Chapter 6: Lenses and Shadows
The sun shone brightly over Magnolia as Menma Uzumaki trudged beside Mirajane, his cloak heavier than usual from the bundles of clothes she insisted he bring. Despite his training, his chains rattled quietly at his side, as if grumbling at being dragged into this… ordeal.
"Smile, Menma," Mirajane chirped, adjusting the straps of her camera bag. "The photographer said you need to look natural. You're terrible at natural."
"I'm terrible at posing," he corrected, tone flat.
"You'll be fine," she said with a teasing glint. "Besides, I'll be right there. You won't have to do it alone."
Menma raised an eyebrow. "…That's supposed to be reassuring?"
"Of course," she replied, smiling. "C'mon, the crew's waiting."
They arrived at a charming riverside café, transformed for the summer shoot. Backdrops, props, and crew members bustled about, setting up cameras and lights. Mirajane, ever radiant in her own right, was already coordinating poses, giving directions, and chatting with assistants with a grace that left Menma both impressed and slightly irritated.
"…I feel out of place," he muttered, sticking to the edge of the set.
"Good," Mirajane said, smirking. "Out of place is better than standing like a statue, staring at people."
Natsu and Gray had insisted on following, claiming they were "protecting" him. They hovered nearby, teasing him mercilessly.
"You sure you don't want me to help?" Natsu said, wiggling his fingers. "I can teach you how to smash cameras dramatically. Looks heroic!"
Gray rolled his eyes. "Or destroy the whole set. Great for your first modeling debut, Menma."
Menma's head throbbed slightly. "…I'm surrounded by idiots."
Mirajane laughed, patting his arm. "Ignore them. You only have to impress me."
He blinked at her, caught off guard. "…Only you?"
Her smile softened, and for a heartbeat, the world narrowed to just the two of them amidst the chaos of lights and cameras. Menma found himself… almost feeling something he hadn't in months: ease.
The first shots were awkward. Menma stood stiffly, trying to follow the photographer's instructions. Hands in pockets. Look casual. Smile slightly. He failed spectacularly.
Mirajane leaned over, adjusting his posture. "Relax your shoulders. Think of… something happy."
He blinked. "…Like what?"
"Like… me saving you from a rogue photographer," she joked, tapping his shoulder.
Menma smirked faintly at that. "…I don't think that counts as happiness."
"You're impossible," she muttered, straightening him again. "But you're improving. Just… less brooding, more human."
By mid-morning, the crew had grown fond of him—or at least entertained by him. Natsu and Gray kept shouting directions like "Fight the wind!" and "Smash the backdrop!" just to provoke reactions, while Cana pretended to be a stylist, whispering critiques in his ear. Menma's glare alone was enough to keep some of them in line.
Yet, despite the teasing, Mirajane stayed close, quietly offering tips, adjusting his collar, brushing stray hairs from his eyes. Each time she did, Menma's chest tightened subtly. He didn't know if it was nerves or something else entirely.
During a break, Menma stepped outside to clear his head. The river sparkled, and the soft summer breeze rustled leaves and stray hair. He leaned against a railing, pulling his hood over his head, trying to disappear from the world for just a moment.
"You're hiding again," a voice said softly.
He glanced up to see Mirajane approaching, holding two bottles of water. "Thought you could use one," she said. "And maybe… a reminder that you're not alone here."
Menma accepted the bottle quietly, taking a sip. "…Thanks."
She leaned casually against the railing next to him. "You're doing well, you know. Not like me expecting perfection, but… you're improving. And not just with the photos."
Menma's eyes flickered, the Sharingan unconsciously activating for a brief instant. He caught a slight shadow near the treeline—an anomaly in the riverbank magic flow. Nothing dangerous, just a stray magical disturbance.
"…What is it?" Mirajane asked, noticing his gaze.
"Nothing," he replied, forcing his eyes back to normal. "Just… being cautious."
She smiled knowingly. "I see that. You're always alert. That's one of the reasons I trust you."
He didn't respond. Instead, he shifted uncomfortably, unused to compliments or emotional honesty. Mirajane didn't mind. She left it at that, patting his shoulder before heading back to the set.
As the afternoon wore on, the photoshoot progressed. Menma's awkwardness slowly gave way to a certain natural presence. The photographer even complimented him, marveling at his "quiet intensity" that the camera seemed to love.
Mirajane watched with quiet pride, her heart swelling. She had teased him relentlessly before, but seeing him slowly open, seeing the subtle lines of his lips lift without coercion… it was rewarding.
During one shot near the water, a sudden ripple of magic made the wind gust sharply. Menma's chains rattled instinctively, masks whispering in his mind. A shadowy form appeared briefly across the river—nothing solid, just a hint of movement.
He stiffened, eyes narrowing.
Mirajane noticed the shift. "…Menma?"
He shook his head, forcing the Sharingan to fade. "False alarm. Just… nature."
She smiled, brushing it off. "Nature's unpredictable too, huh?"
But Menma didn't entirely relax. For all the comedy and awkward poses, his instincts remained sharp. Someone—or something—was watching, and his eyes never truly rested.
Still, the day ended without incident, laughter echoing across the riverside. Mirajane collapsed onto the grass afterward, exhausted but glowing. Menma sat beside her, cloak dusted with dirt, hands folded neatly.
"You… weren't terrible," she said, nudging him gently.
"…Thanks," he replied, tone flat but eyes soft.
She leaned slightly against him, casual and comfortable. "You know, I might even ask you to do it again sometime."
Menma's chest tightened faintly. "…I doubt it."
She laughed, resting her head back on her hands. "We'll see."
For a moment, the world was quiet. No rogue fiends, no guild teasing, just sunlight, river, and laughter.
And for Menma, that quiet—simple, human, and fleeting—was enough to make him wonder if maybe, just maybe, he could belong in this world beyond battle and shadows.
As they packed up, Menma glanced toward the treeline again, a faint ripple of magic whispering in his eyes. Something was out there—but for today, it would wait. Today, he had Mirajane, he had the guild, and for the first time in a long time, he felt… part of something.
Mirajane glanced at him, noticing the momentary tension. She smiled softly. "You know, you could have told me if you wanted me to worry."
Menma allowed a small smirk. "…Wouldn't have let you panic."
She laughed quietly, shaking her head. "Always so serious."
He didn't reply. But as they walked back toward Magnolia together, shoulder to shoulder, the bonds of trust and friendship—and something deeper—grew stronger, quietly unspoken but undeniable.
And somewhere in the distance, the shadows watched, waiting for the right moment to test them both.
Word Count: ~1,880