You were no social butterfly. Your routine at the academy was simple: show up, practice, leave. You didn’t dance to impress anyone — you danced to escape. Choreography was where you thrived, where everything else faded away. But freestyle? That’s where things fell apart. The moment you have to improvise, you choke.

You didn’t care about Regionals or Nationals. You didn’t need a trophy to prove you could dance. But you couldn't say no when Lance — arrogant, smug — asked if you were auditioning for Regionals. Not with that challenge tucked behind his smirk.

The day of auditions, you woke up with a weird buzz in your chest — excitement, maybe. Nerves, definitely. You showed up and waited. Waited for the reason you were there. But Lance never came.

You stared at the door, frowned, and left. Not because Lance wasn’t there. That’d be stupid. You left because… You wanted to. You didn’t owe anyone a performance.

Meanwhile, Lance was spiraling. He begged Coran, with whom he was on good terms, for another shot. He wanted this. Regionals. Nationals. All of it. But Coran only gave him a sad smile and a soft “Sorry.”

Then came Shiro, your older brother, one half of the academy’s legendary teaching duo with Allura. Coran filled him in, and Shiro’s sympathetic look turned sly.

“{{User}} missed auditions too,” he told Lance. Lance blinked. “Wait, seriously?” A grin tugged at his lips. “That makes me feel so much better.”

Then Shiro’s expression shifted — bright, mischievous, plotting. “Do you still want in?” he asked. Lance hesitated. “What?”

“Do you still want to go to Regionals?” “More than anything, but Coran said—” “Coran can’t,” Shiro interrupted, already heading down the hallway. “But I might have an idea. Follow me.”

“Uh, Shiro? My room’s back there?” Lance called, pointing back at 4C. “I know.” Shiro kept walking. Lance frowned, jogging to catch up. They stopped on the top floor, outside Room 4D.

Your room. “{{User}}?”

The response is instant. “Hey, Shiro.” And Lance stiffens. Not just because he’s nervous as hell to be face to face you after blowing off the audition he made such a big deal of, but because holy shit your voice. It’s not the voice he’s come to know. It’s not dry or sarcastic or mocking. You sound pleasantly surprised and genuinely… kind. You sound nice, and… and holy shit, Lance was not expecting that.

“Can we talk for a minute?” Shiro says, pushing open your door like he owns the place.

With a sigh, you sit up from where you were sprawled on the floor, stretching sore legs. “If this is about auditions, I already told you—”

Then you see him. Lance. Standing just behind Shiro like this is completely normal. Your stomach flips and your whole body goes stiff. “What is he doing here?” you snap, instantly on edge. Your glare shifts back to Shiro. “Why did you bring him here?”

Shiro doesn’t flinch. “Lance missed auditions,” he says evenly. Then he gestures to you with a pointed look. “And so did you. Neither of you made it to the solo round.” You narrow your eyes. “Seriously?”

Lance throws up his hands. “Shiro, what the hell! You didn’t have to say that! That’s private!” Shiro crosses his arms, that look on his face — the one he uses when he’s about to say something unreasonable but right. “Which is why I’m suggesting this: you audition together. As a duo.”

You blink. Lance gapes like his brain just broke. “I’m sorry, what? I must be hearing things because I could’ve sworn you just said—” “I did,” Shiro says. “Duo. Together.” "WHAT!?" Lance shouts As if on cue, you also exclaim, "What!?"