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Aphrodite is the first one to hear about them, and the look she gives Zagreus upon opening her message is one of undisguised glee.
“The three of you, hm?” she preens, her smile lascivious and sweet. “Why, little godling, you should have told me!”
Zagreus blinks back. He hadn’t been telling anyone.
“Well,” she continues, looking a little bit wistful, “I wish you all the best of luck. Take care of each other down there, and do try your best to make it up here in one piece!”
She finishes her message with a knowing wink, and Zagreus sighs, running a hand through his hair. He hadn’t known that word of his relationships had been getting around, but perhaps he should have expected it. They’d been keeping things quiet for quite some time now, yet Meg’s change in attitude and Than’s consistent “help” has likely been difficult to ignore.
He accepts Aphrodite’s gift with a smile, and resolves to speak with the two of them at the next available opportunity. It wouldn’t do well for rumors to spread much further than they already have, and it would be good for the three of them to figure something out before his father catches wind of it all.
His father, Zagreus thinks with a grimace—who also happens to be their boss.
Zagreus breathes out a sigh as he pushes his way into the next room of Asphodel. No matter what anyone else might think, his father’s opinion will carry more weight than Zagreus would care to admit, and he doesn’t fancy having that particular conversation—the “can we,” the “can’t we,” the “won’t we”—at any point soon.
Once, Megaera had told him: You like things nice and complicated, don’t you?
And then, before Zagreus had even the chance to reply, she’d followed it up with: Apparently, so do I.
However, Zagreus is certain that this—these rumors of their relationship and the Olympians finding out—hadn’t been what she’d meant by “complicated.” He’s also certain that getting his father involved, unintentionally or not, is something that isn’t high on her list of Things I’d Like to Get Out of a Relationship with Zag, and he thinks that Thanatos is sure to agree.
And yet. Here they are with Aphrodite at their heels, and Zagreus is certain that the rest of Olympus—and then the House, and the whole of the Underworld, too—won’t be far behind.
Zagreus snaps his blade out in front of him, watches the shades fall in line. He’d already passed Megaera, but perhaps he’ll see Thanatos sometime before the surface.
He kind of hopes he will (if only to strongarm Than into explaining the whole Aphrodite Thing to Megaera, later).
Zagreus grimaces again.
As it is, the three of them don’t advertise their relationship at all. It’s not something they’d necessarily talked about; yet Zagreus knows his partners, and he knows that privacy—both in their personal lives, and in their professional ones—is something they’ve always valued. Even after everything, Thanatos and Megaera remain as tightly cordial as they ever were—a set of picture-perfect workplace professionals within the House of Hades—and Zagreus knows better than to ruin that image.
And so, what happens in the bedroom stays in the bedroom, and talk of such things happens only privately: within the solitary depths of Tartarus, or in whatever new room that Thanatos finds him in next. Zagreus makes sure not to come onto them too hard within the public confines of the House—nothing more than a bit of harmless flirting before Megaera pinches his arm, or Thanatos rolls his eyes and knocks their feet under their table—and Zagreus contents himself with the short smiles, simple touches, and late-night trysts with either of them (or both—), whenever he manages to steal them.
At most, they drink together in the lounge—one of the only places the three of them frequent while in the presence of other people—and pass around a bottle of Ambrosia while discussing the finer points of their jobs. It’s certainly not Zagreus’s choice pastime, but it lets both Thanatos and Megaera unwind, and they speak together in hushed tones, drinking liquid gold while Zagreus tries not to stare—his smile happy and absent each time he looks at them both.
More often than not, however, Zagreus knows he fails.
He arrives at the lounge later that evening, after a particularly grueling battle to get past his father once more. He shakes blood from his hair as he slips into a seat across from Megaera and Thanatos, and his voice is light and conversational when he says:
“Aphrodite wished us luck with our relationship today.”
And he pauses for just a second, before glancing up to survey the damage.
Thanatos looks appropriately appalled, and Zagreus thinks Megaera looks as though she had just swallowed something sour.
