"So…" Aren replied, voice flat as ever, though there was the faintest shift in his posture—like a man preparing for another absurd demand from the universe.
"What do you mean I should take responsibility…?"
Raven didn't answer right away. Instead, she grabbed Aren by the shoulders with surprising force, dragging him closer until their faces hovered just inches apart. Her breath was warm against his skin, her gaze unwavering.
"By that I mean be my actual boyfriend, you bastard," Raven said, voice steady and deliberate.
She knew it was stupid. Risky. Maybe even pathetic. But she couldn't take it back now.
But her face—gods, her face—looked like someone being forced to confess national secrets at gunpoint. The deep crimson flushing her cheeks betrayed everything her tone tried to hide.
Aren blinked.
Twice.
He just stared, dumbfounded. His entire thought process came to a screeching halt as if the words had physically tripped him.
"Aren't there better ways to fi—"
He didn't get to finish. Raven's eyes locked onto his with a cold, clear intensity. Her seriousness wasn't just visible—it pressed down like gravity. There was no sarcasm. No teasing smirk. Just raw, unflinching conviction.
She was absolutely, alarmingly serious about this.
Aren, being who he was—a lazy reaper stuffed into a mortal body—simply didn't have the energy or desire to fight something this intense. He let out a breath like someone clocking out of work.
"What does that even entail?" he asked, eyes narrowing faintly as he tilted his head. "I'm not that caught up in mortal affairs to understand the emotional complexities of it all."
The words were spoken like a detached scholar reading about the concept of love from an ancient scroll. But unfortunately for him, his body betrayed him completely—a faint pink hue had begun to bloom on his cheeks, and the tips of his ears were turning redder by the second.
Raven raised an eyebrow, lips twitching into the ghost of a smirk.
"You sound like an old man… and we straight up look the same age."
Then, without warning, she pushed him back onto the bed with surprising strength. He fell without resistance, hitting the mattress with a soft thud as she climbed on top and pinned him down like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Her violet eyes gleamed, face hovering just above his, dangerously close.
"So… would you accept my proposal?" she whispered, a sweet smile curling her lips. "Or would you rather I make your life a living hell for making mine one as well?"
Aren stared up at her, caught between mild panic and deeply buried amusement.
Her smile was cute.
Her tone was murder.
A walking contradiction—just his type, apparently.
His body reacted on its own, pulse quickening ever so slightly, heat spreading across his chest. Somewhere, deep in his mind, the rational part of him was screaming to analyze the consequences.
But another voice—lazier, smugger, more him—whispered.
'Is this mortal attachment… or the seductive lull of convenience? Hard to tell. Hard to care.'
Either way… it kind of felt like a win?
He still got to live out his dream of becoming a powerful hero, didn't he? Not just some death god masquerading as dead weight. If this was the cost of that dream—being emotionally blackmailed into a relationship with an S-Rank goddess of chaos?
Well.
"Okay okay… Fine, you got me," he muttered, arms raising in mock surrender. "I'll be your boyfriend or whatever."
Raven lit up like a villain who had successfully extorted a country.
"Good!" she chirped, hopping off him and flopping down beside him on the bed, hair swishing as she folded her arms proudly.
Then, she turned serious again.
"But that doesn't mean you just get to relax while you have a girlfriend like me." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "There are conditions."
Aren exhaled slowly, dragging a hand across his face. "There always are…"
"First of all," she said, holding up a finger, "I'm going to train you. I can't have a weak Hunter as a partner. You'll embarrass me."
Aren opened his mouth, then closed it. Valid point, actually.
"Second," she continued, her voice dropping a little softer, "You should make me fall for you."
He blinked.
Wait. What?
"A pretend relationship isn't really my thing," she added, tone quiet but firm. "So it's your job to make me actually like it."
That… wasn't something he expected to hear. Not from her. Not like this.
She was turned slightly away now, one leg bouncing nervously. And when she glanced back at him, it was with a look she hadn't worn before.
Not confidence.
Not defiance.
Uncertainty.
A fragile little fragment of vulnerability peeked through her hardened expression like sunlight through cracked stone.
"And… I hope we get along, newbie."
She extended her hand toward him, fingers trembling ever so slightly.
The smile she gave him was forced—too wide, too polished—but it was realer than anything she'd worn on the battlefield or the camera.
Aren looked at the hand.
Then at her.
Then, for the first time, he gave a tiny smile of his own.
Maybe this wasn't such a bad deal after all.
And maybe… just maybe… this wasn't pretend anymore.