Author's Note: Anybody else watch Jenna Marbles? Anybody else sing to their pets?

250 Dark Stars

(Open up to me, open up to me

I will always be your resting hour

Give it all to me, give it all to me)

...

Her brother did not answer his phone. Not the first time An called, or the next, or even on her third try. When she got back to her aunt's empty apartment, she got on her laptop and discovered why: he was playing a match. It wouldn't stream, but the score was updated live. She lay on her bed and just watched the numbers change, fifteen thirty forty, love-all one-love, one-all two-one.

Then her alarm went off, and she realized she'd fallen asleep Sunday afternoon and slept right through to Monday morning.

She went through school in a daze. If called on in class, she could only stare and mumble. Sayoko used her influence to keep An from getting seriously scolded, though it wasn't as if the chestnut-haired girl would even have registered her teachers' disapproval.

Tomorrow was a teacher work day, meaning they did not have school, so Fuyumi (persuaded by Shimizu's wheedling) allowed practice to end a little early, so long as they played extra hard while they were there. At this, An did not succeed. She was as out of it on the courts as she'd been in the classroom, but no one called her on it. Probably figured she just needed time to calm down.

Was that what she needed?

She sat in the locker room long after everyone else had gone home. Just stared at the uniforms and racquets and training schedules and thought, I don't have to do this. I could quit. Maybe I was never meant to come here, to play tennis here. Maybe it's time to move on.

But the thought of filling out a resignation form made her want to cry.

When finally she exited the clubhouse, she heard the sound of tennis balls rebounding off racquet strings. Katsuragi was out there by herself, playing against a ball-machine cranked up to its highest level. Sweat darkened her hair, coated her face. Tennis balls carpeted the court.

The older girl heard the door swing shut, turned around. Her eyes widened when she saw An, but the chestnut-haired girl herself couldn't muster the energy to feel surprised. Dully, she asked, "Why? Why would you pretend to not even care about tennis, but then work so hard in secret? What's the point?"

Why even bother?

Katsuragi caught a tennis ball, stared down at it. An thought she would not answer, but finally, carefully, she said, "If I lost, and everyone knew how much I cared about it, how much it hurt me… that might be even worse than the loss itself. You know? If you don't seem to care, you can just shrug it off."

She paused. "I guess I'm trying to say… the more you care, or seem to, the more vulnerable you are. The more you care, the worse you can get hurt."

Katsuragi shrugged. Said, "That may be your problem, Tachibana."

~x~

The morning of their day off school, Sayoko woke up around seven-thirty, threw on clothes, and padded downstairs. The house was empty. Her parents were already gone, as was her brother. He and Yagyuu were playing a couple sets at an indoor tennis club, then buying equipment to restock the team's supplies.

"Just you and me, buddy," said Sayoko to Wimble, finding him curled up under the kitchen table. He only flicked an ear, so she crouched down and sang to him. "This is the part of Wimble that you're never gonna ever take away from Wimble, no, this is the part of Wimble that you're never—"

He hissed.

"You are an ungrateful monster," she informed him, "and I scorn your general direction." She stood and turned her back to him, pouring herself a cup of still-hot tea. Her brother must have left only shortly before.

She went to the study and sat down on the cushioned ledge under the window, which looked out over her brother's garden. The sky was soft gray. Sipping her tea, she glanced at the piano. How many lessons had she and her brother taken at it? She could still hear the melodies tangling together, soaring high, sinking low.

But now she heard something else, something that haunted her. Still musical, but disconcerting. Laughter. Takada Shouta's laughter.

Her brother kept footage of all Rikkai's matches. On Saturday she'd snuck into the clubhouse and stolen a disc marked Kirigaoka High School. She'd taken it home, watched it once everyone else had gone to bed.

She understood now. Understood Kirigaoka's hostility. Understood Takada's hatred of her brother.

She understood, but she didn't want to think about it. Instead she pulled out a book: Mearsheimer's The Tragedy of Great Power Politics. It was peaceful and quiet, there in the study, and she began to relax, to forget about Kirigaoka. Forget about the doubt and disquiet the footage had left her with. Forget about the shot of her brother's small, amused smile that plagued her just as the laughter did.

And then Niou Masaharu rang the doorbell.

