"This is ridiculous," Dario muttered, standing in front of his bedroom mirror and adjusting his tie for the fifth time. "We've been married for six months. Why am I nervous about a date with my own husband?"
Because it's not just your date, Cassius replied with fond amusement. Tonight, Aurelius and I get to be in control. Completely. No human thoughts, no mortal concerns—just us, experiencing the physical world through your forms.
"Right. No pressure or anything."
It had been Marcus's idea, surprisingly. During their last network meeting, Luna had mentioned how some of the longer-term hosts were experimenting with allowing their passengers full control for short periods—not possession, but true partnership, where the divine entity could experience mortality while the human consciousness rested.
"Think of it as a vacation for both of you," Sarah had explained when they'd asked for her guidance. "You get a break from carrying the weight of cosmic responsibility, and they get to remember what it feels like to have physical form."
"And if something goes wrong?" Dario had asked.
"Then we'll handle it. But I don't think anything will go wrong. Aurelius and Cassius have been with you long enough to understand human behavior. They're not going to do anything that would harm your bodies or your relationship."
So here they were—or rather, here Dario was, about to hand over control to an ancient Roman god for what was essentially a divine date night.
Are you ready? Cassius asked gently.
Dario took a deep breath and sat down on the edge of the bed. "What do I need to do?"
Just let go. Trust me. I would never harm this body or this life you've built.
I know, Dario thought back. I trust you completely.
The transition was gentler than he'd expected. Instead of the sharp displacement he'd felt during battle, this was more like settling into a warm bath—consciousness sliding away peacefully as Cassius took control.
When awareness returned, it was different. Cassius looked down at his—their—hands, flexing fingers that felt both familiar and foreign.
"Remarkable," he said aloud, his voice carrying subtle differences in cadence and tone that marked him as distinctly not-Dario. "Even after all this time, having a physical form still amazes me."
He stood and examined himself in the mirror, noting how his posture had shifted to something more formal, more regal. The face was Dario's, but the expressions were older, carrying the weight of centuries.
A knock at the door interrupted his examination.
"Ready?" came Marcus's voice, though the intonation was clearly Aurelius.
Cassius opened the door to find his oldest friend wearing Marcus's body but carrying himself with the quiet authority that had once commanded legions.
"Aurelius," he said, and the name carried the warmth of millennia.
"Cassius." Aurelius smiled, and it was both Marcus's gentle expression and something far more ancient. "You look well."
"As do you, old friend. Though I must say, your host has excellent taste in clothing."
They'd both dressed formally for the occasion—Aurelius in a deep blue suit that complemented Marcus's features, Cassius in charcoal gray that somehow made Dario's eyes appear even darker.
"Shall we?" Aurelius offered his arm in a gesture that was purely classical.
"We shall."
The restaurant Aurelius had chosen was perfect—elegant but not ostentatious, with private booths that would allow them to speak freely without fear of being overheard. They were seated quickly, the maître d' apparently recognizing them as Marcus and Dario but not questioning the subtle changes in their bearing.
"Wine?" Aurelius suggested, examining the menu with the practiced eye of someone who had once overseen the finest vineyards in the empire.
"Please. Something that won't interfere with our ability to maintain control."
"Naturally."
They ordered—a bottle of wine that cost more than Dario would normally spend on groceries for a month, and food that neither of their hosts had ever tried. When the sommelier left, they were finally alone.
"How long has it been since we last spoke directly?" Aurelius asked. "Without our hosts mediating the conversation?"
"Centuries," Cassius replied. "That night in Rome, just before..."
"Just before I chose exile rather than watch you fade away."
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the weight of their shared history settling between them.
"I never thanked you," Cassius said finally. "For what you sacrificed to keep me anchored to existence."
"You don't need to thank me. I made the choice freely."
"You gave up everything—your position, your power, your place in the pantheon—to bind yourself to mortal hosts just so I wouldn't dissolve into nothingness."
Aurelius reached across the table and took his hand. The gesture was both Marcus's gentle affection and something deeper, older.
"You were worth everything," he said simply. "You still are."
The wine arrived, providing a welcome distraction from the intensity of the moment. Aurelius tasted it, approved, and waited for their glasses to be filled before dismissing the server with a nod that carried unconscious authority.
"To second chances," he said, raising his glass.
"To finding each other again," Cassius replied.
They drank, and for a moment, both were quiet, savoring not just the wine but the simple pleasure of sharing a meal in physical form.
"Our hosts," Aurelius said eventually. "They're happy."
"Remarkably so. Sometimes I think they're better suited to each other than we ever were."
