Tatara's heart is too large, too accepting of any kind of love. It swells with warmth until it bursts all at once and he's left empty and alone once again. And again. And again.
He loves too easily, too freely even though he knows he shouldn't, and so he gives nothing away. Always a nervous smile on his face and a senseless apology on his lips, legs and heart and soul ready to escape at the first sign of rejection.
Sengoku-san, sensei, is grand and elegant and so, so big. So, so high. He's the epitome of all the dreams Tatara didn't know he had until he met him. He's very deserving of all the admiration that fills him up every time he sees the grace, the poise of Sengoku-san's movements.
(And if there was a tiny, microspic crush the size of a sun somewhere in there too, well, that's okay. Because it's the kind of fledgeling love that Tatara and tuck away and suffocate until it vanishes.)
Then there's Hanaoka-san, beauty and grace and unyielding dedication personified. All flying skirts and smooth hair and enchanting smiles as she dances, always at the shadow of Hyoudou-kun's every refined step. Hyoudou-kun, who's sharp and unforgiving as a dancer, who burns with a fire Tatara is only just beginning to comprehend.
(He loves them too – too much, too much – and this type of love is harder to hide away, to smother. He won't give it away. His heart is too big for just him but he knows how dangerous, how catastrophic it could be to share even a part of it.So he keeps it tucked away as best as he can.)
Mako-chan is dainty and light and a breath of sheer relief. She fits perfectly in his arms, her smile radiant like the sun, and he lets her bloom and overgrow his frame, lets her enchant the entire hall and the world with it.
(And yes, he loves her too. But this is good, this safe love. He loves her but not like Hanaoka-san and Hyoudou-kun. He loves her like her brother does and he can let go whenever he wants, he isn't bound. And he is glad for it, that his heart isnt torn in even more directions, so big, so large, that his chest feels constricting.)
And then there's Chii-chan.
Hiyama Chinatsu, the girl who runs and runs and runs away from her past and her wishes and her fears. The girl with the dominant lead and indomitable attitude. The girl who's wild and harsh and a shard of cristaline ice bathed in flames.
Chii-chan, whose prescence is large, whose voice is even larger. Chii-chan who dances to a different rhythm somewhere far away and yet they manage to somehow fit together with the music anyway. Chii-chan, who dances with the same passion, the same drive as him. Whose waltz is a challenge and whose tango is a battle.
Her back is strong and firm and it curves under his hand into a thing of perfection, her neck the stem of a blooming rose. And by now her thorns, that still draw blood every now and then, have become and almost comforting prescence. She pricks his finger, he stings back, and the pain reminds them both that they're alive and they dance.
Oh , do they dance.
(If the line between dancing couple and romantic couple start to blend and blur at some point, there's always a corner of his heart he can hide this love in, like all the others. No matter how hard and painful to suppress. Because her soul is wild, untamable, and she might just break any piece of heart he'd give her without meaning to, no matter how he might yearn to.
Because Chii-chan is the one person he can't lose, and can't lose to, no matter what. Not now, at this point in time.
Really, Tatara's heart is much too large, has too much love to give. And he can't share any of it. Not with his mother, not with his friends, not with his crushes and idols and apples of his eye.
But that's alright, because he can still share the floor with them, dance to the same music, show them what they have taught him and what he has done with it. And if they see that devotion, that love he's unwilling to release as sheer admiration, appreciation-
That's alright too.)