Dear Diary, Do You Remember Him?
kyumin, 1935 words
pg, slight angst/romance
Sungmin writes in his diary in an attempt to remember.
Written from Sungmin's point of view this time, sequel to Like A Ball Of Wool.
You don’t really know what to do when you awake to find a stranger lying next to you in bed, watching you fondly as you open your eyes and peer at him curiously.
You sit yourself up, and face the man, looking at him closely.
Even though he was a real pretty boy, you still feel rather uncomfortable-he was a stranger, after all. You stare at him, taking in his gorgeous features, and ask him, “Who are you?”
You hadn’t expected his reaction at all-to your surprise, the stranger doesn’t respond to your question, and simply holds his head in his hands as he begins crying.
“Sungmin, Sungmin, Sungmin,” he whimpers at you, and you wonder why he was crying so much-had you done something to make him so upset? You really didn’t know.
“You can’t,” he chokes out, grabbing onto your hand with so much desperation that it startles you a little. “Please,” he begs, looking at you with pleading eyes-you were getting a little annoyed, what could this man want from you? You didn’t even know who he was.
“Can’t what?” You say warily, taking back your hand from the mysterious man’s strong grip. “Who are you anyway?”
You watch as his face falls some more, and you wonder what could be wrong with him as he leaves the room, tears still streaming down his perfect, porcelain cheeks.
***
Well, that was awkward, you think to yourself, and look around the room-and something on the dressing table catches your eye.
It is a tiny book, around the size of your hand, the colour a startling pink and in relatively good condition. You don’t recall ever seeing this book before, but then, you think sadly, you don’t really recall anything anymore.
It was weird, the feeling of forgetting; but you had gotten used to it over time, so much so that it didn’t bother you so much anymore when you look at things and realize you can’t remember what they are called anymore. You didn’t know how long ago it had been since you started forgetting, but you knew that it had been really painful at first.
But now, the pain had dulled-and forgetting had become something of the mundane. It was normal to you, and sometimes you would get random flashbacks of your own memories, and they would make you smile, because it gave you hope.
The book is labeled Diary, and you decide to write in it, to preserve your memories, before you forget how to write at all.
***
Dear Diary,
I found a strange man lying next to me on the bed today. Oddly, I am not freaked out. He began crying when I questioned his identity, so I wonder if he is, perhaps, mentally unstable.
However, he looks eerily familiar to me. I wonder if he was someone I forgot. I just can’t place him anywhere in my mind, hmm.
I hope he isn’t a stalker or anything. I don’t think I want to be groped.
***
“Sungmin,” the same stranger from before pokes his head into your room, smiling now, but dried tear tracks still clearly evident on his face.
You figure he must be talking to you, and your head snaps up from the diary you had been writing in. “Sungmin,” you say, and you repeat it over and over in your head, trying to find familiarity in it. When your brain doesn’t acknowledge it, you ask, “Is that my name? I seem to have forgotten it.”
He laughs-which makes you smile, he had a nice laugh, this man, and you decide that he couldn’t possibly be a pervert. He had too nice a laugh to be one.
“Yes, you’re Sungmin,” he tells you, laughing still, and you simply smile back, hoping that your eyes didn’t betray the fear that was bubbling from deep inside of you.
“It’s time for dinner,” the man says, and gestures for you to follow him out to eat.
***
Dear Diary,
My name is Sungmin. Remember that for me? Okay, I gotta go eat dinner now, be back soon.
***
Dear Diary,
I asked the queer man for his name during dinner today, but he tells me that he can't tell me. Which is really frustrating, because I'm sure that if I knew his name, I'd remember him for sure. Is he trying to still maintain the whole mysterious image or something? It's really annoying me, and I told him this, but he gets sad and moody again, which is also really frustrating, but I decided not to push it, and just drink my soup again.
He cooks really well, this guy. His skills surprised me. Today's soup tasted really good, but I- I'm ashamed to say that I don't know what soup it was.
I also asked him where he stayed, and he tells me that he stays here, with me.
So now I am quite sure that I know him. I just wish I could remember.
***
You wake up the following morning, and find yourself not being able to register your surroundings at all, they were so foreign, and you can feel fear rising in your gut- where were you? Who were you? You are about to have a panic attack when you catch a glimpse of a bright pink book on the bed.
It calls to you, and you open it, reading through it, slowly comprehending the meaning of the words on the pages.
You take a deep breath and sigh, falling back comfortably onto the covers. You lived here, your name was Sungmin, and you wouldn't forget anything as long as you wrote in your diary.
