Keith isn't even sure why he's here.
They're in one of the larger dance rooms on the first floor, and it's crowded as hell. People of all ages: kids, teenagers, people well into their twenties. They're mostly grouped up in their own ages, talking with friends, bouncing excitedly, stretching. Keith leans up against the wall, as far away from the others as he can get. His arms are crossed over his chest as his eyes idly pass over the room. His headphones are around his neck and he can hear his music playing softly under the general din of conversation in the room.
He barely recognizes anyone here. He's been coming here for a couple of years, but he doesn't really interact with anyone and he's only take a couple of classes. He learned a lot from those classes, but he hated having to go at the whole class's pace. He hated having to deal with the other students. He hated how the instructors always used him as the 'example' because he picked up the moves faster than others. He hated how the others looked at him.
It isn't like he doesn't want to make friends. But when he's learning a new dance, he gets so concentrated, so into it. He blocks a lot out. Shiro's told him on several occasions that he doesn't exactly look easy to approach when he's like that.
It didn't take long for Keith to learn that he prefers independent study. He can learn dances at his own pace, repeat it as many times as he needs to for his movements and muscle memory to be perfect. He doesn't have to worry about people staring at him. He doesn't have to worry about fucking up. He doesn't have to worry about anyone seeing him until he's confident he can do it. No one to see him stumble. No one to distract him. No one to see him get frustrated. It's a learning environment he prefers.
This, however, is definitely not an environment he prefers. It's too loud. There's too many people. They're all one hundred percent more into this than he is. He doesn't even like dance competitions. Why is he even here?
Lance.
Lance is the reason he's here. Lance and his stupid competitive streak. Lance and his innate ability to get under Keith's skin. Lance and his cocky grin that makes a strange heat rise in Keith's chest. A heat that drives him to do anything, anything, to wipe that stupid smirk off his face.
He isn't even sure how he got himself into this situation.
Last year he had tried this whole dance competition thing. He had gotten one of the slots to go to regionals. He had practiced and learned his routine. But when it came right down to it, he just didn't want to go. He doesn't like dancing in front of crowds. He's never been into it. He only auditioned because Shiro convinced him to. He had promised he would try, and he did. Then he had dropped out. And apparently Lance had gotten his spot.
It's not like he doesn't remember Lance. He does when he thinks about it. He remembers his loud personality and abrasive voice, his cocky attitude and unrefined dance style. He didn't pay attention to much when he took dance classes, being so focused on himself and learning the moves with the least amount of struggle possible. But Lance... Lance had made himself known. He had gotten in Keith's face on several occasions, had caught his eye in the mirror, had made comments about how Keith was the teacher's pet. Keith had decidedly ignored him. At the time, he had no idea that the annoying Latino boy would waltz back into his life.
He didn't really pay attention to anyone during auditions last year either. He had sat against the wall, waited his turn, danced, and left. But Lance... it was hard not to notice him. He had never learned his name, and he had forgotten about him not long after. But when he danced... Keith had actually watched.
He doesn't remember much about his dancing now, but he remembers what he thought about it. Lance had been... wild. Keith could tell right away that his routine wasn't entirely practiced. But that didn't seem to matter. He never missed a beat, never stumbled. He smiled throughout the whole thing, and the way his body moved was just... entirely natural. It was so different from Keith, and he found himself staring.
He would be lying if he said he wasn't interested in seeing him dance again.
Unfortunately, it looks like he's not going to.
Scowling, Keith looks down at his phone. Five minutes until auditions start. The energy in the room is hyped and jittery, but Keith feels nothing but annoyance as he once again scans the room. He knows Lance isn't here. He would notice him right away, and no doubt Lance would come up to him, say something stupid, brag a little bit. He knows Lance isn't here, but he looks anyway. The door opens, and his eyes snap to it. But it's just a couple of teenagers chatting away as they push into the room.
Keith looks away, his frown growing as he stares at a spot on the hardwood floor.
He isn't even sure why he said yes when Lance asked if he was going to audition again this year. He hadn't been planning on it. He had already decided not to, despite Shiro's insistence that he should try again. But then Lance... He had looked so hopeful when he had asked. Keith still isn't sure what had possessed him to say yes, but he had.
And that had started a strange rivalry between them.
Lance always seemed to be in the room next to him. His music was always loud, and Keith always turned his up to match. They constantly threw comments and insults through the wall. They occasionally raced down the stairs after their practices. At one point Lance put a handwritten sign on his door that read "Lance's Room, No Mullets Allowed." Keith responded by putting a sign on his door that read "Not Room 4C." Lance had turned red and sputtered at that, and it had been hilarious.
This had gone on for two weeks. Two weeks of Lance's constant insults and snide remarks. Two weeks of petty competitiveness and his practices being interrupted. Two weeks of heading toward the parking lot with Lance's parting words echoing in his ears. "One week till I kick your ass, mullet!" "Make sure you show up, fancy feet!" "Better not run off scared, Kogane! I'm gonna beat you fair and square!"
He could have chosen a different practice room. He could have started practicing at a different time. He could have easily avoided Lance. But he hadn't.
Lance is annoying. He's insufferably cocky and confident. He's loud and isn't afraid of making his opinions on Keith known. He gets underneath Keith's skin in the worst way possible. He's needlessly competitive and has basically forced Keith into a rivalry that he didn't ask for and definitely doesn't want. But... Keith can't quite bring himself to get rid of him.
Somehow he's found himself drawn into all of Lance's nonsense. He finds himself responding to Lance, stooping to his level. Racing him down the stairs. Racing him to the drinking fountain. Putting passive aggressive sticky notes on his door. Yelling comments about his music through the walls. Teasing him about not being able to settle on a song.
He's never cared about dance competitions. He doesn't like dancing in front of audiences. But he really, really wants to beat Lance. He shouldn't have anything to prove, and he knows this. But he really wants to wipe that smug grin off his stupidly attractive face. He wants Lance to watch him, to have his complete attention, and to see the way Lance would frown and turn red when he realizes that Keith is good.