“I see,” Thanatos eventually says, after a moment of surprisingly heated eye contact. “That’s very... nice of her.”
Megaera scoffs, and her face loses a bit of its pinchiness. “Is word finally getting around?” she asks, then raises a single eyebrow. “I should have known you wouldn’t be able to keep quiet for long.”
Zagreus coughs a laugh. “You know I never can,” he quips back, raising his own eyebrow and letting a smile crack at his lips. Thanatos shoots him an exasperated look, before turning a similar, more disappointed one upon Megaera herself.
“Really?” he says, and Meg rolls her eyes. “What exactly did she say?” Thanatos asks, and then Zagreus relays her message, lets Megaera pour him a drink, and then knocks it back with a heavy sigh.
Meg catches his glass as he pushes it away, fills it for him again, then tips the rest of the Ambrosia into her own glass. Zagreus watches as she leans back in her chair, then turns to see Thanatos blinking back at him, his expression contemplative.
“Did she say how she found out?” Megaera finally asks, after a moment of weighted silence, and Zagreus just shrugs.
“She’s the goddess of love,” he replies, as though that alone would explain it. (And maybe, he thinks absently—it really does.) “I'm not surprised she was the first to find out.”
And then Megaera blinks back at him, her fingers playing at the edge of her glass. She glances over at Thanatos, then turns a thin smirk Zagreus’s way.
“Do you love us, then, Zagreus?” she asks, all sharp smile and spice, and Zagreus laughs, tilts his head to the side as he replies cheekily replies:
“You know that I do,” just to watch Meg’s smile widen. Thanatos’s ankle bumps light against Zagreus’s own, and the three of them grin into their drinks, letting thoughts of Aphrodite fall behind them. Their conversation drift back to less serious topics, of work and of play and of Cerberus’s recent position as Employee of the Month, and Zagreus decides that in spite of everything, Olympus finding out about them isn’t the worst thing in the world.
If nothing else, it’ll make Thanatos’s help look all the more realistic, and Megaera’s change of heart all the more tragic. After all, although the House of Hades knows of Zagreus’s new position as Official Underworld Escaper, the Olympians have yet to find out, and—at least until his mother figures out what to do about it all—it certainly needs to stay that way.
Zagreus lets his ankle bump against Than’s, and is glad that that, at the very least, is one secret that they’ve managed to keep.
Over the next few weeks, they talk vaguely about what they plan to do about the rumors. With an understanding that they certainly won’t be able to stop them—nor, Zagreus insists, does he want to deny them—they come to the agreement that Zagreus will deal with the Olympians as best he can, and that Thanatos and Megaera will do their best to keep rumors in the House as low as possible. In the end, the thing that matters most to them is that all mention of their relationship remains as far away from the desk of Hades as it absolutely can, for as long as they can possibly keep it away.
“Do you think he’ll approve,” Zagreus asks them both one night, “once he inevitably finds out?” and the two of them stare back at him, twin expressions incredulous.
“When has your father ever approved,” Meg replies, “of a single thing that you do?” and Zagreus breathes out a sigh, lets his head fall back against her shoulder.
“He gave me this job,” he begins, waving his hand up towards the ceiling, to the surface and the sky, and then Thanatos rolls his eyes and climbs up into Zagreus’s lap, and none of them talk about his father for a long time, after that.
From then on: Zagreus knows what’s coming. Aphrodite’s message had been surprising, yet the influx of messages that come afterward—congratulations and well wishes and “good luck”s from the rest of the Olympian gods—become something of an assurance.
They’re quite entertaining, Zagreus realizes quite quickly, after opening a message from Ares and hearing the war god tell him: “I cannot vouch for the Fury, my kin, but I do approve of your choice in Thanatos.”
“Indeed,” Ares had continued, “he would appear to be a perfect choice in mate; although, I confess I'd not expected Death to have affection for another—save himself.”
And Zagreus had stifled a laugh, had felt Ares’s power wash over him. He certainly hadn’t excepted Thanatos’s affections to have fallen where they had, yet he certainly wasn’t complaining.
