A/N: I absolutely love USUK, and I know my mind won't be at peace until I've done something about this fandom of mine. AU, mind you, and other pairings might be mentioned here as well.

Alright, then. Here goes nothing…

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A Photo Album .x

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Prologue

What if you wanted to embrace a person, who had never even remembered you in the first place? Or visit him every single day, even though it's a fact that you would be a stranger to him the very next trip? You might be frowning and thinking, "Hell, why would I like a guy like that in the beginning, anyway?" You've argued with him too many times, it seemed that there should be no reason you would want to remember or be remembered by him. He was arrogant, haughty and foul-mouthed, and you detested the way he criticizes your deeds. And somehow, you reverse the time in your mind and find that you were wishing for this person to be like that again.

The answer, for me, couldn't be written in a couple of sentences. Because even if it was possible, there would still be the absence of a hundred memories and thoughts unspoken in what would be like a book for that year—a chapter for each new day. No, a few sentences couldn't sum it all up.

So, how would you feel if you wanted to cling on, so desperately that if you lost grip you may as well fall into a fathomless pit, to that person who wouldn't remember you at all?

Believe you me; you wouldn't be able to answer this question in one sentence if you've felt anything like I did.

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Picture One: The Day we Met

First times usually last long in your minds, right? Well, at least that's what I heard them say. Whether it was your first day at school, first pet, first bicycle lessons, first love—though I intend not to go that far—they all seemed kind of impressive and awesome every time you've seen, done or owned something new. Love, though, for me, is pretty darn useless. Despite most people claiming it's the best thing that could possibly happen to a person, I think it only causes heart-aches and tears and all of those unpleasant stuffs. That is, if the person you fell in love with happens to be the 'wrong apple on the tree' or something.

But anyway, more on that later.

So like I said, first times could either be very exciting or very scary. Now, I'm not implying I was ever terrified of anything, new or not. If I was ever frightened, it had to be an extremely awful monster or sight to make this guy quiver down to his toes. I remember my Mom telling me how I rarely cried when I was a kid. Instead, I made this sort of gurgly chortle, complete with a proud grin, whenever I tipped the food off my bowl or went to potty or whack someone on the head with my bottle. And then she told me how my Dad—bless that old geezer—taught me how to flash a thumbs-up; my first and most commonly-used hand motion up until now.

That was one-and-a-half decade ago, though. Now, I'm Alfred F. Jones, sixteen years of age and an endeavouring junior at Westfield High. Freshman and sophomore was history, and I was no longer looking up at the whole of the high school's student body. I had the chance to look down, for the second year.

Excitement rushed through my veins as I strode through the entrance door of the building. Inside, I was greeted by the buzzing voices of a hundred students as they bustled through the hall. They were all talking, murmuring, shouting and exchanging news since the two months of freedom passed by. The stench of new paint wafted through the hallway, indicating that the school had been renovated for over the summer.

Somehow, I felt glad summer was over. Not that I was the kind of guy who was eager to start school or anything, but spending the whole summer helping your Dad with his fishing business could be a total drag. Especially when you could head out there and hit the beaches and surf like a hero would surf. I mean, I did go to the beach, twice in the summer. But it was only to pick up more baits and equipments from the Fishing Shack along the side of the beach.

"Hello, Alfred!" came a familiar voice from behind. I swerved around and saw the brown, shaggy haircut of a dear, old friend. I smiled.

"Hey there, Toris!" I exclaimed, patting the guy on his shoulders enthusiastically. "How's it going? How's summer? Everything alright there?"

Toris nodded, smiling warmly at me in return. "Mm. It was okay. It was cooler in Lithuania than in here in summer, though. You?"

"Didn't do much this year," I said truthfully. "Our lake had so many visitors that the part-time fishing business didn't seem part-time at all," I shrugged nonchalantly, cocking my head left and right as I searched for other familiar faces.

"Oh. Well, at least your lake made some business this summer," Toris chuckled, clutching the strap of his school-bag. Now, Toris Lorinaitis was a nice boy in my year, who enjoys counseling and giving support to people in distress. You're depressed about something; go see Pep-Talk Boy. The only flaw, maybe, was that he spends too much time ensuring everyone was walking on a path of daises and rainbows, while he himself was straying too far over to the dark side.

"I guess so. But your vacation sounds a lot more awesome than mine," I pouted.