With that comforting thought, you smile and leave your room, wondering if you could get closer to the stranger that you wanted to know so badly about.
***
He is sitting down at the dining table, using his laptop while occasionally looking up to watch the news on the television. You creep up behind him, and trill, "Gooood morning" in his ear, which scares him slightly, but he laughs, and closes his computer and just looks at you happily.
He spends the day with you, teaching you everything that you have forgotten before (and isn't even embarrassed when you tell him that you don't really know what you were supposed to do in the bathroom), and you try your best to register everything in your mind, hoping that you could remember more than you could forget.
And even though the man seemed to be happy most of the time, you couldn't help but notice the grief that would glaze over his eyes occasionally- you wondered what your housemate had to hide. And then you think, a bit depressingly, you would know his secrets if you could just remember.
***
Dear Diary,
Today, I can tell you with confidence that the good-looking man is nice. So... I doubt he's a stalker.
***
And so the routine continued, you would wake up every morning (sometimes remembering who you were and sometimes depending on your pink diary for some help), and then you would spend time with the man who still refused to reveal his name. He would always be teaching things to you-taking you out on walks, making coffee with you, cooking with you, reading to you, talking to you- you knew that without him there, you'd probably be forgetting all your life skills, and for that, you knew you'd be eternally grateful to him.
But it frustrated you that you didn't know anything about him. Who was he? You didn't know. You wish you did, but of course you still couldn't remember. You were sure that you would never ever forget his face, but what good was a memory without a name?
It was exasperating, waiting around for answers that no one could give to you.
***
Dear Diary,
He took me grocery shopping today. Learnt the importance of a shopping cart. Do you know they are like, silver, shiny baskets on wheels? I wanted to ride in it, but he told me that I was crazy, and patted my head.
***
Even though he was still like a stranger to you, mysterious and secretive in every exasperating way, you didn't mind, because he had become your best friend, someone who cared, and showed it in every way he could.
You were sad for him, though. He refused to open up to you, and sometimes you felt so useless it hurt- you wanted to make him feel better but you couldn't. But you told yourself that he would open up someday, and all you needed to do, was wait.
***
Dear Diary,
I think I may be getting better at remembering. Pumpkin Soup. I had Pumpkin Soup today. It tasted wonderful. Well, of course it did, he cooked it. I forget stuff less frequently now. It makes me feel hopeful.
One day, I will remember him.
***
You are taken aback one day when your favourite stranger breaks down in front of you, after the both of you come back from your daily strolls in the park.
"Um," you look at him nervously, not knowing what to do; you couldn't even offer him comforting words- you didn't even know his name. "Hey, what's wrong?" A strong sense of déjà vu hitting you, and you are surprised that you can remember; but you were pretty certain that this was the way he had acted when you first found him in bed next to you.
"Sungmin," he wheezes in between short, ragged breaths. "I'm sorry. I can't. I, this is, this is so damn hard."
"What is?" You ask, taking his hand and leading him to the dining table, sitting him down and looking at him sternly. "You have to tell me, or I'll never be able to help you."
You wonder if he could hear the frustration in your voice, but he seems to be oblivious to it, as he just cries and cries some more, which is beginning to frighten you a lot.
"I told myself that I would never leave you," he says, seeming to be slightly embarrassed at his tears as he rushes to dry them up. "But this is so painful, I can't. I don't. I don't even know what to do anymore. You. You're so important to me."
You can't really digest what he was saying to you, but you keep quiet-- this was the first time he had spoken so much, you weren't going to interrupt him just yet.
"I love you, Sungmin," he says, grabbing hold of your face suddenly. You freeze at his touch, memorized by his eyes. "Please, remember me?"
You don't know how to describe what happens next- it was like everything was suddenly coming back to you, so many images rushing past your mind all of a sudden, like a home video on fast forward. There was so much information for you to take in, and for the first time in months, the memories seem to have a more permanent hold in your mind, as if reassuring you that they weren't going anywhere, and wouldn't let the disease chase them away anymore.
But what mattered most was his name, flashing bright and loud in your head like a giant, neon signboard.
"Kyuhyun," you breath, and press your lips to his urgently, tasting his salty tears on his face, holding him close, trying to take away all the pain that you had caused him before. "I'm sorry."
And you feel his smile against your lips, and you knew that he had forgiven you.
***
Dear Diary,
I remember. I finally remember.
