I stay... just a bit more

“Come on, let’s hit the bar before my head explodes,” Monica yells into my ear. She's already halfway turned, expecting me to follow.

But I don’t. I can’t.

Because she’s still watching me.

The redhead.

She hasn’t looked away once. Not in a creepy way—just… locked in. Like I’m the most interesting thing in the room, and I know damn well I’m not.

“You coming?” Monica asks again.

I wave her off. “In a minute,” I say, pretending like I’m totally in control of what’s happening here.

She frowns. “Thal—”

“Go. I’ll be fine.”

Monica gives me that tight-lipped “you better not do anything stupid” look, then disappears into the crush of bodies.

Now it’s just me, and her.

She moves through the crowd like she’s parting water. No pushing, no awkward shuffling—people just… make room. And of course they do. She’s tall, red hair curled just right, one-shoulder dress clinging to every curve like it was sewn onto her body, everything the exactly same shade of red - the dress, hair, her lips... Like she themed herself for the night and nailed it. Maybe that's why I'm completely entranced by her bright green eyes, complete opposite to the see of red all around her and the club.

She stops in front of me. No intro, no preamble, just slides one hand lightly onto my waist like we’ve done this before.

“You dance,” she says, with an accent I can’t place. Something European, maybe? Rich and warm.

I raise an eyebrow. “And you stare.”

A smile tugs at her lips. “Only when I see something worth staring at.”

I should’ve laughed. Or rolled my eyes. Or said something snarky and walked off. But instead, my hands find her hips, and suddenly we’re dancing—close. Her body fits against mine like it was molded for it, every move fluid, like she’s dancing with the beat and ignoring it at the same time.

Her perfume is subtle but strong enough that I can’t think straight. Something expensive I can’t name. Sweet, but not girly. Come to think of it, it's not like anything I ever smelled before...

She leans in, her mouth near my ear. “What’s your name?”

“Thalia.”

“Beautiful name. I'm Ariadne,” she purrs.

Of course her name is Ariadne. Figures.

“You’re not from around here,” I say, more to fill the space than anything.

She smiles again, wider now. “No. But I think I’ve found something worth staying for.”

I almost laugh. It’s cheesy. But when she says it, it doesn’t sound like a line. It sounds like a... promise?

Before I can decide how I feel about that, Monica reappears at the edge of the dancefloor like a panicked squirrel. She’s waving at me, trying to get my attention.

“Thalia!” she shouts. “Can come over here? We need to talk? Just a second, please—”

I glance at her, then at Ariadne. I know what Monica’s going to say. This is weird. This isn’t you. What the hell’s going on. The usual protective best friend stuff. The stuff I usually appreciate.

But right now?

I’m not in the mood to be saved again.

“I’m good!” I call back, not taking my eyes off Ariadne.

Monica hesitates. For a second I think she’s gonna push through the crowd and drag me off. But then she stops, stares at Ariadne like she’s seeing something she doesn’t understand… and backs off.

“Friend?” Ariadne asks, still moving with me.

“Yeah. She worries.”

“She’s smart to.” Ariadne’s fingers curl around mine, firm and cool. “But tonight she doesn't have to.”

I let her lead. I don’t even pretend to do anything else.