♯ ᴛᴀsᴛᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴄɪɢᴀʀᴇᴛᴛᴇ. 🌷

Sunlight dappled through the leaves, illuminating the vibrant faces of the flowers in Y/n's garden. A gentle smile played on her lips as she carefully watered each bloom, her movements slow and deliberate. The scent of earth and blossoms filled the air, a fragrant counterpoint to the anxieties of the day. Once her task was complete, she left the garden, its tranquil beauty a stark contrast to what awaited her inside.

The long hallway stretched before her, cool and silent. She hummed a soft tune, trying to maintain the peaceful mood she'd cultivated outside. But the melody was abruptly cut short. A sharp, acrid smell - the unmistakable scent of stale cigarette smoke - filled her nostrils, making her cough. A wave of annoyance washed over her. Not again. Nyen was at it again.

She poked her head into the living room, expecting to find the culprit red-handed. But the room was empty. No Nyen, no telltale haze of smoke. "Huh, that's odd," she murmured, a frown creasing her brow. Where did the smoke come from? The question lingered in the air, unanswered.

Then, a low voice whispered behind her, "Gotcha."

Y/n jumped, her heart leaping into her throat. She whirled around, her eyes wide with surprise and a touch of genuine fright. There stood Nyen, a mischievous glint in his eyes, a smirk playing on his lips. He chuckled at her startled expression, the sound echoing in the sudden silence.

He rolled his eyes, a mixture of amusement and exasperation in the gesture. He knew she hated the smell of cigarettes, and he knew she would be worried sick if she thought he'd been smoking again. Seeing her scared face, however, was undeniably entertaining. "It's fun to see that kind of face," he admitted, a hint of guilt softening his tone. Even if it was a little mean, the thrill of the prank outweighed his remorse. For now, at least.