Coupling: YoonKai.

Prompt: You can't remember and I won't forget. 

Genre: Fluff?

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It’s infuriating, she thinks, when she wakes up in an unfamiliar room with no memory of being there whatsoever and what was worse was that she could not remember who she was. She stayed still, sitting on the edge of the strange bed and trying her hardest to remember.

It was cosy and large, the room, but it wasn’t familiar. She stands to take a few steps but the very first few were as if she hadn’t learnt how to walk. Instead she stumbled ever so slightly, taking step by step cautiously and settles herself onto the hard wooden chair near the door.  

The whole wall in front of her is like a collage; a collage of pictures of people, places, and things she had never known, seen nor touched. She observes the picture one by one, taking in every little detail and every little faces. One face seemed to be most familiar and her hands shakily touched the glossy printing.

 “Yoona,” she reads at the black inklings and jumps at the pitch of her own voice, “Im Yoona.”

She chews at her fingernails while staring intently at the Polaroid which was now clutched tightly in her palms. The picture seemed familiar but she could not remember. The picture dropped to the ground as her fingers trailed their way up to her temples and began to massage her throbbing head.

The alarm clock rang and her eyes quickly turned towards the clock, jumping at every little noise. Her eyes then moved to the face that was examining her closely and strangely. She gave two blinks and the face did the same. She leaned in to reach the strange person and it did the same. She stopped when what deemed to be a piece of glass separating them knocked the tip of her fingertips.

“Yoona,” a much more confident voice comes out as she stopped right in front of the mirror to read a green sticky note, “I am Im Yoona.”

A huge pang of relief overcomes her once she finally figures out who she was. She had been in the room for over an hour when she finally recognizes some things. Like the pastel pink Polaroid camera she uses to take pictures with. She doesn’t remember who gave it or where she got it, but she remembers the bright light that would flash before a smiling face would appear on the glossy film.

She remember what she did for a living, “A photographer”, she muses at the sticky notes. In the corner of the room, she has a cupboard full of cameras in weird shapes and sizes, most of them she doesn’t remember. But those little sticky notes remind her and she heaves a sigh of relief. Her finger gently hovers over the multiple sized lenses and a smile overcomes her face, “Yes, I am a photographer.”

She also assumes that she’s actually in some sort of society or organization when she finds a notebook filled with handwritings she doesn’t remember and notes that she doesn’t remember writing. “KNUA,” her voice says ever so suspiciously, touching the logo and wanting to remember what the initials stood for.

“Meeting on Tuesday,” a light blue sticky note is pasted on the front page and on the next there’s a bright yellow sticky with the words, “Class at 10.” She wonders what day it was. She wonders what classes she attends. She flips open the next page and finds another orange sticky note pressed carefully, “Lunch with Joohyun.”

The name doesn’t ring a bell and she resorts to the wall filled with pictures. She searches the name and finds a picture of herself wrapping her arms tightly around the slightly taller girl. She lets out a relief sigh as she recollects little images of the said girl.

“Seo Joohyun,” she reads the small note underneath the Polaroid photo, “The best friend.”

She grabs a few photos and slips them into her pockets, thinking they might be useful for recognizing people later. Eventually she finds the door and with a click she is bought to another unfamiliar room. She assumes she will remember after a while but for now her eyes were wandering around the room looking at every crook and nook.

Her footsteps are steadier now but she takes careful pace on the staircase. One by one she places a foot onto the multicoloured steps. Truthfully, she’s amazed at how many colours they were and tried to recall the names of those colours, but once again her memory fails her.

A man stands in the kitchen, ears plugged, hair messy and concentrating on cooking while his mouth lip-synced to the music and his body moves fluidly. She stumbles back a little and he notices her. A smile graced his face and he walks towards her.

“Stay back,” she screams, surprising the man and herself, “Who are you? What are you doing?”

He chuckles, leaving her bewildered and astonished at figure in front of her, “Cooking breakfast.” He says it ever so casually while flipping the eggs and shoving his earphones into the pockets of the red apron he wore. It was her apron, she suddenly remembers, and he was wearing it.

“That’s mine,” she points accusing fingers towards him, “Take them off.”