Keith isn't always competitive, but he's been been known to be stubborn, and he's always found it hard to say no to a challenge. And Lance... Lance has an innate ability to bring it out in him. Lance threw down a challenge, and it had lit a fire in him that he hadn't felt in years.
He had actually... been looking forward to this. He had woken this morning with an odd sort of nervous, excited energy. He had felt weird butterflies in his stomach when he had driven here. Despite only having two weeks to prepare, he was ready. The routine he had chosen was one he had been working on anyway. He had actually been excited to audition, which was a strange feeling.
And all of that has slowly been leaking out of him with every minute that ticked by in Lance's absence.
"Welcome everyone!" Coran says cheerily, clasping his hands together as he walks into the open dance space at the front of the room. The hum of conversation dies down to listen to him.
Keith isn't paying attention. His jaw is clenched too tight, but he barely registers the ache. He checks his phone again. What is he even doing here? Why did he let himself get so worked up over this? He hates that he let Lance get to him. More than that, he hates how disappointed he feels.
Something is definitely wrong with him.
As Coran steps aside to let the first person get set up, quiet conversation starts up again, whispered between groups of friends. Keith pushes off the wall, grabbing his bag and hiking it over his shoulder. He maneuvers his way around the edge of the room, ignoring the curious glances. He leaves, letting the door slam shut behind him.
He still has two hours before his shift at work, and he decides that a long hard run at the gym is exactly what he needs.
While he's there, he gets several calls from Shiro and even more texts. He ignores them all.
————————
"Come on, Coran, you have to let me audition!" Lance leans across the tall counter of the front desk. His arms are bent and his hands clasped together, held up in front of his face as he begs. "I have to get in. Just— please just let me audition. I'm only a day late."
Coran leans against the wall behind the desk, one arm crossed over his chest and the other idly stroking his mustache. He shakes his head, closing his eyes briefly. "No can do, Lance. You know we have a very strict policy about these things."
"I know, but I had an emergency! I had to take my niece to the ER after she broke her arm! The ER, Coran! The emergency room!"
For what it's worth, Coran does look apologetic. He tilts his head to the side, hand dropping from his mustache. "I know, Lance, and that is unfortunate, but you know I can't bend the rules for you."
"Coran, I thought we were friends!" Lance throws his hands into the air.
"We are, but I can't give you special treatment."
Lance groans loudly and collapses forward, flopping his arms limply across the counter and resting his head face down. "I called and left a voicemail and everything!" He mumbles into the hard surface. "Doesn't that count for anything?"
"It was very courteous of you, but no, I'm afraid. It counts for nothing."
"Gee, thanks, buddy." He grumbles dryly.
"This reminds me of when I was young and first got into competing. Back when Allura and I were partners, we missed an audition after I came down with a nasty case of—"
"Coraaaaaan," Lance whines loudly, cutting off the other man's story. His hands flop in the air in front of him. "Is there anything you can do?" Lance lifts his head, resting his chin on the counter so he can look up at Coran. He tries to look at pitiful as possible, with wide eyes and a pouting lip and everything.
Coran only looks at him with pity and shakes his head. "Sorry, my boy, but my hands are tied. If we made an exception for you, we'd have to make exceptions for everyone. And that would just turn into a messy situation."
Lance groans loudly again. Perhaps a little louder than necessary, but hey, he's really upset right now. He drops his head again, forehead hitting the counter just a little too hard, which makes him groan again. He's not mad at Coran. He understands where he's coming from. Altea has always had very strict rules about audition days. Lance has always respected it, but he's never been in this situation before.
He had been getting ready to leave the house when it happened. His nieces were over, as they always were during weekdays. His mama kept an eye on them while his brother and his wife were at work. It was cheaper than daycare or a babysitter, and they got to play with their cousins. Lance helped out, too, when he didn't have work or plans. He had been alone watching them while his mama was grocery shopping. Just twenty more minutes and she would've been home and he would've been gone.
His nieces, Maria and Abigail, and his youngest brother, Leo, had been playing in the back yard, and he had been tying his shoes when he heard the screaming. After a lot of panicked yelling and tears, he had finally been able to get the story out of them. Maria had jumped down from the deck of the tree house, like they had all recently started to do because they were 'big enough' now and it was faster than climbing down the ladder. As much as his mama berated them for it, they never got hurt beyond scrapped hands and sore knees. This time, however, her shoe lace had caught on a loose nail and she had been tripped as she jumped. She had landed on her arm and it had broken.
He'd had no choice. He hadn't even thought about it. He had rushed all three of them to his car and driven them to the hospital. It hadn't been until he was sitting in the waiting room, his niece on his lap and cradled against his chest, that he realized he was missing solo auditions.
He'd called the front desk, but no one was there. He'd left a voicemail, explaining the situation and why he was missing auditions. He had known at the time that it was a futile effort. He knew about the strict rules. But he had hoped beyond hope that there was maybe something that could be done about it. That maybe Coran could somehow work some of his magic. Pull some strings. Anything.
Apparently, he's just shit out of luck.
Auditions are a big deal. They're his only chance to get to regionals, which is only like one of the biggest and best competitions around. And first and second place get to go to nationals. Lance loves dancing and he loves competitions. And not only would the publicity be a good jumpstart to actually being able to do something about a possible dance career, but the money that comes with winning is nice, too.
He's been auditioning for years, and while this isn't his first time not getting in, it is the first time he's missed auditions all together.
And it's also the most important one that he missed for one simple reason: Keith.
For two week he was talking himself up and challenging Keith and making him promise that he'd make it to auditions. For two weeks he's been talking shit. And then he didn't even make it himself.
Jesus fucking Christ, what is it about Keith that just makes him constantly fuck up and embarrass himself? Granted, this had been completely out of his control, but he's still extremely bummed about it.
