Chapter Text
Would it be immature to annoy MacCready to the point of moving out?
Yes, of course it would.
Is he tempted to do it despite his annoying choir’s protests? Yes, he is. He wonders who is in charge of the housing matters but even if he knew, they aren’t to blame. A warning would’ve been nice. He must seem like such a slob, but he guesses it’s not that big of a deal to a man like MacCready.
He was slapping together all sorts of random ingredients for some dinner when that door opened. Even left egg shells on the counter with the whites spilling over the shell. Why was he even making eggs for dinner? What was he thinking?
Are you seriously getting insecure about cooking just because MacCready walked in?
The words struck him from his stupor and he pouted. He could be insecure about whatever minuscule things he wanted. But still, the words nagged on his conscience. He’s stressing over MacCready simply entering the house, and now his own mind wouldn’t leave him alone.
So maybe he made a little mistake, it’s not his fault. Or maybe it is, wait. Rephrase! He made a little mistake, but surely MacCready could find it in his little old heart to forgive him. Forgive and forget! Live and let live. Though, MacCready seems dead set on resent and remember. Alliteration, gotta love it!
You’re a disaster.
Be nice to him.
Moving on! Deacon had just come to a most depressing conclusion. He’s going to have to share half of the Brahmin he’s cooking. Come on, how rude would it be to just eat an entire steak in front of a guest without sharing? Is he overthinking things? Yes, maybe he is.
It takes him a few minutes to realize that MacCready is still in the other room, hopefully the correct room. Maybe he’s being avoidant, a temporary win for the both of them!
He could be unpacking. Yet, there’s no noise in the neighboring room. What could he be doing? Can Deacon even trust him or is MacCready going to go snooping and compromise everything?
Who eats eggs, instamash, and a brahmin steak? That feels like a weird dinner choice. Is he overthinking?
Lost in his flood of thoughts, he continues his cooking. Carelessly beginning to start making more eggs. A splash and crackle later, searing pain is unleashed on his hand and he yelps out.
Deacon shook his hand violently as he was forced into persevering through this pain. He groans out, frustrated by the unfairness of the circumstances.
At least MacCready’s eggs weren’t burnt, just his hand. He thinks sarcastically. Fuck!
Huffing, he grabs the spatula and flips the egg. Cooking is usually such a relaxing thing to do, but at this point, he wants this all to be done with.
MacCready entered the room quietly, not quietly enough. “You okay?”
“Yeah, food’s done.”