Dance

The bar throbbed with life. Music pounded from massive speakers above the dance floor, drowning the roar of voices and clinking of glasses. Mortals pressed shoulder to shoulder, half-drunk and half-dreaming, their eyes. The air was warm with wine, sweat, and smoke, thick enough to cling to the skin.

The muses slipped in like a ribbon of light through the crowd. Thalia went first, laughing already, her golden hair bouncing as she threw herself into the noise. Erato followed, skirts swishing, her grin sly as she scanned the room for trouble. Clio kept her chin lifted, eyes sharp, unimpressed but indulgent as she steered the others toward the bar. Lily trailed behind, her chest tight from the lingering weight of the council meeting. 

They found stools at the far end of the bar, pressed against polished wood and empty glasses. A mortal bartender rushed by with a tray of wine, too harried to notice who had just claimed the seats.

“Gods, listen to this place,” Thalia shouted, gleeful. “It’s chaos. I love it.”

“Of course you do,” Clio muttered, smoothing the edge of her sleeve. “You’d thrive in a riot.”

Erato snorted. “Isn’t that exactly what this is?” She reached across to snag a cup left behind, sniffed it, and shrugged before sipping.

Lily smiled faintly, but her eyes drifted toward the door, then back to the crowd. She wasn’t looking for wine or music. Her chest felt restless, as though something tugged at her from beyond the press of bodies. 

Stop it, Lily. He would never come to a place like this.

Suddenly a figure moving in the crowd caught her attention, and her head twisted sharply away from the closed door. 

Dionysus stood at the center of the dance floor, robe loose, curls damp with sweat. He was surrounded, there were hands on his shoulders, laughter at his ear, mortals swaying against him as if he were gravity itself. His smile was broad and easy, teeth flashing white, but his eyes cut sharp even as he let himself be worshipped. He tipped his head back and laughed, wine spilling from the cup in his hand as though the night itself poured through him.

Then he saw them.

The grin deepened. With a theatrical sweep, he disentangled himself from his worshippers, weaving through the crowd with his cup still in hand. He reached the bar and sprawled across the edge beside them, half-draped like a king on his throne, his robe slipping scandalously low across his chest.

“Well, well, well,” he said, voice rich as honey. “My favorite muses, haunting my temple of sin.”

Thalia shrieked with laughter. “You call this a temple?”

“I’ve seen cleaner latrines,” Clio deadpanned.

Erato clinked her stolen cup against his. “We were just wondering when you’d notice us, my lord.”

Dionysus pressed a hand to his chest, feigning a wound. “Do you take me for inattentive? I could sense your arrival over the music itself.” He leaned across the bar to tug a strand of Clio’s cropped hair, then tapped Thalia’s glass to refill it without looking. His laughter was easy, rolling, designed to draw stares.

Thalia leaned forward, grinning. “You smell like the floor of a winery.”

“And yet here you are still drinking my wine. And if you keep looking at me like that, I’ll take you right here on the floor of my winery,” Dionysus shot back, eyes dancing.

Erato wagged a finger at him. “You’re shameless.”

“Absolutely.” He tilted his cup, letting a drop of wine fall to the floor. “Even the earth gets its share.”

Clio sighed and shook her head, though the corner of her mouth twitched. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you love me for it,” Dionysus quipped, preening at their groans.

But mid-performance, his eyes flicked to Lily.

She was quieter than the others, her smile a second late, her gaze darting again toward the door. Dionysus let the moment stretch, grin fixed, before sliding closer until his shoulder brushed hers. He dropped his voice, the noise of the bar swallowing it for anyone else.

“Your sisters laugh,” he murmured, “but your mind is elsewhere. Whose footsteps are you waiting for, my little Lily?”

Lily’s throat tightened. She shook her head quickly, too quickly. “No one.”

Dionysus hummed. His eyes softened, all the bravado peeling away for a heartbeat. “I wonder if Hera's joy knows you think of him even here.” The words lingered between them, intimate, heavier than the wine. He let her see that he knew, let her feel the weight of his knowing. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he tipped his cup back, spilling wine over his lips as he leaned away again, his grin snapping back into place.

“Dance with me,” he announced suddenly, standing tall. “All of you!”

Thalia cheered, Erato slid off her stool with a laugh, even Clio rolled her eyes but followed. They grabbed Lily’s wrists, dragging her toward the floor, her protests swallowed by their noise.

Dionysus stepped back to let them whirl past him, his gaze lingering on Lily as she was pulled into the crowd. She laughed when Thalia spun her too quickly, her face flushed from wine and music, but the shadow in her eyes hadn’t lifted.

He raised his glass, his smile easy again, but his eyes sharp and knowing. He had seen it. He always did.