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In those winter days of that year at Yumenosaki, when red leaves turned to snow and graduation began creeping closer and closer with deft, silent steps, Anzu took up photography.
She had always liked art. Any form of art, even though she was not particularly good at some of those, she still loves it. She loved sitting in the garden and sketching. Sometimes she sketches stage sets, other times she designs outfits for the boys. She doesn’t sketch animals and people as much anymore.
Sewing and clothes making was another form of art she enjoys. She was practically in love with the rush of satisfaction that came when an outfit comes together exactly as she pictured it.
So no one was surprised when Anzu took up photography. It began unexpectedly when she found an old camera while she was cleaning the house with her brother.
“Is this yours?” she had asked.
“No,” her brother said. He moved over and inspected it, “does it still work?” Anzu shrugged. She raised the camera to her eyes and looked at her brother through its lens. Sunlight came through the window and danced across his face. She pressed the shutter release. The camera clicked, but it didn’t take the picture. A cloud drifted over the sun.
She went to her parents with the camera, asking if it was theirs. Her mother smiled nostalgically when she saw the camera.
“It was,” she said. “I thought we lost it. Where did you find it?”
“The boxes in the study,” Anzu said. “Can I use it?”
“Of course,” her father said. “Did you find the charger?” Anzu nodded. It was buried at the bottom of the box, under a pile of dusty old comic books.
She charged it all day that day and tested it several times during the evening. It seemed to work. She walked over to a mirror and raised the camera. The shutter clicked, preserving a picture of her, the dark camera obscuring most of her face.
She put the camera in her bag, then, feeling unsafe, she found a purse Arashi gave her and put it in the purse. It was a perfect fit. Even the straps fit into the purse.
She went to bed satisfied.
She went to the school next day and saw Subaru and Hokuto standing by the window, chatting. She raised the camera, capturing the morning sunlight in their hair and Subaru’s hand gestures. The click drew their attention. Subaru grinned when he saw the camera in her hands.
“You look like that guy with seaweed head,” he joked. Anzu cocked her head and recalled the picture she took of herself last night.
Her position as the sole producer of the school gave her far more opportunities to use the camera than she expected. No one raised a question as to why she was walking around with a camera around her neck. After the initial surprise of having someone take their pictures, her classmates readily accepted her newfound hobby as part of their lives.
The camera became a part of her despite the short amount of time she’s had it. It became her trusty companion, never failing her the way pen and paper may fail to capture a certain moment. There were so many moments she captured, beautiful moments that become frozen in time thanks to technology hidden in the small black box.
She had pictures of Kuro and Shu, sitting together quietly around the table in the handicraft club, their heads huddled together as they discussed a certain detail on Valkyrie or Akatsuki’s costumes, Mademoiselle sitting among fabrics of a hundred colors, looking at the two with her constant, reassuring grin. Sunlight came through the spotless window, blurring the lines of the two boys’ figures. For a moment their bodies seemed to have become a part of afternoon sunlight. The angle the light hit their faces reminded Anzu of a classic painting.
She had pictures of Kanata in the fountain in front of the school building, his head bobbing in the water as he waved at her. Water droplets tumbled off of his shoulder and hair like broken strings of pearls. She had pictures of Souma standing alone in the marine bio club’s room, his face illuminated by the dim blue light. He was smiling lovingly at the small turtle that was nestled in his palms, whispering to it as if he was telling the small creature the most important secret in the world.
She had pictures of the basketball club during their practices. Mao had the ball and was zigzagging around anyone who was in his path, carrying the ball effortlessly and slipping out of the reach of anyone who tried to stop him like an agile bird. Subaru was chasing after him, grinning in a way only a youth could, his bright it almost couldn’t translate to the photo. Chiaki was waiting for him under the board with his hands stretched out over his head, waving, his face proud. The bright luminescence of the gym made the photo appear old and washed.
She had pictures of Leo scribbling music notes and broken bits of his masterpiece on the floor and the walls of the hallway, mumbling to himself about faeries and giants, while Izumi came hurrying down the hall, muttering curses, to grab Leo and drag him back to practice.
She had pictures of the tea club, whose meetings—always on sunny afternoons—she, like Tsukasa and Tori, had always tried to attend. Tsukasa and Tori would always bicker over one thing or another, trying to grab Eichi’s attention. Hajime would come to pour them new cups of tea. All he needed to do to break up their squabble was a sweet smile and a soft pat on the shoulder. Ritsu would peek through his half-closed lids at the first years and pop a horribly deformed yet surprisingly delicious treat into his mouth. Like Ritsu, Eichi would smile and watch the first years, breeze playing with his hair.
She had pictures of Kaoru and Madara when they came to visit her at the hospital. She had never seen them so concerned and, even in sickness, she did not forget to click the shutter, memorializing that moment. The two boys looked slightly different in the light of the hospital.
She had pictures of Tetora and Shinobu helping Midori out with his chores so he could go to practice. Midori would always complain but nevertheless quicken his steps as he sorts through the vegetables and lay them out neatly on the shelves. Tetora would say something, sometimes intentional, sometimes unintentional, that cause giggles to bubble out of Shinobu and bring a smile to Midori’s face.