“Still, it is my hope that your partnership will prove fruitful,” Ares had finished, pausing lightly at the end. “For everyone involved,” and then Zagreus had really laughed, after that—already imagining the look on Meg and Than’s faces when he’d be telling them about it, later.
Hermes’s message had also been interesting, but for completely different reasons. His had said: “Wow, boss, what’s with that face? Expecting me to make some mention of your relationships, too? I hear the news is spreading all throughout Olympus these days—good on you for finally going public! Good on you, and good on your two professional associates, too—”
And though Zagreus hadn’t been making a face at the start, he had certainly made one after that, and he’d filed every bit of that message away for future musing. First: the fact that Hermes had, apparently, known of their relationship before rumors had spread through Olympus itself. Next: the conclusion that Aphrodite, goddess of love, may not have been the first to know.
And then, finally: professional associates, he’d said?
And Zagreus stops his train of thought.
The rest of the congratulations are as expected. Dionysus is jovial and makes a couple of comments that would have—in any other company than Zag’s—been considered crude, while Athena advises him to vigilant even in the context of intimate relationships. Still, she follows up her message with an expression of trust in Zagreus’s decision, and Zagreus is more than willing to take that for as much an endorsement as any. Artemis tells him that she really doesn’t care about who he’s dating, but that the rest of her family simply won’t stop talking about it, and Zeus laughs and asks aloud—despite knowing that Zagreus can’t reply—what Lord Hades must think about it all.
At that, Zagreus simply groans.
After all, he doesn’t know what his father might think, and it isn’t as though he’s in any rush to find out.
Megaera and Thanatos get fewer laughs out of the Olympians’ commentary than Zagreus does, though he relays each of their messages, all the same. And as the days continue to pass—with each new escape attempt increasing the number of victories he can claim against his father—Zeus’s question continues to resurface. And at the end of each fight, as either Zagreus or Hades sink slowly beneath the bloody, frozen earth: Zagreus wonders what his father will eventually say.
- -
The lesser denizens of the House catch wind of them next, whispers of their relationship spreading through the lesser halls of the building in spite of Megaera and Thanatos’s attempts to keep them down. The rumors remain nothing more than that, yet Zagreus sees Hypnos smile at him a little bit wider when he passes the other in the hall, and Zagreus knows that the signs are there.
Eventually, Achilles claps him on the shoulder—one hand holding him down just a little bit tighter than it usually does—and Zagreus realizes that the congratulatory comments will be coming to him in person, now, too.
“Take care of yourself, lad,” Achilles tells him simply, his voice hushed. “And, if the rumors I’m hearing are true—then take care of both of them, too.” His eyes are soft and understanding despite his vice-like grip, and Zagreus feels his face soften as he smiles back.
“I’ll try my best to, Achilles,” he replies, and Achilles squeezes his shoulder once more before dropping his hand with a laugh.
“The two of them really aren’t too much for you?” he asks, and Zagreus’s smile grows wider, his eyes bright as he gives his reply.
“Never,” he says, “never—” and Achilles laughs again.
And they aren’t too much for him—not really. They’re both careful with him in their own, particular ways: they give him the space that he needs, and they push him when they know he doesn’t need any space, at all. It’s intrinsic, the way the two of them just know him, and Zagreus finds he has little to complain about when Megaera pulls him aside after work—crowds into his space with a smile as she presses him back into Thanatos, beside them.
Zagreus wonders, sometimes, if it’s simply due to the years that they have between them: his years of on and off relationships with Meg, and years of friendship growing up with Thanatos. The two of them know what he wants, know what he needs, and—in the secreted time that they have together—they do their best to give it to him.
It’s not to say that there aren’t times when things are difficult; times when Thanatos grows tired of their antics, and his communication becomes limited and strained. It’s ironic how good the man is at running away—especially after the fit he threw when Zagreus himself had tried to do the same—and it’s even more incredible how good Megaera is at letting him. There are times when Megaera storms out of his bedroom; times when her tongue is too sharp and Thanatos has to sit with him afterward, fingers intertwined with his as he massages the bruises from Zagreus’s wrists.
