Natsume's head is dipped forward, eyes hidden behind a fair curtain of fringe—but his shoulders are shaking softly and his mouth is muffled in his hands and he's laughing.
Nishimura can't help but stare, even as something golden and bubbly fills his chest. Behind him, close enough to fall within his admittedly limited radius of awareness, Kitamoto is still talking to another classmate—missing out on this miracle, because his priorities are obviously completely screwed up.
Nishimura wouldn't miss this for the world.
"Jeez, I had no idea that the story of how I made a giant fool out of myself in front of a cute girl at cram school would be such a joke to you," he whines, without meaning a word of it. He's smiling, so wide his cheeks ache with it, and he couldn't stop if he tried. "That's the last time I share any troubles and woes with you, my caring and supportive friend."
Natsume is pink-faced when he looks up, eyes wet and bright, and there's a grin on his face. Really. It's wide and crooked and impossibly charming—Nishimura's hand drifts automatically towards his pocket for his cellphone, before common sense catches up to him with an exasperated nudge and he realizes, yeah, okay, taking a picture of his friend in the middle of lunch for no better reason than 'he looked good' could probably be construed as a little weird.
The moment seems picture-worthy, though. Natsume's whole face lit up with that punch of pleasant surprise that comes right before an involuntary burst of laughter—and Nishimura scored a 92 on that test yesterday, but this accomplishment feels a lot more impressive.
What feels like years ago, back when Natsume first transferred to their school, Nishimura and Kitamoto taught him how to ride a bike. Natsume had had no idea how to, even at fourteen, because there had never been anyone around to teach him. It was an admission he made light-heartedly the day they asked, with a faint, fair smile; and Nishimura had never realized how staggeringly lonely a smile could seem until that bright afternoon. And there was no way he could leave Natsume alone after that.
So they spent hours on the path by the river, supporting hands on Natsume's thin back and bird-like shoulders while he wobbled along on Kitamoto's bicycle. The first lesson ended in a pretty dramatic crash down the gently sloping grass of the riverbank, but Natsume had thrown his head back and laughed, sun-warm and special and totally surprising, and that was the moment Nishimura decided I'm so keeping him.
"Sorry, sorry," Natsume is saying breathlessly, waving a hand. "Go ahead, I'm still listening."
There's still ten minutes of break left, and Nishimura picks up his story again without missing a beat, leaning back on the last two legs of his chair and waving his hand as he talks. Trying to reclaim that golden moment now would be stilted and forced, and he doesn't want to ruin what's shaping up to be the brightest part of his whole day.
On the other side of the desk, his friend is sinking back into softness, smile shrinking into something pale and unobtrusive and much closer to Normal Natsume. The humor is still there, though—a lively spark in quiet, honey-brown eyes. Nishimura knows where to look for it now, and commits it to memory so he can find it a little easier next time.