I woke the next morning and stretched out peacefully amongst my tossed blankets. I couldn't remember the last time I'd slept that well—rain sounded gently outside, making me feel even cosier inside my bed.
Better yet, it was a weekend. No reason to get up, nothing to tear me away from my nice warm blankets—
Something stirred in my memory—I'd dreamed of a guy with brown hair and the most fascinating eyes—
Too bad it was only a dream, I thought, as I rolled over. He was nice—
My bedroom door creaked open.
"I've got a surprise for you," the voice of my dreams said. "Breakfast."
I sat bolt up right. "You're here—you're really—"
"I had a bit of trouble working out your oven," he says, sitting with a tray on the end of my bed. "But I think it worked out all right in the end."
"You're here and you're real," I repeat.
"As far as I can tell, yes."
""And if you're here—then does that mean that last night we—" I blushed. "We—uh—"
He leaned over and kissed my cheek. "You're adorable when you blush, you know that?"
"Um—thanks. I guess—" My mouth sort of went on auto-pilot as he sat down in my lap.
"How do you feel about scrambled eggs?" he asked.
He fed me breakfast, bit by bit—and I'd never known that scrambled eggs on toast could taste so good. Or scrambled eggs and kisses—
"I don't think I've ever spent so long on breakfast before," I said.
"Well, its not every day you get served breakfast in bed by a prince," my companion grinned, holding another mouthful towards me. "Open wide, Yamato."
I stared at him. "Prince?"
"I—you're not supposed to know that."
I stared at him. He looked distressed—I decided to act as though nothing had happened. "So, are you going to give me that bite or not?"
"This one? You might just have to come and get it," he said with a teasing grin.
That's how he ended up pinned beneath me, as I finished off the last of the breakfast prepared for me.
It was funny, I thought, as I smiled down at him. This time yesterday, he didn't even know me—and now he trusts me enough to let me do this—
"Are you going to sit there all day?" he said with the grin that I'd come to be awfully fond of and I responded to that with a kiss.
Maybe this wasn't logical, sensible or even very practical—but I was a teenage boy. I blame my hormones.
We kissed, and then kissed again . . . I let my hand wander through his hair again—
He sighed happily. "Yamato—I swear I could spend all the time in the world doing this with you—"
"What an attractive thought," I purred stroking my nameless love's face—all the time in the world . . . I'd much rather be here with him, then at school, or at band practice—Band Practice?
"Shit! Band practice!"
"Hey!" my love sat up sulkily as I fell off the bed then scrabbled frantically for clothes. "Where are you going?"
"Got to shower," I said, hastily running to the bathroom. "I'm supposed to be at band practice—"
I'd never styled my hair so fast.
"What's the penalty for not getting to this 'band practice?" he asked, watching me from the bathroom door.
"Best not to think about that," I said hurriedly. "How do I look?"
He studied me thoughtfully. "Try divine."
"I should keep you around. You're doing wonders for my ego." I kissed him, before grabbing a slice of toast. "I'll see you when I get back—you will be here, when I get back right?"
He smiled sadly. "We can but hope. How late are you?"
I sighed and held out my watch. "See that little hand there? This is the time now. This is when I should have been there."
"Oh that's easily fixed." He held my hand firmly and grabbed the control on my watch. "There."
"Cute," I said, pulling my hand away. "But not much help unfortunately."
Although I could use it as an excuse for why I was late—my watch showed the wrong time.
Waiting for the bus in the rain was no fun. I could just picture how sarcastic the rest of my band was going to be. I hurried, trying not to think how antsy they got when our practice was cut short—worse still, what if they wanted explanations?
I'm late because I forgot about practice due to the fact this desperately beautiful guy I met in an alley last night was feeding me breakfast in bed—
I slowed down as I reached the garage in which we met. Akira was outside fumbling with his key.
"Yamato! Excellent—I need a hand with the speakers."
"Uh-where are the others?"
"You kidding? Probably still in bed—I estimate another ten minutes before either of them show. How about you—bang on time—what's up with that?"
I looked at my watch at him then at my watch again. "Uh, could I see your watch a moment?"
I checked.
No way—
"Hey—are you going to help or just stand there? I'm getting wet you know."
"I'm sorry," I help Akira, my mind still in a blur.
The time on my watch was correct.
But—I'd been more than an hour late—
"Hey Akira—Yamato," the two remaining members of our band strolled in. "Sorry we're late—"
I opened the door to the apartment, looking round for him. I wanted answers—a part of my mind said it was foolishness, that I'd just misread my watch or something. A part of me wasn't sure—
"Hello?" I called shrugging out of wet jacket. "Anyone home?
No reply—my heart sank. I checked my room, the kitchen—finally a faint sound called me to the living room.
He was there, leaning against the window frame looking out over the city and the rain sheeting down.
The relief that thudded through me was stifled as I noted he was shivering.
"Hey," I said, crossing the room to take him into my arms. "Are you all right?"
