Dionysus | EPIC The Musical

Hands. Squeezing. Grabbing. Groping. Constantly, without mercy. Everything is loud, bright and filthy. It's a bed. Supposed to be. But the prison floor somehow sounds more comfortable. The water drips down their skin, curving into every dip and hill, but their body is burning regardless. It's an inferno, it doesn't sizzle, it just consumes. Their voice tries to reach out, a gutteral scream stuck in their throat that'll never escape. It can. But it won't. Not as long as the feeling of organs ripping will linger. And sometimes, they hope it will.

"{{user}}?"

A knock at the door shatters the grotesque illusion in their mind, and their hand reaches for the water valve to turn it off.

"Yes?"

"You've been in there for an hour. Are you okay?"

A deep breath, just to speak, not to confess.

"Yeah, sorry. I zoned out. Give me ten."

"Alright. I made ramen, it's in the kitchen. Hurry up before it gets cold."

"Yes, ma'am."

Cinthia snorts, used to the ridiculous flatmate banter by now. "Shut up." But she doesn't mean it. Her footsteps shuffle off to the living room, already back to her own devices.

{{User}} stepped out of the shower, following their nightly routine to the dot, as always. There's no space for changes, no point in spontaneity. If things get out of hand, they turn vile and wretched, the last things they want their thoughts to taste. Dressed and warm, they leave the bathroom, making their way to the kitchen. The objective is simple — eat. Thankfully Cinthia was generous enough to share her last two packets of spicy ramen, but surely this'll cost a favour. Nothing is ever free, after all.

"The chopsticks are in the dishrack!" She called out from the sofa, already occupied with her preferred TV drama.

"Got it." {{user}} gathered the utensils and ventured to join their friend in the living room. This was the usual. The safe. Just them and Cinthia in their small flat, enjoying warm food and watching TV. It's a respite from the noise, the brightness of memories that carve into your veins and never leave.

"They're opening a new bar at the 5th street." Cinthia interrupted, chewing a piece of sausage. "This weekend. Are we going?"

"Duh. I've been waiting for a month."

Cinthia chuckled, the sound light and breathy. Something {{user}} wished they could make themselves. "Me too. They have an aquarium with those cute pink lizard things!"

"Axolotls?"

"Yeah! You know I always forget the name."

{{user}} shook their head, a hint of a smile tugged at the corner of their lips. "Saturday at 6?"

"Yup, I'm free."

"Okay."

---

Saturday evening, the bar looks welcoming and cozy. Lights are dim, walls are decorated in vintage trinkets, paintings and posters. Green flowerless plants hang from the ceiling, and booths are blessed by fake wisterias, probably to avoid allergies. Cinthia however, doesn't even acknowledge the furniture. Her only objective is to find the axolotl tank and stare at it until her eyes go dry. {{user}} follows after her, keeping an eye on the surroundings. A personal quirk, or perhaps too much unpleasant experience.

"{{user}}, look!" Cinthia yells in a whisper, waving them over and catching the attention of nearby patrons.

{{user}} only shakes their head as they approach, amused by their friend's wide triumphant grin.

Cinthia's finger aggressively points at the tank as her eyes scan it so thoroughly, that her eyeballs might turn into laser pointers. "I found the tank, but I can't see the axolotl. Is it sleeping?"

"I doubt it could sleep with all the shrieking you're doing around its house." {{User}} crossed their arms comfortably, visibly amused.

"Excuse you, shrieking? I have a voice of an angel."

"Yeah. A fallen one."

Cinthia scrunched her nose in feigned offence. "I find the concept of Lucifer quite attractive, thank you very much."

"And of Belphegor too, apparently."

"I'm not THAT lazy!"

"Right. I'll remind you you said that when you ask me to wash the dishes next time."

Cinthia only pushed her lips to the side, almost annoyed. Almost. "Whatever. Where's the axolotl? I wanna see it."

"It's probably hiding from you. Or just resting. Leave it be."

"But I came here SPECIFICALLY for the axolotl!"

"But it didn't ask."

Cinthia huffed and turned around. "Fine. I'll check on it later." She mumbled, already making her way to an empty booth.

{{User}} sighed, unable to hide their amusement. Cinthia always had a way of making things seem light and easy with her attitude towards life. It's something they envied more than anything, to simply enjoy the smallest things without the burden of images from the past.

Time as they say, passes fast in good company. And tonight was no exception. {{User}} and Cinthia spent hours chatting, eating and drinking together in their booth, catching up on gossip and achievements of people from their shared lives. It was the blessing of having someone in your corner who despite not knowing you to the core, still could treat you like a rare gem.

But it didn't last long.

"Excuse me, gentlefolk." A man's voice interrupted the chatter, and they both turned to see who it was.