"Lance?" Coran asks, and he hears the man shift closer to him. A strong finger jabs at his head. "Are you alright?"
"No!" Lance snaps, blindly swatting his hand away without lifting his head. "Can't you see I'm wallowing?"
"Ah, yes, I do see that. Would you mind wallowing somewhere out of the way? Our classes will be starting up soon, and I need to be able to greet any guests who come in."
"Uuuugh, Coran have some compassion."
"I am... compassionately asking you to relocate your wallowing into one of the available chairs."
"Fiiine," He steps backward a couple steps, pulling his body off the counter in the process. Head hanging forward, shoulders slumped, and arms hanging limply at his sides. He drags his feet over to one of the chairs at the side of the room and flops down into it.
"Don't worry, Lance." Coran says, shifting through some papers on the desk behind the counter. He doesn't look like he's paying much attention anymore. "There's always next year."
Lance grunts in acknowledgement, putting one elbow on the arm of the chair and resting his cheek against his fist. His other arm flops across the other arm rest, fingers idly tapping the metal. He glares at a smudge on the floor, lips pursed into a small frown. Yeah, there is next year. But he'd made auditions this year into such a big deal, and he didn't even get to put his money where his mouth was. God, Keith must think he's a huge fucking loser.
He's so deep in his self pity that he barely notices when someone walks into the office. In fact, he doesn't notice until there's a familiar set of shoes in his vision and a familiar voice speaking.
"Good afternoon, Coran, Lance."
"Good afternoon, Shiro!" Coran says cheerfully.
Lance grumbles something unintelligible that might have been a greeting.
"I just came by to get the keys to our room."
"Right! Of course. I haven't gotten around to unlocking all the practice rooms yet." Coran says, turning around to the board of pegs that's mounted on the wall. He taps his chin. "Let's see... room 2A?"
"As usual." Shiro says, and Lance can hear the smile in his voice. He and Allura have been dance partners for years, and in that time, Lance has never known them to practice in any other room. Not that anyone would ever try to stop them from claiming that room. Allura, after all, technically owns the Dance Academy. She doesn't work here, but she inherited it when her father passed.
Her and Shiro have been partners for as long as Lance has known them. He's never seen two people so completely in sync with each other, and they're honestly beautiful to watch. They've won several championships in Altea's name. Their trophies are displayed proudly in the case in the entry hall. While they don't normally teach, they occasionally hold classes for duos. Not for any specific type of dance, but to help partners with synergy and teamwork. Other than that, they sometimes help out in other classes. Allura likes to pop in and join whenever she has free time, and she likes to get to know everyone who comes here. Lance doesn't know how she manages to remember everyone's names and faces, but she does.
They're both honestly really cool people, and Lance is proud that he can call them both friends, which is more than most at Altea get to do. He has an in though. Shiro is friends with Pidge's older brother, so they've known each other for years and naturally Lance and Hunk got pulled into that friendship.
They're part of his dance family, and he loves them. Wouldn't trade them for the world. But right now, he's not even sure Shiro can manage to cheer him up.
Because he's currently imagining all the terrible impressions he's given Keith and how he's never going to manage to salvage his reputation. He groans again and buries his face in his open palm.
There's a short silent before Shiro speaks. "Is he alright?"
"I have been informed that no, he is not alright, he's wallowing."
"What happened this time?"
"You say that like I wallow all the time!" Lance says, lifting his head to narrow his eyes at his friends. They're both staring at him with flat expressions, eyebrows raised. They don't say anything, but their skeptic silence speaks volumes. And okay... maybe they have a point.
"He missed solo auditions for regionals yesterday." Coran says, answering Shiro's question.
"Don't remind me!" He throws up his arms, collapsing back against his chair, arms falling to lay across the arm rests and head tilted back against the chair. He slouches, glaring at the ceiling.
"What happened?" Shiro asks, sounding more surprised than anything. "I've seen you go to auditions with a fever rather than miss it."
"I had to take my niece to the hospital after she broke her arm." He grumbles without heat.
Shiro's tone immediately shifts to concern. "Maria or Abigail? Is she alright?"
"Maria," Lance waves a hand at him before letting it fall. "Yeah, yeah, she's good. She's more excited about having people sign her cast than anything. The only real damage is to my pride."
"So nothing you're not used to then?"
"Hey!" Lance's head snaps up and he levels a glare at Shiro. The man is standing near the front desk, a good humored smile playing across his lips. Coran is chuckling behind the desk. Lance can't stay mad at them. Especially when they're right. He sighs, slapping both hands over his face. "How am I supposed to beat mullet head now?" He groans, more to himself than anyone else.
Shiro, however, hears him. "Are you... are you talking about Keith?"
Lance spreads his fingers, peeking out and raising an eyebrow. Shiro's eyeing him curiously. "Yeah?" He didn't expect Shiro to actually know who he was talking about. Then again, there's only one guy who has a mullet around here. "You know Keith?"
Shiro's smile is back, small and tugging at the corners of his lips. "Yeah, I do." His eyes squint a little in amusement, but Lance doesn't really get what's funny. "He's a pretty good dancer."
"I knooooow." Lance closes his fingers again and groans. "And I told him I was gonna kick his ass at auditions and beat him at regionals, but once again he one ups me."
"Actually, Keith missed auditions, too."
His fingers splay wide so he can stare at Shiro, both eyebrows raised. "Say what now?"
"Keith missed auditions, too." Shiro looks like he's trying far too hard to look casual, and Lance doesn't trust it.
His brows furrow, hands coming down on the arm rests as he leans forward, tilting his head as his eyes narrow slightly. "Why?"
He shrugs. "Not sure. He won't tell me."
"But you're sure he missed auditions? As in he didn't get a spot for regionals?"
"That's what I'm saying, yes."
"Yes!" Lance jumps to his feet, throwing a fist into the air before bringing it down in front of him. His self pity evaporates in an instant. Sure, he's still upset that he missed auditions. Going to regionals wasn't entirely about Keith. But at least there's no longer that salt in the wound. He does a little victory dance, which mostly consists of swinging hips and bobbing shoulders. "Suck it, Keith!"