She opened the door, blinked at him. "Niou-senpai," she said, smiling at the sight of him, despite her confusion. "Oniisan isn't here…"

"I know." He stood hipshot. Behind him were the street, the other houses, the rainclouds. "Nice shirt."

She was wearing a long-sleeved polo of her brother's, with broad, alternating stripes of light and dark blue. It was, of course, too big for her, the white collar dipping low, exposing her collarbones. "It's laundry day," she mumbled, blushing. "My stuff's in the wash."

"Sure it is."

She crossed her arms, but kept smiling, knowing it would only encourage him, but unable to help it. "Did you come all the way here just to make fun of me? You really need to get a hobby. Or a friend other than Yagyuu-senpai, maybe."

"Just because you are a paragon of charm and social success," he drawled, "does not give you the right to look down on those less fortunate." His eyes gleaming, he took a step back, tilting his head toward the street.

"Sweetheart," he said. "Come with me."

She was at his side in a moment, and—and it was a little alarming, wasn't it? Her eagerness to be with him. The pull of him, an outgoing tide, drawing her farther and farther from shore.

But she wasn't thinking about that right then, or about where they were going, or why, or whether this was a good idea or a very, very bad one. Did it matter? It was nine a.m. on Tuesday morning, and Niou Masaharu had come to get her.

~x~

They took a train into the city. They'd missed the crush of people going to work, but it was still near-full. Sayoko was under-dressed for a day out, and couldn't help but notice with some resentment that Niou looked great.

They both wore jeans, but hers were worn and faded, while his were black and fit perfectly. His short-sleeved shirt was the color of red wine, and the front featured a black-and-white graphic design. Loosely gripping the overhead bar with one hand, his eyelids hooded low, he seemed the picture of disaffected youth.

"Come on," he murmured, jolting her from her musings. The train had stopped, and he nudged her out of the compartment. They were at a station she'd never gotten off at before. Trash and broken glass littered the sidewalk; graffiti was the only color in the otherwise bleak landscape. Yet Niou seemed comfortable with the surroundings, crooking his finger for her to follow him.

She did so, frowning. Niou's clothing was upscale, his phone high tech; he attended one of the most elite, expensive private schools in the nation. There was also the small matter of his brother going to boarding school in Switzerland. Could he really be from this area?

"Niou-senpai… are you with the yakuza?"

"As a matter of fact, I'm not. But thanks for asking."

Hardly anyone else was out, but those that they did pass had a grim, unfriendly look to them. One man leered at Sayoko, but she only lifted a brow. Niou was with her, so what did she have to worry about?

After turning a corner, said boy stopped. "In here."

Sayoko eyed the squat, ugly brick building. A sign hung crookedly over the door, but it was too dirty to be legible. "Drug den?"

"If only."

"Gambling hall?"

"I wish."

She paused. "If you've taken me here to sell me into prostitution, I swear to God—"

"You," he began, but didn't seem to know how to continue. Shaking his head, he ushered her inside. The building may have once been a rowhouse, but the interior walls had been knocked down, opening up a long space. The place was, to her surprise, clean, well-lit, and citrus-scented.

It was also full of rows and boxes and dressers and tables full of stuff. Old records and photographs, ornate mirrors and stacks upon stacks of books and—

"Welcome." A old man approached them. His clothes hung loosely from his frail body, but when he took Sayoko's hand, shook it, his grip was tight. "Hello there." He smiled at her, white teeth stark against leathery skin, before rounding on Niou. "And you. Where have you been?"

"Around."

"Whenever you stop visiting, I assume you've gotten yourself thrown in prison." The man drew himself erect, though he had only an inch or two on Sayoko. "Who do you think you are, making an old man worry like that?"

Niou's mouth twitched. Delicately, and with great irony, he said, "My bad."

"Hmph. Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?"

"My name is Yukimura Sayoko," she supplied, prompting Niou's And there you have gesture. "It's very nice to meet you."

The man turned to her once more, visibly suppressing a smile. " I'm Kamura Seii. I can already tell you're better behaved than this one." With a jerk of his chin, he indicated Niou, who didn't so much as blink twice.

"He's a ruffian, that one," she agreed, smiling, which made Kamura crack and smile back. If Niou liked him, Sayoko liked him. "Kids these days are the worst."

