𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓.

── .✦ 18

The moment Y/n sank onto Ayato's bed, the plush mattress dipped under her weight, cradling her form as the faint scent of cedarwood and mint lingered in the air. 

She took a long breath, absorbing the warmth of the room. 

It was surprisingly cozy, an ambiance far softer than what she'd expected from someone with Ayato's cold, enigmatic demeanor.

'Neat. Warm. Clean. Modern.' Y/n thought.

Her gaze wandered across the room, her fingers idly tracing the neatly made sheets beneath her.

"I always expected your bedroom to be a bit..." she trailed off, letting the words dangle provocatively.

Ayato, perched by his bedside table with an air of measured indifference, turned his head just enough to give her a sidelong look. His sharp brow quirked, daring her to elaborate. 

"A bit?" 

His tone carried that faint upward lilt of curiosity, undercut with subtle amusement.

Y/n grinned cheekily, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Dark and intimidating. You know—moody lighting, maybe even some creepy decor. Because that's what you are."

'Hah. Creepy. Kooky. Mysterious and spooky... he should be named Ayato Addams at this point.' Y/n laughed to herself in thought.

Ayato let out a soft hum as if her words were an observation in a textbook he neither agreed with nor cared to dispute. 

"It used to be," he admitted with a casual shrug. 

Y/n perked. One brow raised.

Ayato continued, "Minus the creepy decor. Of course."

Y/n's mouth formed an 'O'. 

"Oh."

Ayato hums.

"And also my eyes strain to see clearly sometimes... and while I do have sharp eyes, I'd rather make things easier for myself." He adds.

Y/n huffed a small laugh, the kind that escaped unbidden. "Practical. Of course, you'd have a logical reason for breaking the stereotype."

Y/n shrugged her shoulders and made herself more comfortable.

As she shifted on the bed, scooching her way to lean against the headboard, she caught him watching her—though his expression was unreadable. 

Her brow furrowed as her gaze settled on his still-buttoned uniform. "Why aren't you changing yet?" she asked, tilting her head to the side in a gesture of genuine curiosity. 

Doesn't he get uncomfortable being always in his uniform?

Ayato didn't pause in his measured movements. "I'm in the process," he replied, his voice smooth and matter-of-fact, as if the answer were self-evident. He loosened his necktie with practiced ease, the silken fabric slipping free from his collar. Folding it meticulously, he opened the polished drawer of his bedside table and placed it inside. His movements were precise, deliberate, each action speaking of his innate discipline.

Y/n raised a brow. "It's a slow process for you, apparently."

He didn't rise to the bait, merely chuckling softly as he shrugged off his blazer. "Patience, Y/n." His tone carried a subtle challenge as if daring her to push further.

Y/n rolled her eyes, muttering something under her breath, but her attention didn't waver from him. Ayato moved to his wardrobe, the glossy wooden doors swinging open with a quiet creak. He hung the blazer inside with the same care he applied to everything, his fingers deftly unbuttoning his shirt as he turned slightly away from her.