"Nah, you don't know that. Anyways, I gotta go. Feliks might be looking for me right now. He still owes me thirty bucks from June, you know?" he mumbled sheepishly, muttering a small 'See ya' before vanishing into a corner.

… Sure, I suppose spending your summer twining maggots on fish-hooks and getting rid of yucky bits in the lake would be better than, I don't know, flying to some place like Lithuania or something.

I sighed, and decided to hunt down my friends since freshman year. Classes start in half an hour, so I supposed a little search wouldn't take too much time. And besides, the billboard just outside the Sports Hall would tell who was in which class, so it shouldn't be a problem even if I didn't find them.

Which reminded me, I had to know which class I was in for the rest of the school year.

Finding the billboard was an easy task. For one; this was my third year of high school, so I knew where everything was in the blocks and buildings. For two; it was the only area where a third of the student body would gather up in the first day of school. And for three; whoever insisted on decorating it made it have a purple frame, with flashy glitters and what-not embroidering the edges of the glass case.

I mean, who would make a billboard with a purple frame?

Getting to the board was the harder job. There was a horde of students swarming around the board, eager to see the class lists pinned all over the display case. It seemed almost impossible at first to actually touch the glass protecting the board, looking at how crowded it was around it. I had to elbow people out of my way, occasionally getting nasty glares from these disgruntled students. It was hard to breathe in the middle of the throng, but eventually I made it to the billboard, only to have my cheek slammed against the cool, glass case. I raised my head up slightly, searching for the list of the eleventh graders.

Jones, Alfred—11B

A-ha! Now, how about good-old Toris?

Lorinaitis, Toris—11A

Shoot. Oh, well, there had to be other buddies in my class. How about Feliks Lukasiewicz and Matthew Williams?

…

Or, so I thought. It seemed that after I've read the list of the eleventh graders, my closest pals were dispersed apart in different classes. I'm not saying that I didn't have any friends in my class. I adjust well with anyone—well, almost anyone. I had Kiku Honda, a diligent and polite boy who was a few months younger than me. He's nice and quiet, with enviable skills in workshop and art. But I couldn't help and wonder if I was the only one who thought he was a little too serious? Not that it was a major problem.

Then there was Feliciano Vargas, an optimistic boy with a gift in the arts and crafts. You could easily make friends with him, and he would be delighted in keeping you company for the rest of the day or so. Sometimes, however, if you start a conversation with the little guy, you may find that your words just don't make any connection with his speech at all.

Disappointed slightly at the forms, I swept around and pushed myself through the crowd again. There was still time before classes start, and I would still be able to search for the others. Perhaps they were frolicking around the gym, or cafeteria, or maybe I had already passed them in the halls without my knowing. We never had a place to stay put, you know; we were the 'nomads' of the school. Sometimes we would be in the cafeteria, the football pitch or maybe even in the library (God knows why we even hang out in that place sometimes). So, locating the group was a rather difficult thing to do in a school like this, you see.

But I decided, without a second thought, to head out for the pitch. I didn't know if they were there or not—in fact, I had least expected them to be hanging around the field in the beginning of the school day. My friends weren't really the type of people you'd find hanging around places where the jocks and cheerleaders do their stuffs. So I guess you could say I went out merely to explore the school. See if there were any changes since the previous year.

The pitch turned out to be as ordinary as always. The bleachers where the spectators sat were set up on the left side of the field, and somewhere at the end of the pitch were the small blocks used as storage sheds for sports equipments. It wasn't a big pitch, but big enough to play small-size soccer games, baseball and whatever. Not properly-scaled, you know what I mean?

I could smell the freshly-trimmed grass and recently-painted bleachers, but other than that, nothing had changed at all. Which wasn't an entirely big problem for me; I saw no reason why it should be improved in the first place. As long as I could use it to play baseball, there shouldn't be any problems, right?

Oh yeah, I hadn't really mentioned that I liked baseball, haven't I? Well, I like baseball, so there.

It was actually a lot emptier there than I imagined it would be, too. I thought that I would see groups of students spread apart on the pitch or on the bleachers, filling the field with life or whatever. But it was silent, and the only sound you could hear were the chirping of birds and the sigh of the autumn breeze. Perhaps I wasn't allowed here. As far as I can remember, we were actually allowed to tread into the fields and gardens and classes on the first day in high school. Anywhere, except for the library and a few labs, that is.

But then, I must've missed a few things, since I never remembered going to the pitch first thing in the morning.

