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Zagreus has never seen the stars.
He hasn’t seen much of the surface at all except for his mother’s garden, and there are many sights he wishes he could experience firsthand, but he especially longs to see the glittering expanse of the heavens at night.
Fortunately, Thanatos is willing to be his eyes to the outside world, describing the scenery of the mortal realm with thoughtful precision—the rolling waves of the ocean, the mountaintops shrouded in mist, the crowded hillside villages. Thanatos doesn’t particularly enjoy the daylight—he finds the brightness glaring and unpleasant. But when he speaks of the night, his voice softens and his golden eyes gleam with fondness.
His words paint a vivid picture as he describes the pinpricks of light against the blackness of the sky. His finger traces the shapes of constellations into the palm of Zagreus’s hand, etching the outlines of legends and fallen heroes. Zagreus can almost imagine the ceiling opening up to unmask the stars, can almost see entire battles unfold in his bedroom.
He’s always glad to encounter Thanatos on his harrowing adventures through the Underworld—he loves the thrill of their friendly competitions, and reveres the comfort of seeing Than’s face amidst the chaos. But what he truly treasures is moments such as these, when they lie together in Zagreus’s bed—the same place where they first made their feelings for each other abundantly clear several months ago, with lingering kisses and trembling hands.
Zagreus has known all along, though, that his attraction to Thanatos extends far beyond the physical. He’s always felt a connection to Than as if their souls were tethered by some thin, invisible chain. It sounds a bit dramatic when he thinks of it that way ... but, it’s true.
And perhaps the metaphor isn’t far off, after all. Recently, he turned to the page about Thanatos in the Codex to find that the last lines had finally become visible—in which Achilles had suggested that as the god of blood and life, Zagreus would inevitably be drawn to Death Incarnate. The words have been permanently etched into Zagreus’s mind, and he’s thought of little else since he first read them.
Thanatos is still speaking now, voice low and thoughtful, brow furrowing in concentration. Zagreus wants to reach across the small distance and smooth that small wrinkle away with his fingertips. He simultaneously wants to listen to Thanatos speak all day, and also to silence him with a long kiss.
“Zagreus?” Thanatos says.
Zagreus hadn’t realized how far he’d slipped into his own mind. “Hmm ... yes?”
“Nothing.” Thanatos’s mouth quirks up in amusement. “You were just staring at me very intensely.”
Here’s where Zagreus would normally follow up with something flirtatious. Just admiring the view. He imagines the way Than would roll his eyes, and he smiles fondly at the thought. But ... something stops him from saying such a thing.
Instead, he’s gripped with an overwhelming desire to say something much more serious.
“I suppose I was just ... thinking about something,” he says carefully.
Thanatos props his head up on one hand, regarding Zagreus with concern. “Is something wrong?”
“No, no. Quite the opposite, actually. Or at least, I hope so. I was thinking ...” Zagreus pauses, holds his breath, weighed down by the gravity of what he’s about to say. “Thanatos, I ... I’m fairly certain I’m in love with you.”
Saying the words isn’t as challenging as Zagreus might have expected. It’s the aftermath that’s more intimidating: There’s a long silence, during which Zagreus can only hear the muffled noises coming from through his bedroom door—the House of Hades buzzing with gossiping shades, the clinking of dishes in the kitchen, a faint melody playing from Orpheus’s lyre.
Thanatos lifts his head from his hand, propping himself up on one elbow. “Zag—” he begins to say, his voice hoarse.
And Zagreus suddenly feels as if he’s flown too close to the sun, like he’s burning from the inside out as he plummets towards the churning sea. Blood and darkness. He’s probably scared Thanatos away.
“Listen, you don’t have to say anything, Than. If you’re not ready to say it back, or—or if you don’t feel the same, I understand. It’s just that this ... that you mean so much to me, I felt I at least owed you the truth about how serious I am. But if—”
“Zagreus.” Thanatos rests a hand on Zagreus’s arm, his eyes brimming with some intense emotion that Zagreus can’t identify. Is he happy? Upset?
The unspoken question is answered a moment later, when Thanatos leans in and kisses him—gently at first and then with increasing urgency, and Zagreus makes a faint noise of pleasure. Thanatos’s hand is pleasantly cool against his warm skin, as he takes hold of Zagreus’s shoulder and pushes him back against the pillows.
They’ve kissed many times before, but something feels different this time. There’s a certain slow and heartfelt passion to it that clears every trace of doubt from Zagreus’s mind, as he reaches up to wind his arms around Thanatos’s neck. He doesn’t know why it took him so long to admit it to himself—how deeply in love he is with the God of Death himself, his beloved friend, his dear Than.
At last, Thanatos pulls away, propping himself up. He examines Zagreus’s face with such open adoration that Zagreus thinks that look alone could send him tumbling headfirst into the Styx. And, well, of all the ways he’s died before, that would certainly be the most pleasant.
But he’s still here, still alive ... and he should probably say something, instead of just staring up at Thanatos in silent awe.
“So ...” Zagreus clears his throat. “I, ah, suppose this means you return my feelings ... ?”
Thanatos looks stunned for a moment, before he releases a small huff and runs a thumb along Zagreus’s jaw. “Of course I do,” he says, as if the answer is blatantly obvious. He hesitates before continuing, “Zagreus, I—I’ve loved you for ... I don’t know, almost as long as I can remember.”
The words send a shock of lightning through Zagreus’s chest. “Than ...”
“I know, I should’ve said something sooner.” Thanatos looks away. “But ... I thought for the longest time that you didn’t feel the same way. And, well, then for a while I thought you were going to leave and that I’d never see you again. And I couldn’t ...” He doesn’t complete the sentence, as if the very thought is too painful to voice aloud.
Zagreus reaches up to cradle Thanatos’s jaw with one hand, turning his face forward so that they’re looking each other in the eyes again.
“You don’t need to apologize, Than. I was the one trying to run away without telling you, after all. I didn’t know how much you cared about me then.” He holds Thanatos’s gaze with total sincerity. “But I promise I’m not going anywhere without you. Not ever.”
“Never?” says Thanatos. “That’s an awfully big promise, Zag, considering we’re immortal and all.”
Zagreus laughs breathlessly. “Yes, I’m aware. I meant what I said.”
He does mean it, he realizes. And his certainty only grows when he sees the overwhelming emotion that crosses Thanatos’s eyes, before he buries his face against Zagreus’s chest and wraps an arm securely around his waist.
Despite how long they’ve been together now, the open display of affection catches Zagreus off-guard. But the surprise fades as he embraces Thanatos in return, and kisses him gently on the temple as if to seal his promise.
He knows he’ll keep making his ceaseless escape attempts, that he’ll keep fighting to get to the surface, if only for a glimpse of what lies above before the Styx claims him. But even if it meant never leaving the Underworld, never seeing the sun or the stars, Zagreus would sacrifice it all for an eternity with Thanatos.
He may not know what the Fates have in store for him, but he can be certain of that.