At the age of seventeen, top dancer Lance McClain was in a car accident and never walked again.

He was a star. The entire state knew his name and the country was starting to as well. Elegance in every step and confidence in all. There was never a doubt that he would go on stage and give his fans the best show that he possibly could. People were honored to dance with such a talented boy. He knew how to lead and took great pride in all that he knew, humbling himself to help his partners as well. The talent that he shone seemed to only grow brighter with each passing day and each competition.

For a while, it seemed as if he would only continue such a path. His name slipped sweetly from people's lips and his movements stunned many. His fame grew and grew with each competition.

There was something about each step that he took—each elegant turn—that hypnotized everyone. The way his hips swung and his feet grazed the floor as if he were flying and not touching the floor at all. It was his passion in each movement, the way his heart seemed to pour into all he did and carry in that devious little smirk he gave each of his dance partners.

Perhaps it was the way his gazes were like silk and his words like rose petals falling delicately from his lips. Perhaps it was the way his eyes seemed to flicker and see all even if in reality, he saw very little. Whatever it was, there was something about him that kept the people clinging to the thought of him.

Nobody ever expected that fire to die for he was already burning too much to stop.

But then at the young age of seventeen, Lance McClain, dancing star, was in a car accident on his way to his next competition and was paralyzed from the waist down.

Nobody ever heard his name from then on and it was as if he no longer existed. He had vanished like vapor from the world and in his place, other dancers rose up. Each one of them just as good or perhaps better than he ever was and could have been in his mind.

Dancer after dancer, week after week, month after month, and within six months, Lance McClain was a name of the wind. People recognized it for a moment and smiled in nostalgia before quickly returning to their previous state of mind where his name was nothing but a memory that grazed the walls of the mind in the desire to be recognized.

The famous boy who had once charmed all and seduced the world in even the simplest of foxtrot steps was forgotten just like celebrities before. A name in the dust and a distant memory to ears.

If there was anything Lance could have wished for in that moment, it would have been to fly. He had long since accepted that he would never walk again nor dance, so he did not bother with such predictable and pathetic wishes. He had also long since given up the even more pathetic wish to turn back time and go to his competition or at least dance one more time. Sitting in a wheelchair in front of the same putrid sunset day after day gave him a sense of reality he knew that he needed.

No, he wished that he could fly so that he could see things he had never bothered to pay mind to when he had legs. He could admire people's talent from above, never having to roll his stupid wheelchair over every time he wished to get a closer look. Lance would be able to stay there in joy because he would have nothing else to worry about in the world and his legs would not matter.

Six months later. His family constantly told him that and attempted at their best to bring his mind away from it, but it was difficult. There were so many things he had wanted to do in life, so many challenges he wanted to take, and yet he lost so many opportunities because of a car accident.

It had been his fault too, he could not deny it. That was what made it worse. Knowing he was at fault for his own ruin. If he hadn't picked up the phone. If he hadn't looked away. If he hadn't been driving faster than he should have. If he had just listened and quit being so prideful.

But he didn't. And now he was in a wheelchair staring at the grass outside of his home before he headed to yet another public school in an attempt to adjust.

Everything negative in his life as of six months ago was all his fault. Even now, he couldn't get comfortable so his family had to keep moving in and out of places.

"Lance, mijo, are you ready?"

"Yeah," he turned his wheelchair around and made his way out, the flicker of sadness his mother attempted to mask with joy already caught.

How much more pain would he bring them?

Veronica, Marco, and Luis all watched him for a moment. He nodded at them with a forced smile before the door closed behind him.

His silence did not end the entire car ride. it was the same thing every time and he knew that it was causing his family distress, but he couldn't seem to help it. Every glance at his legs and Lance felt nothing but a sinking feeling that ate away at the confidence that once carried him so high in life.

He stared outside and sighed, wondering how many schools he would move to before he or his family had enough and left him trapped in a hole of despair and confusion with the never-ending struggle of accepting his dancing years were long gone and that he needed to move on.

