Justin
Eros visits Psyche's spa following the events of the attack at the gala. During his treatment, the ex-lovers discuss the future, as well as his relationship with Zelus.
Stacy
The Elysium Retreat was the very epitome of luxury and tranquillity, nestled in the busy streets of the centre of Olympian. Set back away from the hustle and bustle behind a pristinely landscaped French-style garden, the grand entrance greeted visitors with a soothing melody of falling water that cascaded down a marble feature wall, its crystal-clear waters shimmering under the glow of golden chandeliers.

The spacious foyer was adorned with art pieces depicting scenes of ancient mythology, each one meticulously crafted to capture the essence of the goddess Psyche's trials, crowned by velvet sofas and intricately carved wooden tables. Guests were invited to linger and indulge in conversation while sipping on refreshing herbal teas served by attentive staff dressed in flowing robes of celestial blue. Further inside, a mixture of aromas with notes of lavender, jasmine, and sandalwood mingled in the air, creating a sensory experience that calmed and rejuvenated the soul for all those inside. The lighting was soft and ambient, casting a warm and ethereal glow that bathed the space in pure radiance. It was, in other words, utter bliss.

The treatment rooms exuded the same opulence and comfort, each one a sanctuary of healing and relaxation. The walls were adorned with grand sculptures lit against a backdrop of golden light, depicting ancient legends and stories that featured all manner of fantastical creatures. Plush massage tables draped in silk beckoned visitors to surrender to the skilled hands of expert therapists while gentle music and the sound of trickling water lulled them into a state of heavenly peace. 

Tucked away into one of the suites, the goddess Psyche tinkered away at the tools and utensils that lined a cabinet beside the massage bed as she awaited her client, making sure that every last detail was accounted for. Taking pride in presentation as much as she did results, the blonde left no stone unturned as she carefully lined them up onto a soft, white cloth after sterilising them, anticipating the arrival of a special guest while polishing them clean. The room itself was redolent with the scent of exotic wildflowers and essential oils, all of which mingled seamlessly as torches lined the walls and created a relaxing ambience of warmth and serenity. Shelves lined the walls full of bottles of fragrant oils and jars of luxurious creams, each carefully selected according to the taste of the man that was to shortly arrive.

And arrive he did. 

She expected no less than to see him impeccably dressed in smart clothing tailored to his measurements; Eros had something of a knack for embodying the essence of masculinity in a way that went beyond conservative bland notions of common style. Either way, the atmosphere enveloped him like a warm embrace as his striking silhouette appeared in the doorway of the treatment room, flooding him with the scent of lavender and the gentle murmur of water from the water feature in the main foyer. 

**"You look divine, Eros,"** The goddess said without turning to face him, placing a pair of metallic tweezers down on the cabinet before finally turning around to appreciate his familiar visage. **"But I'm sure you've already done enough diligence to be sure of that."**

Her smile was friendly, her body language inviting as she gestured for him to enter. 

**"Sit down when you're ready and we'll start with a facial,"** She said casually, owing to their long history of friendship over the millennia. **"There's something I want to pick your brain about."**

||
John
Upon his return to the informality of Olympian, he understood that it was only special for a single, distinguishing reason— for those that inhabited it, and those that did not.
_ _
There was little that could restrain him or keep his flame of intrigue kindled. Molded by the digits of desire, Eros had become callous and hard to the cheap thrills that the world offered to him. It took the most tantalizing of tonics to quench his tongue, the most revitalizing of toxins to quicken the pace of his fastened heart. At his request, commands were met with haste, and wishes were fulfilled on the luxury of a silver platter. Eros was enlivened until he was no longer, drifting in tastes and inclinations. A passing lover was exchanged with the impermanent days, as fleeting and anticipated as the rising tide. The god's callousness— his private, sporadic distaste in the monotony of life— was only for him to know, kept tucked beneath a sheet of masks.
_ _
For a deity so adored, he was often mistranslated and misconstrued. Could it be a true mistranslation if he found pleasure in the fallacies, outwardly aplenty? His charm tampered between falsehood and actuality too infrequently for him to comprehend its truth. There were, however, the souls of two that knew him. In time had they felt the textures of his heart— one of chaste, and one of romance. It was Psyche that knew him, huddled in the consistencies of the city. The other, wherever he may be, felt so disconcertingly distant. Eros questioned if a physical proximity could even undo the wrongs that were left to amend.
_ _

