TITLE: Night to Next Day Just Turning

In the white plum blossoms
Night to next day
Just turning

--The last haiku of Buson, translated by Robert Hass

(Note: Robert Hass owns the rights to his translation! Buson's original work, however, is presumably in the public domain.)

FANDOM: Prince of Tennis.

DISCLAIMER:
Konomi, bless him,
Has undisputed rights to
The Prince of Tennis.

RATING:
Meant for teens and up;
At your discretion, reader.
I doubt that you'll blush.

SUMMARY:
A Silver Pair
story in haiku, from
Ohtori's viewpoint.

WARNING/SPOILERS:
--For how the Silver
Pair came to be. Fic follows
manga. Boys'-love hints.

--Apologies in
advance for any plotline
inconsistencies.

"Each ball I serve with
heart and soul"—and it flames forth—
Augh! The net again?

Made the regulars.
Seems unreal sometimes.
Do I belong here?

A peculiar cast
Of characters, the members
Of Hyoutei's star team.

"Atobe-sama,"
Sleepy Akutagawa,
Wordless Kabaji;

Feisty Mukahi
And drawling Oshitari;
Taki, paired with me;

And that rough-talking
Prima donna, Shishido
Ryou, third singles.

Careless posturing
Just cost Senpai his jacket.
Guess it serves him right.

Ice in Coach's eyes,
Disgusted jeers from schoolmates;
Slow trudge from the court.

Gossip flows for days.
Through stretches, laps, ball pickup,
First years snickering:

"So long, drama queen!"
"Good riddance to that jerk-off."
"Looks aren't everything."

Hey, this isn't right,
I think—but do not say.
Just then, I notice:

Leaning by the fence,
Senpai's whip-thin silhouette.
I hiss, far too late,

"Not where he can hear!"
He glares—at me—then silent,
Turning, walks away.

The cold lump in the
Pit of my stomach lingers
Through music lessons.

On my way out, I
stop for a drink of water.
And then I hear it:

The solitary
thwacking of a ball against
concrete. Who it is

I know, sight unseen.
I round the corner: he's there,
Sweat-drenched, hair swinging.

I almost back off,
But he moves and spots me there.
Just that, and I'm stuck.

Shishido-senpai—
How did I never notice?—
Has amazing eyes,

Somehow hungry-bright,
At least when they're unguarded.
Next second, they change.

Senpai scowls at me.
"You, what do you want?" That sneer
is back, challenging.

"Not a thing, Senpai.
Excuse the interruption."
Brief dip of the head.

Zoom. He's at my side,
His harsh grip on my forearm.
My heart halts, then speeds.

"You, give me a hand.
That's your job as kouhai, right?"
I blink down at him,

He grins mirthlessly.
In all its gory detail,
He spells out his plan.

That's how they begin,
Our meetings in the darkness—
Brutal, addicting.

It seems so strange that
Senpai needs me—Choutarou.
After several nights,

Parents start to fret.
"That school's working you too hard!"
"Think he should transfer?"

"Mom, Dad—please, I'm fine.
This is where I need to be."
"…All right. If you're sure."

Faced with so much trust,
I question what I'm doing.
How can I tell them:

Everything's OK—
I'm working on my Scud Serve;
Senpai's my target?

At school next morning,
I'm cornered by Hiyoshi.
"Have you gone crazy?"

How much does he know?
"Don't waste time on that loser—"
"He's fixing my serve,"

I interrupt him.
Hiyoshi sniffs and glowers:
"He'll turn and bite you."

Just now, I don't care.
Something in Senpai's set face
As he keeps trying

And failing to reach
My serve, moves me like nothing
I've felt up till now.

Then comes the breakthrough:
My serve grasped in his fingers,
A glow around him—

He meets my eyes and
For a beat, we're one spirit,
Silent, triumphant.

That's it, basically—
The reason why I would have
Given up my spot:

Having shared that fire,
I saw no point in staying
With a lightless team.

Others don't get it;
Likely, not even Senpai.
Someday, I'll tell him.

end