for GeekySheepy... using all the same prompts meant I had so few ideas so sorry for how late this is!
Finding the photograph was like coming home.
When it boiled down to it, rationality had nothing to do with it.
It came clean in alcohol, under the sky with too much wind and too little emotion.
He was sorely tempted to douse the photo in the whiskey and set it alight. It was only his mother's face, broken and sad, that stopped him. Burning this thing would do nothing, after all. It would be just another tragedy amongst the rest.
He glanced behind him.
Every window had a light, candles and their fickleness making each shadow flash with a disturbing amount of clarity.
"Long night?"
He jumped. The photo slipped from his fingers into the water.
Angelina pursed her lips and together they stared at it. He chanced a look at her, his brother's ex-girlfriend, and watched her dark hair cut across her eyes. There was a darkness to her that had never been present before.
He ached.
The photo was only paper, so gradually, the longer it sat in the water, the weaker it became. It was only when the corners tore themselves away that Angelina moved. She didn't reach for the picture, like he expected, but instead for him. She tilted his face up, grip strong and sure. "I can't say I know how you're doing," she murmured, her gaze flickering between his eyes. "But I do know that I miss him, too."
"I know," he answered. "I'm sorry."
She huffed, sitting next to him. She didn't seem to care that mud immediately covered her shoes and pants. "He made his choice," she said. "I'm proud of him for it. It's not like it was easy."
"Yes it was," he corrected. "For him, nothing was easier."
She looked at him sideways, considering. "Yes, I supposed you're right, aren't you?"
He smirked, just slightly, before the conversation caught up with him and he slumped, looking down at the photo again. He lifted the whiskey to his lips and drank quite a bit.
"Drunk doesn't suit you," she said.
"Alone doesn't suit me either, but here we are."
She sighed but didn't argue the point.
Something crashed behind them as the wind picked up again. They both ignored it, and the subsequent yelling.
"What are you doing here, Angel?"
"Came to check on you," she confessed.
"And, of course, I look just like him," he guessed. His voice was flat and toneless as he took another pull from the bottle.
That earned him an insulted scoff. "Like that matters. You were always different people."
"Were we?" he muttered, and watched as the photo drifted apart even further, the colors beginning to bleed. His brother's face melted away.
He jumped a little when she pulled him close, taking the bottle and tossing it away. She kissed his temple and said, "Yes. Of course you were." She tapped his cheek until he met her eyes. "Let me help you."
He laughed. "How can you help? My family can't help, our friends-"
"Didn't know him like we did."
He fell silent.
"I always loved you both," Angelina whispers, the wind almost taking her words. "Let me help."
"…okay. You can try."
The picture was little more than scraps of white and black, highlighted by the soft soil below it.
Honestly, he reflected, it felt like a new beginning, that his past drifted like this. Of course, that made little sense, but no one said he was rational even while sober.
"It's cold. Let's start by heading inside."