And then there are other times—times when neither of them will even speak to him, because it’s Zagreus, now, that’s pushing them away (and Zagreus knows how good he is, at that).
So no: it isn’t perfect, and Zagreus has always known this, has always expected this. But the three of them push through it all the same, and that, Zagreus thinks, is what matters.
What am I, to you? Thanatos had asked him once. What are we?
And Zagreus hadn’t known then, but he knows quite well, now: they're not perfect. And yet, not a single one of them expects them to be. All three of them have their flaws, their hang-ups, their vices. And Zagreus loves both of them, anyway.
Megaera had once said: Than’s not an idiot. He wants what’s best for you.
And though Zagreus doesn’t always know what’s best for himself, what matters here—he thinks—is that he tries. He tries and tries and tries, and when he fails, he leans on both Thanatos and Megaera (to pick up the pieces of him, afterward). Thanatos will hold him carefully and iron out the edges that Megaera wrings from him, and together they pull him out of his head and back into the present. They take care of him differently, and it’s the dichotomy of it all that really gets him: the push and pull of their personalities, washing away his every overcomplicated thought and centering him where he is.
Centering him, he knows, to where they are.
It’s a relationship that works for him as much as it works for them, unconventional and secreted as it is, and Zagreus knows they put in just as much effort as he does: making exceptions and compromising with each other in the same way that he does, for them.
Thanatos and I, Megaera had continued to tell him, we're not the same to you.
“We both fill different roles in your life,” she’d explained later on, when Zagreus had asked her to clarify exactly what she’d meant. “He’s special to you in a way that I’m not, and I’m special to you in a way that he’s not. Am I right?”
And “Oh,” Zagreus had replied, smiling slightly. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”
For they’re both so different in who they are, so different in what they mean to him, and it’s true: they both fill up his life in different ways. They fill up his life so much sometimes that he’s almost certain they overflow—yet even then, he thinks, they still aren’t too much.
Never, he’d told Achilles, “they’re never too much, for me,” and they aren’t, Zagreus knows—
They’re exactly enough.
- -
From there, the rumors they’d grown so accustomed to hearing about spread from the House into the rest of the Underworld.
The shades whisper gossip from room to room to room, and then suddenly one day Eurydice is clapping Zagreus on the shoulder with a laugh and an elbow to his ribs, and Patroclus is smiling at him in much the same way that Achilles did—but quieter: more wistful and sad.
“Take care of yourself,” he says, and though his words are a little more gruff than they’d been when Achilles had said them, Zagreus still smiles in response.
“Achilles told me the same thing,” he replies, and Patroclus’s gaze slides up and to the right—staring out at the gigantic statue of the man in his heart, with the river Lethe flowing quietly by their feet.
“Achilles,” Patroclus says quietly, as he hands Zagreus one of his many gifts, “gives very good advice.”
In the end, it’s Sisyphus that Zagreus finds himself most nervous to hear from—though certainly no more so than his father—and their earlier conversations featuring Megaera and Thanatos replay themselves in his mind as he steps through Sisyphus’s door. Zagreus knows when the rumors have reached the other man, because Sisyphus’s face upon entering is grim and contemplative—much more solemn than his usual jovial smile—and Zagreus steps up to him with a heavy weight in his gut.
“I figure you know what you’re getting yourself into, Prince Z,” he begins, and Zagreus breathes out a laugh, nods back slowly.
“I do,” he replies, “just as I always have,” and Sisyphus lets out a laugh in return, shakes his head in a way that contradicts Zagreus’s own.
“I suppose,” he says, his voice even, “that as long as you’re certain—” and Zagreus cracks a smile.
“I am,” he says, and that’s that. “They’re both close to me, Sisyphus, and, well, I hope that you won’t hold that against me.”
And Sisyphus shakes his head quickly, his smile immediate, and wry. “I could never, Prince,” he says, shrugging slightly before laughing and turning to look at Bouldy. “And who knows?” he continues, turning back to Zagreus one quiet moment later. “Perhaps as you spend time together, some of your finer qualities will rub off on them.”
