A/N : [AU] How nostalgic the sound of airplanes flying over and disappearing into the clouds, don't you think? Especially on days when it's about to rain or after it rains and the skies are white and filled with patches of blotchy grey clouds.

Yes, truly nostalgic.

…
We used to sit together,
hands almost touching beneath the silver sky,
counting the airplanes that solemnly flew by.
And you would say to me: "Is this what forever feels like?"
…

I want to document everything; every moment that we are together. The way your dark locks fly in the December wind, your quiet eyes that are always looking up solemnly - searching for something that isn't there. A deep onyx color, your eyes are much darker than that of the reflected monotone white and grey image; it's also how I remember your eyes best. Deep in color, always so dark, so empty, so alluring.

And your sweet voice – so quiet, so very sad – telling me: "The airplanes aren't there anymore."

I want to remember it all; your hair that you tied up in various small ponytails and clips when it was too hot. Your lips that becomes so red from the shaved ice. (Cherry flavor, I think.) Your fingers that always felt so cold on my skin against the summer heat. The many small laughs and smiles you gave when we're lying on the hardwood floor, watching the midnight fireworks.

Your apricot skin that no longer looked so sickly pale as it does in the cold.

I like those small details; those little moments that I can remember about you. That spring when you forgot your sinus medicine and ended up sick, but still persisting to go see the sakura trees. "Because they're in bloom," you had said, getting out of bed, not bothering to change out of your sleepwear, and pulling me with you to that secret sakura-viewing spot of yours.

Your (cute) childish stubborn personality that I can never get over, can never find in anyone else. How attractive for something others considered annoying…

I want to never forget the way you looked at me, your fingers that traced along my chin, asking me in a quiet voice, "Did it hurt?" when they linger on the small scar there. Your eyes that immediately shut in embarrassment when I would stare too long, your hand that continued along my neck and my collarbone. I want to remember the details of those dark lashes, the way they fluttered opened, your lips that smiled when you looked at where your fingers lay; a dark reddish mark where you had claimed. "It looks pretty."

I don't want to forget it; I don't want to forget you.

I don't want to forget that feeling you gave me when you asked me that question. I don't want to forget that night, staying up till 5AM, lying on the floor with you, Rock Band abandoned and surrounded by empty sodas and pizza boxes, and you're asking me: "What's your ideal lover?"

And I wanted to answer: "You."

But one look to you, the way you stared down at me from your position on your stomach, I felt I couldn't breathe. I choked. And I don't say anything, just an: "I don't know."

And all you say is: "Oh." And we go back to what we were doing; lying on the floor because it's 5AM, Rock Band abandoned and our bodies surrounded by empty sodas and pizza boxes. And you don't ask me any more questions.

…But I want to erase it; that rainy October when you cried and I couldn't stop it.

When I saw you standing in the rain; no umbrella, no jacket. You were just standing there; your head tilted back, your dark locks drenched beneath the cold downpour, still and not flying away like they do in the wind. Your skin that no longer was the color of apricot, but a sickly pale. But oddly, your eyes still remained the same – deep in color, always so dark, so empty, so very alluring – and your lips a beautiful shade of red.

I wondered if you bit on it, trying to stop the tears that you thought I didn't see.

But all you did was look at the sky, my heart wanting to pour out to you all these feelings and emotions I felt at the moment. As if I shouldn't be there; as if I looked misplaced with my umbrella and jacket compared to you, I just stood there and stared at you.

Because I felt it was my heart that broke that day, not yours.

…And you smiled the sweetest, most devastating smile: "The airplanes aren't there anymore."

...

…I want to document everything; every moment that I am with you. I want to remember it all. Your dark locks that flies in the December wind, your quiet eyes that are always solemnly searching for something that isn't there. Your beautiful red lips; the way you smile. Your sweet voice; that wonderful laugh. Your apricot skin; your cold fingertips that touch my scars and make my skin tingle.

I want to program into memory of every thought of you; erase that single moment when I couldn't do anything for you. Your beautiful face, stained with tears and rain. I want to take all the reasons in the world that make you sad, erase him from your memory; let you know that even if the world were to end this moment, I will always only want to love you.

"… Because my ideal lover is someone quiet; one with dark locks that flies in the wind, lips that become red because of cherry flavored shaved ice, smiles and laughs at my jokes, has apricot colored skin in the summer, worries about these small scars on me even though they're nothing, and tell me that I'm cool and mysterious even though we've known each other for years. Someone who will stay up till 5Am with me, doing nothing but drinking sodas and playing Rock Band, even though I'm not that great of a player. My ideal lover is someone who will sit with me, counting airplanes even when they are none."

…

A/N : Everything I imagine about 8018 pretty much consists of someone being OCC, because, well, they're not always like that. They're just portrayed like that. There are secret moments. (And sorry if I disappoint and you wasted your time cause it doesn't make sense.)