"That they are." He gestured expansively. "Well, go ahead and look around, Yukimura-chan. This place started out as a music store, but as you'll soon find, I sell a bit of everything."

She inclined her head and murmured her thanks, heading toward the back. She was still within hearing-range when Kamura said in a low, conversational tone, "Well, damn if she's not a looker, but I never thought I'd see the day when you brought a girl here, Niou Masaharu."

She glanced back in time to see that Niou's only response was a shrug.

Minutes later, she was rummaging through a dresser full of old costumes when the pale-haired boy strolled over. "What do you think?" she asked, plopping a giant sombrero on her head. It settled low, largely obscuring her vision. She spread her arms wide, as if she'd just completed a gymnastics routine.

"That's hot," he deadpanned. She laughed, taking the hat off her own head and trying to place it on his. "Oh, no you don't," he said, snatching it away and tossing it up on top of the dresser, out of her reach.

"You were just afraid it wouldn't look as good on you as it did on me. Admit it."

"That's it," he nodded. "You got me." There was an animation to his voice and expression, a raw electricity, not throwing sparks, just running as if along a copper wire under his skin. It was quiet, this avidity of his, this openness, but it was rare and it was precious, and she would not waste it.

Knowing Niou would follow, Sayoko skipped toward the CDs. There was no method to the madness: Lady Gaga was next to Beethoven was next to Southern All Stars. "How does this place stay open?" she wondered aloud. "I mean, it's cool, but not exactly an effective business model."

"The old man's actually already retired, and independently wealthy from his old job," Niou replied, selecting a jazz CD with a practiced hand. Placing the disc into a nearby CD player, he continued, "He just runs this place for fun, sells whatever he wants to. He doesn't really make any money."

"I don't see how he could. We're the only ones in here."

The music started playing. It was a deep, smoky sort of sound, colorful in its own way, but boring after the first minute. After some searching, Sayoko produced one of Utada Hikaru's newer albums, which she held out to Niou.

One would have thought she'd slapped him across the face. He said flatly, "No J-pop."

"Fine. K-pop?"

"No."

"Oh, come on. C-pop? Work with me here."

"You have terrible taste in music," he told her. and though he kept his expression perfectly straight, she knew he wanted to smile. That filled her with a bright rushing energy.

"Katy Perry," she tried, flipping through the CDs. "Or Lady Gaga, or Rihanna, or…"

"Seriously God-awful taste," he emphasized.

"All right," she said, carefully extracting a CD from the bottom of a stack, "Walk the Moon. You have to like Walk the Moon." They were her American host sister's favorite band. Or had been, at least. When was the last time she'd emailed Emily?

She switched the CDs out. When the first track came on over the speaker system, Niou made a show of appearing unimpressed with it. "Seriously, Niou-senpai?" She crossed her arms. "Now you're just being a music snob, you with your pretentious jazz."

He only lifted a brow.

So she started singing, much the way she had with Wimble. Niou had come to get her. Wanted to spend the day with her. That made her brave. "Firecrackers in the east, my car parked south," she sang, moving closer, "your hands on my cheeks, your shoulder in my mouth, I was up against the wall on the west mezzanine—"

"Stop it." A muscle in his cheek jumped. "Sweetie, you're adorable, but you can't sing worth a damn. Hasn't anyone ever told you that?"

She stuck her tongue out at him, picked back up. "What do you know, this house is falling apart, what can I say, this house is falling apart," and there, his poker-face was cracking, she could see it, "we got no money but we got heart—"

He laughed, turning his head to the side so she couldn't see. Beaming, she took his hands, swung them from side to side. Tried to make him face her as he'd done to her so many times in the past. Only he did something she'd never thought to do.

He reversed her grip and raised his arm, spinning her out and away from him so that she could not see his face. Laughing, she held on to his hand, using it to tug herself back in.

We're gonna rattle this ghost town
This house is falling apart

Instead of spinning her back out, he pulled her in closer, so close that her face was pressed to his throat. She could feel his laughter, feel the vibrations in his chest and shoulders, but could not actually see him laughing.

But with his arms were around her waist and her head tucked under his chin, she couldn't really bring herself to care.