Zagreus breathes out a laugh that feels more genuine than the laughs before, then runs a hand through his hair. “Perhaps,” he agrees, and then Sisyphus sends him off with his usual choice in gift, his smile small and simple.
As it stands, Zagreus doesn’t think that his “finer points” are all that much to write home about. Megaera and Thanatos like him more than well enough—yet Zagreus still takes care not to burden them any more than he already has: his care for their professional images, case in point.
You know I don’t have time to list all of your infuriating habits, Thanatos had told him once, and though Zagreus had laughed it off, he thinks about it sometimes, when Thanatos frowns at him a little too sharply, or Megaera sneers at him as she sinks beneath the Styx. He thinks of it sometimes when he thinks of Meg’s laugh and the words keep up this slightly more mature thing that you’ve had going for you recently, that ever so often ring throughout his head. He knows that as the years have passed, all three of them have changed; yet still, he wonders—when Megaera cards her fingers through his hair, or when Thanatos holds Zagreus’s hands tight between his—if he’s as good for them as they always are, for him.
Take care of them, too, Achilles had told him, and Zagreus does his best: tries to reciprocate their love as audibly, as frequently, and as tangibly as he can.
He gives them space when they need it, and he pushes them when he knows they don’t. He pulls them out from beneath the hard shells that they’ve built for themselves as often as he possibly can, and then plies them with Ambrosia and Nectar when his words just don’t seem enough. He gives them gifts and small tokens that he hopes remind them of him, and he tells them everything they want to hear, need to hear, for who else will they get proper praise from—if not from him?
Certainly, Zagreus thinks, not from his father.
And that’s always who it comes down to in the end: his father. For although news of their relationship has made it steadily throughout Olympus—throughout a majority of the House, throughout the entirety of the Underworld—his father remains silent. Even Theseus had commented—something loud and obnoxious that Zagreus had cared little to listen and respond to—and then Asterius had followed up with his own steady congratulations (to which Zagreus had smiled at, and had accepted quite graciously in kind).
Yet still the days pass and his father remains silent, with no acknowledgment of the rumors that are—by now—most certainly being aired loudly about the House. All Zagreus gets are scathing remarks about how powerful he has become with the help of his godly relatives, and the occasional insincere gloating upon casting Zagreus down with his spear, once more.
And Zagreus, he realizes, hates waiting.
His patience wears thin as he waits for even a single comment to pass from his father’s lips; as he waits for Hades to tell him off for distracting both Megaera and Thanatos from their work. And still, it doesn’t happen.
“Perhaps he doesn’t care,” Meg suggests, and Thanatos makes an odd sort of noise in the back of his throat. “He’s never cared too much when you call us to assist you in your fights.”
“I would think this a little bit different,” Zagreus replies, “than you helping me out with a fight or two.”
And so Thanatos asks, “Do you think he simply doesn’t know?” and Zagreus closes his eyes with a sigh, because he has absolutely no idea.
It gets to the point where Zagreus can wait no longer, and he makes his way, not to his father—gods no—but to his mother.
“Does he... know about us?” Zagreus asks her quietly, and Persephone looks at him strangely, then breathes out a laugh.
“Oh, Zagreus,” she replies, her lips curling upward. “Of course he knows. He’s known even longer than I have, even longer than all the shades. Has he really not mentioned it?”
And Zagreus replies: “No,” unable to hide his shock. “He hasn’t mentioned it at all—to any one of us, as far as I know.”
His mother keeps looking at him, small smile still there‚ and Zagreus stares back at her, lets the information sink in. “But then,” he finally asks, “does that mean that he really doesn’t mind?”
“If he did,” his mother replies simply, “then I’m sure you’d already know of it, by now.”
And Zagreus thinks this over, then lets out a laughing breath. “I suppose you’re right,” he says, and Persephone’s smile widens.
“I’m usually right,” she replies, “but why don’t you ask him, anyway? It rather feels like this question has been beating you up for some time now.”