"He told me you were big into this whole competition thing," Shiro says, crossing his arms over his chest. "But I didn't realize you were this...."
"Intense?" Coran supplies.
"Exactly. Though this would explain why he actually cared enough to actually audition. Or at least intended do."
"How is that?"
"He's never been good at turning down a challenge, and Lance... is very good at setting challenges."
"Very good at forcing you into them, don't you mean?"
Shiro chuckles. "Exactly."
Lance is only listening with half an ear, far too engrossed in his victory dance, which has morphed into more of a victory Macarena. With a swing of his hips, he jumps to face the others, his lips split into a wide grin. They're both watching him with raised eyebrows and varying degrees of amusement.
"Feeling better?" Shiro asks, crossing his arms over his chest, lips quirking upward.
Lance puts his hands on his hips, grin never faltering. "Immensely."
Coran glances at the clock on the wall. "Don't you have a practice room reserved, Lance?"
He brings a fist down on his open palm. "Right!" His face instantly drops, as do his shoulders and his grin. His bottom lip sticks out in a small pout. "I guess I'll go... practice, or something." He mumbles, scooping up his back and slinging the strap over his shoulder. He isn't sure exactly what he's going to do. It isn't like he has anything to practice for now. He had reserved room 4C for weeks in advanced, under the assumption that he would end up going to regionals.
So much for that.
He drags his feet as he makes his way out of the front office. Maybe he'll stop by Pidge and Hunk's room. They still have a couple weeks before the duo auditions, but they usually learn their routines pretty quickly. So they shouldn't mind too much if he bums around for a bit. Maybe he can help them with a few transitions. As much as they complain about dancing with him, they do value his advice. He knows what he's doing and he's good at it, even if he doesn't play well with others.
"Do you still want to get in?"
Lance stops mid step, back tracking until he's in the doorway to the office again. With one hand on the door frame, he eyes Shiro through narrowed eyes, one eyebrow raised. "Was that a trick question?"
"Nope." He says with a small shake of his head before repeating, "Do you still want to go to regionals?" Shiro's arms drop to his sides as he steps forward to join Lance by the door. His face is so open and friendly, but Lance is having a hard time believing what he's implying.
"Yeeeees?" He says, suspicious. His brows furrow and he lifts his chin, eyeing Shiro sideways. "More than anything, but Coran said there was nothing he could do."
"Maybe not, but I have an idea." Shiro slides past him out the door and starts off down the hallway. He waves over his shoulder. "Follow me." And Lance does because he has nothing else to do and his curiosity is piqued. He isn't sure what Shiro is getting at, not when Coran said there was no way he could get in, but he's willing to try whatever it is. He's been looking forward to regionals for months.
Allura is waiting for Shiro by the stairs. She's leaning up against the wall, hair pulled back into a thick bun and her head bowed over her phone. Even in sweatpants and a tight tank top, she looks good. She's all curves and dark skin, silver hair and bright blue eyes. She's tall, with curves and muscle, and damn if she isn't the most attractive woman Lance has ever seen.
She's also incredibly out of his league, and he's embarrassed himself enough trying to hit on that, thank you very much.
Besides, it didn't take him long to realize she has a thing for Shiro. Not that he can blame her. Shiro is also incredibly attractive, and the two of them make one of the most amazing duo partners he's ever witnessed. Not that they'll ever admit their chemistry goes beyond that of just dance partners.
She looks up when she hears them coming, and her lips tilt upward into a warm smile as her eyes settle on Shrio. Lance glances at his friend to see the same smile mirrored there. Shiro lifts a hand to wave at her as they approach.
Her eyes shift to Lance, and her smile is no less friendly. "Hello, Lance!"
Her smile is infectious. Lance practically beams. "Hey, Allura."
"How did auditions go?"
His smile drops immediately. His shoulders slump as he shoves his hands in his pockets, looking away. "I... didn't make it."
Out of the corner of his eye, he can see her own expression drop. "Oh, Lance, I am sorry to hear that."
He hates hearing her pity. He doesn't want to bother telling her that he didn't even make it to auditions. He straightens, waving her off and tilting his head to the side. "Nah, don't worry about it. It's fine." He lets his lips curve into a relaxed smirk. Confidence is key. He might have been moping and wallowing in self pity just five minutes ago, but that was before someone actually showed genuine pity. He doesn't want pity. So he won't let her see that it's actually tearing him up inside that he had to miss auditions. "Besides, Shiro here said he has an idea for how I can still get in." He says, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the man in question.
Her eyes slide to Shiro, one delicate eyebrow raising. She looks genuinely curious. "Does he now?"
Shiro nods. "Do you mind starting without me?" He tosses her the key and she snatches it out of the air with ease, barely blinking. "I want to see if this might work." He's being cryptic, and Allura is eyeing him suspiciously, her lips pressed into a small pout.
"Alright, but I expect you to tell me everything when you are done." She says, pushing off the wall to follow them up the stairwell. She turns off at the second floor, giving them both a wave and shooting Shiro a narrowed look. He just smiles and continues up the stairs. Lance trails after him.
"Uuuh, so where are we going?" He asks as they pass the third floor. Pidge and Hunk should be down there now. They usually sign up for rooms at the same time and carpool. It's just easier that way. They had left Lance in the front office to beg and plead with Coran, and they would no doubt be expecting him to come barging in with whatever good or bad news he has. He'll have to keep them waiting just a little longer. Maybe then he'll have good news.
"You'll see," Is all Shiro says as they climb to the fourth and top floor of the building.
