Gojyo held up a small, square something to the soft glow of his desk light, watching how the light filtered through what used to be there. Only along the edges was the proof that this was once a photograph of some sort. The center had long since worn away from constant human, or rather half-human, contact, oil and tears washing the film away.
Gojyo had never had any use for photographs. He had one, once, of his brother. But when Jien left, the picture was forgotten. Memories weren't solid things, so what did he have use for a photograph anyway? The scars of his past haunted him well enough without any solidity.
Now, however, he longed to have this simple photograph back. Gojyo sighed and gently placed the empty picture down on the polished wood of his desk. If he stared at the edges long enough, he could make out the tips of two fingers at the top and a bit of gold towards the bottom right. If he stared at the center long enough, he could feel tears well up in his eyes.
Taking a deep breath, Gojyo wiped the wetness away before they could spill. He stuck the right edge of the photo under the simple white vase sitting on his desk, matching the brown watermarks up with the curve of the base. As he moved to get up, Gojyo realized the rose that Hakkai had placed in the vase yesterday was already wilting, the tips of the delicate petals curling and darkening sickly. But it wasn't his job to throw it out. Goku would always pick the flowers, Hakkai would always put them in a vase, Gojyo would always tend to them but when they died…