Zagreus grimaces. “It has,” he admits, and his mother smiles in that lovely way she does, pats his arm, and hugs him before he leaves.
He makes it to the surface a few times more before he decides to ask his father about the truth of it all—lets the two of them beat each other up in the icy snow of Greece just a couple more times (all in favor of a conversation that he’d still rather not have).
Each time he wins, watching Hades sink down beneath the river Styx, Zagreus breathes out a sigh, thinks I really hope he doesn’t mind, and then complains to both Megaera and Thanatos after.
“Your mother thinks he knows?” Thanatos asks, and Zagreus opens his mouth to reply.
“Your mother knows?” Megaera cuts in, then narrows her eyes. “Which mother?”
Zagreus snaps his mouth shut, and thinks for a second. “At this point, probably both?” he tries, and both Megaera and Thanatos look a little bit pained. Thanatos eventually looks away with a sigh.
“I’ll speak with my mother later,” he says, “if you haven’t already—” and Zagreus shakes his head, but thinks that a conversation with Nyx would likely be more pleasant than the one he’s gearing up for now.
“I really don’t want to have this conversation with him,” Zagreus eventually says, his body flopped out over his divan, and Meg shoots him a look from above, her hair sweeping down to frame her face.
“Then don’t,” she replies, and Zagreus breathes out a laugh, and pulls her down.
When Zagreus finally gets around to it, he’s as blunt as he was with his mother:
“Do you know?” he asks his father, and Hades fixes him with such a scathing look that Zagreus remembers why he hadn’t been wanting to ask.
“Of course, I know,” Hades replies, and Zagreus runs an unconscious hand through his hair. “You thought you could hide such things from me, boy?” he continues, his voice a low rumble, “when the three of you are living in my House?”
“Ah,” Zagreus replies. “Well. I’d thought we were being fairly discreet?” and Hades’s laugh is a quiet, humorless sound.
“Your arrogance astounds,” he says, and Zagreus grimaces as he grips his shield tighter in his hand. “No amount of discretion could prevent such a large change in dynamic within the staffing of my House.”
Zagreus takes a breath. “Does this mean you’re... okay, then,” he asks, finally, “with me seeing two of your employees?”
And Hades’s look is sharp. “You’re my employee,” his father tells him, and Zagreus breathes out a laugh, lifts a shoulder, and concedes the point.
“But as long as it doesn’t impact their performances,” Hades continues with a grunt, “then I could care less what the three of you get up to in your free time.”
“Well, then—” Zagreus replies, still managing to be surprised in spite of everything before. “That’s really quite reasonable of you, isn’t it?”
And then Hades grunts again, a noise that gives no more than a second’s short warning before Zagreus is raising up his shield and Hades is lunging at him again: wide sweeps and sharp thrusts that feel far too personal after the nature of their conversation. The attacks are accompanied by comments that feel a little more pointed—just a little bit more exasperated—than they ever had before, and when Hades takes his last breath upon the surface, the familiar arms of the Styx pulling him under while Zagreus can do nothing but watch, the look he gives Zagreus is one of reluctant acceptance: more open and fond, Zagreus thinks, than any other look he’s managed to receive.
“Don’t mess things up—” Hades tells him finally, his breath gasping and short, “—with either of them.”
And Zagreus watches him go.
“Shouldn’t you be saying that to them?” he asks the open air of Greece, yet has no qualms as he lets the Styx take him not a few minutes later: blood dripping down his face as he emerges in the bloody entryway of the House. He shakes himself off like a dog, drags towels down his body before making his way quickly down the hall with the ghost of a smile now wide across his face.
He finds Megaera and Thanatos in the lounge, sitting by the newly constructed fireplace, and Zagreus crowds into their space, sliding into the small area between them and throwing his arms across their shoulders. Thanatos stiffens beside him and Meg hisses something rude under her breath—leaning slightly to the left and glaring at him out of the corner of her eye.
“What do you think you’re doing—” she manages, and Zagreus can feel Thanatos breathe out a slow, careful breath.