They step out of the stairwell and Lance's eyes immediately go to room 4D. He had kind of been hoping that Keith wouldn't be there. There's no reason for him to have hope for this. He and Keith have been practicing at the same time nearly every day for two weeks, but he still hopes against hope that this will be the day that Keith isn't here. He doesn't want to face him after skipping out on auditions yesterday. And after hearing that Keith also missed auditions... well, he was kind of hoping that meant that Keith wouldn't have anything to practice for and therefore wouldn't show. Pretty stupid logic, seeing as he also doesn't have anything to practice for now, but he's still here.
And all his hope has been in vain, because the door to room 4D is cracked and music is filtering out into the hallway. It's definitely not in english, and it definitely sounds like some kinda kpop. He feels his lip curl in distaste. He's just glad Keith is already in his room and he doesn't have to face him.
He stops when he reaches room 4C, but Shiro keeps walking.
"Uh, Shiro? My room is right here?" He says, thrusting a thumb at the door.
"I know." He says simply, continuing on.
Lance glares at his back. Hoe, don't— dammit! Lo and behold, Shiro stops in front of room 4D. He turns to look at Lance, eyebrows raised. Lance hasn't moved an inch. "Shiro, what are you doing?" He asks, voice low and filled with suspicion. Red lights are going off in his head to accompany the red flags that are shooting up all over the place. Red alert! Keith alert! Avoid! Hide! Duck into your room and lock the door! Drown out Shiro's protests with Nicki Minaj!
"Lance," Shiro's voice is suddenly very solemn and very serious. Lance hates that voice. That's his dreaded dad voice. "Do you trust me?"
Lance pouts, looking away with a sigh. "Yes." Because that's all he can say when Shiro is using that voice. He feels like he'll just disappoint him otherwise, and he does not want Shiro's stern fatherly disapproval.
He instantly brightens, no longer so serious as he grins at Lance with the friendliest goddamn smile in the world, and he feels like he's been manipulated. "Good, then come on." And so Lance shoves his hands in his pockets and trudges over to stand a little behind Shiro. He lifts his prosthetic hand and knocks on the door, pushing it open slightly and sticking his head through. "Keith?"
The response is instant. "Hey, Shiro."
And Lance stiffens. Not just because he's actually nervous as hell to be face to face with Keith after blowing off the audition he made such a big deal of, but because holy shit Keith's voice. It's not the voice he's come to know. It's not filled with exasperation or irritation. It's not dry or sarcastic or mocking. It doesn't have that angry edge or that underlying amusement. He sounds pleasantly surprised and genuinely... kind. He sounds nice, and... and holy shit, Lance was not expecting that.
It makes him wonder how exactly Keith and Shiro know each other. Like, yeah, Shiro brings out the best in everyone, but Keith's voice spoke of so much familiarity that it's hard not to be curious.
"Can we talk for a moment?" Shiro is saying, pushing open the door far enough to step into the room.
Lance hears Keith sigh, and his voice is suddenly very tired and a little annoyed, which is much more like the Keith he knows. "Shiro, if this is about auditions, I already told you, I don't—" He cuts off abruptly when Lance follows Shiro into the room
He tries to keep his shoulders back to keep from slouching, but he can't help the pout he feels on his face. Unlike the last time he barged into this room, full of bravado and determination, he feels small and uncomfortable as he tries to stick to Shiro's shadow. He has no idea what the guy is up to, but he's severely reconsidering the whole 'he'll try anything to get to regionals' thing.
"What are you doing here?" Keith's voice has a lot of bite to it, and Lance instantly bristles.
He finally looks up at Keith, takes in his sour expression, his arms crossed over his chest, the way his weight his leaning onto one hip, that god damn pony tail. More than any of that, he takes in the fact that Keith looks almost hostile as he glares at him, and that is definitely new. Even when they've been in the heat of an argument, he's never seen this level of anger from Keith.
Part of him really just wants to shy away from Keith's glare, go hide in good old room 4C, and lose himself to his music. Maybe lay on the floor and stare at the ceiling and really get his wallow on. Work on bottling up and stuffing down that embarrassment until he's able to actually face Keith again.
But that part of him is stamped into the dirty by the part of him that makes him so endearingly stubborn and defiant. At least that's what his mama calls it.
He lifts his chin, matching Keith's glare as he picks his hands out of his pockets to cross his arms over his chest. "It's not like I want to be here, kpop. Shiro told me to follow him."
Keith breaks their good old fashioned stare down to shift his glare to Shiro. "Why did you bring him here?"
One hand on the strap of the bag thrown over his shoulder, he gestures to Lance with the other. "Lance didn't make it to regionals—"
Keith scoffs, rolling his eyes. "No shit, he wasn't even there."
"How do you know that?" Lance snaps.
"Because I actually showed up, unlike some people."
Lance opens his mouth to respond, but snaps it shut when nothing comes out. His brows furrow as he shifts his gaze to Shiro. The older man is gazing at him with eyebrows raised, lips tugged downward into a small frown. He looks back to Keith, leaning his head forward a little and turning it an inch to the side to look at Keith sideways. "Shiro said you missed auditions."
Keith's glare snaps to Shiro, and Lance watches as the man gives Keith a shrug and a sheepish smile. "What? You did."
"I was there." Keith finally says, looking back to Lance. Either his cheeks are dusted with the smallest shade of pink or the lighting in here is doing weird things to his completion. "I just... left. Before they started."
Lance gapes at him, eyes wide, mouth open, and everything. "Why?" He manages to gasp. Why would Keith leave before he auditioned? Especially if he was already there? Lance would have killed for that chance!
Now he's definitely sure it's not the lighting, because Keith's cheeks turn a deeper shade of pink as he looks down and away. "I just... I wasn't feeling good." He mumbles, and at least he sounds abashed, even if Lance doesn't really understand. He would have gone through his routine choking down vomit if it meant he got to audition.
Shiro clears his throat, bringing both of their attentions back to him. "As I was saying," He gestures to Lance. "Lance didn't make it to auditions." His hand swings around to point to Keith, giving him a very pointed look. "And neither did you. You both missed out on your chance to go to regionals as solo performers."