Hope you guys liked the ending, thank you so much for reading<3
pg, slight angst/romance
Sungmin writes in his diary in an attempt to remember.
Written from Sungmin's point of view this time, sequel to Like A Ball Of Wool.
You don’t really know what to do when you awake to find a stranger lying next to you in bed, watching you fondly as you open your eyes and peer at him curiously.
You sit yourself up, and face the man, looking at him closely.
Even though he was a real pretty boy, you still feel rather uncomfortable-he was a stranger, after all. You stare at him, taking in his gorgeous features, and ask him, “Who are you?”
You hadn’t expected his reaction at all-to your surprise, the stranger doesn’t respond to your question, and simply holds his head in his hands as he begins crying.
“Sungmin, Sungmin, Sungmin,” he whimpers at you, and you wonder why he was crying so much-had you done something to make him so upset? You really didn’t know.
“You can’t,” he chokes out, grabbing onto your hand with so much desperation that it startles you a little. “Please,” he begs, looking at you with pleading eyes-you were getting a little annoyed, what could this man want from you? You didn’t even know who he was.
“Can’t what?” You say warily, taking back your hand from the mysterious man’s strong grip. “Who are you anyway?”
You watch as his face falls some more, and you wonder what could be wrong with him as he leaves the room, tears still streaming down his perfect, porcelain cheeks.
***
Well, that was awkward, you think to yourself, and look around the room-and something on the dressing table catches your eye.
It is a tiny book, around the size of your hand, the colour a startling pink and in relatively good condition. You don’t recall ever seeing this book before, but then, you think sadly, you don’t really recall anything anymore.
It was weird, the feeling of forgetting; but you had gotten used to it over time, so much so that it didn’t bother you so much anymore when you look at things and realize you can’t remember what they are called anymore. You didn’t know how long ago it had been since you started forgetting, but you knew that it had been really painful at first.
But now, the pain had dulled-and forgetting had become something of the mundane. It was normal to you, and sometimes you would get random flashbacks of your own memories, and they would make you smile, because it gave you hope.
The book is labeled Diary, and you decide to write in it, to preserve your memories, before you forget how to write at all.
***
Dear Diary,
I found a strange man lying next to me on the bed today. Oddly, I am not freaked out. He began crying when I questioned his identity, so I wonder if he is, perhaps, mentally unstable.
However, he looks eerily familiar to me. I wonder if he was someone I forgot. I just can’t place him anywhere in my mind, hmm.
I hope he isn’t a stalker or anything. I don’t think I want to be groped.
***
“Sungmin,” the same stranger from before pokes his head into your room, smiling now, but dried tear tracks still clearly evident on his face.
You figure he must be talking to you, and your head snaps up from the diary you had been writing in. “Sungmin,” you say, and you repeat it over and over in your head, trying to find familiarity in it. When your brain doesn’t acknowledge it, you ask, “Is that my name? I seem to have forgotten it.”
He laughs-which makes you smile, he had a nice laugh, this man, and you decide that he couldn’t possibly be a pervert. He had too nice a laugh to be one.
“Yes, you’re Sungmin,” he tells you, laughing still, and you simply smile back, hoping that your eyes didn’t betray the fear that was bubbling from deep inside of you.
“It’s time for dinner,” the man says, and gestures for you to follow him out to eat.
***
Dear Diary,
My name is Sungmin. Remember that for me? Okay, I gotta go eat dinner now, be back soon.
***
Dear Diary,
I asked the queer man for his name during dinner today, but he tells me that he can't tell me. Which is really frustrating, because I'm sure that if I knew his name, I'd remember him for sure. Is he trying to still maintain the whole mysterious image or something? It's really annoying me, and I told him this, but he gets sad and moody again, which is also really frustrating, but I decided not to push it, and just drink my soup again.
He cooks really well, this guy. His skills surprised me. Today's soup tasted really good, but I- I'm ashamed to say that I don't know what soup it was.
I also asked him where he stayed, and he tells me that he stays here, with me.
So now I am quite sure that I know him. I just wish I could remember.
***
You wake up the following morning, and find yourself not being able to register your surroundings at all, they were so foreign, and you can feel fear rising in your gut- where were you? Who were you? You are about to have a panic attack when you catch a glimpse of a bright pink book on the bed.
It calls to you, and you open it, reading through it, slowly comprehending the meaning of the words on the pages.
You take a deep breath and sigh, falling back comfortably onto the covers. You lived here, your name was Sungmin, and you wouldn't forget anything as long as you wrote in your diary.
