Requested on tumblr: "waking up with amnesia AU". If you want one, hit my blog.

Hyukjae doesn’t recognize the room he wakes up in. The soft bed, the tan walls, and wooden furniture provide a cozy, serene atmosphere - but they tell him nothing. There are labels on every drawer of the furniture - underwear, socks, shirts & ties, T-shirts is written on them - which Hyukjae finds odd.

There are paintings on the walls. Hyukjae gets up and walks to one of them - a scene from a park at night; a peaceful lake in the distance and a stone bridge in the foreground. Hyukjae touches the canvas gingerly then turns to the other paintings - two glasses of wine, the liquids entwining around each other; a broken angel with black wings kneeling on the ground, looking defeated. He gazes at them, knowing in the back of his mind that he was the one who painted them, and smiles, finding comfort in the only things he seems to recognize.

He steps out of the bedroom into the living room, walking slowly, with unsure steps as he takes in its appearance. The walls are white, as well as the sofa and two armchairs. There’s a coffee table between them, on top of which lie two magazines and a white mug - Coffee is printed on it in pink and Hyukjae laughs at the silliness of it. It’s definitely not his, because Hyukjae hates coffee. Two laptops lie on the sofa. One of the walls is entirely occupied by a wooden bookcase filled with books. Hyukjae recognizes his favourite fantasy series - Harry Potter, The Mortal Instruments and The Infernal Devices in English, Percy Jackson and the Olympians, and other young adult fiction that he still loves to read despite being in his thirties. There’s also Crime and Punishment, The Picture of Dorian Grey, Dante’s Divine Comedy and other classics that Hyukjae finds way too dramatic for his liking. He remembers reading them though, because they were his ... his ... someone’s favourites.

Hyukjae frowns. Whose favourites? It’s probably the same person who owns the silly coffee mug. By the looks of it Hyukjae apparently lives with them. But who is it exactly?

Hyukjae stands by the bookcase for long minutes, struggling to remember; but his head is a mess of faces with no names - a few familiar ones, but the rest are strangers - and the more he tries to focus on a single one, the more confused he gets and a terrible headache envelops him, making his head even fuzzier and— why can’t I remember, God damn it!

Just as he was about to kick the bookcase in frustration, a loud tune rings from the bedroom. Hyukjae recognizes it as his alarm clock ringtone and goes back to the bedroom to find his phone. He picks it up from the bedside table and stares at it for a couple of seconds, his brain trying to register the words shown on the screen.

You have Anterograde Amnesia. Check your memo.

Of course, Hyukjae thinks, closing his eyes to order his thoughts. Now everything makes sense: why he doesn’t recognize the place, the labels on the furniture, and why he can’t remember the person he lives with. He must be pretty special though if Hyukjae endured reading Crime and Punishment for him.

Hyukjae follows the instructions on his phone and opens his memo.

Work on painting.

E-mail the organizer. (read more)

Be at the gallery at 5pm. (read more)

Grocery shopping on the way home.

Hyukjae reads the list twice then opens the read more’s. After he makes sure he memorized everything, he goes back in the living room to start his day. As he gathers his art supplies (conveniently left under the coffee table), he wonders why there are no pictures of him and whoever he lives with anywhere around the apartment.

~*~

Around 4pm Hyukjae gets a phone call. Donghae it says on the screen. Hyukjae knows this name, it’s awfully familiar - but he can’t match a person to it.

“Hello?” He is aware of the anxiety in his voice, but he hopes it won’t reach the other person.

“Hey, Hyukjae.” The man’s voice is deep and soft and it makes Hyukjae’s heart skip a beat. “Do you know who I am?”

“Donghae.”

Donghae laughs, loud and carefree. Hyukjae smiles a little too even though he’s the one being laughed at.

“Because that’s the caller ID, right?” Donghae asks, his voice teasing.

“... yeah.” Hyukjae exhales shakily, palming his face in embarrassment. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. You’ll remember.” Donghae doesn’t seem offended at all. He sounds confident and easy going and Hyukjae gets the impression they’ve had this conversation before. “I just called to remind you of the inauguration. You know, that talented boy you discovered and insisted we show his works to the world?”