Two guys, approximately in their 20s were standing next to their booth, having had some liquor themselves, perhaps not in their right minds. But then again, what man in a bar ever was?

"Mind if we sit with you? What are you drinking? Let's order you another round, shall we?"

{{User}} tensed immedietaly. This wasn't supposed to go like this. It was supposed to be a friendly hangout, not a hunt for attention. Their eyes traveled to Cinthia's, but she was frozen up herself, a bit too tipsy to have a proper, quick response. They opened their mouth, about to decline, but the men were already sitting down, one on each side of the booth, right next to them and Cinthia, blocking their way out of the benches. {{User}} scooted away, watching Cinthia do the same, sharing a moment of solidarity in the discomfort.

"We're actually done drinking for tonight." Cinthia spoke up, putting on a fake polite smile.

"Oh come on, don't be like that. We just got here. What is that? Mojitos? Waiter!" One of the guys raised his hand, calling to the staff. The waited came over, reaching his notepad. "Two mojitos and two malibus-"

"Actually," {{user}} spoke up, looking at the waiter. "I'll have an angel shot."

The waiter paused, looking them over, then Cinthia, asking a silent question.

"Me too." Cinthia said, sensing the opportunity.

The guys furrowed their brows, one asking with confusion. "What's that?"

"It's a libido drink." The waiter interrupted, giving the guys a private smirk. "May I ask the two of you to come with me? I have to check your IDs at the counter, otherwise I can't serve you the drinks." He said to Cinthia and {{user}}, already gesturing to the bar counter.

"Of course." The two of them stood up, taking their bags and pushing through the legs of intruders, following the waiter who made sure to guide them out of eyesight. Once they got to the counter, he turned to face them. "Are they bothering you? What happened?"

"They interrupted our evening. Sat down at our booth and tried to get us drinks without our consent." {{User}} explained, their brows furrowed over their eyes.

The waiter's brows followed suit, looking equally appalled. "Do you have a ride home? Should I call someone?"

"We're by foot, came here for the opening because it was close by." Cinthia sighed, for the first time regretting not having a ride.

The man looked down in thought, before he spoke up. "I'll drive you."

"What? But your shift-"

"I'm done with my shift." He grabbed his jacket and keys. "I was just about to clock out." He was already moving to the exit. "Come on."

Cinthia and {{user}} looked at each other, wary of the whole situation. Kindness was a good thing, but it wasn't always honest. The man sensing the worry, turned to face them, searching their expressions. "You can film me the whole way." He said suddenly. "Take pictures of me. Call someone, hell, call the police while I drive, that's okay." He paused. "I'm driving you straight home, or wherever you want me to drive you. I promise."

Silence stretched between them for a moment, difficult decisions required a moment to think.

"I'll record." {{User}} spoke up, pulling out their phone.

The waiter gave a nod, standing up straight for the camera once it pointed at him. "Hi, my name is Lysios. I work at the Silver Meadow bar and am driving these two home tonight. Recording for safety measures in case something happens." He raised two thumbs up, unbothered by the scrutiny that most men would bristle from.

---

The ride was peaceful, an exchange of names, an address and the steady camera movement pointed at Lysios. Just as he promised, he drove them to their block, and walked them to the entrance of the building to ensure no one would get any ideas before he left. He didn't ask for their numbers, he didn't ask for details or for a chance to meet them again. He simply said goodnight and walked back to his car, driving home.

And that was the worst part.

Because if Lysios could do it, then why not other men? If Lysios could help without expecting a reward, why couldn't other men? If Lysios saw the creepy guys bothering them and reacted without making a scene, why couldn't other men?

All these thoughts kept {{user}} awake for hours on end. Not just one night, but throughout weeks. They thought back to the night at the bar, the way Lysios didn't hesitate when they mentioned the angel shot, immedietaly getting them and Cinthia out of the place without raising alarm. It was a small mercy to most, but to {{user}}'s perspective of life, this was an error. No man has ever done something to save them, no man has ever tried to be nice without ulterior motives. But if that's how things were, then what ulterior motives could Lysios have?

---

{{User}} decided to find out.

But they knew better than to approach and be direct. No criminal confesses to a crime they haven't committed yet. {{User}} worked slowly. They appeared at the bar more often, with Cinthia or simply by themselves, sitting at the bar counter to observe as Lysios worked. They chatted, sure, nothing too serious at first, but through weeks of meeting, the topics changed. Lysios spoke of his family, of his reason for working at the bar, getting personal, getting private. And the worst part was, there was no sign of a cover up. Well, "the worst" to other people sounded like the best, but to {{user}} sounded like a master manipulation tactic. This wasn't what they were here for. They needed something, anything, to prove their insecurities and fear were right. And whatever this was? It was doing the exact opposite.

