With graduation coming up and Tamura’s friends moving on soon, he’s been dreading the idea of parting ways with some of the people he’s grown very close to over the last couple of years. Him being only a second year student meant he’d be stuck with possibly taking over the club as a third year student, and being forced to make new friends despite having had so much trouble with it to begin with.
This is probably why he’s so quick to agree on taking a ferry from their location in Fukuoka, all the way to Korea to spend their last vacation after their second term doing fuck all with his friends in Seoul, with only all of their collective shitty Korean to help them by.
The whole trip is fairly quick, especially for it being a ferry, only one night of traveling and they’d arrived at the port, then managed to somehow figure out the train system to reach their hotels.
He’d be a little more ashamed as to how much of his savings he’d spent on this trip, but at least he had his own room, which meant not having to listen to his upperclassman and his boyfriend fucking around all night.
First day is a mess, they end up getting into trouble at a bar, despite not having been carded for their drinks, then after that, wind up losing their room keys and having to wait for the hotel to confirm all the information. It’s exhausting but still a good time, and by the third morning they feel more confident strolling the streets and going into different shops, practicing the few conversational phrases they know on strangers.
It’s all fun and games until his friend decides he wants his nails done. Nothing wrong with it, nor is it a new occurrence with him, but that means spending vacation time doing a mundane thing he could easily do back home. Either way, he figures it’s better than roaming alone, or staying in his hotel room, so he follows them to a shop, immediately plopping down on one of the chairs and turning his attention to his cellphone as he looks through messages and deletes old ones.
He finds himself opening an older one, one from a number he hadn’t bothered to save, but he grins regardless, remembering the strange conversation and the photo he’d been sent. Looking up to call his friend over to tell him about the experience, his eyes lock with. . The man in the photo? His heart sinking for a second as his brain attempts to rationalize the situation and make himself understand that it would be impossible for it to be the same person. Still, no matter how much he thinks about it, it’s definitely him. And he’s definitely standing there in front of him. More clothes and less redness to his cheeks, but definitely there.
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