We were up against the wall
On the west mezzanine

Niou must have felt her face heat up, must have felt the delicate skin of his throat burn, but he didn't comment on it. He brought one hand up, pushing Sayoko's hair away from her ear. He leaned down, leaned in, mouthing something. The words were inaudible, but she could feel his lips brush the shell of her ear.

Then he pulled away.

What do you know?
This house is falling apart

She stood there, gazing at him, her face aflame. She wanted to tell him, We can't do this. Remember? Instead she asked, "What did you say?"

He wouldn't tell her, of course. Had not meant for her to hear. But she had to ask.

He smirked. "I said you're lucky you're smart, because you couldn't sing your way out of a paper bag."

She couldn't come up with anything to say. Could only look at him.

What can I say?
This house is falling apart

~x~

"But it's raining."

"Yes," Niou agreed. "Yes, it is. Very astute of you. Let's go."

"But it's raining," said Sayoko again, frowning. They'd spent four hours sitting on the floor among the stacks of books, which she had, as Niou'd put it, "geeked out over." Now, just as they were preparing to leave, the skies had opened up.

"Right again. Remember what I said about you being smart? I meant every word. This is mindblowing information that you're imparting to me. Observations of apple-falling-from-a-tree-equals-gravity proportions. Have you ever thought about writing a book?"

"Niou-senpai." She nudged his foot. He flicked her forehead. She crossed her arms. "This isn't just rain. This is," she fumbled, "this is a Biblical rainstorm. This is a rainstorm where people grab lumber and hammers and wombats and try to build an ark but end up just buying an inflatable raft from the supermarket and hoping for the best. That is the sort of rainstorm this is."

"Wombats, huh?" He smirked. "Heard you and Atobe have already picked out a name for yours."

"Shut up." When his smirk only grew, she lifted her chin, blustering, "But yes, we have. His name will be Sevastopol."

"Only you," said Niou, his mouth twitching, "would name an imaginary wombat after a seige made during the Crimean War." It was doubtlessly wishful thinking on her part, but he actually sounded pretty fond of her. "Now come on." He opened the door. "It's only three blocks to the restaurant. You'll be fine."

Outside thunder crashed and the rain pounded and the wind whipped through the streets.

But Niou was holding out his hand to her, so she took it.

They ran down the street.

There was water everywhere, drenching everything. When she breathed, she breathed rain. Niou led her along but never seriously rushed. He was enjoying it, enjoying the crash of the storm like waves against the beach. When lightning tore the sky in half, he laughed, or at least he might have. Sayoko couldn't really see through the rain, couldn't hear over the noise. But she suspected he had.

So she smiled, slow and bright, and fell just a little bit in love with him.

Then she began sprinting in earnest, passing him but keeping hold of his hand, tugging as she shouted, "Come on come on run run run run run, come on come on, it's raining it's raining come on run!"

But he skidded to a stop, spraying water, and pulled her back. She nearly fell over. "We're here," he said, opening a door and drawing her inside. Sayoko only registered three things: that the place smelled good, that it was warm, and, most importantly, that it was dry.

And then suddenly someone was wrapping an enormous white towel around her. She stiffened.

"Niou Masaharu," scolded the woman with the towel. She was stout and gray-haired, her her face careworn. "Kamura told me you'd be by, and that I should be ready with towels. You've nearly drowned this poor girl! What do you have to say for yourself?"

Niou caught the towel she threw at him. Said, "I can't do anything right today. Can I?" He didn't sound particularly concerned about it.

The woman huffed, steering Sayoko toward a small, scarred table by the window. The chairs were heavy and worn, but comfortable when she sat down. Pushing her soaked hair out of her face, she looked around to see the restaurant was small and traditional, with only a couple other customers, none younger than fifty.

The heater was cranked up high, so she hoped her clothes would dry soon. Luckily her jeans hadn't gotten terribly wet—that would have been uncomfortable. Still, she shot Niou an accusatory look as he sat down across from her. "I got wet."

"Hadn't noticed." As he toweled off his hair, she considered the fact that they were in a restaurant, seated at a table for two. This was different than just going to a store.

Were they on a date?

Before she could humiliate herself by asking, the lady appeared with two cups and a steaming kettle of green tea. After pouring the tea, she said their food would be ready within half an hour, patted Sayoko on the head, and bustled away.

