Work Text:
Freddie loved taking photos. He loved capturing moments in time. He loved that he could keep them and look at them and remember. He could eternalise a sunset, a cat snoozing in a patch of sunlight, a luscious flower, a bustling street. Just a click, and the finished photography would fall out in his hand, a handful of memories and happiness, just like that.
He especially loved taking pictures of his boys. Sometimes he took them when they knew about it and posed prettily (or more often ridiculously) for the camera. Other times he took them when they didn’t know about it, or didn’t notice it until the picture was taken.
Freddie had a favourite photo he’d taken of each of his boys.
His favourite photo of John was sat on the fridge. In the photo John is laughing. Not just giggling a bit no, real belly laughter. He’s sitting in their sofa with a mug of tea in his hands and laughing his ass off. His mouth is stretched in a wide grin, showing his teeth. His eyes crinkle at the corners and glitter in mirth. His head is slightly tipped back, long hair falling gracefully over his shoulders. Freddie can’t even remember what had been so funny anymore, but it doesn’t matter. The photo never fails to brighten his mood. It reminds him of happiness and warmth. Home.
His favourite photo of Roger was also on the fridge. That photo was taken a day at the beach, a few years ago when they went to visit. It was from when Queen had just started to become a thing. Roger is sitting on a cliff, looking out at the sea. His eyes are serious and sharp, the dark lashes framing them dramatically against pale skin. His hair is wet and whips around him in the wind. He is beautiful but dangerously and mercilessly so. It is a powerful photo and Freddie is very proud of having taken it. In contrast to his favourite photo of John, this doesn’t remind him of home at all. Instead it makes him think of freedom and power. Dreams.
His favourite photo of Brian was not on the fridge with the others. Brian had refused having it out in the open. Instead it was safely tucked away in Freddie’s “ideas for songs” notebook. In the photo Brian is in their huge bed. It’s late morning, Brian had always been the one most tired in the mornings of them, and sunlight falls in through the window and upon the bed and Brian. The guitarist has one eye slightly open and is smiling sleepy soft right into the camera. He is on his stomach on the soft mattress and the dark curls are spread out all over his pillow, giving him a gloria of some sorts. The sheets are rucked down to his hips and faint marks and scratches litter his pale back. It’s a gorgeous photo. It makes Freddie’s heart swell each time he sees it. It reminds him of love. Larger than life and overwhelming but still safe and soft.
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On the counter in the hallway there was a photograph, lovingly framed. It was of Freddie. In the photo he is sitting curled up on an amp in the studio, song notebook in one hand and a pen in the other. He’s smiling in the picture, that shy but warm smile, and is showing his front teeth. It’s John’s, Roger’s and Brian’s favourite photo of him. It reminds them of Freddie.