He's draped her across his lap, and her eyes are closed, barely seeming to breathe; the sunlight is making her skin glow, an ethereal kind of pale, like some kind of undead girl.

But that doesn't sound terribly romantic, so he waxes poetic about the moon.

It's rare for her to be like this, so willing to receive affection from him; she's relaxed and her expression is so soft, so open that compared to her usual, she seems like she's smiling. It makes him grin, thread his fingers through her hair and brush lightly over her skin, and he's so awestruck by it all that it's never even occured to him, the idea of her giving affection in return.

And she doesn't plan to. She's happy like this, she knows he has no problems with it; slowly, he'd said to her, we'll take it really slowly, if you want, okay? and she likes it that way, because it means she doesn't have to worry about all the other things that couples do, because she can just lie here like this and forget about everything she'll have to do when they part ways again. It's rare for her to get time like this to herself without the constant need to think ahead, to plan.

She's perfectly content, and in a state of such serenity that she doesn't stir or shift when she feels him move, or when she hears a faint click; it's not until she hears a following whirr and white light explodes beneath her eyelids that she snaps back into focus, eyes shooting open so quickly that she's momentarily blinded by the still-fading flash of the camera shot.

He's laughing when the light fades from her vision, and she has to blink rapidly to clear the spots away that are obscuring his face.

"Ryoji," she says, quietly, blankly. His laughter dies down to a few snickers and finally a fond grin, the mirth still lingering in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Mina-chan," he cooes, and he means it. His other hand falls away from her hair, not daring to touch her now that she's brought herself back into the world. She says nothing, only reaches one arm up to take the camera away, but he moves it too quickly, up, and her fingertips brush the edge of it.

She stares at it, and her eyes shift to meet his, faintly shocked and a little irritated. "Ryoji," she says again, still in her soft, quiet voice.

"I'm keeping it," he teases, winking for good measure. Her eyes widen, just a fraction, but he can read her well enough to know that she's more surprised than she appears. "You never let me take photos of you when you're like that."

"I don't like them," she mumbles, and offers no elaboration. Instead, she sits up slowly, still sleepy and dazed, and gets up onto her knees to pull his arm down and slip the camera from his hands. He doesn't mind now, because he can tell when he's won; she won't take away something that he wants to keep.

"Are you going to take a photo of me?" he asks, joking. She doesn't take photos.

He can barely see her expression behind the camera, but she's not smiling. She almost never does. "Yes," is all she says, dead serious, as if it's the most obvious answer in the world.

He can't help it. It's so absurd that he starts laughing again, so hard that his eyes are squeezed shut, and when he hears the click of the camera being set up, he expects her just to take the picture then, while he's not going to be able to look at her, to embarrass her--

He doesn't see her move forwards, but he feels her lips pressed against his cheek, and his laughter catches in his throat, becomes a hitch of breath, his eyes go wide, his jaw goes slack and drops, and all of a sudden, he's blinded by the white light of the camera flashing.

By the time the burning spots have faded from his vision, she's sitting on the other side of the bench, perfectly composed and looking through the photos on his camera. She stops on one and the right corner of her lips quirks up just a bit as she leans closer on her knees, turns the camera to show him the screen.

He looks like an idiot, gaping like a fish, but he's a little more preoccupied with the fact that she kissed him.

"Minato-chaaan," he whines, petulant. "That's not fair! You cheated!"

"It made a good photo," she says, shrugging and placing the camera in his hands calmly. He can't tell if she's being serious or teasing him, but he grins nonetheless and crawls across the bench towards her.

She gives him a wary look, and he holds up the camera.

"It's my turn!" he says in a sing-song voice, and she doesn't have time to scramble away before he leaps to close the gap between them, pins her between himself and the armrest. She's panicking a little, uncomfortable, and he can tell, he knows that, so he presses his fingers into her sides and tickles her mercilessly.

It's the first time he's heard her laugh, and while it's probably not the most beautiful sound in the world, for the sake of flustering her, it can be.