Author's Note:

250 Dark Stars

(You and I got something

But it's all and then

It's nothing to me)

...

"I don't understand," Yukimura said, pacing the length of the clubhouse. Sanada sat on the couch, arms crossed over his chest and eyes trained out the window, on a match taking place between two promising second-years.

Yanagi was at the desk, handling the paperwork for an upcoming clinic that the team would attend. It should have been Yukimura's job, but he was too aggravated to spare it more than a glance.

"Am I really that terrible of an older brother?" Yukimura wanted to know. If there was one person in the whole world that could make him lose his composure, it was his little sister.

"I don't know what to do with her anymore," he went on. His voice was low and practically flat, but people who knew him as well as Sanada and Yanagi did could easily pick up on the tension that kept his words taut as a bowstring. "She's so childish, and needy, and just—she can make me so angry."

Yukimura did not often get angry. Irritation, disapproval, strictness... these were familiar to him. But rarely, with him, did anger come into play. Then again, that was what younger siblings were for.

"Hmm," was all Yanagi said. Sanada remained silent.

It was Wednesday, during morning practice, and Yukimura was not in a good mood. He'd gone out of his way to secure a position on the student council for Sayoko, and she'd blown up at him. Why couldn't she see that everything he did was in her best interest? Moreover, why did she create drama where none existed? Why couldn't she be more reasonable, and self-reliant?

Why couldn't she be more like Tachibana An?

He thought of the girl with the blue-gray eyes. She was a talented tennis player, she was sociable, and she stood out. Not the way his sister did, with her striking good looks and elevated demeanor. An's shine was understated, but... steady. Steady like a heartbeat.

If there was one thing in the world that Sayoko needed, it was steadiness. Stability. She didn't have any inner strength to draw on. When something didn't go her way, she didn't fall to pieces—she shattered. And soon enough, he wouldn't be there to put her back together.

It was why he wanted to forge a bond between the two girls. An was someone he believed he would come to think very highly of. She was kind, strong... someone Sayoko could lean on.

Not that Sayoko wouldn't always need him, too. Or at least—he'd truly believed that for a long time.

For years after Sayoko was born, she wouldn't speak a word. She would watch the world with bright, intelligent eyes, clearly taking everything in, but never offering anything in return. Countless times, their parents had had her examined, but the experts all agreed there was nothing wrong, that she would speak when she decided to.

He would spend every day with his sister, teaching her all the words he knew, saying them over and over and over for her. Apple. Mother. Win. Smile.

One day when she was four, she had climbed up onto the piano bench and sat beside him. She'd looked at him very solemnly, those eyes huge and blue and lovely, and so very haltingly, carefully, warmly, she'd said—

"Oniisan."

Her first word.

Yukimura doubted that she remembered.

In many ways, he had been the one who raised her. Their parents had been around, but it was always him that Sayoko went to with a problem, always him that she asked for advice.

As such, the extent to which Sayoko was so profoundly flawed... it was a product of his own failure. How had he let her become so frangible?

They'd always been as close as two siblings so near in age could be. They'd played together, and taken tennis lessons together, and conspired against their innumerous tutors together. Sayoko had adored him. He'd felt like the best brother in the world.

And then he'd gotten sick.

When he'd woken up in the hospital, it was agreed that Sayoko should go in to see him first. He'd expected her to weep, and hug him, and have him assure that he would be fine, everything would be fine, he'd be back to look after her in no time, don't cry, Sayoko, it's okay, it's okay, don't cry.

Instead, she'd taken one step inside the room and had just stared at him, her eyes accusing and reproachful and betrayed, somehow. Then she'd left. It was the only time she'd ever visited him.

And goddamn, if that didn't hurt.

By getting hospitalized, by not being there to take care of her... he had let her down, and she hadn't ever forgiven him. But—

"She still needs me," he said aloud, turning to look Sanada straight in the eye, as if the other boy had said something to the contrary. After a moment, he turned and fixed Yanagi with the same look. "She does."

Yanagi opened his eyes fully to exchange a meaningful glance with Sanada, and surprisingly, it was the latter who spoke. "She does need you," he said carefully, every word slow and deliberate. "But more importantly... I think you want her to need you."

