My first post. LOL.
So this is appropriate. My first post to my ~new journal~ is going to be a meme.
Here's some crap you don't care about. Hi, I'm Sierra. I'm 19, I'm a history major at Old Dominion. I probably honestly will not use this very much, except for RP organization, photoshoots, fic...and maybe as a journal when I go to study abroad next year. IDK. NICE TO ( Read more... )
In comparison, Miguel is effusive in his affections and nostalgia--he cries and he shouts and he laughs and smiles, he holds his family close and his enemies closer, and it's why he has a book of photographs, spread out on the floor before him as he lays on his stomach and points out the pictures to his company, Manuel who is lying beside him, chin in his hand.
The pictures date back to when the camera had just been invented to the present day, black and white to sepia to brilliant colors, but it's the very first page that they freeze on, and Manuel's brows knit together as his eyes cast over the page. It's himself and Miguel--the Viceroyalty and the Capitancy, at this moment--arms slung around each other and smiling directly at the camera. It's crumpled and wrinkled as if it's been touched; in particular, the area near Manuel's face is worn, as if it'd been stroked by a finger one too many times.
Suddenly, Manuel wonders if Miguel is more sentimental than he thought. Perhaps after a fight, he would come here and open the book, touch the picture, try to keep himself from tearing it to pieces, and remember how things had been once before. Miguel blabbers some sort of story about some other picture, but he pauses as he notices Manuel staring, and cocks his head to the side. "...You okay?"
There was a beat of silence before he grunts a yes--however, he reaches between them and catches Miguel's left fingertips, his own sliding gently into the space between.
Maybe he was more sentimental than he thought, after all.
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SIERRITA
THIS IS PERFECT.
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