Light and Shadow

Nataria ~

The first backdrop was traditional Japanese, paper screens, cherry blossom branches arranged artisticly.

Sachiko and Hibiki had been dressed in traditional clothing.

Sachiko wore a kimono in soft pink with green accents that made her look delicate and refined.

Hibiki was in navy and light blue, somehow managing to look both historical and modern at once.

The green shade in Sachiko's kimono brought out unexpected flecks of green in Hibiki's silver eyes.

They look good together, Nataria thought clinically. The photo will be great.

"BEAUTIFUL!"

Yoshida circled them like a predator, but one that was genuinely delighted.

"Sachiko-san, you are RADIANT! The way the light loves your face! You could be a painting!"

He positioned her carefully, adjusting the fall of her kimono with reverent hands.

"And you." He turned to Hibiki. "Direct your face three centimeters to the left."

Hibiki moved.

"NO! Not like that! You're destroying the entire composition!"

"You just said…"

"Your face is too masculine from this angle!"

Yoshida made a dramatic gesture of despair.

"The shadow! Look at how your shadow falls! It's offensive!"

Sachiko's eyes flashed dangerously, clearly about to defend Hibiki, but Yoshida had already spun back to her with lavish praise.

From where they watched, Nataria saw Hibiki shoot Shou, a look of profound suffering.

The shoot continued exactly as she remembered,Yoshida finding increasingly absurd reasons to criticize everything Hibiki did while drowning Sachiko in compliments.

After thirty minutes, Hibiki looked like he was planning murder and Sachiko was glaring at the photographer with barely concealed hostility.

Nataria felt a genuine, uncomplicated amusement.

"KOMATSU-SAN! MIYATA-SAN! You're next!"

°❀°❀°❀°❀

The next pair stepped forward, and their concept was completely different.

Momo wore a short red dress with layers of frills, her lips painted to match, hair styled in soft waves that made her look like a romance novel cover.

Shou was sharp in a black suit with a red shirt open at the collar. He looked like a vampire about to sweep someone off their feet.

"STUNNING!"

Yoshida practically vibrated with excitement.

"Momo-san, you are a VISION! The way you breathe is PERFECTION! I've never seen anyone breathe so beautifully!"

Shou positioned himself beside Momo like they practiced.

"NO! You're standing wrong!"

"I didn't even…"

"You exist too loudly in the frame!"

Yoshida made shooing motions with his hands.

"Can you be... less? Just generally less present?"

Nataria had to turn away slightly to hide her expression.

Unlike Sachiko, Momo clearly enjoyed the favoritism. She stuck her tongue out at Shou when Yoshida praised her, looking pleased with herself. Shou sulked visibly, his professional pride taking damage with every ridiculous criticism.

"Your hair just moved wrong," Yoshida complained at one point.

"It's hair," Shou protested. "It moves."

"Not aesthetically!"

Beside her, Nataria heard Hibiki make a noise that was definitely a laugh this time. Enjoying someone else subjected to the same treatment.

Nataria felt a tiny stab of sympathy. Just a tiny one.

Because watching beautiful, confident people get taken down by an eccentric photographer was objectively funny, but she also knew exactly how it felt to be on the receiving end of someone's inexplicable hostility.

Still. Mostly she was entertained.

She glanced at Senri, who was watching the whole thing with wide eyes.

He's next, she thought, and the amusement drained away slightly.

He's going to get yelled at for existing.

She didn't want that.

Didn't want to watch Yoshida tear into Senri's confidence the way he had with Hibiki and Shou.

Because Senri wasn't like them, he wasn't trained for this, didn't have years of professional experience to fall back on.

He was just genuinely, earnestly trying his best.

And something in her chest tightened at the thought of watching him get criticized for it.

Stop caring, she told herself firmly. He's your partner for a challenge. That's all.

But she couldn't quite convince herself not to care.

"AMANO-SAN! HIDOMU-SAN!"

Nataria's stomach flipped.

She looked at Senri, who was already watching her with that searching look that made her feel exposed.

"Ready?" he asked quietly.

She forced herself to nod, even though her heart was racing.

"Ready."

They moved toward the dressing area together, and Nataria thought:

Please don't yell at him.

Whatever happened next, she'd make sure their shoot worked.

Make sure Senri looked good.

That was her entire plan after all.

°❀°❀°❀°❀

Senri ~

The dressing rooms were just a temporary partition at the back of the makeshift studio.

Senri’s outfit was laid out on a rack: cream-colored linen trousers,

a soft white cashmere sweater that felt like a cloud, and a light beige overcoat.