He adjusted the brim of his hat, his eyes sharp and focused like they were right before he sliced through a straw-dummy with his katana. The killing blow was this: "Maybe even, on some level... you need her to need you."

Yukimura didn't say anything after that.

~x~

"Damn it," An muttered. "Damn it. I hate you. I hate you so much." She was, of course, talking to her blouse, which she couldn't manage to button correctly. She was putting on her uniform after the morning weight-room session. "I hate you, I hate—"

"Boy trouble?" asked Katsuragi knowingly, zipping up her skirt at the locker beside An's. "Or girl trouble? Nonbinary trouble?"

"Very binary trouble," An muttered, thinking of the two boys from yesterday: one who'd pulled her to safety, and one who'd slapped her across the face. Though, to be fair, that was after she'd refused to let him pull her to safety.

"Binary means three, doesn't it?" Shimizu asked, stepping out of the shower and shaking the water from her hair like a dog.

"It means two," Fuyumi informed her with a fond, long-suffering sigh, "the prefix bi always means two."

"Does it?" Shimizu frowned. "I'll have to adjust the date of my bicentennial birthday celebration, then."

"Will we all be invited?" Takamiya wanted to know, pulling up her knee-high black socks.

"Sure, you're all responsible for bringing stuff. Doesn't anybody read the newsletter I email out every Friday?" At the blank looks sent her way, she scowled. "Well, that's just great. And after all the trouble I went to, picking out a font."

"Well, you can put me down for ashes," Watanabe told her, carefully running a brush through her long, shining black hair. "I'll be sure to bring those to your one-hundred-and-eighty-three-years-in-the-future party, considering that's all that will be left of me by then."

"And I'll bring paper plates," Katsuragi added helpfully.

Shimizu planted her hands on her hips, so the towel she'd been holding up fell to reveal her breasts. It did not appear to bother her in the slightest. "No, no, no. You're supposed to bring not one but two porcupines, and Fujimaru's supposed to bring paper plates."

Fujimaru Imari, the only other second-year starter, had up until that point been listening quietly, and interjected, "Uh, I don't—"

"Or did I have you down to bring existential dread?" Shimizu wondered aloud. "I'll have to check the newsletter. And the rest of you had better check it as well, or I'm booting you from the starting lineup."

"Including me?" inquired Fuyumi mildly.

"Uh, you can stay," Shimizu amended hastily as Katsuragi and Watanabe traded smirks. "But the rest of you ungrateful bastards, you're gone."

The girls kept chatting and laughing amongst themselves, but An didn't join in. Once they'd left, she lay down on one of the benches, throwing an arm over her eyes. Less than twenty-four hours ago, she'd nearly died—or been badly injured, more likely, but still.

She owed her life to the Child of God.

Yukimura Seiichi led the most ruthless tennis team in Japan, and was probably the most cold-blooded player on it. He'd given countless people the yips, ruining their careers. He was demanding, and manipulative, and merciless.

But he'd held her in his arms so gently...

An groaned. Sure, the guy was gorgeous and charming, but nice? A savior? How could that be possible? How could someone be so completely different on and off the court?

Speaking of which.

She reached up to touch her cheek. She couldn't reconcile the guy she'd built Kirihara up to be with the boy she'd interacted with. Well, she could—she'd seen flashes of his mean streak, of his arrogance. She'd encountered his brass nerve, his mocking sense of humor...

As well as his infectious grin and unaffected friendliness. And there was just something else about him, something raw and bright. Something she identified with on a base level. How could she feel a connection with someone like him?

Someone like him. She bit her lip. He'd been right to call her self-righteous and judgmental, had even been right to hit her. It was only fair that he could hit her if she could hit him, and it wasn't like he'd hurt her.

But he had hurt her brother, and how could she not judge him for that?

Then again... her brother had hurt people, too. He'd hurt his best friend, had almost destroyed his future in tennis. And Chitose had forgiven him—the two were closer than ever.

Did it matter, though? What were the odds she'd ever become very close to Kirihara Akaya?

~x~

That day after school, Sayoko stood in front of the student council room, her heart in her throat and her palms sweating. People passed her to go inside, peering at her curiously, but the cold blaze of her eyes discouraged any questions or murmured comments.

"I know you're new to council, Sayoko-chan, but we don't typically convene in doorways. You may need to step inside."

