet that set off his pale skin clung to his thighs and groin, but enough hip was uncovered that it was clear he wasn't wearing anything at all beneath that sheet.
Yohji flat-out stared, recognizing the sheets immediately. Ken covered his eyes a moment later, as if afraid he might be run through just for looking. Omi turned quite pink and looked away, staring at Cye instead.
The inexplicable and certainly very strange young man gave all of them a sunny smile. "Best go eat your breakfast while it's still warm. Until tomorrow, perhaps?" With that, giving no other warning, he crisply shut the door in their faces. A moment later they heard a squeak of bedsprings and a light thump, followed by soft sounds of contented pleasure melted together, baritone and light tenor.
And really, then, there was nothing for them to do but what Cye had told them. One by one, with Ken scooting off as quickly as he could and Yohji lingering a little longer, they shuffled back downstairs to the sparkling kitchen and the breakfast waiting for them.
~*~*~*~
Cye pressed close to Aya on the bed, wriggling agaist the silk sheets, and tried to stifle the giggles. The look on his lover's teamates' faces was just priceless. It was obvious that whatever personal information he'd shared with them did not include his preference in bed partners. He snuggled close, resting his head on Aya's shoulder, sighing contentedly.
They stayed that way for long moments, twined together, touching lazily, reasuring each other again that they were really there and real, eventually sliding into a light slumber.
~*~*~*~
And woke sometime later, cozily pressed together as the sun creeping through the window roused them. Cye sat up first, puzzled at the change in feel. He didn't remember changing the bedding from silk to linen... He blinked again, taking in the summer sun pouring through the window, the sea-blue bedding... "Ran!" he exclaimed, shaking his companion's shoulder. "Wake up! We're back at the house."
Aya murmured sleepily into the pillow for a moment then sat up with a frown. "Cye-chan? What?"
"The house," Cye said, fighting his way out of the shrouding covers, "Somehow we're back."
"But how? We didn't... there was nothing to hurt us this time." Aya also worked himself out of the bed, reaching for the sweatpants that always hung over the back of Cye's desk chair and frowned when he realized they were there to reach.
"I don't know," Cye said, pulling on a pair of shorts, "We could have given each other sex induced heart attacks but I doubt it."
As they hurried downstairs a noise slowly penetrated sleep fogged minds... voices! Never once, in all the time they'd been there had they seen the slightest sign of any other people. As soon as they made it outside there was another shock. Instead of the miles and miles of grassland there were other houses! They were spaced a fair distance apart and of styles from all over the world but they were there. A short jog brought them almost to the beach before something stopped them. They just couldn't walk any closer.
But at the bottom of the path was a beach full of people of all shapes and sizes. The water was full of adults and children playing and the sand covered with blankets and umbrellas. Cye slid an arm around Aya's waist, watching in confusion. "Who are they all?"
"Cye-chan..." Aya murmured, holding him, "Does this feel strange to you? Almost as though not quite real?"
"I... yes," he said quietly, looking out at the beach, "More like a dream..."
"A dream we're sharing," Aya said, looking out as well.
"Yes. But why...?" Cye broke off with a gasp, looking down at one man. The dark-haired man looked up and smiled, waving to the pair of redheads. He couldn't hear what the man said, the rushing in his ears was far too loud for Cye to make out sounds. But he could make out the shape of some words, something about "waiting for you".
"Cye-chan?"
"That's my father," he choked, hanging onto Aya's arm as the scene began to feel more and more unreal.
"But you said..." Aya looked down at him in confusion.
Cye whispered, feeling vertigo creeping in, "He's dead, he died years ago." He was folded in the taller redhead's embrace, leaning his head on Aya's shoulder. "But he's waiting," Cye said softly. "It'll be waiting for us... home..."
"Home," Aya echoed in a whisper, just in his ear. "Home," he whispered again, and then another time, like the quiet rush of waves on the shore behind them. Beyond the whispers of his love's voice, Cye could still hear the voices and the sounds of play on the beach, but they were growing fainter.
Aya's voice didn't fade, though. The world around them drifted into blackness, and Cye knew with the certainty of dreams that they would wake up soon. The house and beach would be gone -- probably for years yet. He hoped it would be that long before they saw it again. Years and years from now.
Years that he could spend with the man in his arms, overcoming whatever would try to keep them apart. Years they would have together, to live and love before their eternity would begin.