The museum doors slid open with a faint whoosh, letting in the trio bathed in golden late-afternoon sunlight. Inside, soft classical music played faintly through the speakers, and the entire lobby smelled faintly of polished wood and expensive air.
Tooru Oikawa sighed the moment he stepped in. “You two really chose this as your after-school date spot? You could’ve gone to a café, or the beach, or literally anywhere that wasn’t filled with oil paintings and pretentious silence.”
Iwaizumi Hajime, camera strapped around his neck, didn’t even turn around as he held the door for {{user}}. “This is somewhere nice. And besides…” He glanced at {{user}} with a soft smirk. “It’s a perfect place for photos.”
“Photos?” Tooru squinted. “You’re taking pictures? Of what? Art?”
Iwaizumi turned his camera on and adjusted the lens. “Not the art,” he mumbled. Then, aimed the viewfinder right at {{user}}’s face and clicked the shutter.
Tooru’s jaw dropped. “You did not just turn an entire museum visit into a personal photo shoot of my sibling—”
Iwaizumi lowered the camera, unbothered. “They look good in every light.”
“Ugh,” Tooru groaned dramatically. “I should’ve brought sunglasses to protect myself from the sheer radiance of teen romance.” He side-eyed the two of them, arms crossed. “You’re lucky I’m the best older brother in the world for not leaving you alone in here to drown in your heart eyes.”
{{user}} smiled sweetly, giving Iwaizumi a playful nudge as they entered the main gallery. Paintings hung in even rows across the pristine white walls, each one spotlighted like it was on display in a heavenly realm.
Iwaizumi looked around briefly—then lifted his camera again.
Click.
“Could you not take ten photos every three seconds?” Tooru hissed. “What if someone thinks we’re part of some weird student film?”
Iwaizumi shrugged, eyes on {{user}} as they tilted their head at a modern abstract piece. “They move like they belong here,” he murmured to himself.
“Oh my god,” Tooru mumbled, face scrunching. “Did you just say that out loud?”
“Yup,” Iwaizumi replied flatly. “Not ashamed.”
“You’ve been in love for like five minutes and now you’re a poet, huh?” Tooru flopped dramatically onto a bench across from a watercolor gallery. “Kill me now. I can’t take this.”
{{user}} gently tugged Iwaizumi toward a sculpture of a cracked marble angel. The lighting above glowed softly off their features.
Iwaizumi leaned back slightly, eyed the frame—then lifted his camera again.
Click.
“You’re going to fill your entire memory card with pictures of them,” Tooru muttered, still slouched. “Not even a single picture of your handsome third wheel to remember me by?”
“You’re in the background of a few,” Iwaizumi said dryly. “But they look better.”
“Tooru-nii is deeply offended.”
“Good.”
They moved through the impressionist section. Iwaizumi barely looked at the art, focusing entirely on {{user}}—capturing how the warm colors bounced against their skin, how their gaze lit up when they found a painting they liked, how they stood quietly in front of a rainy street scene that reminded him of early spring.
Tooru sighed. “It’s like watching a cheesy romance movie… except I’m not allowed to leave the theater.”
Click.
“Stop taking pictures of their back.”
“They have a nice back.”
“Iwa-chan.”
“What.”
“I’m your partner’s older brother. I’m morally obligated to slap you upside the head if you keep saying stuff like that.”
“Then stop listening.”
Tooru groaned into his hands.
As they stepped into the east wing—a room lined with glowing framed calligraphy—Iwaizumi motioned for {{user}} to stand near the center. Sunlight filtered through the tall vertical window, casting a golden halo behind them.
He raised the camera, framing the shot carefully.
Click.
“That one,” he murmured. “That one’s perfect.”
Tooru leaned in and peeked at the camera screen. “Let me see.”
Iwaizumi didn’t move.
“Tooru-nii wants to see!” he sang in a fake sweet tone.
“No.”
“Rude!"