Yagyuu-senpai, she thought with some relief, and turned to greet him—only to find a faker in a clever disguise.

"What are you doing?" she hissed at Niou-pretending-to-be-Yagyuu.

He frowned. "I'm about to begin the meeting, of course. I'm the student body president."

"Don't treat me like I'm stupid. I know it's you, Niou-senpai. I can tell." Niou just had—a vibe. That, and she would recognize those eyes anywhere, even behind glasses. Those eyes that were sharp and winter-cold, that saw far too much and revealed far too little.

At the moment, those eyes were a little wider than usual, and Niou's lips were slightly parted with what she suspected to be surprise. He cocked his head, and examined her the way a scientist would a sample in a Petri dish.

Such a look from her brother would have made her cringe and lash out, but she didn't have anything to prove to Niou. He already thought poorly of her, and had no reason to change his opinion. Their relationship, such that it was, was set in stone, which made her feel comfortable with him, in a way. Like she didn't have to put on a show.

So she met his eyes evenly, and he opened his mouth to speak—

Only to compose his expression when Jackal jogged up, giving him a friendly clap on the shoulder. "Hey, Yagyuu, Tateishi-san is in student council with you, right? Can you give her this for me?" He held up a binder. "I borrowed her Physics notes."

"I'd be happy to," Niou/Yagyuu said, accepting the item.

"Thanks," Jackal smiled, characteristically warm. He ruffled Sayoko's hair, earning him an indignant look. "Good luck today, Sayoko-chan."

"Yes, do try your best, Sayoko-chan," Niou said with Yagyuu's cultured, premeditated tones. When Jackal had turned a corner, Niou smirked at her, and said in his own voice: "Well? Go on." He inclined his head toward the door. "Show me what you've got, sweetheart."

Sayoko treated him to a cool glance, but that only made his smirk grow more pronounced. So she steeled herself and walked inside, her head up and her hair tossed back, with what she knew to (appear to) be a confident smile curving her lips.

She deliberately made eye-contact with everyone that looked at her (a trick she'd learned from her brother), and was pleased when they all glanced away first. Satisfied that she'd made a strong impression, she sat down with the other second-year representatives.

Niou/Yagyuu took his seat at the end of the rectangle created by the desks, and quieted the chatter by clearing his throat. Then he started speaking, and Sayoko zoned out almost immediately, trying to figure out what exactly he sought to accomplish.

Yagyuu had obviously given him permission to impersonate him, and would not tolerate any stunts that would jeopardize the student council. So if he couldn't get up to any mischief, why would Niou bother with the masquerade? Was he there to psych her out, to make her screw up?

She doubted it. Niou didn't harbor any ill-will toward her. In fact, he generally seemed quite amused by her and the spectacles she made of herself. He was probably just bored, and wanted to witness whatever newest humiliation came her way.

So he wasn't there to cause her to make a fool out of herself, just to see her make a fool out of herself. She supposed it could have been worse.

"... Yukimura-kun? Yukimura-kun, are you listening? Please offer your suggestion."

Everyone was staring at her. God damn it. She stood up, discreetly wiping her palms on her skirt. Making an educated guess, she said, "My suggestion... for the school fair." When the confirmation was met with only mildly impatient looks, not confused ones, she went on, "Right. Well..."

Somehow, she met Niou's eyes. He smiled faintly, and though his hands remained folded neatly before him on the desk, she imagined him lazily making a get-on-with-it gesture.

Show me what you've got.

She didn't have to prove anything to him. But she wanted to.

Looking directly at him, she said, "I think the school fair should have a global theme. School fairs are meant to demonstrate that we're ready to become full-fledged citizens, aren't they? Right now, to be a good citizen, you have to be a citizen of the world.

"You have to understand the history and culture of others. You have to speak critical languages, and be able to live and work in foreign places. You have to communicate and cooperate with people that were raised with an entirely different viewpoint than yours.

"Embracing foreigners and their customs... it isn't something we're known for in Japan. But if there were ever a time to be proactive, it's now. We need to be innovators instead of imitators. At this school fair of ours... we should show that we're a new generation, one that won't just interact with the world, but influence it."

