NOTE: this is a preview of the beginning of the story. the whole story is very long so i put it in full on ao3. if you're interested in reading it, link is:
archive of our own dot org /works/16117076/
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When Pidge first hears that she's been chosen to play the role of Odette/Odile in Altea's contemporary production of Swan Lake it's through the grapevine and she's in the middle of stretching her hamstring post-cool down on a ballet barre. Most of her wants to jump up and scream wildly, but she settles instead for a self-satisfied smirk.
Altea's focus is in cultivating dancers who can develop their own varying personal styles. For leads with experience, their solo performances are not pre-choreographed and the dancers are expected to create and put their own spin on their dances, with Allura or Shiro around to give them tips and aid. It's pretty avant garde and Altea is controversial for taking a lot of liberties with traditional performances in many of their productions, but they pull in large numbers for tickets, and neither Allura nor Shiro seem particularly concerned.
But at the end of the day, it's still Swan Lake. And Pidge had still won lead.
She tamps down the urge to flip off the disappointed, groaning girls in the corner nearby her. They make no efforts to even try to hide their comments on how she doesn't deserve the role and the usual comments that she paid her way to get a good role for the performance. Pidge ignores the dirty looks she feels on her back and continues her meticulous stretching routine, straightening her back as she lays over her outstretched leg and grasps her pointed toes to maximise her stretch. She doesn't have time to worry about silly rumours and gossiping among fickle, jealous girls. A suffering social life doesn't matter much to her when she has her skill and hard work as proof.
There's a reason why Pidge is the top female dancer of the company. As the lead, Pidge knows she'll have her work cut out for her, and a couple solos to figure out, but she's confident she can pull this off.
After all, she's waited and trained her whole life for this opportunity and she's not going to mess this up. She's definitely going to make her grandmother proud.
Pidge doesn't actually check the bulletin board outside the main office until she's finished changing and gathering her things, but there's definitely a crowd surrounding it full of loud, excited, chattering students of all ages. She spots Keith's unruly mullet and pushes her way in the crevices of different student bodies to reach him. She barely avoids getting clobbered in the head by a guy much taller than her.
"Congrats on winning lead," Keith says by way of greeting, clapping her shoulder with a proud smile. "You've earned this one."
"We're going to be the most perfect Odette/Siegfried pair to ever exist. We'll set the entire performance hall on fire!"
Keith looks thoroughly humoured. "Except I'm not Siegfried."
For a second, she thinks he's messing with her but when she checks his expression for that telltale sign of a smirk, he's giving her a blank stare.
"I'm Rothbart. According to Shiro, my dark good looks and dance style are perfect for the role."
It's almost comical how long it takes her to understand what he'd said, but when she realises he really isn't going to play the prince to her princess, dread fills her. He's her undeniable partner in all of her end of the year evaluations if she needs a support partner and since they were children, they've done all their duet assignments with each other. No one is a better match for her dance style-wise, experience-wise, chemistry-wise, and the fact they're friends will make coordinating everything easier because they're already close. But if Keith's not the prince, then that means someone else is and there's only one other person she can think of who's strong enough and talented enough to truly be able to carry a lead role.
Benno is going to be danced by Hunk, Siegfried's mother danced by Romelle, Rizavi, Ina and various others of their best dancers are in supporting lead roles. Everyone else will be the background swans or black swans. But even before Pidge slides her gaze to the top of the board listing the lead roles, she knows exactly whose name is by Prince Siegfried.
"How the heck could you let him beat you out for the role of the prince, Keith?" Pidge gives him an angry look as they wedge their way back out of the crowd to head home for the day. "Don't tell me you're getting rusty."
"I don't know what to tell you, Pidge." Keith hitches his bag further over his shoulder. "He honestly was the better dancer this time. And truth be told, I agreed with Shiro. You were pretty much the immediate pick as soon as they saw your audition solo. So when he was doing his solo, we all thought he'd be the only who could work with your style. Or handle you, so to speak."
"That's so false. Keith, you've been my partner for how many years now?"
"And in all that time, we still don't click. Watch him dance and I promise you'll change your mind."
"I have no interest in—"
Squeals of excitement outside of the window of a practice room draw their attention, and they head over, wondering why there are a bunch of girls congregating outside that room. There's music blasting from it, and as they peek into a free corner of the window, Pidge feels her irritation mount tenfold.
Lance McClain.
The current bane of her existence.
He's freestyling in the centre of the practice room, putting on a demonstration for Hunk and Shiro, a breathless grin on his lips and emotions brimming on the surface of his skin as he spins, leaps, caresses himself like he's captured in the snares of an enemy he can't resist. She can almost visualise the power this imaginary enemy has over his body, like he's helpless to stop the possession. Like he can't help the way his body responds, needing to dance to satisfy himself. He's painting his own story through his dancing, and it's extremely successful.
Pidge thinks his style is too wild, even though she can't deny his fluidity is mesmerising to watch, made only more beautiful by the length of his limbs and the full extensions he utilises in every one of his motions. Everyone around them seems to agree, if the wild cheering is any indication. It's annoying to her the way he can suck people into his dancing with nothing more than his eyes or smile.
But at the end of the day, he's still unpolished, and she can see the holes in his technique, in the way his arms aren't positioned perfectly, feet aren't facing the right direction, in the way his centre of balance isn't squared, the way his core isn't tightened during his spins. Sure, he's objectively good, but she has no use for a partner who couldn't be bothered to learn proper technique.
Rumour had it he'd started seriously dancing only five years ago, self-taught, joined the company two years ago and rose to the top in a matter of a few months. Her focus had been ballet before she'd finally dropped her ballerina dreams and put her full energy into contemporary dance so she'd never really had many encounters with him. There'd been the one recital for the people in their age group once where they'd both had back to back solos and rehearsed together with the rest of the soloists, but other than that, the performances she tended to try out for were never the ones he chose.
Still he's certainly famous enough in Altea as a prodigy newcomer. Whether it's about his incredibly emotional dancing, his apparent good looks, or how good of a kisser he is, every day she's always hearing someone or another talk about fucking Lance McClain. Shiro has mentioned before that Lance very much could become a proper rival for Keith—their best dancer—in a year but she refuses to ever believe that would be true.
It makes her furious like all naturally gifted dance geniuses do.
No.
Even more than that.
She's put in night after countless late night perfecting her abilities and moves so she could be a true dancer, suffering callouses and injured toes, sprains, aching muscles and joints and bones just to get where she is and this nobody had the nerve to just easily get to the top spot with barely any work.
"I hate him," Pidge mutters decisively.
Keith snorts, rolling his sore shoulder with a soft grunt. "I hate him too."
She knows Keith's comment is only in jest, mostly because Lance had won this round of their brewing rivalry. But Pidge really can't stand him. The easy grins, sparkling blue eyes full of life, the way everyone naturally gravitates to him. He draws people in with his vibrant aura, making them smile and laugh. His dancing has the same vibe to it, enrapturing, wild but controlled. It has character. It exudes who he is as a person and hypnotises the viewer from the moment they lay eyes on him.
Lance finishes his impromptu dance to extreme applause and turns around to fake bow at the audience outside the window. When he lifts his head, he makes eye contact with Pidge and blinks in surprise before his lips curve up in a small smirk. A chill runs down her back.
Without a word, she snatches Keith's wrist and yanks him away from the viewing window.
Lance infuriates her.
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once again, link to full story is this (just remove the spaces and replace the word dot): archive of our own dot org /works/16117076/
thanks for reading ^^