With You [minjoon]

six

The first thing Namjoon noticed was that they were both remarkably dressed up.

They stared at each other, faces blank. "This a nice place," Jimin said, "You have good taste in restaurants, I must say," he let out a slight chuckle.

Namjoon smiled, "Thank you, Jimin, I am very pleased to know that." He always went hunting for the best places in town. How was he going to enjoy the last few months of his life without pleasant things?

"So," Jimin's voice trailed off, "Is this like... a real date?" he asked, cautiously. He flinched at his words – he hadn't expected that.

His heart pumped as his stomach began swarming with warmth and butterflies; was it a date?

"It must be," he said, attempting to hide the slight blush on his face. "Shall we order?" He was quick to change the subject before Jimin could overwhelm him with a response.

He nodded. Namjoon flung his menu open. Frankly, he wasn't hungry. Nausea bubbled deep in his stomach, sending a wave of discomfort throughout his body.

He ordered a glass of wine and a light dish – chickpea and kale soup. Jimin got a steak.

The smell of the food made his nausea worse. There was no way he could eat without making a trip to the restroom.

He felt conflicted, sitting in front of Jimin with this situation in his hands. Should he just force his way through the meal and attempt to hold in puke?

The last thing he wanted was for Jimin to find out he was feeling sick. He didn't want to ruin their date.

He reached for the napkins.

He could barely lift his spoon to his mouth. The soup looked so unappetizing. He snaked his way past the liquid, only putting the chunks of solid foods in his mouth.

He chewed, bringing the napkin to his mouth. He spat it out. As long as it looked like he was eating. He had learned that a few years ago, when he hadn't told his friends about his illness.

He noticed Jimin was rather playing with his cutlery.

"How's your steak?" Namjoon asked. He hoped to get Jimin to touch his food. He'd quickly figured he wasn't a big eater.

Jimin snapped out of his daze, cutting into his steak. He took a bite, chewing slowly. "It's pretty good," he smiled. "What about you?"

He had forgotten about his soup. "It's exemplary," he told him.

They went back to eating in silence. Well, for Namjoon it was chewing and spitting. He was wasting napkins. And food.

"Are you okay?"

Jimin's question startled him. Confused, he tilted his head at him. He quickly realized why Jimin was asking him that.

He wasn't being very secretive about what he was doing; zoning out with a used napkin over his mouth.

"I'm okay."

He was nauseous.

He picked up his glass, sipping the wine. It was hot in his throat. It made him feel worse.

He knew his health was declining. His death date was nearing by the passing second. He had come to terms with it a long time ago, but now he felt guilty. Now that he had met Jimin. Was it a mistake moving here?

No, he told himself firmly. Everything happened for a reason. He was sitting here with Jimin for a reason. He was happy with him. He wanted to be with Jimin for the rest of his life. But he just couldn't do that to him.