She sat back down hastily, staring at her desk and trying to fight the heat rising in her cheeks. She hadn't meant to give them a whole spiel, it had all just slipped out, they probably thought her silly and sentimental, probably thought—

"I believe Yukimura-kun's suggestion is worth investing further thought in, at least," Niou/Yagyuu said. "Do the rest of you feel the same way?" Opinions were shared, most of which, Sayoko was startled to find, were generally positive.

Wonders never ceased.

When the meeting adjourned, she remained sitting, her head propped up on her elbows. It had gone... better than expected. Not great—that would have entailed everyone breaking into thunderous applause the moment she'd finished speaking. But... okay.

Niou, who'd stayed behind as well, voiced a similar thought. "So you actually did kind of not terrible. Wonders never cease, huh?" He dropped into the desk beside hers, removing his glasses and wig.

Sometimes she swore he could read her mind. "Sorry to disappoint you." He raised a slim pale eyebrow, and she elucidated, "You wanted to see me look stupid, right?" She shrugged. "Better luck next time."

Truth be told, if he hadn't been there... she didn't think it would have gone nearly as well. She'd been so determined to finally do something right in his eyes that she'd tapped into some inner reserve of composure, one she hadn't known she had.

"That's why you think I came?" His eyes gleamed with a strange light, and either a sneer or a half-smile tugged at his lips.

Sayoko stared at him. "Well," she said, uncertainly, "well, isn't it?" He was giving her a very familiar look, one that expressed how much it amused him to see how weak she was, how obtuse she was, how unlike him she was. One that showed how very much in contempt he held her.

As if she didn't already feel enough contempt for herself.

Without another word, she stood and left the room, not even bothering to glare at him.

~x~

An was waiting outside the school gate when Kirihara and a few of his friends were leaving. They were talking, and laughing, and shoving each other, and she almost turned and fled.

But this was something she had to do.

When they saw her, the noise and roughhousing died down, and she met Kirihara's eyes for a fragment of a moment before looking vaguely to the left of him. They all just stood there a little while, and she feared he would walk by without even acknowledging her. But then—

"Guys, I'll catch up with you later."

The other boys smirked, and nudged him, but drifted away. With all the lazy self-confidence in the world, he ambled up to stand a few feet in front of her, hipshot and expectant.

She took a breath, and looked at him, and said, "Do you want to go play air-hockey?"

~x~

She won the first game, but went down in flames in the second and third.

"You're not trying," he accused when he crushed her in the fourth game. The cacophony of video games and chatter pressed down on them.

"But I am," she said in a soft tone of voice that made it clear she wasn't talking about air-hockey. That gave him pause, his scowl all but vanishing.

He looked at her from across the air-hockey table, a look that was similar to ones he'd given her before, like for the life of him, he couldn't begin to understand why she was the way she was. With previous looks, he'd expressed a brutal determination to figure her out at any cost, her own feelings and thoughts be damned.

Now he looked at her as if, more than anything, he wanted her to explain herself to him.

"Come on," he said, tossing the puck back onto the table with a clatter. He turned and walked right out of the arcade, and she had to hasten to keep up. He led her around corners, past stores, through intersections.

"Are you taking me to a deserted alley so you can mug me?" she asked, only half-kidding. "I think I should let you know that all that's in my bag is textbooks, lime-flavored chapstick, and a tampon."

His lips twitched, but he did not reply. He ended up bringing her to a street tennis court by the park, which she supposed should have been her first guess. It was empty, and as she followed Kirihara up onto it, she couldn't help but say, "I'm gonna go ahead and point out that we don't have any racquets."

"Overrated," he declared, setting his things down by the fence. "Best of a one-set match. Call your own lines. I'll serve first." Sure enough, he went and stood at the baseline, mimed bouncing a ball.

When she hesitated, he called out, "Come on, Tachibana, this is a Wimbledon final! Let's see some hustle."

An snorted, but deposited her things and jogged over to the other side of the court. He tossed the imaginary ball up in the air and pretended to hit it, and she split-stepped to where, judging by the way he'd served, a real ball would have landed, and returned it with a spectacular imaginary forehand.

Their pretend rally went on for seven minutes, until finally she went for a backhand down the line, and Kirihara pulled up short. "Out," he told her smugly.

"What?"

"Out," he said again. "Outsies. Out of bounds. Not in. Not good. Bad. Unforced error. Thanks for playing. Try again next time."

