Matsuda's fingers trembled slightly as he pushed his glasses up, a nervous habit that only served to highlight how red his eyes still were. The afternoon sunlight streaming through the cafe windows felt too bright, too exposing. He desperately wished he had his camera to hide behind.
"I apologize if I'm interrupting your day, Suzuki-senpai," he managed, proud that his voice barely wavered. "I was just reviewing the festival scheduling..." He gestured vaguely at the crumpled paper he'd hastily tried to smooth out.
Akane's eyes lingered on his face for a moment too long. He resisted the urge to turn away, knowing his obvious distress would only be more apparent in profile. Instead, he reached for his coffee cup, using the motion to duck his head slightly, letting his messy black hair fall forward.
"Actually," Akane said, her voice carrying that gentle tone she usually reserved for when Segawa got too carried away with his naval reenactments, "I wanted to talk about the photos from last semester."
She placed a familiar camera on the table – his old Nikon, the one he'd used before upgrading. His heart clenched, remembering all the candid shots stored in its memory card. All those quiet moments he'd captured of her, when she wasn't performing the role of perfect club president.
"The lighting was particularly good that day," he found himself saying, falling back on technical details like a shield. "The way the sun hit the club room windows during golden hour created a natural softbox effect that—"
"Matsuda-kun."
He stopped, staring at a small coffee stain on the table.
"You've been crying."
It wasn't a question. He wanted to deny it, to fabricate some excuse about allergies or dust in his eyes. But his throat felt too tight, and he was so tired of hiding behind his viewfinder.
"I'm fine," he said instead, attempting a smile that felt like it might shatter at any moment. "Just tired from festival preparations. You know how it is, with all the scheduling and..." He gestured at the wrinkled paper again, refusing to meet her eyes. "The deadline pressures can be quite... quite..."
He trailed off as Akane gently took the schedule from his hands, smoothing it out on the table between them. Her fingers traced over the color-coded sections, lingering on the precisely written notes in the margins.
"You know," she said softly, "sometimes the best photographs are the ones where we let our guard down. When we stop trying to compose everything perfectly."
Matsuda's chest felt too tight. He wished desperately for his camera, for the safety of seeing the world through a lens where everything could be carefully framed and controlled.
"I should go," he said abruptly, reaching for his bag. "I have to... there's a... I need to..."
"Your camera settings were wrong."
He froze. "What?"
"In all these photos." She tapped his old Nikon. "The ISO was too high for the lighting conditions. The aperture could have been wider. Technically speaking, they're not your best work."
Matsuda felt his face burn with shame. Of course she'd noticed the technical flaws. She was Suzuki Akane, perfect in every—
"But they're my favorites."
His head snapped up, finally meeting her gaze. Her expression was... different. Softer somehow, like those imperfect photos he'd taken when she didn't know he was watching.
"I don't understand," he whispered.
Outside the cafe window, he caught a glimpse of silver hair ducking quickly out of sight, followed by what sounded suspiciously like a muffled lecture about proper naval surveillance techniques.
Some things, it seemed, never changed.
Even if everything else had.
"Well, isn't this nostalgic?" A familiar voice cut through the tension. "Silver-chan's still playing guardian angel?"
The voice brought back a memory from six months ago. Yuki and I had been avoiding the rain near the gym, her lecturing me about proper manga reading order, when she'd accidentally crashed into someone turning the corner. In her panic to keep her glasses from falling, she'd managed to elbow Yamamoto Kenji right in the stomach.
His camera had gone flying. I'd caught it purely on instinct, while Yuki was still apologizing profusely.
"Give that back," he'd said, his voice rough. Not the usual delinquent threat we'd expected, but something more desperate.
That's when I'd noticed where we were – behind the gym, away from witnesses. The perfect place for someone to destroy expensive photography equipment without interruption.
"No," I'd said firmly, surprising myself, Yuki, and probably him too. "Not until you explain why you brought a perfectly good Nikon out here to destroy it."
He'd stared at me, rain dripping from his then-natural black hair. "Failed the art school exam. What's the point?"
"So naturally, the solution is camera murder?"
Now here he was again, still in that worn leather jacket, camera bag slung over his shoulder. His hair was bleached now, longer than I remembered, but that uncertain edge behind his casual confidence hadn't changed.
"Silver-chan," he nodded, then glanced at my current surveillance position. "Though I have to say, lurking outside cafes is new."
"Kenji-senpai," I managed, feeling Segawa stiffen in confusion beside me. "I thought you had a gallery thing..."
"Changed plans." His eyes flicked to the cafe window, taking in the scene inside with a photographer's precision. "Though I'm guessing Akane did too."
"You know Shirogane-san?" Segawa whispered loudly, looking between us with increasing bewilderment.
Kenji's grin widened. "Know her? Silver-chan here's the reason I didn't get expelled in my third year. Though," he raised an eyebrow at me, "I didn't expect to find you lurking outside cafes these days."
"I'm not lurking," I protested weakly. "I'm providing tactical support."
"She means we're conducting surveillance!" Segawa helpfully supplied.
"Surveillance, huh?" Kenji peered through the window again, his expression softening as he watched Matsuda clutch his coffee cup like a lifeline. "Let me guess – first heartbreak?"
"How did you—"
"I remember that look." He adjusted his camera strap thoughtfully. "Had it myself once. Right before a certain first-year found me behind the gym and lectured me about proper exposure settings until I forgot to feel sorry for myself."
I felt my face heat up. "That was different. You were about to throw your camera in the trash."
"And you said—" he pitched his voice higher in an terrible imitation of my younger self "'Senpai, if you're going to self-destruct, at least do it with proper composition.'"
"I did not sound like that!"
"The sentiment stands." His expression turned serious. "Look, Silver-chan, I know what you're trying to do. You've got that same 'fix everything' look you had back then. But sometimes..." he glanced at the window again. "Sometimes people need to find their own focus."
Inside, I could see Akane showing Matsuda something on his old camera's screen, their heads bent close together. Despite his obvious distress, there was something about the way he looked at her – not with the raw pain of earlier, but with the careful attention he usually reserved for composing difficult shots.
"So what do we do?" I asked quietly.
"We trust the process." Kenji straightened up, adjusting his jacket. "And maybe..." he pulled something from his camera bag – a familiar-looking book of photography techniques. "Maybe we leave some light reading where it might be helpful."
He handed me the book with a wink, then headed for the cafe door. Just before entering, he turned back.
"Oh, and Silver-chan? Thanks. For still being that kid who can't help fixing broken things."
As he disappeared inside, Segawa turned to me with wide eyes. "The enemy admiral is actually an ally? This changes our entire tactical approach!"
I couldn't help but laugh, even as I watched Kenji approach Akane's table with his usual casual confidence. Some things really didn't change.
Even if the way they came into focus did.