Show off!! - a Klance Dance AU fanfiction

C1 (edited/revised): Sloppy Piourettes

C1
The beginning of our story, around 7:30pm
Shiro blew his high pitched whistle as loud as he could, then clapped his hands. "That's a wrap! Good work guys!"
Oh.
Maybe I should explain a little bit of what's going on.
Hi, I'm Lance.
Shiro, just happens to be the head choreographer at the dance studio I train at. He is pretty popular among the dancing world, and his trophies and medals that hang on the studio walls can prove it. But he isn't cocky about it at all. In fact, he gets really flustered if you ask him about it.
Weird I know.
Normally I, Lance, would strut around the streets with my several awards boasting and sharing my talent with the rest of the world.
If I had awards... that is.
My studio is just how a normal studio would look like. A one way window, you know, the one that you see in those cop shows when you can see the criminal but he can't see you. And a barre that we stretch against. The floor was oak wood that was obviously lacquered. And as for the walls, they were a lovely amber, with striped blue and green trim. There was a door on the right wall that led to equipment, and another door at the front of the studio that led to the exit, other studio rooms, and front desk.
The only reason I train here, is because of my parents. I never wanted to dance in the first place. Though I find it entertaining... it's a lot of work. Not only that, but it isn't really my thing. But I'll never have the heart to tell my Mamá.
"Hey Lance." Shiro takes a large sip of his water bottle, walking over to place his hand on my shoulder. His touch made me shiver. He scared the shit out of me sometimes.
"Y-yeah?" I panted, still exhausted from our work out. Shiro was dressed in a black tank top that made his built up figure pop out. He had basketball shorts on, that weren't really meant for dancing. His hair was a sight to see. Get ready, because this will take a while. His hair was completely under shaved on the sides, and had a charcoal look, then in the center, he had a light grey for a patch. For his tuft of bangs that landed smack dab in the middle of his eyes, they were a milky white. A weird hairstyle for sure.
"You need to practice more on your Pirouette," He takes his hand off my shoulder and gives me a warm smile. "You're rotation is a little sloppy."
I wince at sloppy, but with this guys smile, anything flies past me. He didn't look it, but Shiro also has French blood in him somehow (he is Asian and normally when we have long practices before competitions he lets me have a bite of some Asian cuisine he cooked up). He has a weird ancestry, but for some reason him knowing so much about himself... made me really respect him.
"Thanks Shiro, I'll work on it more." I grin and jog over to my duffel bag, where my dark blue water bottle sat. My other dance mates were already pulling over their own clothes and such, most of them are guys. One of my dance mates happens to be one of my only friends in this studio. Or in school. Or- you get the picture. This little angel's name is Pidge Gunderson.
Yes. Pidge.
Funny name isn't it? She happened to come up with that name because I used to say she was like a pigeon, always shiting on somebody's day. Of course I say that jokingly. She is... special.
Well anyways, Pidge's name is actually Katie. She is the smartest person you'll ever meet. She graduated middle school as valedictorian and used to go over teachers lesson plans during her lunch wave. She's a Sophomore, the youngest of the group. I myself am a Senior. Since my birthday is in August, I just turned seventeen.
Oh, going back to Pidge.
Pidge is a really good dancer. When I say good, I mean- good. She already has a couple thousand subscribers on YouTube, and posts videos weekly. Normally she dances for fun, and just to improve her already natural talent. But she also uses this as a self confidence boost. Which was extremely unnecessary. If Pidge wasn't already flirting with one of her best friends- and that she is a little too young for me- I would've been head over heels for her. Pidge was gorgeous. But I feel like even if things were to not work out for her and her friend, any relationship between us stronger than besties, would instantly crumble our friendship. It just wouldn't work out.
Speak of the devil;
"How's it shakin' bacon?" Pidge says, with a dorky wink. She couldn't wear her glasses during practice, so she resorted to contacts, which made her look eyes look much smaller in comparison to the heavily prescribed round glasses she wore. She had shaggy light maple hair that sprung up in places you wouldn't imagine, with side bangs, and messy front bangs that were always clipped back for practice. Try imaging a porcupine, if you don't know what that is... try a hedgehog.