"Perhaps that's the point. We were created as complementary forces—justice and shadows, order and change. But they chose each other freely, without cosmic design dictating their connection."
Cassius considered this. "Do you think that makes their love more real than ours?"
"Different, perhaps. Not more or less real." Aurelius smiled. "Though I must admit, I find their courtship ritual fascinating. All those dates, all that careful negotiation of boundaries and expectations. We simply... were."
"We were gods. We didn't need to negotiate."
"And yet look where that brought us—centuries of separation, speaking only through mortal intermediaries, nearly losing ourselves entirely to the void between worlds."
The first course arrived—delicate appetizers that neither of them bothered to identify, content to experience the flavors without analysis.
"These bodies," Cassius said after they'd eaten in companionable silence. "The capacity for physical pleasure, for taste and touch and sensation... I'd forgotten how vivid it all is."
"I find myself envious of our hosts sometimes. The way they experience music, the way colors look through human eyes, the way they can find joy in such simple things."
"The way they love," Cassius added. "Without the burden of cosmic responsibility, without the weight of eons. Just... purely."
Aurelius nodded. "Though I think we're learning from them. This—" He gestured between them, encompassing not just the dinner but everything that had led to this moment. "This is different from what we had before."
"How so?"
"Before, we loved because we were designed to complement each other. Now, we choose to love, despite everything that's happened, because of who we've become through our connection to mortality."
The main course arrived, and they paused their conversation to appreciate the artistry of the presentation. The chef had clearly put considerable effort into both flavor and appearance.
"Dario will be furious that he missed this," Cassius observed, cutting into what appeared to be perfectly prepared lamb. "He's been wanting to try this restaurant for months."
"Marcus as well. Though I suspect they'll insist on coming back together."
"Good. They deserve fine dining that doesn't involve cosmic crises or network meetings."
They ate slowly, savoring both the food and the opportunity to simply exist in physical form without the constant background noise of their hosts' thoughts and concerns.
"I have a confession," Aurelius said as they were finishing the main course.
"Oh?"
"I've been... practicing. Learning to cook through Marcus's memories and experiences. I wanted to surprise you—both of you—with a meal prepared entirely by divine hands."
Cassius laughed, a sound that was both Dario's humor and something older, more resonant.
"You? The god who once had a staff of fifty just to manage his meals?"
"I'm a different being now. We both are. Mortality has... changed us."
"For the better, I think."
"I hope so."
Dessert was a work of art—chocolate and gold leaf and flavors that seemed to shift and evolve with each bite. They shared it, alternating spoonfuls in an intimacy that felt both ancient and entirely new.
"We should do this again," Aurelius said as they prepared to leave. "Not often—our hosts deserve to live their own lives. But occasionally..."
"I would like that," Cassius agreed. "Though perhaps next time, we could simply walk in the park. I find I miss the feeling of grass beneath my feet, the sound of wind in trees."
"Marcus mentioned that Dario has been wanting to visit the botanical gardens."
"Perfect. A date in nature, where we can remember what the world was like before cities and civilization."
They walked home through the Chicago streets, not speaking much but comfortable in each other's presence. The city lights reflected off windows and puddles, creating a urban constellation that neither of them had ever seen in their original forms.
"Time to return them to themselves," Aurelius said as they reached the apartment they shared.
"Yes. Though I confess, I'm reluctant to give this up."
"We're not giving it up. We're sharing it. There's a difference."
Inside, they sat together on the couch, hands linked, preparing for the transition back to their normal existence.
"Thank you," Cassius said. "For this evening, for everything."
"Thank you for trusting me enough to try it."
The transition back was as gentle as the original change. Dario and Marcus surfaced gradually, like swimmers rising from deep water, carrying with them the warm glow of their passengers' contentment.
"Wow," Dario said, blinking and looking around their familiar living room. "That was..."
"Intense," Marcus finished. "I feel like I just watched the most beautiful movie from inside my own head."
"They had a good time?"
"The best. I think... I think they needed that. To remember what it felt like to be together without the weight of cosmic responsibility."
Dario leaned against Marcus's shoulder, still processing the lingering emotions from Cassius's experience.
"We should let them do it again sometime."
"Agreed. Though maybe next time we can negotiate for them to leave us some of the food memories. I'm starving, and apparently we just ate the best meal of our lives without actually tasting it."
"Pizza?"
"Definitely pizza."
As they ordered dinner and settled in for their own quiet evening together, both men carried with them the warm satisfaction of having given their ancient passengers a gift—the chance to love and be loved in the most human way possible.
It was, they agreed, a pretty good trade-off for sharing their souls with gods.