The palette was designed to make him look like a source of light itself.

Then Nataria stepped out from behind her screen, and every thought in Senri's head came to a screeching halt.

She wore black.

But not the severe, corporate black of her usual aesthetic.

This was different.

The dress was short, much shorter than anything he'd seen her in, with layers of delicate lace that seemed to float around her thighs.

Black lace gloves covered her arms to her elbows, and matching lace leggings disappeared into ankle boots that somehow managed to look both delicate and dangerous.

Her hair had been released to cascade in violet waves over her shoulders and down her back.

She looked like an underworld princess. Dark and beautiful and utterly captivating.

Senri stared.

He couldn't help it.

This was the first time he'd seen her in something so unmistakably feminine despite the darkness.

The contrast between the gothic aesthetic and the girlish cut of the dress created something mesmerizing.

She caught his stare and looked away.

“Let's do our best,”

she said softly.

“Okay,” he said simply.

Yoshida clapped his hands.

“Positions! Hidomu-san, there, in the dip of light against the dark backdrop. Yes, just like you asked. You are the void. The beautiful emptiness.

Amano-san, stand here, where the light hits you directly.

Now. Look at the camera and try not to ruin it.”

The first flash was blinding.

Senri tried. He looked past the lens, posing just like they'd practiced.

But his awareness was entirely pulled to his left, to the space where Nataria stood, a silhouette of velvet and lace.

“Your face is offensively blank! Think of something happy!”

Yoshida snapped.

Senri thought of the manju, of Nataria’s startled, bright eyes.

That “It has strawberries inside.”

“Marginally better! Now, stop fidgeting! You’re light, not a nervous squirrel!”

Yoshida called.

“Now, Hidomu-san, tilt your head down. PERFECTION!”

Nataria obeyed, her profile becoming an elegant line against the darkness, her gaze fixed on the far floor.

Senri’s eyes drifted to her.

He saw the line of her neck, the way her gloved fingers rested lightly at her sides.

The next series of flashes came rapid-fire.

Senri kept trying to follow directions, but his attention was a rebellious thing.

Each time the lights reset, his gaze would find her first,

the curve of her cheek illuminated by a stray beam,

the intricate pattern of the lace on her knee,

the defiant set of her jaw even in submission.

Unconsciously, his posture shifted.

He was leaning toward her.

His shoulders turned slightly, his head inclined at the beautiful darkness beside him.

Yoshida’s stream of criticism suddenly halted.

The photographer had been staring at the monitor feed, his expression one of growing irritation.

But now he was silent, leaning closer to the screen. He stroked his chin.

On the monitor, the composition had transformed.

It was no longer a stark separation of light and dark.

Senri’s body, washed in soft cream and gold, was angled toward Nataria’s shadowy form.

The light from his setup didn’t stop with him; it spilled across the gap, kissing the edge of her dress, glinting off the lace of one glove,

illuminating the perfect line of her cheek and the dark pool of her eyes.

“Interesting,”

Yoshida breathed, all his prior disdain forgotten in the face of a compelling image.

“This is… unexpected.”

He looked up from the monitor, his eyes narrowed behind his glasses.

“Amano-san. Stop looking at the camera.”

Senri blinked, pulled from his reverie.

“What?”

“I said stop. Look at Hidomu-san. Just like you were doing. Don’t acknowledge the camera exists. Look only at her.”

Senri’s heart thumped once, hard. He slowly turned his head, and his eyes met Nataria’s.

She had looked up at Yoshida’s direction, confused. Now she was staring at Senri with pure shock. Her lips parted slightly.

“Yes!”

Yoshida hissed, excited now.

“That! Hold that!”

Nataria’s eyes widened slightly.

Senri could see the ripple of effect.

A faint flush crept up her neck.

Her breathing, visible in the slight rise and fall of her chest, hitched.

She was no longer just a shadow; she was being observed, being seen.

And her reaction to that attention was vulnerable and breathtaking.

I want to see you… all of you, Senri thought, surprised at himself.

And his heart was beating loudly.

The studio was utterly silent except for the click and whirr of the camera.

Flash. Click. Whirr.

Senri forgot about the lights, the crew, and the others watching.

There was only the dance of his light reaching for her darkness, and her darkness yielding to his light.

His expression carried a silent offering.

You don’t have to hide. Let me see.

For a fleeting moment, Nataria’s eyes met his, and the connection was electric, a live wire strung between them.

“FINISHED!”

Yoshida declared, standing back.

He looked at the final shot on his monitor for a long time, satisfied.