No more of that. It was Psyche that knew him, and she was here. She was tangible, near and within sight. He retired from his trip to France, and she would be his first pit–stop. Amusingly, her companionship felt more like a holiday than any scattered country on the map.
_ _
Where travelers found a budding romance in Paris, Eros found materialistic stimulation. He was dressed in it— he returned in hand–crafted loafers of polished leather, spritzed in a seductive fragrance of Serge Lutens. Adorned in Hermès, bejeweled in lustrous silver; Eros ensured that a space would be overrun with the weight of him, dressed in what could be comparable to his worth. Eros had spent his time in shameless indulgence, frequenting the shops of Paris and the waters of Cannes. He engorged dishes of fruit tarts and airy soufflés, and observed bygone monuments as if he had not been there to watch their construction. Eros laughed, sunbathed, drank, catnapped— and he returned, as if such a resort was a thing of normalcy.
_ _

The Elysium Retreat was a consistency that he appreciated, for his time with Psyche was both gladdening and eccentric. With a walk of playful firmness, Eros paced past guests and staff who were well–versed in his antics. The scent of lavender, enough to induce sleep, blended with his aroma of roses, which only ever intended to arouse the senses. Together, he was a concoction of solace and debauchery, from the touch of his hands to the blue of his eyes. The spa's glow caressed his cheeks and softened his lashes, as if he could become more cherubic than before. Dressed in the hue of a blooming lilac, a loose sweater hid the toned shape of his bodice, with buttons undone at his abdomen. Hair, sloppily styled, was authentically curled at the ends, and his chest was complimented by a memorable necklace of quartz.
_ _
A smile that was expected only deepened at the sight of her, cocking his head. Quickly did his presence move from the doorway to the room's center, replicating the magnetism of the foyer's divine portraits.
_ _
**"Think so? Well, it only counts if it's coming from you."**
_ _
The mask wavered, but through her love he became true in his affections. His tone was impish, but drenched in a unique softness. Briefly did his eyes look from the assorted treatments to the shine of tweezers and facial rollers, knowing it all too well. As her stance invited him closer, his own mirrored it. Without a sliver of hesitance, he slid into the plush chair, shifting his shoulders and peering up at her.
_ _
**"Whenever you are. There is much to tell you about France. I'd like to take you next time, will you let me?"** Absentmindedly, he grazed the rings clad to his fingers. Her inflection caused him to hum. **"Do you have a penny for my thoughts? I should charge you more than that."** Eros placed his hands atop his chest, and it was his way of allowing her to pry— as if she would ever need permission.
_ _
||
Stacy
There were more beautiful things than to be romantically involved - a lesson learned through trials so inexplicable, that their details warranted no rehash. Over the ages, Psyche and Eros had explored every crevice of possibility in their long lives, both as lovers and as acquaintances, then eventually as soulmates destined to coexist in perpetuity by threads woven by the very Fates themselves. That sense of safety had been born from longing, which had subsided naturally over the ages and grown into something far more coveted than the sweet sin of desire, lust, or even love. The beauty of it was that it could not be defined in words. 

Just reassurance.

Eros was not merely someone the goddess had loved and lost. He was, by all marks, a constant in her life, and one that she had become so incalculably entwined with. Beyond a shared history, their exploration of each other's innermost fears, dreams, and philosophies crafted a tale of understanding - one in which two immortal beings tied together by a mutual zest to live life to its fullest had become compatible as platonic companions. Together, they loved. They laughed. They cried. Now, as it had been for so long, both gods knew who and what they were beyond the confines of each other, forever defined by their friendship as much as their complicated history.

