Chapter 5: Packing Shadows and Smiles
The morning sun filtered through the stained-glass windows of Fairy Tail, painting the guild in warm colors. The usual chaos was in full swing—Natsu and Gray wrestling under a table, Cana lounging with a barrel, Elfman yelling about "manly spirit."
Menma sat quietly at his corner table, a book open in front of him, though he wasn't reading. His eyes followed the steam rising from his tea, unfocused, until a familiar shadow fell across the table.
"Morning, Menma," Mirajane greeted, her tone as bright as the sun spilling over her.
Menma glanced up, wary. She was smiling too sweetly.
"…What do you want?" he asked flatly.
Mirajane giggled, covering her lips with delicate fingers. "You make it sound like I'm always plotting something."
"You are," he replied, closing his book.
Her eyes sparkled mischievously. "Well, if you must know, I'm here to help you get ready for our little trip tomorrow."
Menma stiffened. He had been hoping she'd forget. Or at least not announce it loudly. The modeling job had already earned him enough teasing from the guild.
Natsu popped his head up from behind the table, grinning. "Oi, Menma, don't forget to pack some nice frilly clothes! The cameras love that!"
"Shut up, flame-brain," Menma muttered, pulling his hood lower.
Gray smirked, arms crossed. "Maybe they'll put him in a tuxedo. Can't wait to see him all fancy."
Cana raised her mug. "I'll pay double for the magazine issue if he's on the cover too."
The guild erupted in laughter. Menma sighed, wishing his chains would drag him into another dimension. But Mirajane only tilted her head, unbothered, her smile softening.
"Don't worry," she said sweetly, patting his shoulder. "I'll make sure you're ready."
Menma gave her a flat look. "I don't need help packing."
"Mm-hm," she hummed, leaning closer. "Do you even own more than one set of clothes?"
He opened his mouth, paused, then closed it again.
Her grin widened. "Thought so. Come on, let's go shopping."
Menma should have known resistance was futile. Within an hour, Mirajane had him walking through Magnolia's bustling market street, arms weighed down with bags. She floated beside him with the grace of someone entirely at home, while he looked like he'd been dragged into a nightmare.
"Remind me why I'm here," Menma muttered.
"Because," Mirajane chirped, "you can't just wear your cloak and scowl at everyone on the trip. The camera crew will think you're part of the scenery."
"I like my cloak."
"I know you do," she teased, "but trust me—you'll thank me later."
She led him into a small boutique, where the owner nearly fainted at the sight of Magnolia's darling model. Mirajane greeted her warmly before tugging Menma toward the racks.
He stood stiffly as she held shirts up against him, squinting in thought. "Too dark… too plain… ah, this one's nice."
She handed him a white button-up and a black vest. He stared at them like they were weapons.
"…I'm not wearing this."
"Yes, you are."
"No."
"Menma." She leaned closer, her smile suddenly dangerous. "Do I need to drag you into the dressing room myself?"
His ears turned faintly red. "…Fine."
By the time they left the boutique, Mirajane was humming happily with several bags in hand, while Menma looked thoroughly defeated. His cloak was still on, but beneath it he now carried proper outfits—simple, clean, stylish in a way he would never have picked for himself.
"You know," Mirajane said lightly, "you actually looked good in that vest. If you'd just smile, you might even outshine me in the photoshoot."
Menma scoffed. "Not happening."
She giggled. "We'll see."
Later that afternoon, they returned to the guild to pack supplies for the trip. Menma methodically checked his chains, masks, and magic tools, while Mirajane peeked over his shoulder.
"You pack like you're going to war," she teased.
"Jobs are unpredictable," he replied curtly. "Better prepared than dead."
Her smile softened. "Always so serious."
For a moment, silence fell between them. Then Mirajane's gaze lowered, her voice quieter. "I'm glad you're coming, Menma. Really. I know this isn't… your kind of thing. But it means a lot to me."
He paused, meeting her eyes. Her smile wasn't her usual mask—it was gentle, almost vulnerable.
"…You're family," he said finally. "If it matters to you, I'll go."
Mirajane blinked, surprised by the honesty in his tone. Then she smiled—truly smiled—and for the first time that day, Menma didn't mind being dragged along.
That night, as the guild wound down, Mirajane leaned against the bar, watching Menma pack away his signature mask. She hid a small smile behind her hand.
Tomorrow's photoshoot was supposed to be routine. But with Menma there… she had the feeling it would be anything but ordinary.
And perhaps, just perhaps, that was exactly what she wanted.
Word Count: ~1,690