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Yellow stared at the rest of the crew through the window. They saw them slowly get more and more nervous as nothing happened to Yellow.
God, it's cold.
They'd never been this cold before. They were quickly losing feeling all over their body. They were going to die. They knew there was no chance they would survive this.
Yellow curled up their fists and stuck out their middle fingers. There wasn't really much of a reason why, other than to get a laugh out of Brown. It wouldn't. Yellow knew it wouldn't, but they couldn't help but try. Let a dying crewmate have some hope, eh?
They heard a chuckle.
Brown…?
But…Yellow was…outside the ship…
They heard another chuckle, paired with the scent of herbs.
The…kitchen…?
They felt the warmth of the fire going through their body.
Heh…can't wait to see… what Brown's cooking up…today…
Comforted and warm, everything finally stopped.
____________________
Brown watched as Yellow drifted farther and farther away.
Brown watched as Yellow pointed their middle fingers up.
Brown watched as the light went out in Yellow's eyes.
Brown watched as Yellow died.
Yellow's dead.
Yellow's dead.
Yellow's dead.
Yellow's…
Brown was back in the kitchen. They didn't remember going to the kitchen.
They began to get the ingredients together for a pizza. They didn't know why. Maybe someone had asked them to…? They couldn't remember much from recent events.
Yellow's dead.
Yellow, who was almost never not by their side.
Yellow, who got them like no one else could.
Yellow, who had been the most amazing crewmate Brown had met in their life.
Yellow, who fought so hard for the union that they were in with Brown.
Yellow, who Brown could never even begin to imagine being without.
Yellow, who Brown didn't know what they'd do without them, yet could easily imagine Yellow doing fine on their own.
The pizza was done. Brown grabbed the pizza paddle and took it out, setting it down on the countertop. They stared at it for a while. Then they cut it up, taking a piece.
They took a bite.
It wasn't right.
Nothing was right.
Not the crew, not the voting system that they'd abstained from, not this entire mission, not even the damn pizza.
It tasted bland and flavorless. Nothing like how it should've been.
The salt.
They grabbed the salt that Yellow had always praised.
There was a note.
“This is gonna knock you on your ass!” Followed by a little drawing of Brown, knocked on their ass.
Brown read it in their head, they could almost hear Yellow saying it.
They sprinkled some on the pizza and took another bite. It was just how Yellow would've made it. For a moment, Yellow was there, laughing and telling Brown how they told them so.
“Knocked me on my ass.” Brown said, with a faint chuckle.
Yellow's dead.
The moment passed. Brown was alone in the kitchen, holding a half eaten pizza slice. Yellow wasn't there.
Yellow was dead.
“Favorite candle scent 1,2,3, Papaya Sunrise! But what about…”
Yellow was dead.
“Oh yeah, mmm that's good. Mwah! Mwah! Mwah!”
Something was behind Brown.
“When the blood spills, the marinara doesn't.”
They turned around.
“Thanks Brown, you get me.”
They didn't react.
“You're the better half of my brain, the best chef I know. Even if you were wrong about the flakey salt.”
It was over quickly.
____________________
Somewhere on a ship sailing across the cosmos, hidden from the eyes of anyone alive, there were two souls embracing each other once more.
Never to part again.