I searched the entire field for the familiar faces of my old friends, but it was to no avail. No one was there, and I knew if there was anybody, he wouldn't be the person I was looking for.

I started backing out from the pitch and made my way to the school building, when a movement twitched from the corner of my eye. I swerved my head to the right and saw a boy sitting on the bottom corner of the bleachers. He had messy, blonde hair and a pair of odd, bushy brows, and he looked so engrossed in the small book he was holding that he didn't seem to see me flash a smile at him from where I was standing. I saw him a few times at high school since freshman year, and since I never saw him in my grade, I figured he must be a senior.

"Hello!" I said, beaming. Because 'hello' was what people would say to make a person feel welcome.

I didn't receive a 'hello' back, though. Instead, he shook slightly at the sudden utterance and looked up at me as if I had just disturbed him in the middle of a captivating murder case. Then he simply nodded, and glued his eyes back to the book.

So much for first impressions.

"Good day, huh?" I asked feebly, raising my voice a little. Heroes don't back out easily, even when somebody regarded them like that.

Bushy-brows looked up from his book and gave me a wry smile. "I suppose."

"Nice book you got there."

"Thanks."

Looking at how brief his responses were, I figured he was not in the mood to be chatting with a junior like me. I nodded slowly, stuffing my fists in my pockets. I smiled at him, even if I knew he wouldn't be able to see me by the book on his lap. Seeing how natural he looked sitting on the bleachers, I guessed it was not forbidden, after all, to visit the pitch at this time.

I inhaled slowly, and ascended the steps up the elevated bleachers. The stairs ran down the middle of the bleachers, separating it in two sections. The spaces between the rows of extended benches were narrow, but just enough for a person to squeeze through the rows. I turned my back around to face the field and let out a breath of admiration. From up here, the field looked endlessly vast and green—a sea of a lush, emerald hue which touched the soft, blue sky. It was the kind of sight which made you feel like running around non-stop without a single care in the world.

"It's very nice around here, isn't it?" I called out to Bushy-brows, who was sitting somewhere down the lower seats. He ripped his eyes from the book and turned his whole body around to see who the addresser was. I could've sworn the guy was rolling his eyes, looking rather irritated when the only person he saw was me.

"Sure. If you say so," he shouted back. And then he averted his attention back to his book again as if it was impossible to last a second without reading a sentence.

"Do you like running around here and there sometimes?" I asked. "I mean, it feels so free and awesome, like, you're flying on a jet plane or whatever—"

"No. I. Don't."

I frowned, though my lips stayed in a determined smile. He really wanted to be left alone, I could tell. And I was really, truly bothering him. Maybe he was giving me hints that I should really leave for classes. Maybe he was plotting to do something, unseen by any human eye in the field.

That could be why he had to pick the loneliest area of all places.

"What's your name?" I blurted. I couldn't help it: it was just something one would ask whenever they were intrigued by someone new, you see?

Of course, I must have crossed the line because he abruptly shut his book and stood up to depart for the school building. I could practically hear the slam echoing through the pitch when he was closing the damned thing.

"W—wait up!" I exclaimed, immediately sprinting down the steps towards Bushy-brows. I hated being the only one left in an empty place. "Can you hold on for a minute?"

But not once did he stop to look back. Instead, his pace grew more rapid at the sound of my footsteps until he was somewhat between a walk and a jog. I gritted my teeth in annoyance. Why was he so insistent on running away?

Something white caught my eye, and I paused to see what it was. It was something round and white, and it was tucked securely in the space beneath a seat of the bleachers. I flicked a glimpse at Bushy-brows, who was now hovering dangerously close to the entrance door. I gulped, and stooped to all fours and seized the object rather hastily.

It was a baseball. A simple, filthy baseball which must have landed there at the last game the year before.

I stood up and dusted my knees, looking up to see whether the guy was gone already. True to my words, his hand was already reaching out for the handle, fingertips brushing the white coating of the lever.

"Hey!" I yelled at the top of my lungs. For once, he halted, and cocked his head at my direction for a few moments. "Can you catch this for me?"

And then I let him have it.

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A/N: Thank you for taking your time reading that! I know, the ending was kind of messy, huh?

Some of you might have already known where I may have got the storyline from, and where this story would go. Rather cliché, really, but I guess I could give a shot with the plot.

Inspired by the Korean movie, a Moment to Remember.

Reviews are appreciated!