As for her clothing... it was.. okay she's my best friend. Like what you like. But I don't think anyone could pull off what Pidge wears. She wears a green and white shirt crop top, some really comfortable looking yellow booty shorts, and her dancing shoes (grey high tops). Even in the winter she's decking out in tropical colors.
"What's the deal banana peel?" I answer back, giving her a wink as well. She cocks an eyebrow that is golden; almost invisible.
"Did you see Rolo today? I swore his shorts almost came toppling down. You could see half his ass the way they were sagging." Pidge gossiped, taking a sip of her water.
"I was too busy working on my 'sloppy' pirouettes or whatever they're called."
"They were a little sloppy, but you just need to practice."
She give me a sympathetic look. She knows I hate ballet as much as I hate calculus. And that's a deep hatred.
"I have been practicing. I've taken three ballet classes for like two years."
"Doesn't matter how long you've been practicing, it matters how consistent you are. You should tell your parents this isn't your thing, I'm sure if you can really just sit down and have a talk with them they'll understand." As always, Pidge is right. I should just talk to my parents, but I'm too scared I'll disappoint my Mamá. She used to be amazing at dancing- her and my father- until my Mamá got pregnant with me, and then everything spiraled downhill.
"You know the deal."
"Yeah..." Pidge pulls out her turtleneck sweater. She always wore that thing. Always. Didn't matter how hot it was outside. You could almost faint from seeing her in the weather during the summer. But lately she's been growing out of her shell and wearing more comfy season appropriate clothing. Especially when we go shopping at the galactic mall two towns across.
"Do you need a ride to school tomorrow?"
"You bet." She answers with a smile, sliding the sweater on. Stuffing all her belongings into her grey duffle bag, Pidge swings her bag over her shoulder, popping open the lid to her water bottle, taking in a large sip.
"Alright," I gather my stuff as well, and stand up with Pidge, although, I had to look down in order to meet her face. "See you in a while crocodile." I lean down to give her a tight hug.
"See you later alligator!" She chirps, walking over to Shiro to discuss some ballet news.
I take this beautiful night and decide to walk down to my own house. Normally I'd take the shuttle bus home because my car was under maintenance, being worked on by Pidge's brother Matt who brought my car back during our practice tonight.
I walk out of the studio, giving my farewells to the front desk lady, who honestly has the biggest known crush on me. But I mean... who wouldn't?
I push open the the double glass doors, and take in then late night breeze. It was gorgeous. The city lights were pouring into the dark black sky. Billboard signs lit up in the distance. Tall skyscrapers and apartment building made the starry night sky glisten in the distance. It's amazing how clouds still shadowed the moon at night. The air pollution in New York as horrible as it's always been. Couples walk down the sidewalk laughing and cuddling. I feel a sharp ache in my chest, wanting to have someone by my side. Especially at this time, I'm almost done with high school, and everyone already has their lover and their life image ahead. All I have are dreams, not plans.
Zoom!
Just then something zips loudly right by my ear, so close I can smell the strong scent of gas, and the engine rip vibrating on the sidewalk where my feet were trying to regain their balance.
I look over to my right, and life seems to go in slow motion. A motorcycle was riding at top speed, with a driver leaning toward the steering. A black and red bike helmet that covered the face, a red and white leather jacket, black fingerless leather gloves, black jeans, and white and red boots. Lastly, black hair that flowed out behind the helmet, that wasn't so long, but long enough to blow past.
Without thinking, I yell after the rider;
"Watch it!"
I get no reply, except for the revving of the vehicle, quickly disappearing behind a building.
They could've been more polite, but people are people. Especially in a busy crowded city that seemed to never stay quiet.
Stuff like that happened all the time in NYC. I was just luck that I spent my young childhood in Cuba. Not many cars drove the streets and when they did they were beat up and broke down half of the time. But in NYC you rarely see motorcycles zip down the streets. It's more very expensive cars and taxis trying to run over pedestrians. I can almost imagine them having a cross hair and binoculars waiting for the next senior citizen to cross the street.
I looked at my phone, notifications from several social media glistened on the touch screen. I ignore my notices, then look at the time.
19:44.
Crap, curfew.