Disclaimer: I do not own Slam Dunk; Takehiko Inoue does.

Note: This is unedited, so mistakes are all over the place. This sucks by the way, even so, I dedicate this to Night Strider and The Long Fall of Prose.

There's always been no relying that you'd follow any course. Like a highway, you just branch out to various ends and loops which promise no potential of finding a permanent residence, or anything with finality. You come and go without the slightest heed to what you abandon and to the hospitality you abuse. You don't turn around to listen to the collapse of those you leave for ruin to devour. My heart for instance. It's safe here to assume consolation and pity are nothing but a waste of your time, though you know that there are things that dissolve irretrievably in your absence. But you move on, to just trample on objects and occasion them hunger that renews almost instantly after you bless them with that rare satisfaction. My eyes for instance. When you've gone your dusts remained to introduce the realization that when you went away, you were gone for good. And you're still nowhere within my voice's reach to recover. Amazingly, you continue to stray into the blind alleys which make up those places where you and I still draw in to togetherness. In my mind, specifically. When you came to me you zoomed across with the sleekness of light. You were a shooting star with all its wondrous beauty flaunted in full brilliance. I should've known you were as deadly as one too; a flaming chunk of rock from some unknown region of the universe.

You kindled a flame, commenced my incineration, ignored my destruction, and reduced me to the ashes of the former fire that was us. It couldn't have been anything besides. You just roused me from slumber so that you could awaken me from my daze, to ultimately give me a final shove that would forever leave me marred. You know, it was a dormant desire until you violated the line I so tediously drew for a special immunity against attraction. Indeed, you trespassed on a holy threshold, but as you are what you are, in the long run your intrusion I welcomed openly. I still don't know why. Maybe hesitation has a knack of fleeing before the sight of you. In time, coherent thinking became a myth. You are a wonder. You were mine or simply that you made me believe so. And they say possessions poison the mind, breed greed, and harbor discontent. That being the case, I'm in no danger of succumbing into such follies for the grave reason that you have been his all along. But in all honesty, sempai, you should be mine, as much as any man has a right to say.

His. I guess no amount of the word's repetition can comply with its actual profundity. He sweeps you off your feet without effort. He conquers you without applying illusion. He lures you to draw closer without setting snares. He owns you without having the need of uttering endearments. In a manner of speaking, he is everything I am not. As it is, it has never since loomed so true when they say the past always leaves an indelible stain. Yours is one. He never waits for you, for your attachment to him has never once failed to lead you to where he is. He only has to use his eyes to gain the entirety of your affection and he never leaves residues for any scavenger. Like me.

Looking back, I thought we were bulletproof until I noticed blood pooling beneath my feet. I thought entreaties could redirect your steps until I'd gone mute from clamoring. Perhaps you're deaf, blind, and lost. Maybe it only seems so because between you and him, words only serve little assistance; the understanding you two share hardly requires things as grand as words. having said all this, it pains me to think one look is all it takes for your worlds to disappear. And silence distorts faster than letters. It can translate lies as truths, betray hope and, as absurd as it sounds, it forges anew an attraction that has long been weathered by restraints and time's demands. Yours is one; his is another.

I will continue to waltz around you as you transform me to a melody you will never sing nor hear. I will watch you still for all its worth, for although I cannot soar high and take you with me, I'm not contented to crawl. I will lie down and entrust you to whatever he has to offer and love you still, as patiently my world bleeds.

Now you look at me, and your face conveys a bold statement, a request that calls not for anyone's consent, a deed that retreats from no challenge. 'Let go' you say; you may as good as ask me to give my life away for the reason that people receive it for free. There's no going against the tide in the very same sense that no word can remedy this injustice. So in return I say to you, Mitsui-sempai,

'Let go, you ask of me? Since when have you become mine to let go of?

END