The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the streets of Shibuya as Yuki and I made our way toward the station. The familiar chaos of Scramble Crossing had given way to the steady flow of early evening commuters, salarymen already heading home mixed with students like us finishing up their club activities.
"So," Yuki began, adjusting her bag strap, "you actually managed to get Segawa into the Photography Club."
"You sound surprised."
"I am. Though I'm more surprised you went out of your way to help him." She glanced at me sideways. "The Shirogane Rei I know usually avoids getting involved in other people's problems."
I kicked a stray pebble, watching it skitter across the pavement toward Center Gai. "Maybe I'm not as consistent as you think."
"Or maybe," Yuki said thoughtfully, "you saw something of yourself in him."
The observation made me uncomfortable, mostly because it hit too close to home. "What makes you say that?"
"Just thinking about what you said before, about masks and being genuine." She stopped at the vending machine near the station's west entrance, inserting coins for her usual green tea. "Segawa may be... excessive in how he presents himself, but at least he's honest about his delusions. That's more than most people can say."
The machine hummed as it dispensed her drink. She offered me one, but I shook my head, checking the time on my phone. Ten minutes until my train to Daikanyama.
"It's not about honesty," I said, leaning against the station wall. "It's about belonging. Everyone wants to belong somewhere, even if they have to wear masks to do it. Segawa just wears his mask more dramatically than most."
"And you? What mask are you wearing now?"
I looked up at the orange-tinted sky, considering her question. "Who knows? Maybe I've worn them so long I can't tell the difference anymore."
"That's rather dark, even for you." Yuki sipped her tea. "Though I suppose it explains why you and Suzuki-senpai are friends. She wears her own mask of perfectionism pretty firmly."
"How did you—"
"The way you spoke to her. Nobody argues like that with a stranger." She smiled. "Plus, I saw her name in your phone contacts once."
Sometimes I forgot how observant Yuki could be beneath her quiet demeanor. It was one of the reasons we'd become friends – she saw through masks without trying to tear them off.
"You know," she continued as we approached the ticket gates, "helping Segawa might not be such a bad thing. For either of you."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, he gets to pursue something he's genuinely interested in, even if his reasons are... unique. And you..." She paused at the point where we'd separate, me to the platforms and her toward her neighborhood. "Maybe helping someone else find their place will help you figure out yours."
"Speaking of places," I said, fishing out my IC card, "remember when we first met? At Manga House in Udagawa?"
A rare smile crossed Yuki's face. "How could I forget? You were hogging the entire Urasawa section."
"I was not hogging it. I was conducting important research."
"You were hiding."
I couldn't deny that. Six months ago, I'd discovered that particular manga cafe as my perfect escape spot. Hidden on the third floor of a somewhat shabby building, it was the kind of place you'd only find if you were intentionally trying to avoid being found.
"You were hiding too," I pointed out. "The famous 'Ice Queen' of Class 2-B, reading shoujo manga in secret."
"Before you marched over with that judgmental look, I'd heard all the rumors about you," I continued, watching her fidget with her card case. "How the 'Ice Queen' rejected confessions without even looking at the letters. How you made three different boys cry during Valentine's Day."
"Four, actually," Yuki corrected, adjusting her glasses. "Though the fourth one was just allergic to chocolate."
"See? That right there. Everyone thought you were just cold, but you actually have a weird sense of humor."
"And everyone thought you were just antisocial, but you were actually..." She paused, considering. "Well, no, you were pretty antisocial."
"At least I have a reason," I laughed. "You just turn down every boy who confesses like it's a personal offense. Though..." I studied her carefully, noticing how her eyes lingered just a second too long on a group of girls from the tennis club passing by. "Maybe you just haven't found what you're looking for yet."
Yuki stiffened slightly, then forcefully adjusted her glasses - her tell when something hit too close to home. "I just have high standards," she said, a bit too quickly. "Unlike some people who read manga in completely random order."
I let her change the subject, recognizing the deflection for what it was. Some realizations needed their own time to develop, like photos in a darkroom.
"Because you were reading them in the wrong order!" she continued, latching onto the safer topic. "Who starts '20th Century Boys' from volume 15?"
The station melody for the Toyoko Line chimed overhead, saving me from having to defend my questionable reading habits.
"I should go," I said, tapping my card at the gate. "Want to grab lunch tomorrow?"
"Only if you promise not to start any new manga series from the middle."
"No promises. Your reactions are too entertaining."
As I headed down to the platform, I heard her call after me: "Don't blame me when your entire reading experience is ruined!"
I waved without turning around, smiling as I joined the evening crowd waiting for the Daikanyama-bound train. The platform was packed with the usual mix of students and office workers, all of us heading home under the darkening summer sky.
Sometimes the most important conversations happened in these in-between spaces – in manga cafes, at vending machines, on train platforms. Places where masks could slip, just a little, without the world ending.
The train arrived with its familiar whoosh, and I found my usual spot by the door. Through the window, I caught a glimpse of Yuki's retreating figure, her long black hair swaying as she walked toward her neighborhood.
Tomorrow would bring what it would, but for now, I let the gentle sway of the train and the fading warmth of our conversation carry me those two familiar stops toward home.