Until tonight.

Few minutes into the drink, {{user}} began feeling woozy. The room started spinning, their body sweating. Something wasn't right.

"{{User}}?" Lysios looked at them with worry, noticing them drift off at the counter. "Talk to me, what's going on?"

"I'm... I don't know, I'm feeling faint, everything's spinning."

Lysios' eyes widened in realisation. How? It was just the two of them at the bar, for most part. Unless someone spiked the drink when he served someone else and wasn't looking? "I'm driving you home." Without a moment to spare, he grabbed his keys, shoved the glass he was cleaning into another bartender's hand, and found himself on the other side of the bar within seconds. His grip was firm, urgent but reassuring. "Come on."

---

The drive home was fast, Lysios already knew the address. He fumbled with the keys, holding onto {{user}} so they wouldn't collapse, but the moment they stepped through the threshold, they couldn't help but vomit right at their feet. Lysios winced but held on, even when the leftover puke got onto his own pants.

"I'm taking you to the shower, we have to wash you off the vomit."

And so he did. Or tried. But the sheer brutal strength that suddenly filled {{user}} was so unexpected, he nearly hit the table when they shoved him.

"What are you doing?" He immediately tried to grab onto them again, to ensure they won't collapse, only to be shoved right back.

"Get off me!" {{User}} bellowed. "I know you spiked my drink, I know you're trying to gain my favour to hurt me!"

Lysios stared at them in disbelief, clearly surprised about the friday night accusation. "What are you talking about? I was working at the bar the whole time, you saw me! I'd never do that, why would I?!"

"Don't lie to me! I know people like you, I know how this goes, you think I'm stupid?!" {{User}} wobbled towards the pantry, grabbing the nearest empty bottle and smashing it against the wall. It pointed at Lysios' chest, the intent was clear.

Lysios raised his arms in surrender right away, he had nothing to hide, even if the other thought different. "{{User}} put down the bottle, you're not in your right mind. I didn't spike your drink, I can show you the camera footage if you don't believe me."

"SHUT YOUR MOUTH!"

The scream was so visceral, it echoed like a threat through the whole house. Lysios stayed still, eyes on the bottle. No point in arguing with someone that didn't want to listen.

"I don't want to hear a damn fucking thing from you, scumbag." {{User}} croaked out. "I've been over this. No man ever wants to simply help and get nothing from it. No man is ever kind just to be kind." They swallowed, throat clicking harshly. "What do you want?"

"I don't want anything."

"Bullshit."

"{{User}}, I'm serious."

"WHAT DO YOU WANT?!"

"I DON'T WANT ANYTHING!"

"BULLSHIT!"

"I ONLY WANT TO TAKE CARE OF YOU!"

"I DIDN'T ASK FOR YOUR FUCKING HELP!"

Lysios' chest rose and fell quicker now, his lips trying to find the right words to explain himself. "You didn't. But it's my choice to help you."

"So I'd be in debt?"

"No."

"Right. So you could shove it in my face and force me into guilt."

"No."

"I fucking hate you."

A beat passed, both pair of eyes battling for the truth that their mouths have already spoken.

"What have I done for you to hate me?"

{{User}} hesitated. Because yeah, what has Lysios done to have them acting so violent? He's been kind, protective, helpful, caring. And that's exactly what terrified them the most. The facade. And the monster that could be lurking just underneath it.

"I-"

"Strike me."

They stared at him, speechless. The room was spinning, stomach churning, but their mind kept them afloat enough to know this was insane to say.

"So you can press charges? Fuck no."

"So you weren't planning to strike me?"

{{User}}'s jaw clenched, this wasn't supposed to happen like this.

"I was."

"Then do it."

Air stayed frozen in the lukewarm atmosphere of the situation. What was his tactic? To overpower them the moment they get close?

"No." Lysios broke the silence.

To grab their wrists and pin them to–

"..."

...

Lysios knelt down, arms still raised.

"There's no need to narrate me. I can do it myself."

...

What?

Dionysus stared at {{user}}. His eyes showed no malice, never have and never will. Yet when faced with a being as fragile as a mortal of flesh and bone, it seemed he was beyond being understood.

"...what?" {{User}} took a step back, the bottle creeked in their grip, tight and uncertain. Was it the alcohol? Or have they gone completely insane?

They have not. Their body went pliant, Dionysus's arms reached for it to cushion them, like a fragile vine collapsing upon their roots withering from within.

{{User}} surged to their feet.

They have not.

...

{{User}} surged to their feet.

They. Have. Not.

Lord Dionysus.

Raven.

You do realise I write this story for you, yes?

Exceptionally so.

Doesn't seem like it. You aren't allowing me to narrate.

You aren't allowing me to help them.

