As Eridan made the motions preempting sauce and searing fish, Eddie watched. He felt no impulse to move, his knees drawn up to his chest, still sitting on the floor -- especially after Eridan's command floated downward, Edward kept himself all the more anchored.

"I don't see much working in this alleged workspace," chided Eddie. His eyes followed Eridan's movements, from the turn of the stove top to the flick of meager spices.

"I only have one bed," Eddie continued to say. "But I suppose you can have --" a beat. A suspenseful beat, a treasure map of a breath. "The bathtub. Warm water in lieu of a blanket, how's that sound?"

He didn't even attempt to mask the smirk.