A/N: HEY! YOU! YES, YOU! READ ME! Welcome to probably the most unrealistic couples I've ever written. A Sam/Mike fic. This is really an experimental fic, testing my limits and abilities with my writing. But, who knows? This might actually GET SOME REVIEWS. I'm hoping, anyways. Don't expect this to get updated as often, but since two of my other multi-chaps are winding down, I thought I can handle another. Bear with me, and maybe you'll enjoy the crackness of it all.
By the way, since this is the first Mike/Sam fic, I get to name them. SANG. ATTENTION TO EVERYONE, THEIR LABEL IS SANG.
Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.
Sometime I can fly. When I really try, I'm able to jump, leap, pretty far. Like a bird. That's what they call me at my classes. Wings. Wings Chang. It's a feminine name, but when you're a guy who takes and teaches dance classes at Madame's, you get used to being associated with more 'girly' things. But I shrug it off. Take it all in stride. Go with the flow. Unlike my best friend, Matt, who tends to shy away from any opportunity, I jump in. I drive it.
I started teaching hiphop and ballet classes when I was fifteen. Madame thought I was wonderful, and I was her star pupil. I got paid in free classes, until I turned sixteen, where I was paid 15 dollars per class. After another year, she thought I'd do better in private tutoring. So every day after football, I would teach a different student a different type of dance. I taught Olivia ballet on Mondays. Mich funk on Tuesdays. Neil, a miniature Kurt, a little bit of everything on Wednesdays. I loved it. Every minute of it. Sure, glee was awesome too. I got to be one of the main dancers with Britt. But here? I shined. I shined like the star I am, and not the arrogant star Rachel seems to think she is. I could be myself when I danced. Nothing could touch me. School problems? Out the window. Relationship troubles? Screw that. I could just shine.
So when Sam Evans waltzed, metaphorically, in to the dance studio, asking Madame if there was any available classes, I knew that my escape from reality just got a bit dimmer. Sure, I was being a little extreme. I barely knew the kid outside football and glee. But then that would throw off the whole balance. School and dance has always been separate. What if he was one of those guys who would make fun of me for the nicknames? The point shoes? The leotards? Even if I went with the flow, there's no way I could blend into the crowd if everyone started taunting me with awful names? Was Sam Evans that kind of person?
It was break time for one of the dance classes I took, not taught. And I was overhearing the conversation that was held in Madame's claustrophobic office.
"H-hi, I was interested in taking a class here..." Sam's voice.
"Wonderful! I'm always glad to see males taking an interest in the amazing art of dancing."
"'Kay. Well, it's to help with football, so I need to take a ballet class?"
"Have you ever done ballet before?"
"No..."
Madame started humming, something she always does when she thinks.
"No worries. I know a private tutor who can start you off with the basics. He's an excellent teacher."
"What's his name?"
Pleasedon'tbemepleasedon'tbemepleasedon'tbeme...
"Mike Chang."
I was going to teach Sam Evans ballet.
Joys.