"Lance?"

"Yeah ma?" He glanced up at her, dark blue eyes glazed over, lost in a world beyond the sad one he was born into.

"Try this time," she pleaded, "It's been six months, Chiquito, I know this is hard, but you have to try at least a little to adjust and make friends," she paused, "and find a new interest."

He stared at the back of her head as they pulled up into the school parking lot. She asked far too much. Lance barely talked these days. He was a completely different person.

"Lance.." Her eyes met his as soon as she parked. Her lips twitched slightly, eyes prying away so she could cover her face for a moment, "Please, mijo."

"I promise I'll try. But people don't exactly know how to talk to someone in a wheelchair without getting awkward," his lips twitched into a soft smile.

Lance's mom gazed at him with the gentlest type of adoration in her eyes, "Then they will learn to appreciate you or I will make them."

As soon as his wheelchair hit the asphalt with him in it, he could not help but smile warmly at his mother.

She looked so tired. Her eyes bagged and her dark hair was messy and greasy. Looking at her, she looked just as exhausted as he was, but for her, all of it was wrapped in love. Yawning, she pressed a kiss to her son's forehead, "Have a good day and try to make friends, okay?"

He only nodded before turning and making his way into the school. He could already feel the stares though he tried his best to ignore them whether they were genuine curios people or people who simply pitied him. He wished he were at home with Veronica. She seemed to always know what to say to him even if she was rather obnoxious most days. Right now, Lance needed her more than anything in the confusion and stress of slipping in as best he could

But his stresses were quickly abolished once he entered the building and started headed to see where all his classrooms were. Faintly, he heard music. Though he found cliche to be drawn to a simple thing, he followed the sound.

Latin music

He was even more intrigued. Lance followed the music and his eyes widened a bit when he found the place at last. It was just some crappy looking gym that was little to be admired. The bleachers had definitely seen better days and the scuff mark-ridden floor looked horrid to even step on with its dark color from layers of dirt that would never come out. Even the lights were horrid. That tacky rotten yellow color that barely lit up the room at all was horrifying.

But what caught Lance's attention was the dancers. Eight of them. All were stretching except for two: a young girl with large circular rimmed glasses and a taller boy with the most hideous haircut he had ever seen but the absolute most intense eyes he had ever seen as well.

He watched them, counting as they danced with wide eyes and an open mouth. Tilting his head, he focused on the guy. He seemed to be an excellent lead with the way he held her firmly and guided her along into the next step. Especially since whoever this girl was seemed to be rather hesitant to follow his lead.

Lance moved on and focused on his posture. It was excellent and bold but moved so smoothly. Tilting his head forward, he moved his wheelchair ever so slightly to get a closer look. He was stunned. In the time he watched this dancer, he had forgotten of his stresses or even the bitterness he felt towards not being able to dance again. All that he could focus on was this amazing dancer and the way that he moved gracefully and intensely.

Each step was like a flame that went out as soon as it started, leaving lingering burn where it had been. That was what it did to Lance's mind. It was as if a feather had landed on water. The steps were not even complex. In fact, they were beginner steps. But as this man turned and swung his hips gently, Lance felt like he was gazing at a god, it seemed so forbidden to see it, but he saw. It was like the sweetest of whispers to him, caressing his skin with milk and honey though he was not the one dancing with this man.

In fact, Lance could have sworn he flew.

With a final spin, the two dancers came to a stop; both were facing the doorway that a very shocked and wonderstruck Lance stood in.

"Can I help you?" The mullet guy raised his brow as he let go of his partner and made his way to the doorway. Even his steps moved so lightly but with power.

The other dancers in the room turned to finally notice the awkwardly placed Latino in his baggy clothes staring up with large sparkling eyes at the other dancer. Yet, in a fraction of a second, they shut and Lance shrugged as if bored. Meeting the dancer's eyes again, he smirked a pompous, egotistical grin, before clicking his tongue with a short look up and down the stranger.

"I've danced better than that."