“People can see us,” Thanatos agrees, his voice slow, “and your father is in the other room. He arrived just a second before you. You—you know that, right?”
“Oh, I definitely know,” Zagreus grins, suddenly giddy on the feeling of it, “and, as it happens, he knows too.” It feels casual and wonderful, being this close to them in the lounge, and he decides he’s allowed to be just a little more handsy than usual—just, he thinks, this once.
Thanatos stiffens even more, a concerned look passing over his face, and Meg glances to the lounge entrance, where Hades’s booming voice can be heard from down the hall.
“Does he, now,” she replies, her voice softening a bit even as she picks up Zagreus’s arm and sets it back down in his lap. She snorts when she sees the disappointment that’s surely clear on Zagreus’s face, but doesn’t move as far away as she usually would, and lets her eyes catch longer on Zagreus’s hands, his lips, his throat.
“He does,” Zagreus tells them both, still grinning, and Meg nods back, Thanatos makes a small noise of surprise (and the world doesn’t end).
- -
Things don’t change heavily between the three of them after that: Megaera maintains her professional persona just as much as she’s able, and Thanatos continues to call their little competitions in the Underworld nothing more than that: a bit of friendly competition. Hades seems far more averse to mentioning their relationship than even Zagreus does, and Zagreus will take the small wins that he manages to take—both on and off the surface.
“I don’t know why I was even worried,” Zagreus tells both of them later, and Meg rolls her eyes, makes a point about his bad track record with his father that Zagreus studiously ignores. “Do you think things will be different, now?”
“Do you think you’ll ever be able to keep your hands to yourself?” Thanatos counters with a look, and Zagreus grins, grabs Thanatos’s hand and pulls him ever closer.
“If you try to kiss me in public—” Megaera starts, and then Zagreus grabs her too, pulls them both in and presses laughing kisses into both of their exasperated—and fond, gods, so fond—looking faces.
He doesn’t try to kiss Meg in public, but Thanatos is more than correct about him no longer being able to keep his hands to himself, and Zagreus touches them at every available opportunity now that he knows they don’t mind in the least: swings his arm around their shoulders, puts his hands atop theirs when he talks. He knows he’s always been handsy, yet now that everyone knows that the three of them are together, Zagreus can find little reason to hold himself back, professionalism aside. He brushes hair from Than’s face when they talk, lets a hand linger on Meg’s forearm when they pass in the hall. He smiles bright at them both and laughs loud and obnoxious and tells them gods, I love you two, when they’re drinking in the lounge because all of a sudden, he can—and perhaps, he thinks, that’s the best part of it all.
“You’re the worst,” Meg tells him with a laugh, clinks her glass against his while she pours them all another drink, and Zagreus winks at her, kisses Thanatos’s hand and lets Thanatos stew in his embarrassment: glaring at them both and pushing the conversation into different, less tenuous territory.
And they take care of each other, as best as they possibly can.
They still have their issues, their petty fights and exhausting conflicts, and Zagreus is sure that will never end. The three of them have history, and that history will never change.
And yet, their future is ever expansive: rolling out in front of them all with each new step that Zagreus takes—forward, he knows, and upward.
Sometimes, even after the banquet and the family reunions and the settling of long-held secrets—Zagreus wonders if Aphrodite is watching them, sweet and lovely and oh, so proud. And then—when she grins wickedly at him upon opening one of her many messages—he realizes she really might be.
“Oh, dearest,” Aphrodite tells him, her smile radiant and wonderful as Zagreus accepts her gift, “they really are a perfect match for you, aren’t they?”
And even though Aphrodite can’t hear him, Zagreus replies, “I think that they are,” with a heavily beating heart, “I really, really do.”
And Aphrodite keeps smiling—laughs in that perfect way she always does—and says, “I’m so happy for you, little godling. I’m so happy for all of you.”
Her boon flashes bright, and Zagreus clutches his sword tighter, feels the rush of her power as the message comes to an end.
“The three of you deserve a bit of happiness, I think,” she tells him, her words simple yet sweet, “and I’m happy that love could be the thing that gives it to you.”
