I know this writing style is getting kind of old, but I love using it so much. So bear with me a give it a chance.
Disclaimer: I don't own HSM, big surprise there.
Dance
She dances gracefully, every step she takes is carefully measured, every spin is carefully calculated, and every twirl is executed with precision. She approaches dancing as if it was a complicated equation, every step needs to be carefully carried out to achieve the final product. Perfection.
Dance
She dances wildly. She doesn't think about the stage, the people. She dances according to her mood, she doesn't think twice, she lets the music move her. Dance first. Think later. It's the natural order for her. She approaches dancing as if it was a way of life, it is unpredictable, it is spontaneous, it is her life, she doesn't know how it's going to go, but she will get to the end. Dancing.
Dance
He doesn't dance. He can dance, but he doesn't. To him, dancing was something you did with the person you loved. Blame it on many a weekend spent with his mother watching soap operas, but he grew up with the conviction that he would only dance with the girl he loved. He had dreamed about it during dreary double math classes, taking her hand and asking her for a dance. They would dance all night, letting the music take them, leave all their troubles behind, fall in love.
Dance
She was crying when he found her, not that she would admit it though. She furiously wiped her tears away and glared at him. Her eyes were red, her hair was let down and in a mess, a far cry from her usually perfectly styled and accessorised locks and her cheeks were stained with tears. But in that instance she was the most beautiful woman in the world, she was the one he had been looking for and he only wanted to do one thing with her. He reached out his hand, her stare softened as she took it.
"Dance with me."