She had captured the moment when Mitsuru raced with Adonis, both donning serious expressions as they dashed across the field, sweat dripping down their foreheads and into their eyes, their bodies transforming into two agile cheetahs. For a few minutes, they looked like Greek gods, carefree and handsome and glorious.
She had pictures of when Yuta and Hinata were pulling what they called “the greatest prank,” which is a prank they would pull every few weeks. Their green eyes would gleam mischievously as they hold up a finger to their lips, asking her for her silence. As they snuck away to their hiding spot to watch the chaos that would so unfold, the sun broke through the heavy cloud and cast a single ray of radiance on the twins.
She had pictures of Makoto when he was sitting against the mirror in the practice room, gulping down water. He was sweating profusely, but he was laughing. He had just mastered the new choreography, and it only took him one practice session this time.
She had pictures of Natsume, sitting around a pentagram among hundreds of candles. It was the first time he invited her to watch. She couldn’t understand them, but she liked the way light flickered and flowed around him as he chanted. It made her feel like something magical was really about to happen. She held her breath as she waited for a dragon to spring out of the pentagram. She tried to keep the sound of the shutter as low as possible.
She had pictures of Sora when he talks to her about colors. His eyes would sparkle in a way she had never seen before as he weaves a picture of a thousand colors for her. His words harmonized those clashing hues, and for a split second, she felt like she could see the colors as well.
She had pictures of Arashi and Mika, standing next to a display window. There was snow that day, in the middle of February, but it was not cold. Arashi and Mika had their arms linked and they were grinning widely. Snowflakes kissed their hair and nose tips and ears, leaving their skin red. The light from the display window colored their hair and faces pink.
She had pictures of Wataru passing by the window of her class, riding a hot air balloon, showering them with rose petals, feathers, and his signature “Amazing!” The wind played with his hair and it streamed like flowing moonlight.
She had pictures of the drama club. Wataru was absent that day, off to do god-knows-what, god-knows-where. Tomoya was sitting on the ground, scratching his head and frowning as he read his script. Hokuto was frowning on the couch, trying to find a good voice to use for the prince. Tomoya looked up at her for help, unsure how he, a fifteen-year-old boy, could ever manage to play the role of Cinderella.
She had pictures of Koga and Rei, strumming on wooden guitars in their club room. Rei was awake for some reason. Afternoon sun caressed his dark hair as he harmonized with the song Koga with playing. Koga was staring at his guitar and did not look at Rei. He stared at his own fingers as if he was afraid to make a mistake, though he never stares at his fingers when he plays, not even during a live performance. He sat near the window, the sunlight made him look like he was coated in honey.
She had pictures of Tsumugi in the library, his gentle fingers caressing the spines of the books as he returns them to their proper places. His eyes gentle as he worked deftly as if the books were not inanimate objects but living, breathing creatures.
She had pictures of Keito slaving away in the student council room, his face half hidden away by piles of documents and at least a six-pack of energy drinks. He was oblivious to her presence in the room, else he would have given her a lecture on how she shouldn’t waste time and sitting around and watch them. Yuzuru was sitting next to him, his purple eyes gleamed when he looked up at the camera and smiled. He tapped his pen on the documents a few times before lowering his head again.
She had pictures of Nazuna in the broadcasting room wearing a pair of headphone that was bigger than his head. He was reading the script carefully. He sounded different when he was on the air. Anzu couldn’t put a finger as to why. He took a step back after he finished and turned off of the mic, taking the deep breath he never dared to take during a broadcast, then he smiled at her. Anzu thought if Shu was wrong about everything, he was right about Nazuna’s smile being the most beautiful thing in the world.
She had all these pictures, she had captured all of these moments, but she knew there are hundreds of things she couldn’t capture.
She couldn’t capture the way they dance, she couldn’t capture the way they sing. She couldn’t capture the way they laugh under those bright neon lights, she couldn’t capture the way the crowd cheer for them. She couldn’t capture the way they shine when they were on stage, when they bare their feelings to each other and to her, when those feelings transcend friendship of high schoolers and become familial. When they swallow all the tears and hide away all the sweat only to transform that hardship into smiles that could outshine a thousand brilliant suns.
She couldn’t capture the way they fill her heart with joy. She could never, ever dream of capture the way they shine and how it brightened her life. That shine could never translate to photography. It is a thing only reserved for memories.
Anzu didn’t develop those photos until it was her turn to graduate. After her graduation, she spent three days in her basement, working fervently, making sure all the photos come out the way she wanted them to be. Because the boys themselves were art, and she was a perfectionist.
As she looked through the pictures, as she recounted the memories behind each one, she realized she remembered far more about that one year than she did any other year of her life. She remembered all those performances, all those tears, all those days and nights when the boys worked harder than anyone she knew for a dream few dared to dream.
And that, more than anything, brought tears to her eyes and made her heart swell with joy.