With that comforting thought, you smile and leave your room, wondering if you could get closer to the stranger that you wanted to know so badly about.
***
He is sitting down at the dining table, using his laptop while occasionally looking up to watch the news on the television. You creep up behind him, and trill, "Gooood morning" in his ear, which scares him slightly, but he laughs, and closes his computer and just looks at you happily.
He spends the day with you, teaching you everything that you have forgotten before (and isn't even embarrassed when you tell him that you don't really know what you were supposed to do in the bathroom), and you try your best to register everything in your mind, hoping that you could remember more than you could forget.
And even though the man seemed to be happy most of the time, you couldn't help but notice the grief that would glaze over his eyes occasionally- you wondered what your housemate had to hide. And then you think, a bit depressingly, you would know his secrets if you could just remember.
***
Dear Diary,
Today, I can tell you with confidence that the good-looking man is nice. So... I doubt he's a stalker.
***
And so the routine continued, you would wake up every morning (sometimes remembering who you were and sometimes depending on your pink diary for some help), and then you would spend time with the man who still refused to reveal his name. He would always be teaching things to you-taking you out on walks, making coffee with you, cooking with you, reading to you, talking to you- you knew that without him there, you'd probably be forgetting all your life skills, and for that, you knew you'd be eternally grateful to him.
But it frustrated you that you didn't know anything about him. Who was he? You didn't know. You wish you did, but of course you still couldn't remember. You were sure that you would never ever forget his face, but what good was a memory without a name?
It was exasperating, waiting around for answers that no one could give to you.
***
Dear Diary,
He took me grocery shopping today. Learnt the importance of a shopping cart. Do you know they are like, silver, shiny baskets on wheels? I wanted to ride in it, but he told me that I was crazy, and patted my head.
***
Even though he was still like a stranger to you, mysterious and secretive in every exasperating way, you didn't mind, because he had become your best friend, someone who cared, and showed it in every way he could.
You were sad for him, though. He refused to open up to you, and sometimes you felt so useless it hurt- you wanted to make him feel better but you couldn't. But you told yourself that he would open up someday, and all you needed to do, was wait.
***
Dear Diary,
I think I may be getting better at remembering. Pumpkin Soup. I had Pumpkin Soup today. It tasted wonderful. Well, of course it did, he cooked it. I forget stuff less frequently now. It makes me feel hopeful.
One day, I will remember him.
***
You are taken aback one day when your favourite stranger breaks down in front of you, after the both of you come back from your daily strolls in the park.
"Um," you look at him nervously, not knowing what to do; you couldn't even offer him comforting words- you didn't even know his name. "Hey, what's wrong?" A strong sense of déjà vu hitting you, and you are surprised that you can remember; but you were pretty certain that this was the way he had acted when you first found him in bed next to you.
"Sungmin," he wheezes in between short, ragged breaths. "I'm sorry. I can't. I, this is, this is so damn hard."
"What is?" You ask, taking his hand and leading him to the dining table, sitting him down and looking at him sternly. "You have to tell me, or I'll never be able to help you."
You wonder if he could hear the frustration in your voice, but he seems to be oblivious to it, as he just cries and cries some more, which is beginning to frighten you a lot.
"I told myself that I would never leave you," he says, seeming to be slightly embarrassed at his tears as he rushes to dry them up. "But this is so painful, I can't. I don't. I don't even know what to do anymore. You. You're so important to me."
You can't really digest what he was saying to you, but you keep quiet-- this was the first time he had spoken so much, you weren't going to interrupt him just yet.
"I love you, Sungmin," he says, grabbing hold of your face suddenly. You freeze at his touch, memorized by his eyes. "Please, remember me?"
You don't know how to describe what happens next- it was like everything was suddenly coming back to you, so many images rushing past your mind all of a sudden, like a home video on fast forward. There was so much information for you to take in, and for the first time in months, the memories seem to have a more permanent hold in your mind, as if reassuring you that they weren't going anywhere, and wouldn't let the disease chase them away anymore.
But what mattered most was his name, flashing bright and loud in your head like a giant, neon signboard.
"Kyuhyun," you breath, and press your lips to his urgently, tasting his salty tears on his face, holding him close, trying to take away all the pain that you had caused him before. "I'm sorry."
And you feel his smile against your lips, and you knew that he had forgiven you.
***
Dear Diary,
I remember. I finally remember.
Hope you guys liked the ending, thank you so much for reading<3