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While Zagreus hardly used his bed for the purpose of sleeping, he often used it for the purpose of lying down to stare at his ceiling and be overtaken by his all consuming thoughts. In the quiet of the day-or-night in his chambers, Zagreus could forget about his father working down the hall, forget about the shades roaming within the house – all except for one. In fact, that one shade was precisely what was taking up his mental energy in the current moment.
Achilles, the greatest hero who ever lived, had been appointed to the prince as a trainer in the art of battle, and an excellent teacher he was. Zagreus had grown fond of his mentor over the immeasurable time he had been training with him, so fond that it very quickly had developed into a romantic interest. Sure there were other Chthonic gods he was interested in as well, he had a complicated relationship with Megera as of late and his blossoming crush on Thanatos was not helping. But the shade who taught him, guided his hand and blade with the gentlest of touches and words, Zagreus couldn’t help but to fall for him.
The way he spoke of his time alive was encapsulating, trapping the prince in intrigue with his tales of the surface and all he had faced. Even before his arrival, Achilles was well known in the underworld amongst shades and gods alike for his accomplishments. Zagreus had considered himself lucky to have even got the chance to meet the warrior, let alone be taught by him.
They had become close with one another, as the young god matured he developed his own thoughts and opinions and often shared them with his mentor. Achilles was often the only safe person he could trust with these feelings, and he was always met with kind and encouraging feedback, “Do as your heart desires, lad.”
It was around the time he began attempting to escape the underworld that he came across something he might be able to use to thank the shade for all he had done for him, a few bottles of fine nectar. After all, if he was successful in getting out of this hell hole, it would only be thanks to Achilles' teachings, and he would miss him terribly. The only logical thing to do would be to gift the bottles to him, and perhaps express just how strong his feelings were for his mentor.
After the first time, he decided every bottle he found going forward would go to Achilles, to show his appreciation and dedication. Although, he remembered one particular exchange more clearly than the rest, after having gifted him another bottle for the nth time, a bittersweet look came over the blond’s face.
“I… don’t want you to get the wrong idea. I am alone, yes, but my heart belongs to another.”
Zagreus had been shattered at the statement then, though he played it off as nonchalant as he possibly could. Afterwards, he ran recklessly through the underworld, throwing himself into battle after battle and plunging Stygius through wretch after wretch. He faced Meg with more intensity than usual and fell to her strategic targeting of his weaknesses, forcing him back into the Styx and into the house again where he pointedly ignored the west hallway – no matter how badly his heart yearned to see his mentor.
Now, as he recalled the incident, he felt less angry and more perplexed. His own heart had always belonged to many, to Megera, to Thanatos, to countless others over time, why couldn’t Achilles’ be the same? Would it be so wrong to share his aching heart with Zagreus, who might mend some of those cracks and breaks to make the pain more bearable? He wasn’t asking for exclusivity, he didn’t exactly believe in that himself, he was only asking for the chance to hold his love with him. He yearned for their closeness to be so inseparable they could be joined as one, for Achilles to teach him things he had never so much as imagined before.
Selfishly, he sat forlorn in his chambers, thinking of all the things he wanted to say and do with Achilles, if only he were given the chance. Guiltily, he thought of attempting to seduce the shade, to make him mad with desire so he couldn’t deny Zagreus’ affection. Shamefully, he admitted to himself he was positively lovesick over aristos achaion, and though he was a god and a prince himself, how could he ever expect to be loved in return by such a man?
He sighed heavily, bringing himself to his feet and running a hand through his hair. A glimmer in the mirror caught his eye and he turned to see himself, his figure seeming to be barely held together by a single thread. In an attempt to bring some life back into him, he stretched and headed out with Stygius on his hip and a myrmidon bracer around his wrist, into tartarus. Alone and lovelorn, he could only pray that the Styx would wash away the ache in his heart when he returned.