Work Text:
Mike is dismayed by how hollow the house is. He thought he was minimalistic with his own place in terms of personalization, but Nacho's is completely barren. Nothing of substance, everything superficial. Not a single item you could point to and believe it's sentimental or a choice of personal taste. It's definitely not a home.
In the master bedroom is a small bedside table with a single drawer. He hesitates before opening it. If there's anything of personal value, it's in here. This is what a true invasion of privacy would be.
Mike barely knows him. He doesn't deserve to see this.
He opens the drawer.
The few items in it are neatly arranged. A red switchblade, a motorcycle key fob, a small jewelry box. A chain necklace, a pair of corroded brass knuckles, a thick silver ring, a cheap yellow lighter. At the back of the drawer is a blank white envelope.
He picks up the scuffed lighter. It's the kind you get at any gas station for a buck. The plastic is dirty, the metal deformed. He shakes it. It's empty. A piece of trash that Nacho kept.
Inside the jewelry box is a pair of black diamond stud earrings. Maybe he wore these when he was younger.
He slides the envelope out from underneath the other items. It's unsealed. Inside is the back of a creased photograph, the corners bent and softened. He pulls it out. There's writing scrawled in faded blue ballpoint: ‘dic. 1975’. He lingers on the script before turning it over.
The photo is slightly out of focus, warm colors, indoors. A tall, strong-jawed woman in a wood chair takes up most of the frame. She wears a colorful blanket around her shoulders, smiling. On a nearby table is a modest cake with four lit candles stuck into it.
Sitting on the woman's lap, her arms around him, is a small child with dark hair. The boy grins shyly at the camera, his black eyes reflecting the candlelight. As Mike stares into his face, a pit forms in his stomach. The longer he stares, the sicker he feels. He shuts his eyes.
He returns the photo to the envelope, carefully places it back in the drawer, and closes it. He's leaving it here, for anyone to find or destroy. But taking it doesn't feel right either.
Before the fake safe is switched, he retrieves the envelope and stows it in his jacket.
~
Telling Nacho's father is one of the hardest things he's done.
Afterward, as Manuel turns to leave, Mike stops him.
“Wait.” He hands Manuel the envelope.
As terrible as the circumstances are, Mike is relieved. Having that photo, despite forcing himself not to look at it again, made him feel guilty. As if he was seeing too much of Nacho, too much he never showed Mike himself.
Now, he can forget.