His eyes widened but he complies and throws the apron gently towards her. She catches them and holds onto them because it was one of the few things she remembers owning. “Let’s have breakfast,” he pops the eggs onto two plates and settles them on the table. He made it seem like a daily routine but she can’t remember what a breakfast was. Nor can she remember him.

She notices that there are more sticky notes on the table which she reads aloud, “This is the dining table.” She winces and wonders who could’ve been daft enough to not remember a dining table. But then she remembers that she doesn’t remember.

“What’s KNUA?” she snaps after remembering those initials on the front of the notebook, her body still not moving an inch and fingers still pointing towards him.

“Korea National University of Arts,” he says nonchalantly and begins to forking the eggs, “You teach there. Let’s have breakfast.”

“No,” she chastises him and continues to investigate, “Am I a teacher?”

“Yes. I am too. Different faculties though,” he answers and pushes the plate towards her, “That’s how we met. Come, have breakfast first.”

“No,” she says in an almost yell, scared at this stranger who seemed to know her so well but she couldn’t even remember herself, “I hate eggs.” She tilts her head and her fingers retreated slowly, confused as to why she would hate something she doesn’t remember eating.

“I’m glad you remember,” he laughs and forks her plate of eggs, “What else do you remember?”

“What do I teach?” she asks but still not budging from the standstill, “Photography by any chance?”

“You remember,” he nods and his palm rested on his chin, listening keenly to her every word, “What else?”

She looks around the small apartment and sees many sticky notes. One falls in front of her as the moving fan passes by and she picks it up to read it aloud, “Be careful of the steps. You always fall here.” She turns to see the around her and just as the note said, she trips slightly and her hands quickly grabbed the side of the stairway railing.

“It happens every time,” he chuckles another stream of amusement.

She scowls, not liking this stranger at all, “What are you doing at my house?” She is, by now, sitting at the edge of the stairs and holding onto her anger before it could lash out to the infuriating man in front of her, “Who are you?”

He doesn’t seem indifferent as he throws a sticky note towards her and signals her to read it. She carefully picks it up and examines the note, “Kim Jongin.”

“Yes,” he said with a gleeful smile, “Do you remember me?”

She shakes her head, fully confident that she has never met the alien sort of man before. His face, however, doesn’t turn into a frown. Instead he nods, fully comprehending the fact and still gazes at her affectionately. It was as if this had been a natural custom for them and he was taking this lightly as a joke.

“Stop it,” she commands as she saw him smiling like an idiot.

“Stop what?” she is certain the he is amused by all this.

“Stop that,” she points at his irritating grin, “That freakish smiling thing you do. Stop it.”

“Fine,” his lips turn into a pout, no more smiles, but it irritates her even more.

“Just tell me who you are,” she says, giving up in trying to remember him.

He thinks for a while and nods to release her of the misery. He strolls forward, taking easy steps and landing himself right in front of her, once again smiling like an idiot. He reaches for her pockets but she leans backwards and retaliated by pushing his hand away.

“What are you doing?”

“Find…” he whispers and grabs the Polaroid photo’s in her pockets, “…me.”

She takes them off his hands and slowly studied the photograph. One by one, different faces appear. There was a much older tanned looking girl sporting a peace sign in what seemed to be a party and she reads the note aloud, “Kwon Yuri. The party friend.”

Then she found another one of Joohyun puckering up a kiss for the camera alongside another unfamiliar girl, “Joohyun and Sooyoung. The best friends.”

 She finds a photograph of a man, flaxen haired and with feminine figures, half hiding himself between the books rack, “Luhan. The study friend.”

Another photograph showed her alongside other bridesmaids and a couple sharing a kiss, “Jessica and Jaejoong. The married friends.”

She reached the last photograph. It showed a now familiar man, dressed in all black with pink shirt and bow tie. His smile made her smile and her eyes slowly moved to the note accompanied with it, “Kim Jongin. The boyfriend.” 

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Oookay, that was probably so cliche right? Sorry. So this is the YoonKai requested by many many people. I got the idea after reading Picture perfect by Jodi Picoult so if there are any similarities, I apologize. It's kind of the same in the sense that she loses her memory. But it's different don't worry. Read the book. It's amazing.

Anyways, Baekstal coming up next.