"You… propose to me again."
Alexei lifted his chin as if addressing the chandelier, the ceiling, and the entire architectural lineage of his luxurious room.
His posture screamed arrogant young master, but the slight pink tint on his ears screamed something else entirely.
Elijah blinked slowly. "…What?"
Alexei's gaze didn't drop. If anything, he raised his chin higher, as though he feared his dignity might slide off his face if he looked directly at Elijah.
When Elijah didn't move—didn't gasp, didn't kneel, didn't perform any grand romantic gesture—the young master immediately grew agitated.
He set the velvet box on the coffee table with a dramatic thud and glared at the exorcist.
"Don't think your attempts will sway me that easily anymore," he declared, voice sharp with a mix of pride and panic. "It's your fault for not telling me earlier. You absolutely cannot get angry at me."
Elijah stared at him, then at the box.
"…Lyosha," he finally said, "what attempts?"
