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The fridge stared back at him as if it was cognizant of his short comings as a cook. Dammit, he was hungry. After a week of barely nibbling on cookies and crackers, he was left to make food for himself. And a Namjoon left to his own devices in the kitchen was a frustrated Namjoon.
Fifty-one years. That's how long he got with the love of his life before he was taken away. He thought it too soon, but his Yoongi was 76 years old when his body finally gave out. But a long happy life did nothing to stop the heartbreak Namjoon was feeling at this very moment.
It was the 13th of June. What should've been their fifty-second anniversary was now just another day.
Yoongi would wake up early each anniversary just to make Namjoon some kimchi jjigae, the dish the two had eaten after they eloped all those years ago. He would do anything for one more bowl of Yoongi’s cooking. To be sitting over a meal, talking about whatever obscure topic he had gotten wormholed into.
Closing the fridge, he headed over to the cabinet where Yoongi kept the pot he would make his delicious stew in. Opening the bottom cupboard, he found it and pulled it out. Lifting the lid, he noticed another pastel index card.
In the months since his passing, Namjoon would find one occasionally while in the kitchen. They would bear recipes for his favorite meals, tips on cooking, and always had little love notes on the back.
This index card was pink. On one side was the recipe for the kimchi jjigae. The instructions were clear and easy to understand, written in large print so Namjoon could read them despite his weak eyesight. Turning it over, he was met with words that touched him deep in his heart.
My Joonie,
If you’re reading this one, it must be our anniversary. I’m sorry I’m not there to make you the yummiest food and give you the snuggliest snuggles. If it were up to me, the two of us would never be apart. Don’t neglect yourself and try not to let it get too much. I promise that one day we will be together again in the next life. I love you.
Yoongi
🥘🍚🍲
Namjoon sat at the table, Yoongi’s spot left empty across from him. He could almost feel the other’s presence in front of him. Almost. He could even almost hear his laughter, see his smile, hear his voice.
It had taken him far longer to make the food than it would’ve Yoongi, but he did his best to follow the instructions fully. His shaky, arthritic hands cut the ingredients carefully. And when he put the first bite into his mouth, he closed his eyes. Tears streamed down his face at the familiar taste. While it may look like a child prepared it, the taste was undoubtedly that of his Yoongi’s stew. A smile formed on his face as he opened his eyes to finish his meal.
Yoongi had been sick for a very long time. The treatments, the medication changes, the trial medication runs. None of it could stop the disease. None of it could save his life.
And now, Namjoon sat across from the empty seat, the same disease now grew in his own body. Asbestos they said. The two had met at work, their stations next to each other. It wasn’t easy living in the closet, but should they have been discovered, people would not be kind. They had both retired just in time for Yoongi’s diagnosis.
They had received a hefty monetary settlement from their former employer, but what’s money when nothing will cure your illness. They simply put the money away for safekeeping. Their house was paid for, as was their car…well, Yoongi’s car. Namjoon never bothered to learn how to drive. He didn’t need to – he had Yoongi.
Now, too frail and sick to ride his beloved bicycle, he relied on medical transportation people at the hospital to take him to and from his appointments. The doctors had suggested aggressive treatment, basically throw everything at it and see what sticks. Namjoon declined. He had enough of hospitals, enough of treatments that were usually worse than the disease itself. Instead, he chose to live in his little yellow house, only going to the doctor for refills and to check progress on his illness.
🥘🍚🍲
Namjoon sat on his back porch, letting the cool breeze blow through his thinning hair. He had just finished the last of the kimchi jjigae, being sure to wash the pot and his dishes. He had been trained well during his many years of marriage.
Now, belly full and heart at ease, he sat watching the birds feeding on the bird feeder Yoongi had him install a decade before. He watched a Daurian Redstart chirp before nibbling on some feed. He knew some birds, not many, but some. This one, however, he would always remember. It was Yoongi’s favorite. His face would light up each time the little birds would enter their yard. Even when his eye smile was lined by crow’s feet and his soft, wavy hair was grey, Yoongi was still the most beautiful person Namjoon had ever seen.
Each of his smiles would fill his heart with love, making him feel like the luckiest man in the world. The fact that such a lovely smile was directed at him was something he treasured greatly.
His doctor’s appointment had gone…well, he was glad it was over. They had given him weeks. He wasn’t a fool – he knew the time they gave you was always a greater estimate than what they really thought you had. He had made his peace a long time ago, knowing the diagnosis was not one that would end well for him.
Yoongi had fought for his life through his illness. Something Namjoon knew was because of him. The guilt of his selfish need to keep Yoongi alive hurt. He was torn – he knew his husband was suffering, hanging on to a life of pain to keep Namjoon from suffering even one day.
After a particularly brutal week, he sat next to Yoongi’s hospital bed, pulling the older man’s hand into his own. He confessed that he’d been selfish, but now knew that it had been more heartbreaking to watch Yoongi suffer. He told the love of his life that if he was ready to go, Namjoon would be okay.
Yoongi died that night.
And now, a year a half later, sitting on his back porch watching his husband’s favorite bird fly around his back yard, Namjoon joined him.
And their souls found each other once more.