"Shiro, what the hell!" Lance nearly shouts, throwing his arms up in the air before letting them fall to his sides. He's hunched forward, head hanging as he glares up at the man. He purses his lips together. "You told me you were gonna help me get in!"
He nods, a small smile starting to play across his lips, and Lance really doesn't like the look of that smile. "I am, Lance. If you would just listen."
Lance tilts his head, eyes still narrowed in suspicion and locked onto the older man. "I'm listening."
Shiro crosses his arms over his chest, looking back and forth between him and Keith. "I propose you two audition as a duo."
Lance's jaw drops open. He's is pretty sure he's hearing things, because did Shiro just say— He lifts a hand, sticking a finger in his ear and twisting it. "I'm sorry, I must be hallucinating, because I could have sworn you just said—"
Shiro nods again. "That you two should audition as a duo, yes."
"WHAT?!" Lance straightens, scrambling backwards, arms going up and eyes wide with horror. His eyes whip around to look at Keith, and he hasn't moved an inch, but his face is contorted in a very similar expression. It takes him about two seconds to echo Lance's sentiment.
"What?"
"Shiro, you said you would help me—"
"You can't be serious—"
"I do not dance duos, and especially not with Keith!"
"I don't care enough about this competition to sink that low—"
"Excuse you, you would be lucky to have me as a partner!"
"You wouldn't be able to keep up with me!"
"Alright, hold up, Billy Ray, you wouldn't be able to keep up with me!"
"Do you even know how to choreograph something?"
"Do you even know how to dance?"
"At least I can pick a song!"
"At least my songs are good!"
"Guys! Cool it!" Shiro cuts in, putting a hand on both of their shoulders to push them apart.
Lance hadn't even realized that they had both stepped forward during their argument, closing the distance between them until they stood practically nose to nose, arms flailing and gesturing wildly and fingers jabbing painfully into each other's chests. He can feel Keiths breath on his face and the warmth radiating from his body. He can see how long his lashes are and how his thick eyebrows are furrowed, matching his wrinkled nose. He can see the flush of anger across his otherwise flawless pale skin. And he had never thought much about Keith's eyes before, but now he can see that they're dark gray with little flecks of color, and he can smell the slightly woodsy scent of his deodorant, and— jesus fucking christ he should not be standing this close.
He's kind of finding it hard to focus on the argument at hand all of a sudden, so he lets Shiro push him away from Keith. He steps back with one foot, twisting his body sideways so he's no longer facing him, and crosses his arms over his chest with a huff. He looks pointedly away and tries to subtly suck down lung full of sweet, fresh, Keith-free air. He raises his shoulders nearly up to his ears, his mouth twisting into a frown. He does not like how Keith always seems to manage to mess with his head.
But Shiro is talking again, and Lance turns his attention to him, if only to keep his attention off of Keith for a moment. The guy just gets him so worked up.
"As I was saying," Shiro says with a sigh, crossing his arms over his chest once again. He some how makes the stance look infinitely more intimidating than Keith or himself. Lance turns his head to glance sideways at Shiro, pointedly refusing to look at Keith. But out of the corner of his eye, he can see that Keith is also turned away from him, arms crossed and eyes locked on Shiro. "You two should seriously consider dancing as a duo." He held up a hand, effectively cutting off both of their protests with a sharp shake of his head. Lance's jaw snapped shut. "Hear me out, okay?" He looks between them, and it's obvious that he's waiting for an answer.
"Fine." Keith grumbles.
"Fiiiine." Lance sighs.
Shiro nods, continuing. "Dancing as a duo isn't that bad, and the auditions for it aren't for another two weeks. You're both very talented, and that should be plenty of time for you two to come up with something. It doesn't have to be perfect, just good enough to impress the Altea judges and get you that spot at regionals."
"But—" Lance tries, but he's once again cut off by Shiro raising his hand and shaking his head.
"I'm not done." Lance huffs, hunching his shoulders a little more and looking away. "Keith, you're brilliant with choreography. I know you have several dances you're working on now. You could easily adapt them to be for two people."
Lance lifts his head a fraction, shoulders dropping slightly as he glances sideways at Keith. He... didn't know that. It's pretty much inherent for a good dancer to be able to choreograph their own dances. They all can. Hell, Lance can. But the way Shiro says it... he makes it sound like Keith is better at it than usual. Like that's his thing. And despite himself, Lance is... intrigued.
"And Lance," Shiro's piercing eyes swing back to him and Lance jumps, ripping his eyes away from Keith to stare at Shiro, eyes wide. Shiro's gaze softens, and Lance relaxes. "You pick up dance moves and styles faster than anyone I've ever met. You're the most adaptable dancer I know. If anyone can keep up and learn Keith's choreography in two weeks, it's you."
Lance's shoulders drop, pulling back as he lifts his chin. A lazy smirk spreads his lips as he preens in the praise. He rolls his shoulder, tilting his head to shoot Keith a smug look. Keith just looks at him with a blank and unreadable expression, lips tight and brows furrowed.
"Hear that, Keith?" Lance says, all confidence.
"I heard." Keith says flatly, but doesn't rise to the bait.
Lance opens his mouth to say something else, but Shiro cuts him off. "Lance, do you want to go to regionals?"
Lance blinks at him, smug smile fading. His first instinct is a sarcastic reply, but something about Shiro's face stops him. So he swallows his sass and decides to go for open honesty. "Hell fucking yeah I want to go. More than anything."
Shiro nods, a small smile tugging at his lips. Lance knows that was the answer that he was hoping for. He turns to look at Keith. "Keith, do you want to go to regionals."
Lance glares at Keith in time to see him open his mouth, close it, and look away. He fidgets under Shiro's gaze, shifting his weight and shuffling his arms.
