as an arrow needs a pulsing heart

the undone and the divine

*AUTHOR'S NOTE*

Please bear in mind that this chapter contains explicit material, meant for mature adults only. 

Enjoy!

-    x    -

It really isn't so long after this that he breaks.

If his sisters could see it—or, indeed, had foretold it—they might call it poetic, that all of this would cycle back to where it had begun: Zagreus' bedchambers. Back to that cluttered and claustrophobic space where Thanatos would come just to choke down his pride, just for the chance to grant the Prince a few more hours of rest. If Thanatos could think over the reeling of his head, the more vindictive side of him might draw upon past shame or anger or hurt—recalling how it had wounded, to restore Zag's health knowing the dangers that would soon follow. He might abandon this path altogether.

(But he cannot. He never could, when it came to this.)

The door to the Prince's bedchambers is just ajar, as it usually is. Inside, trinkets twinkle, spinning their small lights in all directions. The night-mirror refracts them back warmly, a welcome. Zagreus is there, as Death had known he would be, aligned to the far wall, near the bed. His body cuts a hard line against the gleams and glows, his face set strong in profile, broad shoulders posed in a statuesque casting. This is the portrait that greets Death Incarnate.

Thanatos stops just short of entering the room, choosing instead to lean against the door frame. With arms folded, he clears his throat to announce his arrival. In a way, he is thankful for the veiling low-light, because he knows for certain that the Prince's curious eyes would now be riveted on him. He suffers a sense of being stripped, and with this, a stirring of shame. Shame that even after endless years of pining and one returned confession, Thanatos still finds it difficult to look Zagreus straight in the face, as mortals fear facing the sun. But Zagreus has no such qualms, those eyes already doing their best to core him, to peer into Thanatos' very soul.

It's almost too much, and he nearly turns back. His tongue is thick in his mouth. But as he strides slowly up to the bed, the look on Zagreus' face conveys to Thanatos that he has done well.

"Say, Thanatos," Zagreus greets him on a breath, half in-out, one eyebrow climbing, quizzical. "I'd ask you to come in, but...you're already here." His face softens. "It's good to see you."

The Prince's skin refracts color like a jewel's facets, spots of silver-and-gold light. If Thanatos knew no better, he might suspect it is Aphrodite's doing, her favor gilding him. But he deduces the true source behind them both, winking. To look back on the mirror for strength is tempting. Thanatos refrains, looking where he can elsewhere. The room smells faintly complexly fragrant, as if whipped with Zagreus' scent. There's a near-full bottle on the bedside table, but Thanatos hasn't the temerity to reach for it and drink. Instead, he braces himself rigid, and bids himself speak.

"I'd like a word, Zagreus." Death's hair obfuscates the bulk of his face, burnished even from beneath the cowl, concealing even his breaths. Inhale/exhale. "Did you really mean what you said before? That maybe we ought to take our time?"

Zag's eyes both widen in surprise, gone almost glassy. "Eh—What's this? I didn't mean any—I just don't mean to push you, Than," Zag mumbles, dragging a hand through his hair. "I just know that all of this is, er, a lot. So I meant to ensure that, I can wait for you. However long you need. However long it takes."

If Thanatos scoffs, it's a testament to the limits of his patience. The indignation is something familiar, at least. An island: a solid thing to seize upon in an ocean of fear. Indignation at such over-conscious treatment. Indignation at once again being rebuffed. "You have no concept, do you? Of which impulses to act upon, and which of them to keep in check. You'll wait, you say? Well, let me ask you this; what are you waiting for?" The indignation builds, righteous swirls in his stomach, air to the fire, fodder to the coiling snake. "What are you waiting for, hm...? I'm here, already. Aren't I...?"