Everything was going great. You had got your duo partner for regionals - Keith Kogane- to loosen up. Taught him to feel the music. Taught him to freestyle. And it was all going to pay off at the Balmera dance competition held at the club.

The rules are simple and easy to remember, probably because there's barely any. The music plays, you've got fifteen seconds to listen. To feel it. Then someone from one of the teams comes up to the stage. 40 seconds. That's how much time they have before the other team gets their chance. Twenty turns to each team.

Unlike other teams, Voltron doesn't follow a specific order. Whoever feels the music takes the turn. There's no fighting, no shoving.

Unlike other teams, Voltron has a variety of styles.

Coran, who is wholly so unique and unlike anything any other team can bring to the stage. Powerful stops. Warrior ballet. Their wild card. A trick up their sleeve.

Allura is the definition of beauty and grace. Her movements are wide and powerful, jerking right when she needs to and easing into the next with grace and poise.

Shiro shows perfect balance and poise, power and grace, despite his handicap. He’s strong with an impeccable center of balance, and it shows.

Pidge slides with movements that are slick and fluid as water. They can move their body in ways that most people can barely conceive, let alone do. Makes them look robotic, disjointed. Shifting into place and moving out of it before anyone can really even think about how it’s done.

Hunk's not afraid to get down with sturdy break dancing moves, and he moves with surprising grace for someone his size. It’s big. It’s powerful. It’s energetic. It’s Hunk.

There's Keith. Though many people don't have the honor of witnessing it, he shines in his choreography, his movements graceful and fluid once practiced. Though he's not one for freestyle. Luckily, you got him to loosen up and relax, teaching him to feel the music.

And then there’s you. Everything in between. Your high energy and are playful. Everything and anything. A fluid fit to match any mold. A patchwork style that can’t be contained in any particular box.

So it's not surprising when your team moves onto the final round. Naturally, you go first. No one stops you, no one complains. You take the center of the stage and have the crowd's attention with ease. That's when a member from the opposing team approaches, a challenge in her eyes. She nods at you with a smirk. And yours only grows wider as you nod back, following her to the edge of the stage.

Then they’re both flipping backwards, throwing their weight and bodies back, bending, landing on their hands before carrying their momentum through. Hands, feet, hands, feet, hands, feet. They flip together across the length of the stage.

You count your flips. Watches how close to the edge of the stage you get. Three more. Two more. One more. Stop.

Out of the corner of your eye, he can see that your opponent has stopped, too, but it’s not for long. She’s already moving, dancing her way back to the center of the stage. After all, her turn has just begun.

Lance moves to take a step forward, a step back towards where his friends are waiting. But his head is still spinning, a lot worse than he anticipated. The warehouse spins, spotlights blinding.

Your weight shifts, balance thrown off, and not quite recovered. You stumble a step, trying to catch yourself, but then your heel is hovering over open air.

And then that second passes, and the free fall ends with pain shooting up his leg.

You feel more than hear the crack as your ankle slips and the impact shoots up your leg. Feel it vibrate through you. Feel the crack of things that definitely shouldn’t crack. Hear the impact of your landing echoing in his ears.

Everything else is a blur. A haze. Lips moving, people running. Carrying you to a car. And before you know it, you're lying in a hospital bed. The haze in your eyes hasn't lifted. The ringing in your ears hasn't stopped. You see the familiar colors of your team bandanas, using them to recognize who is who.