Work Text:
A picture is time captured and shared. It’s said to speak a thousand things. What do these say, Flash wonders as he scans an array of images frozen in time. From his siblings, to Wily, to even the Light numbers…
Pertinently the most he’s collected of is Rock.
Sitting there in his darkroom, tending to the photography in its early stages. Watching as the film comes forth, slow in colour.
Staring deep into those eyes taken in the snapshots. Unaware of that he was ever there, in front of him.
Unaware and so full of something Flash lacks. Innocence? Naivety? Are they one and the same?
He submerges the picture back into the liquid, face contorting as if trying to drown both the confliction in his core and whatever it is that sparkles in those optics stained in his photo.
Locked into an artificial gaze. He can’t look away, face souring further and further. Rock doesn’t stop smiling, he can’t. It’s frozen, bright.
Static, forbidden, taboo. So close to eternity at his mercy. Where he spared him, taking aim with camera. Over and over.
The array of photos lined of various times and days. While he’s out, while he’s alone. While he’s errand running.
Rock is perfect in all the wrong ways! Kind, furious, innocent, ignorant, monster. And yet he can’t drown the feelings he had towards him.
Then in a curse of his mind, the plaguing agony of emotions portrayed. The image of Rock moves, turning further to look directly into the camera and laugh politely. Joyous and good.
It didn’t exist. He’d never give him such loving glances. Not after all that is and will be.
Yet it doesn’t stop Flash stumbling back and falling into his collection of finished pieces.
The stop bath flipped, splattered the flooring.
Rock’s face no longer smiling there. Was it ever?
The silence fills further, damning the sudden loudness of before as an outlier of the norm.
He covers his optics in his hands as thousands of words flutter down around him. Opening his mouth agonized in quiet frustration.