"But we didn't even order," said Sayoko once the lady was gone. Niou only shrugged. "And she patted my head. I don't even know her, and she patted my head."

He smirked, took a sip of tea. "You do sort of look like a drowned kitten."

"Yeah, well you look like a… a drowned… fish."

"Do I."

"You do," she mumbled. "Which is doubly bad, since, you know, fish don't drown. And whatnot."

"And whatnot," he echoed, regarding her the way he often did when she was being childish or pitiful, but without any of the condescension that usually saturated the expression. In fact, again he looked almost fond.

Sayoko allowed herself a small smile as she sipped her tea. Over the rain spattering against the window, she said, "You must come here a lot."

He tilted his head. Said slowly, "When it suits me."

"As if you ever do anything when it doesn't suit you," she said wryly. Pulling the towel closer around herself, she went on carefully, "I don't know. You just seem relaxed here, that's all. At the music store, too." The facial animation, the willingness to talk, the physical contact… it was almost too good to be true.

Actually, it was too good to be true. He had to have an ulterior motive. Niou always had an ulterior motive. She trusted him to care for her, but openness and honesty were another matter.

You love him, she chided herself. Trust him more.

"I," said Niou calmly, "am always relaxed."

"Uh, yeah, okay," said Sayoko, giggling. "If you say so. I guess you're always pretending to be relaxed. Which is like being relaxed, sure, if being relaxed involved watching and thinking and taking calculated risks and thinking. Also thinking. And watching. Did I miss anything?"

"Pondering," he drawled, propping his chin up on his fist. "My days are consumed by quite a bit of soul-searching." A moment passed. Lowly, he admitted, "I come here to get out of my apartment."

"… Oh." Had he actually shared that with her? Was he feeling sick today? "Is it…" Oh God, she couldn't blow this chance. "Is it because of your sister?"

"No." He looked out the window, at the drumming rain and empty streets. Overhead lightning bolts created their own ephemeral constellations, there for a moment, then gone forever. Sayoko feared he wouldn't say a word more, but at length came, "She moved out when she was fifteen. Went to school in London."

"Her too?" She blinked. "If she went to England and your brother to Switzerland… were you supposed to go to school in Europe too?"

What if he had? What if she'd never met him? Or worse, if she'd met him, come to depend on him, and then he'd left?

"No." Again the short answered seemed so much easier for him than the explanation. Slowly, slowly, without looking at her, Niou continued, "Kaito just chose to leave. My sister," he began, and stopped. As if he were speaking a foreign language, didn't know the right words. "My sister got kicked out."

Sayoko swallowed. Asked, "Why?"

Finally he turned his head, faced her. His eyes were such a strange, lovely color, like the glass window beside him, the rain and gray sky beyond. "She's gay."

"Oh," she said, relieved. "I was afraid she was like a drug addict or something." But he did not smile, just looked away again. Hesitantly, she ventured, "So your parents weren't okay with that?" It was hardly surprising; few adults in Japan were.

"No," he said, his mouth twisting. "No, they were not okay with that. When she refused to stay with relatives, my parents told her she could go anywhere in the world, that they'd pay for any school she wanted. She just couldn't stay here."

"My God," said Sayoko softly. "That's awful." She looked down at her cup. "So… um. Is that why you—don't like her? Your sister. Because she's gay?"

Niou exhaled suddenly, a sharp, bitter sort of laugh. "I don't give a damn that she's gay. I give a damn that she left."

She frowned. "But you said she got kicked out."

"So what? She could have stayed. If she'd really tried to, she could have. And all the holidays, all the school breaks, she just traveled. Never tried to come back, not even when our parents stopped being dickheads. Said she could come back. She didn't want to. I can practically count on one hand the times I've seen her since then. Kaito barely knows her, he was so young when she left."

His jaw set, Niou crossed his arms, slouched down lower in his chair. Sayoko knew the experience had pained him, that talking about it went so against his nature that it must have felt like pulling teeth. And later, yes, later she would marvel at the personal information he'd shared, grin like an idiot and dance around her room because he'd told all this to her, trusted her, but—

She couldn't help it. She giggled.

Niou lifted his chin. "And what," he asked slowly, "are you laughing at?"