"You're blind," she laughed. "That was on the line! How could you possibly call that out?"

"Are you kidding? That was out by twenty feet! It was a screaming miss," he grinned, his eyes flashing in the dimness of mid-evening. "You're blind."

"Lies," she grinned back, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. "Lies and slander. I saw it hit the line." She ran over to check for a scuff-mark that, of course, wouldn't be there. Kirihara joined her. "See!" She pointed with her toe at a random mark on the line. "Right there. My shot was in."

"Are you challenging my call?" he demanded. "Are you challenging my call?" He mimed throwing his racquet to the ground, and she copied the action.

"Bring it," she grinned, and when he took an exaggerated, menacing step toward her, she squared her shoulders, put up her fists—

And ran like hell.

He chased her out of the tennis court and into the park, across the soccer field and onto the empty playground. She laughed and darted about, always keeping something between them—the swings, or the slide, or the monkey-bars.

"Can't catch me," she teased from across the sandbox.

"Oh yeah?" he grinned, moving to the left when she shifted left, and to the right when she shifted right. "Labradoodle," he said, making her blink. "Jujitsu. Kumquat. Kerfuffle. Scallywag. Bamboozle—"

Unable to help herself, she laughed, and he took the opportunity to leap forward and tackle her, sending them both crashing to the ground.

Considering how short their acquaintance was, he'd already tackled her an inordinate amount of times.

Kirihara rolled like a log off her, and she sat up, groaning. Her school uniforms had really taken a beating recently. They looked at each other, and in that moment she would have sworn to God that there was nothing in the world as green as those eyes.

"Consider yourself bamboozled," he deadpanned, and laughed, a sound that was young and free and just... happy. Simply, wonderfully happy.

Her breath caught in her throat. And just like that—

"I'm sorry," she told him, the words floating out of her mouth, the words she'd been trying to say all day. "I just. I'm sorry about... yesterday. I was—" she shrugged, kicked at the grass. "It was a bad day. But I didn't really... it wasn't fair for me to take it out on you.

"You were right," she went on, forcing herself to keep talking, to swallow her pride. "Everything you said was... right." I don't know you. I don't have any right to judge you.

She couldn't look at him. "But I just, I don't know." She reached over to grab a fistful of sand, tossed it from hand to hand, letting it slip through her fingers like fairy dust. "I don't know anymore. I think that maybe..."

She faltered, and collected herself only to falter again. She couldn't imagine how she seemed to him, a girl that was either glaring at him or laughing with him. It wasn't her fault she came off so capricious, though. Her behavior toward him always would have been negative, if he hadn't—

If he hadn't made her feel... good. Happy. Untroubled. Like she could forget about school and tennis and stress and competition and bullies and just have fun. Like she wasn't just somebody's little sister. Like she could be happy as well as strong.

He made her feel like the kind of person she wanted to be.

"I think maybe... I think we should be friends," she said in a rush, letting a breeze blow away the small amount of sand she had in her hand. "I just really... I'm tired," she said lamely. "I'm tired of holding a grudge against you."

They sat in silence. She still couldn't bring herself to look at him, but she could feels his eyes on her, feel them the way you feel the heat of the sun on your bare skin. She shivered.

Finally he said, "I'm not blind." The words were slow and sure, weighed down by something.

She didn't understand what he meant by that—was he referencing her lighthearted comment from earlier, or something else?—but she did understand that he was giving her a chance. That they could be friends.

And that then, over time, she might know him well enough to understand what he'd meant.

Okay, this will be the last big chapter dump - I've been going through to edit the chapters, & this is as far as I've gotten for now. Soon I'll have to start *checks notes* doing my job. I have one of those now! It's weird！

Like it actually is, though. When I began this story, I was in high school, & the other tabs I'd have open when working on this would be YouTube & Tumblr. Now I have two (2) work emails I keep open at all times, plus a *whispers* spreadsheet.

Anyway, I hope all you guys are happy and healthy, or at least not unhappy and unhealthy, which is about as much one can ask for during Ye Olde End Times. Drop a review or a message if you wanna have a chat!

Much love always,
Becca

Disclaimer: I do not own Prince of Tennis, or The Goo Goo Dolls' "Here is Gone" (lyrics at the top).