Eros often found an escape in hedonistic pursuits, though his unwavering strength as a man was not something that became twisted, much less tainted by the end of their union. For the goddess of the mind and soul, looking between the shades of his resilience realised her to a well-concealed vulnerability that often gave way to doubt and fear. He hid it well, beneath a facade of opulence and aristocratic sophistication, championing his own indulgence in materialistic comforts and finery to cover the minute cracks. But beneath the tactile pleasure of beauty, intoxicating scents of rich perfumes, and the visual delight of everything divine, was a man that she knew more than she knew anybody.

He had, after all, touched her mind and soul in ways that defied mortal understanding. Archaic notions of romance long cast aside, his character had left a profound and infinite effect at the core of her very being from the very first time they met. She admired, above all else, his strength and loyalty, for both had been driving forces between their reconciliation when both became endeared to the idea of a formal termination of their marriage. For everything they built did not simply vanish because of it, but rather the bonds that tied them to each other had changed much like the world around them.

Duty and commitment, it seemed, had always been one of his strong suits - however much he or others were prone to contest it. That, by in large, is why Psyche had seen to it that the Spa was in top shape prior to his arrival; he enjoyed - perhaps even needed - the comforting sense of consistency that she had *Always* Provided, however fleeting the joys and thrills of momentary distractions could be. He was, above all else, a paradoxical figure who understood the transient nature of pleasure yet always strived to find beauty in every moment. 

Inside, the warmth of classical aesthetics mixed with the scent of lavender and jasmine to create a refreshing atmosphere of rejuvenation and relaxation. Gilded marble complimented the minimalist grandeur of colossal architecture in a vast expanse of Hellenic purity, casting shadows across sparkling floors engraved with golden patterns and frescos that depicted stories from a world long lost. Walking through them, Eros was met with a reception quite unlike any other, a sea of hushed gasps like a crashing wave as it echoed and resonated between stone walls. His handsome visage was a welcome gift as he hovered in the doorway, chiselled cheekbones catching the light so that a radiant glow strobed across his angular features. He was, as always, a sight for sore eyes.

**"Flatterer."** She gave him a look of mocking contempt, her lips widening into a warm smile. 

Her eyes softened as he entered. Always equipped with a disarmingly warm disposition, Psyche's gaze was healing as it was all-knowing. Her eyes, like twin stars, burned bright through the layers of pretence that others nestled their true selves beneath, allowing her to see their thoughts like sunlight shining through spring water on a mountain peak. Eros, however, was not the recipient, for she did not need to look far within him, or herself, to be certain of it. At first glance, their defences were gone, much like the world that forced such fallacies out of them. 

She sold sanctuary.

**"Paris, I hear, is a nightmare,"** She said, her lips crooked as her eyes fluttered down to steal a glance from him while he got comfortable on the chair. **"Though the south has a reputation of luxury and glitz that I imagine far surpasses whatever debauchery it could ever offer. My god,"** Psyche's manicured brow rose, her voice hushed as her gaze dropped to find his eyes. Her cadence was far more jovial. **"You've been exfoliating. A new beau?"**

She pulled on a pair of latex gloves and cast the wrapper aside, reaching over his head for a small tube of cleansing balm, then squeezed two beads onto her forefingers and spread it evenly over his face. For a moment, the muscles in her face tightened as she contemplated the real reason for summoning his analysis. **"I've been thinking about this silly war,"** She said quietly, massaging the gel into his skin. **"More importantly what it might mean for Hedone. Left to their own devices, we'll be lucky if they manage to destroy each other."** 

She went silent. Her hands went still as her eyes trailed across to meet his gaze, letting out a soft breath as Eros moved both hands to his chest. **"The gala. It became something of a ruckus to put it lightly. I'm surprised you haven't caught wind."**