Hyukjae hums, although he does not remember. He read about it on his phone though. Apparently Hyukjae found a teenage boy trying to sell his art on the streets a few months back. He was impressed by what he saw so he took the boy under his wing, thought him about painting and guided him through the long and painful process of making his own small collection. Today is the day the boy’s work is going to be put on display. With a bit of luck someone would be interested enough to buy.

Reading about this, Hyukjae thought he’s a pretty awesome person. Not that he’s arrogant, but he doesn’t quite remember anything about himself for the past ten years or so, so he’s proud to discover what he’s become.

“You have to be here at 5.”

“I know.”

“It’s 4 right now.”

“Oh, fu—”

Donghae starts laughing while Hyukjae jumps from the chair and runs to the bedroom. “I knew you’d forget to check the time, that’s why I called.”

“If you knew, why didn’t you call earlier?” Hyukjae grumbles, balancing the phone between his shoulder and jaw so he can take out clothes from the drawer.

“Relax, it’s gonna be fine.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one running late.”

Donghae laughs again and Hyukjae barely refrains from hanging up. “See you soon, Hyukjae. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Hyukjae lets the phone fall on the bed while he hurriedly puts on his pants. He freezes while buttoning them, only now registering his last words. He meant them too. He marvels at that and at how easy it was to talk to Donghae after the first awkward moments; as if they’ve known each other for decades.

We probably do, he thinks, buttoning the pants and putting on a shirt. As his fingers hurry to button that too, Hyukjae notices a gold ring on his ring finger. Oh, he thinks, a grin blossoming on his face. That explains it.

~*~

Hyukjae arrives at the gallery twenty minutes late. The place is already filled, people moving from one painting to another, admiring and commenting. The many faces make Hyukjae’s head spin, but he nods at people who greet him anyway because he doesn’t want to be rude. It’s not their fault Hyukjae can’t remember them.

He wonders around a bit, looking for— well, he doesn’t know exactly. He still can’t match the name Donghae with a face, but he’s sure he will know when he sees him.

And he does.

Donghae has that kind of ethereal beauty, the kind that makes you wonder if he’s actually real (it seems like that to Hyukjae anyway). He has short light-brown hair swept to the side, tan skin and thin lips.When he laughs, his whole body laughs along with him - his eyes crinkle, the corner of his lips almost touch his ears, and he bends forward slightly, his hands lightly hitting the person he’s laughing with. He’s wearing dark-blue dress pants, a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a dark-blue vest. He looks gorgeous.

Donghae is a few meters in front of him, talking to a couple. Hyukjae stops and stares at him, butterflies in his stomach and his chest tingling with love.

This is the man you love, his brain whispers. He is your everything, how could you forget him?

I didn’t, he argues. I didn’t!

But you did, another part of his mind taunts. You woke up this morning and you had no idea he even exists.

Hyukjae feels his eyes sting with tears, but he swallows the lump in his throat and makes his way to Donghae. This must happen everytime he sees his lover, he thinks bitterly, these inner demons trying to ruin his life. He must fight them everytime they appear. He must not let them win.

For Donghae. Everything for Donghae.

Hyukjae walks with slow steps, waiting for the couple to leave. When they do, Hyukjae breaks into a run, slamming his body into Donghae’s as he embraces him from behind.

He doesn’t remember how they met, who confessed first, how they got together. He doesn’t remember their first big fight or what it was about. He doesn’t know Donghae’s favourite colour or movie or what kind of music he likes.

But it doesn’t matter. Because he remembers Donghae’s voice and his name; he remembers flickers of protective hugs and passionate touches late at night or early in the morning.

He remembers Donghae loving him when no one else did.

Strong hands take a hold of his, entwining their fingers. Donghae turns his head smiling and nuzzles his nose against Hyukjae’s affectionately. Thin lips ghost over his briefly before settling on his cheek.

“I knew you’ll remember,” Donghae murmurs, only for Hyukjae’s ears to hear. “You always do, Hyukjae.”

And that’s all that matters.

P.S: very late Christmas fic coming soon. Though I don't know if I'll add it here or post it as a one-shot. Depends on how much/little I write. Stay tuned.

AND HAPPY NEW YEAR!!! HAVE AN AWESOME ONE!