Shiro sighs, dropping his head a fraction and shaking it. There's exasperation there, but also a fondness that Lance finds hard to place. "Alright, let me rephrase: Keith, going to regionals would be good for you. No, don't argue with me. It would be. You didn't go last year, and I respected your wishes, but you have a lot of talent and this would be a good opportunity for you." His face softens, and suddenly it's Lance's turn to fidget. He feels like he's intruding on a private moment. He looks down, picking at the colorful woven bracelets on his wrists. "I know you want to preform, Keith."
Lance glances up to find that Keith still isn't looking at Shiro. He shrugs, and Shiro seems to take that as a yes. He clasps his hands together, flesh slapping against metal in an startling loud sound. Both he and Keith jump.
"Good, now that that's settled, let's try something."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Lance says, holding up both hands. He puts one on his hip and uses his other to point and Shiro. "We didn't settle anything—"
"I never agreed to anything—" Keith cuts in.
"Neither did I!"
Shiro isn't listening to them. He's turned away from them both and is walking toward the front of the room where the auxiliary cable sits. He sets his bag on the ground and grabs it, pulling it out from Keith's phone and plugging it into his own.
"Shiro," Keith says slowly, warning and suspicion in his voice. "What are you doing?"
"I said we were going to try something." He says casually, turning to face them both as he scrolls through his phone. "Do you two remember the dance you were taught in that class last year? For the final performance?"
Keith's brows furrow in thought, and Lance taps his chin, lifting his eyes to the ceiling as he thinks. He's been in a lot of classes throughout the years, and each one had several dances that they learned. It's gotten to the point where a lot of them blur together, but he can very clearly remember the one class he had with Keith.
He remembers how he always chose a spot at the front of the room. How he spent every free moment with his headphones on, avoiding the rest of class. How he was always, always, practicing. How Lance had spent a good portion of his time watching him. It didn't take long for Lance to zero in on him. He was clearly one of the best dancers in the room. Aside from Lance, of course. And because of that, he had instantly felt the need to impress him, to prove himself. Lance had tried to make eye contact with him in the mirror, tried to get a spot next to him to show off a little. No matter what he tried, he never seemed to get a reaction. Keith was stoic and stuck up and carried himself like he knew he was good and like he didn't want to interact with anyone else. It had grated on Lance's nerves and had fueled his desire to be better than him.
And it's only because of that that he's able to remember the dance they did for their final performance.
He snaps his fingers, grinning as he pulls up the memory. "Uptown Funk."
Shiro nods, a smile playing across his lips as he looks down at his phone. "Exactly. You both did very well, if I remember correctly."
"You remember at least a little bit," Lance says, smirking. "I did very well. I donno about Keithy boy over here." He jerks a thumb over his shoulder, ignoring Keith's glare.
Shiro looks up then, looking between them. "Do you remember the dance?"
"Pfff, of course I do," Lance drawls, rolling his head to the side. He waves a hand at Shiro. "I know that routine like the back of my hand." He holds up the hand in question— when did he get a cut on his knuckles?
Shiro's smile looks amused. "Good. Keith?"
Keith shrugs and nods. "I remember it."
"Oooo, someone's cocky." Lance says, rolling his eyes.
"And you're not?"
"Why don't you put your money where your mouth is, ponytail?" Not his best insulting nickname, but damn if that ponytail isn't distracting. Seriously, where does he get off putting up that god awful hair and having it look cute as fuck? And his neck is far too long and slender and definitely needs to be covered up pronto.
"Maybe I will!"
"Good, now that that's settled—"
"Nothing was settled!" Both of them snap at the same time, whipping around to glare at Shiro.
He puts up both hands defensively, still holding his phone. His smile widens as he looks between them, and he even chuckles a little. Lance scowls at him. "Alright, look, just calm down for a second."
"I am calm." Keith says with a little too much bite.
"Me too!" Lance adds, sending the other boy a glare.
"Then neither of you would mind doing that dance?" He asks, eyebrows raised.
"I'm down. I'll prove to mullet boy over here that I'm better than him." Lance says, tossing his bag to the side and cranking his neck to the side to crack it. He intertwines his fingers and stretches them in front of him before shaking out his limbs. He bounces on the balls of his feet. "Let's go, Shiro."
His brows are furrowed slightly, lips pressing into a thin line. "Lance, this isn't really meant to be a competition—"
"Let's go, Shiro." Lance says loudly and impatiently. He can feel Keith still staring at him, but he ignores him.
"This is to prove that you two can dance as a duo. I just chose this one because I know it's pretty easy and you both learned it—"
"Let the music play!"
Shiro sighs, finally giving in and tapping his phone.
Immediately the opening beats to Uptown Funk start blaring over the speakers, and Lance is immediately jumping into action. Turning sideways, one arm bent with his hand on the side of his head, his other arm extends and snaps in front of him in time with the beat. He walks forward with sideways steps. After a couple beats, he switches sides. In the wall length mirror, he can see Keith doing the same thing next to him.
They face forward, snapping fingers at their sides before sweeping their arms up and over their heads to point to the side. They take a few steps back, hips swinging and arms waving with them. Then the beat drops, and they throw their hands up in the air before dropping down to grab the front of their pants and thrusting forward. And then they're moving quickly, knees twisting in and out to the beat, arms being thrown out to the side. Hands move down their sides, outlining their bodies. They turn for a couple steps before hopping back.
Lance feels a thrill run through him as he watches both of them move in the mirror. It's not like when he's in a class, and everyone is doing the same thing but everyone is just slightly off. Lance has always prided himself on his rhythm and timing, and he's long since accepted that most people, no matter how good, tend to be off when they throw their bodies into it. Keith, however... Keith is perfectly in time, all of his movements precise and calculated. As Lance watches their reflections move, he can see that they're perfectly in sync. With the music and with each other. Every move and motion is done at the same time and at the same angle.
They... actually look good together. Dancing like this. Lance feels the thrill of it thrumming through his veins, and he cant help the wide smile that breaks out across his face. When he looks up, Shiro is grinning, too.
Adrenaline floods his system, and he feels himself starting to really get into the music. His eyes drift closed, letting his body go through the motions. His legs are moving, his hips, his arms, his head is bobbing along, and it just feels so good.