"No," was the simple answer. "But there's nothing you can do." He seemed to like being held.
"What's the matter? At least tell me—"
"He's looking for me. The rain—he's making it come."
Okaaaaay.
I was in love with a lunatic. An attractive, beautiful, and desperately in need of comforting lunatic.
"I bet you haven't had lunch yet," I said, twining my hand with his. "Come in to the kitchen and I'll fix you something."
He picked at his food, but still managed to eat a good deal. I watched him.
If he was insane that could explain a lot—the clothes could be from asylum or something, and it would explain his weird mannerisms, like the whole not telling me his name thing. But I didn't want to believe that.
Partly because I didn't want to think about him being taken away. And partly because he just didn't seem . . . insane.
Then there was the watch.
"This morning—I got to band practice on time," I said carefully.
"Of course you did," he nodded. "I was a little bit worried after you left, I never asked you how much time you needed to get there."
I gaped at him. So he had—but how—not possible—"How?" I asked.
His face fell. "That's another no go area."
I let out an impatient sigh. "Do you have any that aren't?"
He grinned suddenly, abandoing his meal to drape himself across me. "I believe you discovered a few of those last night—"
I blinked as he started kissing me again.
Did he think he could just use sex to distract me from something like this?
Well . . . on second thought . . . sex worked just fine.
"Rain, rain go away. Go and ruin someone else's life."
I snickered. "That's a variation I hadn't heard."
"Huh?"
I joined him by the window, wrapping him in my arms. "The nursery rhyme. Rain, rain go away. Come again some other way."
"A charm," he nodded. "It's remarkably ineffective."
I stuck my tongue out at him. There were times I just didn't get him.
"Who wants to watch the rain anyway? Come on, let's do something."
I had an ulterior motive for pulling him into the lounge. I'd noticed that he seemed to get most tense when around the windows—or anywhere he could see the rain. Obviously what he'd said before he believed.
"So what do you suggest we do?" he asked with a curvy smile.
"Not that," I scolded. "I thought we'd have cocoa and drink it curled up on the sofa, watching old movies."
"I approve of the cocoa," he smiled.
I'd gambled on that. He seemed extremely fond of cocoa—
The afternoon was perfect. Sitting together, watching the movies, just being together—in spite of the huge gaps missing of his past and present, I'd never felt so connected with another human being. It was peaceful, perfect, and ended far too soon.
The video ended and I hit rewind, stretching. I noticed he was tense, sitting stiffly on the edge of the sofa, staring at the TV.
I looked from him to the screen, wondering what in the news report could have upset him so.
"—and with the unprecedented downpour continuing motorist are advised to keep off the road. Already there have been accidents caused by the flooding—"
"My fault." He whispered. "I should have realised."
"Don't be ridiculous. You can't control the weather—"
"But he can. He's been doing this to draw me out—and now innocent people are being hurt."
I had a flash of premonition before he spoke the words are feared. "I have to leave."
"But—"
His hand brushed my face gently. "I'm so sorry," he whispered.
"You can't—but—please—" I ended up enfolding him in a kiss, words not enough to let him see how much he'd come to mean to me in such a short time—
I'm not sure which one of us turned that kiss into something deeper.
Our love-making this time was tinged bitter sweet—sorrow for the fact we both knew this would be the last time.
Then I watched as he gathered his things together.
"Can I take your shirt?" he asked.
I nodded. "Can I have something of yours to keep?'
He hesitated then took a necklace out of his shirt—I recognised it immediately from our, um, intimate activities, a heavy pendant of what looked like old gold, with a dark, almost blood red, stone in the centre.
"Keep this with you always," he instructed. "And never, ever give it to anyone else."
"I can't—" I protest. "It's too precious—and then I saw the look in his eyes. "I'll keep it—but only until I see you again," I relented. "Then I'm giving it back."
His mouth twitched in a smile that wasn't happy. "Okay."
Hand in hand we moved to the doorway.
"I guess, this is it, huh?" I asked, mouth going dry.
"It is." He kissed me, then kissed me again. "Yamato—"
"You—" I ran my fingers through his hair one last time. "If you can come back—"
He nodded.
And touched my cheek and then turned away. He took a few steps before turning to look back. "Come with me?"
I wasn't expecting that.
It was crazy. School, my father, my family—my father.
"I can't. Dad will be back in a few hours, I have to get tea for him," I whispered with a dry mouth.
He nodded turning again—then suddenly running back to me to wrap me in one last embrace.
"Be well, Yamato."
"Take care," I whispered, and then he slipped out of arms and was gone.
I don't know how long I stayed at the doorway, hoping against hope that he'd come back—a good half hour perhaps before the ringing of the phone brought me back to my senses.
"It's just me," my father said. "My flight just got in. I thought I'd ring to let you know I was on my way home."
"I'll get tea started," I answered.
Outside the cloud seemed to have cleared. I wandered over to the window and realised that it had stopped raining.