500 Days of Freya (Merlin)

Kitchen

Chapter 3

Warning/s: Nothing that goes above the T rating.

Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin.

A/N: Guys, I cannot stress enough how much I need prompts from you guys. I'm three chapters in and already I'm struggling to think of new ideas for each chapter. Not only that, but life hasn't been kind to me lately and I literally had no time or energy to write this chapter until about two days ago. I hope you enjoy anyway. And Merry Christmas!

Freya was stretched out on the sofa, various cushions scattered about the floor from where she had kicked them off. She was covered with a maroon blanket, which had fallen down on her left side slightly. Merlin blushed slightly at the sight of her bare shoulder – upon further inspection, he found her dress and bra laying in a heap just adjacent to the coffee table.

She snored gently and nuzzled into a cushion, murmuring nonsensical words. Merlin smiled at her and made his way through to his kitchen, yawning as he went and ruffling his messy hair. He flicked on the kettle and went to grab a frying pan. He swung open the cupboard door, paused, then went back to the kettle, which was making a strange, piercing wail.

"Doesn't sound too good," Freya commented, padding into his kitchen and flopping down at the table.

"No, I forgot to put any water in," Merlin replied, peering inside the plastic device. He slipped over to the sink and winced as the tap splashed cold water back into his face. Freya giggled at his "Mrrur" of discomfort and he turned back to chastise her. All he got out of his mouth was "Shu-" before he ran out of voice. Freya was still just wearing the blanket, which was wrapped around her like a cocoon.

Blushing, Merlin turned back to the kettle and pressed the backs of his hands to his cheeks, hoping the cool flesh would soothe his burning face. To his mortification, this did little to help. He quickly tried to banish all thoughts of what Freya looked like underneath the blanket. He took a moment to praise his earlier decision of getting changed before coming to make breakfast – he dreaded what situation he would be in if he was still clad in his baggy pyjama bottoms rather than his skinny jeans.

"'Shu-' what?" Freya prompted. She blinked at him, looking innocently beautiful with a face bare of make-up and a serious bed-head.

"'Shu-' nothing," Merlin said hastily. Seeing her face in his peripheral vision, he added, "Honest, it doesn't matter."

Freya pouted playfully at him. "Tell me," she cheeped cheerily.

"You don't need to know." Luckily for Merlin, the kettle boiled at that moment and he distracted himself by fetching two mugs and the jar of ground coffee. Studiously ignoring Freya's gaze, Merlin spooned granules and poured milk and added boiling water.

"Here," he said, sliding her cup over to her and taking a sip of his own. It was earthy and bitter, just how he liked it. Then he set it down again, well aware of Freya watching him over the rim of her own.

"It's rude to keep things from your best friend," she said suddenly – Merlin almost dropped the pan he had just retrieved and she snickered.

"Would you like boiled or scrambled eggs?"

"Stop avoiding my question."

"Stop avoiding mine."

Freya narrowed her eyes at him. "Scrambled – oh, is that bacon?"

"And mushrooms," Merlin replied.

"Yum. Toast as well?" Freya asked eagerly.

"There will be plentiful toast."