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Summary
“Why my eighteenth birthday?” He hadn’t been around for any of them before or since.
Thanatos coughs into his drink. “I wanted to – to see you.”
Zagreus isn’t drunk. He's a lightweight, but he's not been here long. Not even tipsy, really. Even so, Thanatos’ implied meaning goes over his head, at first.
His eighteenth birthday. Thanatos would have been twenty-eight. His…eighteenth birthday. Suddenly, it sinks in.
Zagreus finally looks at Thanatos, confused. Shocked. “You wanted to fuck me.”
Thanatos fidgets, tracing the rim of his glass with his forefinger. “It – I – You. It – ” He chokes on his words. “It wasn’t as simple as that.”