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Every morning, Zagreus exits his apartment building, shrugs on his fire-red jacket, and begins his daily greetings. Hello, corner store. Hello, shoes on the powerline. Hello, half-finished sidewalk graffiti. He even raises his voice to say hello to old man Sisyphus, toting his impossibly heavy bag into the gym across the street. Each weekday, he doles out the same well-worn hellos. A comforting routine, if a little dull, so familiar that any anomaly is readily apparent.
Today, such an anomaly occurs in the form of a tall figure, so striking that the sight of him nearly stuns Zagreus into silence.
The stranger walks into the other end of the plaza of Zagreus' office building with long, purposeful strides, gray slashes of smartly-creased pant legs breaking from a black wool coat that recedes into a black turtleneck, highlighting a shock of platinum blonde hair and a devastatingly cut jawline. Zagreus moves toward him, drawn like a moth to a flame, unable to keep himself from gawking.
So caught in this reverie, Zagreus fails to avert his gaze when the stranger's eyes flick over to his. The sheer intensity of it has Zagreus picking up his pace, crossing the plaza to catch up to him—only to realize that the stranger, too, has increased his stride.
It continues, with Zagreus walking so fast that it nearly has him winded, until it's clear this is not a coincidence. He's not catching up because the stranger won't let him, and the suspiciously smug glances thrown back toward him every so many steps confirms it.
"Think you can beat me to the door?" The man finally calls out when they're in earshot, with a nod to the office doors.
This guy, Zagreus thinks, with some annoyance. "You're on," Zagreus calls back, and wills all of his lower body into action.
They're neck and neck, both nearly out of breath, when he and the stranger both reach the door, and Zagreus fails to touch it first.
"You're fast," the stranger blurts out, with a face that reads like he meant to say anything but that.
Zagreus nods. "First on track team."
"And second to the office. After you."
"To be fair, I didn't realize I was entering a power walking competition when I left this morning," Zagreus scoffs, walking ahead of the stranger.
When he turns back, the stranger blinks, his lips—his very full lips, Zagreus notices—searching for something silently: an explanation. He couldn't justify his behavior, this sudden and strange game the two had entered without a word. And Zagreus knows from the embarrassment gathering in the strangers eyes, how he grips his coffee cup so tight that his black nails almost touch, that if he lets him disappear into the atrium, he won't ever let it happen again. Something in Zagreus tugs to respond.
"But," Zagreus adds, "If that's so, I won't lose tomorrow."
The stranger relaxes into a wry smile. "We'll just have to see about that," he says.
"You're really no match for me. They used to call me fire feet in school."
"Is that what I should call you too?" He extends his hand. "I'm Thanatos, by the way."
Zagreus is so caught up in the gesture—his hand is so soft, and a deep, musky cologne emanates from the inside of his wrist—that he barely remembers to reply.
"No, I mean, not unless you want to. I'm Zagreus," he says. "H-hello."
The next few weeks are spent locked in a heated contest. Zagreus wins the first few rounds, making it to the office doors long before Thanatos can even cross the horizon. It stuns Thanatos into taking him seriously, a feat Zagreus takes no small amount of pride in. Naturally, Thanatos then designates a starting time, then later adjusts his route for a longer race side-by-side, then later shoves a carefully-folded piece of cardstock into Zagreus' hands. ("To ensure fairness," Thanatos explained pointedly, as Zagreus unfolded the paper to reveal Thanatos' number. Zagreus agreed and made some witty retort about it not increasing his odds, even as his heart skipped a beat.)
Their texts, however, quickly evolve from setting start times and jabs about technique and shoe choice. Zagreus learns Thanatos has just transferred into Zagreus' father's accounting firm on the twelfth floor of the building where Zagreus works in the lobby food court. He learns he likes his coffee black and his sandwiches cold. He learns Thanatos has a tendency to work overtime, and that Zagreus rather enjoys loitering around in the dark lobby after his shift if it means getting to race him home.
Late one night, after discussing a movie they both liked, Zagreus signs off with a text: "see u tomorrow! ive been going easy on u lately so kiss ur winning streak goodbye! 😘👋"
He receives a reply, at three in the morning: "Just you wait."
After trying and failing to sleep, kept awake by a strange jittery excitement buzzing through his chest, he meets Thanatos at their designated starting point.
"Hello, Zagreus," Thanatos says, his voice unnaturally smooth. The sounds of practiced speech. "Care for one of our little competitions?"
"Hi, Than. And you bet I do," Zagreus replies, readying himself to round the corner.
Thanatos signals for him to stop, touching his elbow briefly. Just the gentle tug on his coat prompts Zagreus' stomach to flip.
"We're not going that way today," Thanatos says, tipping his head in the opposite direction. "Follow me."
"Oh?" Zagreus asks. "You've resorted to disorienting me to gain the upper hand?"
"Something like that. Are you coming or not?"
"Oh, you're on."
The two set out. Zagreus' calves are quickly burning trying to keep up with Thanatos as he sets the pace, his concentrated gaze fixed straight ahead, taking sharp, abrupt turns, making breakneck strides. He ignores Zagreus' questions as he dances around him, moving to conceal his nerves, glancing back in the direction that the office surely must be in. The further in the opposite direction they walk, the more goading Zagreus becomes, trying to sniff out any sort of reason for the sheepish smile Thanatos is trying to conceal, which has suddenly become much more interesting a quest than the competition they're supposedly engaged in. Through all that, Thanatos manages to open his mouth only once, to chide Zagreus for "attempting to cheat."
After a half-hour of racing, Thanatos stops as abruptly as he started. Zagreus nearly runs into him. When he looks up, he realizes they are nowhere near the office. Instead, they stand in front of Elysium Eatery, one of the city's hottest brunch spots.
"This isn't our office," Zagreus states.
"How observant, Zag." Thanatos retorts. "We're quite far off, in fact. I suppose I got us lost along the way."
Thanatos shifts then, his face turned down and away into his collar, unable to conceal the blush dusting his ears. "But since we're here, maybe we could... eat together?"
Zagreus' eyes widen. Confusion gives way; his nerves double over. "You're going to be late."
"Not if I've called out." Thanatos musters the courage to look back at Zagreus, his expression a careful plea. "So, do you...?"
Zagreus nods. Thanatos touches the door, opening it for him. Zagreus' losing streak continues, and he doesn't mind at all.