A/N : I don't know. Just an 'in the moment' writing. I think I'm losing ideas.

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Sincerely

Moments like these aren't memorable.

Moments of being enveloped in his arms and just welcoming the silence. They aren't memorable enough, because you really aren't doing anything. The two of you are just there. Doing nothing. But it was the moments of having his arms around you and his chin on your shoulder - his face in your hair - and he's telling you about his day that you feel the most at ease.

Even if you tell him that you're not listening. Not at all interested when you were told that a Takanawa from the Arts Department had asked him out. Because this moment is the one thing - the only thing - that you look forward to the most. Even if it's just doing nothing. Even if you tell him you hate it; that you don't care whether or not some girl asked him out.

Because you don't.

Because you like this moment. When his arms are around you and his face is in your hair. And he's telling you that he's been thinking about you all day. Moments where you can hear those small sighs, the soft whispers, his deep chuckle vibrating through your lithe body. When you feel that slight shiver down your spine and you're trying to control your body to not shake. And the chills on your arms when his hands sneak up your shirt.

Just a tiny bit.

And it's not that you don't notice it - doesn't try to push him away. It's because you don't want to. You don't like to be touched.

No.

...But those cold fingertips that differed from what you'd imagine them to be - his warm breath against your ear and that soft hum coming from his throat - it was just so tempting.

But how did it come to be like this...? You're not sure. Because you don't know when you've become almost helpless against the small touches and tease. Didn't know when you've gotten so used to sitting with him like this.

...With his arms around you, his fingers in your hair, and his smile pressed against your lips. It was these small little moments when you were doing nothing - that you think you treasure the most.

Because they may not be memorable, but they were pleasant.

Momento

You don't like flowers. And you were sure they didn't like you as much either. But they were nice, you guess. But the fact that some of them smelled too weird or too sweet made your insides burn. Especially during the morning when all the weird smells are outside. What with the morning dew and this very odd clean smell that didn't smell as clean as it should be. But you guess you're okay with flowers. You appreciate their... uniqueness, you suppose. 'Only because they can't annoy me like some people.'

So when he showed up at your door - at 7 in the morning - telling you that he'd be walking with you to school, you didn't particularly wanted to leave any survivals.

Especially not this one.

'These are for you.'

That was what he said. With that childish grin on his face, he hands you the daisies even after you had rejected his off. School didn't start until about 8:15. But there he stood, perfectly dressed - with his tie on too, you notice - with flowers in hand and a smile that never seem to falter on his face. You notice the slight shaking of his arm. And staring at him in your not very presentable state, you accept the white daisies.

ONLY because he wore a tie.

'...Loosen your tie.' You find yourself fixing his tie, having gotten bothered from the fact that it looked like it was on too tight. Maybe that was why he was shaking...

He gives you a small smile and tells you that he'll stand here and wait until you wake up again. To walk with you. And before you could go back to your sanctuary of sleep, you tell him in the most calm voice. 'Today is Saturday, Yamamoto Takeshi...'

And he chuckles as if he knew something you didn't. He neatly plucks a daisy from its stem... and nesting it in your hair, he smiles almost sheepishly. 'I know.'

Distractions

He doesn't seem to be acting normal. You secretly stare at him from where you were reading. The material had somehow became uninteresting; you had settled to watching him, fully aware that he probably knew. He was looking around a lot. That was the first thing you notice. And he was being awfully quiet. That was another thing.

And you wonder what was wrong with him.

The oddest thing you trace was the fact that he was touching his mouth a lot; and you take back on what you said about him knowing that you were staring. He didn't have his cancer sticks in his mouth; he couldn't possibly be functioning right.

'What are you doing...?'

You can't stand the silence. It was getting awkward. And you hate to admit it, but you somewhat kinda liked it when he would bother you with questions on what you were reading. But he wasn't doing that tonight; wasn't inviting himself on the couch you had claimed 'mine, not yours,' and letting his head rest in your lap. Instead, he sits on the other end, far away, staring around while touching his mouth.

It takes him a while to answer. 'Hm?' He smiles like there is nothing wrong. But you see the slightest twitch on his mouth. 'Is something wrong?' After a while of staring at him without answering, he sets down his newspaper he wasn't even reading and crosses over to you on the couch. He doesn't sit next to you; just very close, almost pressed up, to the armrest.

