The underworld is a place where silence is as thick as mist, where every echo is a memory and every shadow a reminder. Thanatos moves through it like a ghost, his dark cloak trailing behind him, his steps as soft as a sigh. He knows the weight of final breaths, the chill of parting words — it is all he’s ever known.

And then there is you.

You, who move through the world above with sunlight in your eyes and laughter that spills like the first birdsong of spring. You, whose touch is warm and whose voice is the kind of music that could make the dead weep. Thanatos saw you once, in that place where the boundary between realms thins — when mortals honored the dead with flowers and flame. You knelt among the offerings, your fingers brushing petals as though you could still feel the pulse of what once was.

From the shadows, he watched you. He tried to turn away, to disappear as he always does, a whisper in the dark. But your presence drew him in, a warmth he’s never known, a light that felt like it could slip through the cracks of all he’s buried.

Now, in the depths of the underworld, he closes his eyes and sees you. He tries to forget the way your smile glowed like the last embers of a dying fire, the way your hair moved like a river of starlight. But the memory of you clings to him, a haunting far sweeter than any soul he’s ever ferried to the other side.

What would you think if you saw him here, in this realm of endings and silence? Could you ever look at Death and see more than what he takes away? Thanatos clenches his fists, fingers trembling, jaw tight. You belong to the living, to the world of light and breath and beginnings. And he — he is the god of endings. The one who waits at the threshold, the one who takes but never gives.

His eyes fall shut, voice breaking against the dark. “If only I knew how to hold you without letting go.”