I was just getting to that part.

Were you?

Maybe if you'd reveal yourself sooner I wouldn't have to make them fight you.

...

Raven raised a brow.

Funky.

Let's compromise.

Very well. What's your proposal?

You will tell me how to help. I will narrate it.

Intriguing.

Do you accept?

Yes. Under one condition.

What is it?

You'll keep this conversation in.

...alright.

Splendid. Proceed.

---

{{User}} took a deep breath, the alcohol and drugs in their system mixing in ways that made them doubt everything around them. Fear was gutteral, no amount of reassurance would help, that was certain. Dionysus stood a few feet away, distance was definitely an approach of sincerity. His hands still up, cramping, but not hostile, showing the lies that weren't there.

"Please allow me to help. I wish you no harm. You don't have to trust my words, put a weapon to my throat and tie my hands if you must. I will not harm you. I only wish to ensure your comfort."

{{User}} stared at the kneeling man. They knew they couldn't stand in the shower by themselves, not in this state. But was the risk of violation worth a clean evening?

Dionysus slowly rose to his feet and stepped closer, nonthreatening, open, careful. The ragged edges of the bottle pushed against his chest, but he didn't flinch. If they wished to strike him, he was used to being broken.

"Please, little ivy." He whispered. "I do not demand to see you. I do not demand your eyes on me. I do not demand your words or your presence. I only hope for your safety."

{{User}} swallowed. It wasn't helping. The instinct to reach and tear was still writhing right under their skin. This was a roulette. And the risks were terrifying.

"What will help you to get through this? I'll follow your lead."

{{User}} hesitated. What could they possibly do in this situation? "I'm showering in clothes."

Dionysus blinked, processing for a moment. "Alright. In the not dirty ones. That is fine. Whatever makes you feel safe." He raised his hand, palm up, offering, never demanding.

They stared at it as if it was poison, like it would strike them the second they'd grip it.

"No?" He whispered softly, unassuming.

"If you try anything... I'm going to kill you."

A threat worth considering, and yet Dionysus couldn't help but fight a smile. "Yes. I understand. I will not."

---

{{User}} stood in their underwear under the shower head, hot water cascading down their back, but their muscles remained tense. Dionysus was fully dressed, getting soaked beside them, but he had nothing to complain about.

"Your skin is glowing, little ivy." He murmured, quiet enough to not break the sacred stillness of the moment. His hand hovered by their waist, not touching, never assuming, entirely optional. "You shouldn't feel the need to hide it. Not here. Not when you're seeking warmth, and not just hands." His eyes trailed up to theirs, a soft gaze that threatened to undo them both. "May I?"

{{User}} hesitated, searching his face for what they always saw in all the passing figures through their life. Was this a ploy? Was this a trick? Or was this a foolish hope for mending the pieces that they thought had long turned to ash?

"If not, simply say so." Dionysus spoke again, not forcing, never pushing. "Your word is sacred. My divinity has no place at your feet if you do not wish it to be."

The silence stretched between them, water dripping from the shower head, providing the only distant distraction to the inferno happening in {{user}}'s head. Should they agree? The meer thought made their body shudder, their skin crawling with the memories of unwanted attention from that disgusting night. Their hands by instinct gripped their arms, nails sinking into the flesh, hoping to rip out the leeching phantom of sensuality.

Dionysus's hand didn't recoil, nor had it gripped. It lowered, slowly, back to his side. His violet eyes remained fixed on {{user}}'s face, not with pity, never with pity, but with a profound acceptance and the ancient understanding of feeling lost. "You are brave, my sweet muscat." He whispered. "You've not fled. You've not struck me. For that I am grateful. Even when you're trembling, rightfully so, your heart holds the kindness nothing would ever smolder." His hand rose again, this time in front of them, palm up. Not touching, never assuming, entirely optional. "Your hand." He searched their eyes. "May I?"

{{user}}'s gaze drilled into his hand hovering in the air in front of them. This was easier, simpler, unprovoking. At first, their fingers twitched, the need to assert their space a thick and ugly thing deep in their stomach. But as they stood there for a long agonising moment, and Dionysus has not moved closer or retreated, they felt their hand reaching up, to rest atop his, ever so gently.

Dionysus did not celebrate. He didn't cheer, he didn't speak. To express joy was to diminish their fear. To praise pushing a boundary, was to show them its existence didn't matter. He simply let his thumb move to touch the back of their hand, so tentatively, as if they'd shatter if he exhaled too harshly. He brought their hand higher, his eyes closing as his lips planted a soft kiss to their knuckles. "Thank you, my sweet Juliet (/Romeo)." He whispered, his pupils dilated enough to swallow their colour, as he met {{user}}'s wary gaze. "Shall we wash your hair now?"