Page 14 of Teach Me to Fly

I stare at our hands, his rings cold against my skin. “What if I fall apart in front of everyone?” I whisper.

Lando squeezes my hand. “Then you fall, and I’ll be right there, hauling your ass off the floor and feeding you chocolate ice cream until you’re human again.”

I laugh, watery and weak.

“But if you give it your all,” he continues. “You might not fall; You might fly.”

I close my eyes, breathing in the weight of his words as my chest tightens. It’s not just what he said, it’s how hesaid it. The same cadence, the same softness that made those words feel like a promise instead of a risk. My father used to say that to me before every big performance, every leap into something terrifying and new. ‘You might not fall; You might fly’.It was his way of telling me I was braver than I believed, stronger than I felt.

Hearing Lando say it now, with everything cracked wide open between me and the life I left behind, it unravels me a little. Like a thread pulled loose. It’s a reminder of who I used to be, of the man I loved more than anything, and of how far I’ve fallen since he died.

I swallow hard and open my eyes, blinking fast to chase the burn behind them.

“Don’t say things like that,” I whisper, not trusting my voice. “It makes it harder to pretend I’ve let it all go.”

Lando’s expression softens, and he reaches over, gently squeezing my hand. “Maybe you don’t have to let it go. Maybe you just need to find your own way back to it.”

Even though I want to fight him on it and pretend I can keep one foot in and one foot out—keep dancing without really committing to it again—I know deep down that he's right. That kind of half-heartedness won’t survive on an actual stage, especially not partnered with someone like Reign.

If I do this, I need to let the dance take me. All the way in, no matter how much it scares me. Because anything less… and I really will fall. And the worst part? I’m not sure I’d be able to get back up again this time.

“I just…” I sigh, sinking deeper into the chair. “I wish I could dance with you instead.”

Lando doesn’t respond at first. His fingers go still over the edge of his mug and his jaw works, like he’s trying to decide if it’s worth saying what’s on his mind.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Me too.”

I look over at him, startled by the quiet ache in his voice. He gives me a soft, crooked smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“You’ve always been my favourite partner,” I admit. “You made everything feel easy and safe.”

Lando lets out a dry laugh. “Yeah, well…” He leans back, stretching out his legs with a sigh. “Doesn’t matter much when your own father won’t even consider casting you in a lead role because he thinks your queerness makes it impossible for you to connect with a woman.”

My stomach drops. “What? I didn’t know he…” My words die off.

“He never says it outright.” Lando waves a hand. “He just conveniently forgets I exist when it’s time to cast Prince Whatever in whatever classic they’re putting on, and says things like,‘You’re a strong corps dancer, Lando,’or ‘Leave the leads to the ones who understand the story.’”

I reach over and take his hand again, threading my fingers through his.

“But you do understand the story,” I say, fierce now. “More than half the straight guys in tights I’ve danced with ever did.”

He chuckles, but there’s no joy in it. “I can’t help who I love, darling. But to him, that makes me less than. Like I’m incapable of portraying desire, or longing, or heartbreak unless it’s aimed at a man. As if art must match real life exactly for it to be real.”

“That’s bullshit.”

He looks at me, his gaze heavy. “Try telling him that.”

“I will.”

We sit like that for a moment, hands clasped. Then he bumps my shoulder gently with his again. “Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“If you really are stuck dancing with my emotionally inept brother,” he smirks, “just remember who taught you how to nail a perfect arabesque.”

I smile, for real this time. “You.”

“Damn right.” He grins. “Now go be brilliant, and if Reign gives you a hard time, tell me so I can key his car.”

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