He had separate modes of interaction for different people, she knew that. Most fell into the yeah-whatever-go-screw-yourself category, while some, opponents mainly, were treated with ice. Ice and cunning and aggression. He could be cruel. He could be mean. She'd known this since she'd met him, but had never really dwelt on it, because…

Because she'd always been a class apart in terms of how she was treated. At worst he was disdainful, mocking. But occasionally he would be gentle. Occasionally kind, occasionally patient, supportive. Always protective.

But now he was giving her a glance—just a glance—at what he showed people across the net.

She cringed. The laughter died on her lips.

He exhaled. "Seriously," he said, more softly. "Sweetie. What's so funny?"

"It's just." Now she smiled a little, picturing it. "You just looked so sullen. Like a little kid. And I only… I just…" She'd been so pleased to realize Niou could be childish, just like her. That he could have unrealistic expectations, just like her. That there were some people he needed, truly cared about.

Just like her.

"Thank you," she said quietly, smiling at him. "Thank you for telling me about your sister."

"Whatever." That he couldn't think of anything better to say only proved how uncomfortable he felt.

Then something occurred to her. "Hey, Niou-senpai…"

He slid his gaze toward her. He'd been looking out at the rain again. "Yeah?"

"Your sister, she…" Sayoko blushed. Did she dare bring this up? She could very well be setting herself up for humiliation. But she had to go through with it now. "She said you have a photo of me. Is that, um. Is that true?"

His eyebrows lifted, as did one corner of his mouth. "Sure," he replied, sounding amused. "From the day you left for America."

"What? But how…" And then she remembered. Her brother had been going through a photography phase at the time. She'd been walking down the terminal, but had paused when he'd said, "Smile, Sayoko." She'd half-turned, her hair spilling over her shoulder, her eyes half-lidded, a smile tucked at the corner of her mouth. "Oh," she murmured now. "That one. He emailed me a copy. How did you get it?"

"Stole it from your brother, one night I stayed over."

She bit down on her thumbnail. "But why?"

"I liked it. I wanted to have it." At her wide-eyed stare, he said nonchalantly, "You can have it back, if you want."

"Um. Um. No, that's… that's all right. You can keep it."

"Want to know a secret?" Leaning toward her, he whispered, "I would have kept it anyway."

~x~

"And a moon bounce," Sayoko was saying as their food came, "and an inflatable obstacle course, and a petting zoo, and a trampoline, and another trampoline so that you can jump from one trampoline to the other trampoline, and a pool filled with orange soda, and an arena where we all fight to the death with baseball bats and cans of Silly String."

Niou broke his chopsticks in half. "All of that," he drawled, "may push the limits of a school dance budget."

"The exhibition match made a lot of money," she pointed out. "Like a lot a lot a lot of money."

"I know," he scoffed. "I did the math for you, genius. Remember?"

"Oh. Right." To keep from saying other stupid things, she ate some of her noodles.

Niou tilted his head. "You liked running the exhibition match. You like being on student council." He turned his teacup in his hand. "Don't you."

She blinked. Said, "Well. Well… yeah. I guess I do. Some parts." She paused. "I guess I like planning things. Organizing them, executing them. And I like figuring out the best solutions for problems. As for dealing with all the people… I don't exactly like it, but it's easy for me. It's so easy to manage people." Her eyelids lowered.

The laughter. She could hear Takada's laughter, so bright, so unnerving. But she could also see him lying paralyzed on the ground.

"Except for when it's not," she finished in a whisper.

Niou rubbed his jaw. Said neutrally, "Like with Kirigaoka."

"Yeah. Yeah, I was just thinking about that. I just—" She froze. Stared at him. "Wait," she said slowly. "Wait. How do you know about Kirigaoka?"

So I submitted a few scenes from this story and won a position as an assistant teacher at a creative writing camp. YAY.

Thanks everybody for all your reviews and suggestions! They mean a lot to me. About two hours ago I was deadset against ever showing anyone this chapter ever, but I figured what the hell. Still pretty rough, but hey. We'll see where it goes from here?

A special prize to whoever can guess what Niou whispered in Sayoko's ear!

Disclaimer: I do not own Prince of Tennis, or Green River Ordinance's "Resting Hour" (lyrics at the top), or Katy Perry's "Part of Me" (lyrics in the beginning), or Walk the Moon's "Anna Sun" (lyrics in the middle).