J.C. An unlikely love story (Thrawnxf!reader)

A step in the right direction

You wake up to an empty bed. You blink and yawn, stretching your spine. You lay your hand on Thrawn's side of the bed, it's cold. He's been up for a long time already. You yawn again and pass on your fluffy dressing gown, open the shutter to let light enter the bedroom and head to your living room.

You find Thrawn sleeping on the couch.

You don't know why he didn't stay in bed with you. Maybe he felt a bit ill... Also it is quite exceptional for him to sleep this late. You tug on the plaid to cover up his shoulders and kiss his cheek, enamored by the picture. His face is so relaxed like that, he looks like a true angel. You nuzzle your nose with his cheek and his eyes opens instantly, well awakened.

"Good morning, mister." You caress a strand of hair out of his face.

"Good morning, cha'cah." He responds with a soft tone, caressing your cheek with his knuckles. "Did you sleep well?"

No you didn't. Even if you didn't have a nightmare this night it doesn't mean you didn't have a bad dream about your trauma.

"Quite well." You lie to not worry him.

He looks at you straight in the eyes with an indecipherable expression.

"Really?" He insists.

"Yes!" You smile for him, a broad, large smile.

He doesn't believe you, but doesn't insist more, leaving you your privacy.

"And you?" You divert the discussion to him, "Why sleep on the sofa when we have a fluffy mattress?"

"It was too hot for me."

"You felt uncomfortable? You want to get rid of one of the covers?"

"Do not worry about that, Cha'cah." He raises his head to kiss your cheek tenderly. "Let us enjoy breakfast together?" He proposes.

You prepare caff while he's cutting a loaf of soft white bread for you. He doesn't consume white bread, too unhealthy and not enough nutrients. You look at him taking out a portion of Spira salmon for himself and you get more and more distressed at how he's prepping it.

"Thrawn, I do not think this is a good way to prepare fish, you're cross-contaminating every utensil."

He looks at you with what you think is surprise in his eyes.

"This is how I always did."

You frown in disbelief.

"Nobody ever told you it was dangerous?"

"I rarely cook with someone else present."

"Do you usually cook? Like at all?"

"I prefer going to the mess halls or wardroom or eating the dishes the droids prepared for me."

You shake your head, sympathetic. Apparently he is as clueless in the kitchen than in politics.

"Let me help."

You cut the flesh of the salmon in manageable quarters, and spread oil in a dish.

"First you're gonna cover the salmon quarters with butter and add a pinch of salt."

He obeys as you grate a lemon over a bowl. His movements are swift and precise even if you realize he doesn't know what he's doing. You gave him the lemon.

"Now add the juice and the zest."

You take out some dill that you wash thoroughly.

"I remember your cutting skills being impeccable, mince that finely with this shallot."