He found them in the trashbin tucked between their two dressers, still stacked into a neat little pile, probably dumped from whatever shoebox they’d come from straight into the garbage. There weren’t many, but then again, Vaschel had never been the sort to collect photos. The few dozen were more than he’d ever expected to find.
He was sitting on his bed, looking through them, when Vash came back from band practice, bass slung almost carelessly across his back. The blond didn’t say anything, just placed his instrument in the stand beside the closet and took a seat on his own bed, leaning back into the pillows as he opened a book on music theory.
Vash didn’t bother to look at his roommate. “Because if I see him when we graduate, that will be better than any picture. And if I don’t,” his hands shook slightly, but his voice was steady, nonchalant, “I want to forget I ever knew him.”
He doesn’ throw them away. Mitsukai smiles out from the back of his sock drawer, just in case.