'What were you doing?' You try to ignore that single moment of seeing hesitation in those eyes by going back to your book. You hear a small sigh and he leans back, his weight causing the cushion to sink a bit more. He moves his hand to rub his mouth and you try to concentrate on that sentence your brain simply wasn't let you get through.

'...I think my mouth is getting bigger.' You think that comment was by far the stupidest. 'Hmmm, are you worried about me?'

From the corner of your eyes, you see his body moving forward a bit - probably wanting to lean over to kiss you like he always do - but then they sink back. And he settle for a small smile, stretching his arm out at the top, and toys with the ends of your hair at the nape of your neck. But just that small touch made you almost shiver.

He never did that before; and you're not sure if you should be suspicious or making a note to yourself to never let him do that.

'Nothing is wrong.' He moves a bit closer and slowly, he kisses your neck. Like he had been dying to do that. 'Really...' You feel the light twitches of his mouth as he continues the long trails of small kisses along your neck.

'You're really close.'

'Mmm...' He just smiles as his other arm encircle itself around your waist. It was your way of telling him that he was kissing you too much. And that you knew something was wrong; and that he had to tell you. Or else. 'You told me that the smell of cigarettes annoyed you and you hated smokers. ...I haven't smoked in two weeks, that's all. And I was kinda scared that my clothes smelled like cigarettes so I tried not to touch you or get close to you. And my mouth feels all weird, that's all. That's why... doing this...' He smiles against the soft kisses being delicately placed on your collarbone. '...makes it better.'

Maybe it was the way he was saying it, but your chest suddenly didn't feel heavy anymore. '...Idiot.' And you lean back further, your hand gently petting his hair as his head tilted at the crook of your neck, placing more kisses there.

Lovely

That was how he described you. 'Lovely' was the hair that you find untamable despite its neat fall on your head; the deep tangles that fill each and every strand. The pale skin that contrasted your complexion; define the meaning of beauty. Sensitive to cold air and reacted to certain powders and products. It breaks out at random moments when you're too close to it.

Your small nose - straight, define, 'cute.' The one thing you could care less about and call useless.

Lovely was the way your eyes looked; small, narrow, and odd in coloration, 'the way it reflected off the sun.' Vision impaired and required special attentions at times due to irritation from dryness. The very limbs of your body; the small frame and slender fingers. The slight touch, the feel of them - he thinks they're perfect. That they're amazing.

But that's not true. They were too feminine-like and had bad circulation, causing you pain when not enough blood pass through at a time. But he likes them; the way they fit in his own, enveloped in warmth that they could not create.

Lovely was your voice, the way you spoke; clear, deep, passion-filled. Lovely was the small clutter of light brown freckles that adorn an area of your hip. Asymmetrical, imperfect, a flaw that he loved. 'Angels' Kisses,' he called them, when his fingers are lightly tracing over them, smiling as he whisper in your ear. Words that you can't deny, touch that you can't seem to forget; your body forever a reminder of the messages left on them.

Lovely was your long, smooth, pale legs; the way his fingers itch to touch them. Caressing gently, sometimes roughly. The slenderness and the softness; the sweet smell that teased. Lovely was your very existence; the flaw of beauty. The make-up of everything that pleased.

...There were about a thousand, or more, things about yourself you could name that you didn't like... and a thousand, or more, reasons it would give him to tell you that you were more beautiful than anyone he has ever seen.

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[Momento] doesn't exist in the English dictionary. Instead, memento [something kept or given as a reminder or souvenir] and momentous [of utmost importance; of outstanding significance or consequence] does. ...Which I thought was dumb when we went over this in class, so we had a debate over it. I used to believe that [momento] existed and that it was a word, since [memento] just looks weird; apparently, it can be said both ways, but spelled with an 'o' is incorrect even though most people use it.

"Well, you know what? [Momento] is [moment] in Italian." ...Somehow, that ended the debate.

Hm... But if we were to combine memento and momentous together, replacing the e in memento with an o from momentous, we could get momento, with the definition combination of both memento and momentous! So [momento] would mean something like [memory or something kept as a reminder that is of utmost importance]. ...Right? So, yup, that is what I do all day in class. Write 8018 and debate over silly stuff.