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In a quiet, hidden corner of Elysium, the prince of the Underworld is slowly bleeding out. From across the chamber, Death observes his movements with an unreadable expression.
Despite the pain and the taste of blood on his tongue, the sight of Thanatos is enough to make Zagreus grin from ear to bloody ear. He manages a brief chuckle when Thanatos hovers down towards his limp body, satisfied at Thanatos’ reaction. Death rests his scythe against the ruin walls and crouches down beside Zagreus.
“Hey, Thanatos.”
The prince simply says, as if he is not literally bleeding to death at the moment. His mismatched eyes are tender, like falling in love for the first time again. Suitably, in his chest, is an arrow pierced right through him. Whatever Aphrodite is doing, she would have the time of her immortal life at this almost cartoony display.
“Hello, Zagreus.”
Death replies just as simply, as if his lover isn’t literally bleeding into his hands at that moment. Though his facial features give no way to much expression, his eyes are just as gentle, falling in love for the billionth time that day or night. Wherever Eros is, he would positively chuckle into the palm of his hand at the sight of a fawning Death.
“You got here a little too late.”
Zagreus points this out with a small chuckle. His hand is open, as if patiently awaiting for the other to take it. Thanatos lets out a simple grunt of acknowledgement as he slips his hand into Zagreus’ inviting one.
“Death is never too late or too early. It’s purely coincidental that I only got here when your battle is over.”
Zagreus briefly laughs at this before eventually coughing. Thanatos’ other hand goes to pillow his lover’s head, lifting it up so they can be eye-to-eye. The former has a yearning look in his eye, though it could also be exhaustion.
“Father’s troops are getting better by the day. Or night. It’s been a while since I haven’t managed to escape.”
Zagreus just keeps on talking as streams of blood flow out from him. Thanatos sees the red of the Styx; the color truly suits Zagreus to a T, not unlike how Death’s hand fits so well in the palm of Life.
“Either that or you’re losing your touch.”
Thanatos humors him as he traces the facial features of the dying god with his golden eyes. There is a hint of an amused smile on Death’s face. If there is anything Life would wish to witness before his flame extinguishes, it is that wonderful sight. A sight reserved only for him. Although Hermes almost had the same privilege as him – it is an entertaining thought, but one that fades away nearly instantly when all Zagreus can see is his lover.
“Regardless, I’ll have to step up my game.”
Once upon a time, Thanatos would take him for an optimistic fool. In the here and now, he is his optimistic fool. But he also learnt that it is necessary; everything exists in cycles and opposites. Between the light in Zagreus’ eyes and the darkness Thanatos carries, they are the cycle that can be found in everything they see. Life gives and Death takes. Rinse and repeat.
Another acknowledging grunt. They allow time to run past them as they sit in silence, simply enjoying each other’s company. Zagreus almost forgot he was bleeding out – perhaps the touch from Death himself lessens the pain of the process. He doesn’t dwell on this question for too long. But he is curious in another regard.
“Are you here to claim me for once?”
Zagreus says hopefully. Floating down the Styx has become such a routine, he can accurately estimate the amount of time he will reach the House depending on where he loses his life. It is a selfish wish somewhat – Thanatos’ hand is already intertwined with his, minutes passing as if they don’t have places to be. But it is as Thanatos has said; Death is always punctual, unlike the erratic and unpredictable force that is Life.
“Heh. I wish.”
They both chuckle at their mutual desire. Their voices echo throughout the chamber, and that is how they know worlds would fall for their every command. But they wish for nothing but only each other’s world, for each other’s carefully held gaze that can pierce a lovelorn fool. Except they are those fools, frolicking in the gardens their own ancestors built. It is a sacred tradition at this point in boundless time.
“Then see you later, Than.”
It is then that Thanatos’ lips curl into a full smile. Before darkness sets upon Zagreus’ eyes, Thanatos plants a kiss on Zagreus’ red-drenched lips. It is an interesting taste; though Thanatos finds almost no time to consume any form of food so he has almost nothing to compare it to, except for the nectar and occasional ambrosia his lover brings him. But it tastes like him regardless, like Life, like the love of his.
“Perhaps some other time, Zag.”
Thanatos holds Zagreus’ rugged face in his hands for a few last seconds before he eventually forces himself to slip away at the wailing of souls needing taking. Death hovers over his body like an omen, but only Life knows it was already a blessing to have him drop by and visit. Zagreus powerlessly watches Thanatos retrieve his scythe and vanish in the blink of an eye, unlike the ungraceful way he’s slipping away towards his demise.
Even so, he uses his last moments to whisper a confession – one he wishes Thanatos knows in the very depths of his heart, even if he cannot be here to hear it. It is an almost bittersweet sight, but the thought of his lover back at the House greeting him as per usual comforts him. And so his death is a peaceful one, even though slow. Before the Styx muffles his mouth, he professes.
“I love you.”
Somewhere on the surface, Death cradles the heart of Life, like how Life owns Death’s heart.