As he feels the build to the chorus, his memory starts to get a little muddled. It's no problem though. He knows vaguely how it's supposed to go, so he starts to improvise. His eyes open, watching himself in the mirror. His shoulders shake, his steps are fluid and gliding in time with the beat. He shakes his hips, smirks at himself. Hot damn.
The beat drops and he's in it. He's a slave to it. Moving, bobbing, swinging. He's not paying attention to his steps or what his hands are doing. He's just feeling it.
"What are you doing." Keith's voice snaps him out of his groove.
His eyes widen as he trips over his own feet, stumbling a few steps, arms thrown out to the side to balance himself. Then he lifts his head, eyes narrowing as he shoots a glare at Keith. He's standing there with his hands on his hips and a scowl on his face. Geez, how did he ever think that Keith sounded nice?
"What the hell is your problem?" Lance shouts, throwing his hands up in the air.
"What was that?" He throws a hand out at him.
Lance straightens, putting on hand on his hip, cocking it to the side and letting his other arm hang loose at his side. "Uh, dancing? I thought we were at a dance studio?"
Keith's face scrunches up even more. "You weren't even doing the right dance anymore!"
"It's called improvising. Ever heard of it?"
"You can't improvise a choreographed dance!"
"I can, and I just did!"
"Then we're not in sync anymore!"
"You can't stifle my creativity!"
"The whole point of this is to see if we can dance together, not for you to go off and do your own thing!"
Lance crosses his arms over his chest, half turning away and lifting his chin with a huff. "You're just jealous that I looked better than you."
Keith groans. With one arm crossing his chest, his other hand slaps a hand over his face, dragging it down until his arm flops in front of him. He turns his glare on Shiro, who's standing helplessly at the front of the room, all traces of his smile gone. "I can't work with him!" Keith says, gesturing angrily to Lance. "He's an idiot. I can't duo with someone who can't even follow simple choreography."
Lance bristles, shoulders rising and back stiffening. Any thrill he felt earlier at watching himself dancing with Keith is gone. Flown out the window. Long gone. Never to be heard from again. Dead and buried. Lance is starting to doubt he ever felt it at all.
"Oh yeah? Well I can't duo with someone who has a giant stick up their ass!" Lance shouts over the music, bringing both of their attentions to him. He stomps over to where his bag lays abandoned, and throws the strap over his shoulder.
"Lance—" It's Shiro. His voice is soft but firm, imploring and begging. He sounds a little sad, and Lance can feel that guilt at disappointing him rising in his throat. He chokes it down.
"No," He says, lifting a hand. "If this is what I get for trying to have a little fun, then I'm out."
"Lance," The voice is sterner now. "Keith didn't mean—"
"Oh, I think he did. And that's fine." He's walking backwards now, toward the door. "It was a nice thought Shiro, and I appreciate you trying to help me, but I think we all know this isn't going to work."
"Lance—"
He spins on his heels as the song comes to an end, holding up a hand to wave over his shoulder. "Later, Shiro. Good luck with your auditions."
He doesn't say bye to Keith as he leaves. He doesn't look at him before he pulls the door shut behind him. He doesn't want to think about Keith. Lance should have known better than to even attempt dancing with him. He's been told for years that he's hard to work with. But you know what? So is Keith. With his disapproving frown and judging stare and holier-than-thou attitude.
Lance is good at dancing. And he knows it. It's one of the only things in life that he knows he's good at. He takes pride in that. And he's not about to let some mullet-wearing, arrogant kpop wannabe take that away from him. No matter how stupidly hot he looks in a pony tail and no matter how pretty his eyes are.
Lance feels like screaming. There's too much going on in his head, and his chest feels tight, and he's been on way too much of a devastation-hope rollercoaster today, and he just needs to let it all out. So he does. He marches down the stairs, out to the parking lot, and throws back his head and screams. It's loud, it's wordless, and it makes several birds scatter from their perches on a nearby telephone wire. It's filled with all his frustration at the world, at himself, at Shiro, at Keith, at stupid rules and stupid auditions.
And when it's all out, he feel a little better.
Hiking his bag up higher, and shoving his hands in his pockets, he trudges back into the building. He doesn't want to go to his room. That would be too close to the main source of his current frustration. So instead he stops off on the third floor and heads towards room 3C. He unceremoniously throws the door open without knocking and slams it shut behind him.
Pidge and Hunk are standing in the middle of the room, eyes on the clock on the wall. Neither of them look at him as he comes in.
Pidge nods, hands on their hips. "Just as I thought. Less than a minute. Hunk, you owe me."
Hunk rolls his eyes, going back to where the laptop is hooked up to the speakers. "Yeah, yeah, we'll stop and get you a milkshake on our way home."
Pidge is grinning as their gaze finally slides to Lance, and it fades considerably. They cross their arms over their chest. "Alright, what happened?"
Lance groans loudly and wordlessly, stomping over to the side of the room and throwing his bag on the ground. He falls to his knees, then face plants into his backpack, lying there with his limbs sprawled out and face buried.
"Come on, dude. We heard your angry shout from in here." Hunk says, pausing the song that's been playing. "Something's up."
Lance groans again, though this time it's muffled. He rolls his face back and forth on his backpack.
Pidge sighs. "Do you need time to wallow before you complain to us?" Another groan, this one a little more pitiful than the others. "Thought so. Hunk, our pathetic child needs time to gather his thoughts, so we might as well work through the chorus again."
"Sounds good. Hey Lance, when you're done wallowing, can you help us find good transitions in and out of the chorus?" Lance doesn't say anything, but he lifts up an arm, setting it next to his head with a thumbs up. "Great, knew we could count on you, buddy."
"I'm charging a milkshake for my services." He mumbles into his backpack.
Notes:
I hope you guys are enjoying this so far. I personally love this art and this fic in general. Make sure to give the original author and artist some love!❤️