Effort - Eddie Munson x Reader

Seven: Boathouse

I woke up to something sweet and savory flooding my senses. Slowly sitting myself up on the sofa, I rubbed my eyes and followed the smells. Peering over the couch to see Eddie with his back turned, cooking on the stove in the kitchen. I smiled.

In my morning haze, I had to look around and re-familiarize myself with whatever I could've missed last night now that I could get a better look. Curtains decorated each window, every one drawn closed tight. Still, the sun's light filtered through their thin material, lighting up the house in a refreshing hue. There was a small table next to me, and shelves filled with random books and trinkets.

I looked down at the sound of my stomach grumbling, the taunting smell of Eddie's cooking making me realize just how hungry I was.

I steadily drew myself to my feet and stretched my arms above my head, letting out a soft sigh. I already felt much better compared to how I did a few hours ago. I felt rested, less sore, and I think some of the traumas of yesterday had worn off, or at least worn down. I was going to try to ignore those for now.

I walked around the couch, hugging my arms to my chest as I made my way into the kitchen. The tile was cold on my feet, but the smoke floating about was warm. Eddie hadn't noticed me yet, still facing the stove, quietly cooking.

"Fuck!" He suddenly yelled, alarming me. More curses followed under his breath as he shook his hand back and forth suspended in the air. I peered around his shoulder to see he had burnt his finger. He put it to his lips, sucking on it now as if to settle the pain.

"You okay?" I asked.

He jumped, eyes wide as he spun to look at me. "Are you kidding me?!" He yelled. "What the hell!? You scared me! Again!"

I laughed awkwardly. "Sorry, sorry. You are so jumpy."

"You are so quiet!" He hissed back. "How do you always do that?"

I shrugged, laughing more. "Maybe you're going deaf with all that music you listen to."

"Never." He pouted, wiping his finger to his shirt. I saw now that he was currently making scrambled eggs, and must've touched the pan by accident.

I reached past him to turn the stove off so the eggs wouldn't burn, then held out my hand to take his. "Let me see."

He watched me with a raised brow, confused.

I rolled my eyes. "Your finger."

"Oh." He sighed and, hesitantly, laid his hand in mine, palm up. I examined his finger closely, holding it between my own. It was red and irritated, burned but only minor. Stepping back, I took firm hold of his arm and pulled him with me to the kitchen sink. Flicking on the tap, I made sure the pressure was low and cold water flowed before carefully running his finger under the faucet.

"You're clumsy." I said, keeping my eye on his finger.

"I know." He huffed, obviously embarrassed. "I was trying to surprise you before. Did I wake you up?"

I smiled, looking up to him. "Which part? The screaming or the food?" I teased.

He lowered his gaze at me.

"I think I woke up on my own." I said, looking back to his finger. "That or, yeah, the yummy smell."

"It smells good?" He asked, almost sounding surprised.

I laughed. "Yeah. Might also be 'cause I'm starving though."

I gently ran my fingers over his, taking notice of his rings better now. They were a beautiful silver. Three rings, a skull, a cross and a pig. But a mean looking pig. I noticed the calluses on the tips of his fingers too. I wondered what they were from, I'd have to ask later.