Work Text:
"I love you."
What a hard sentence to say. Three words that meant nothing and everything.
It was used so often that some said it without even thinking about it.
For others, it was the hardest three words to say.
The romanticists found it hard not to say it to everyone they knew, for they knew that some would leave out one of the words.
For the hurt, removing just one word helped.
A single letter changed all meaning. When it's removed from the statement, all burden goes with it. No longer is someone held to the expectation of being capable of a feeling, either giving or reciprocating it; from "I love you" to "Love you."
The burden originates in an environment filled with high expectations.
Such as in a household, maybe, where every day someone is told "I love you" and expects to hear it back.
Growing up with that tradition removed all meaning of the words for her. She felt she didn't know what love was.
Friends had come into her life who she thought had shown her what love was, but then they would break her heart and leave her unsure once again.
But in junior school, she experienced love. She saw it in a club of boys who loved volleyball.
Love was a devotion; something they were passionate about. Something they returned to even when it hurt because it was home. Love was something they found and knew, rather than made.
Originally, she had just spent time around the club, helping out with no real commitment to it. It was her way of making sure she kept herself safe while still caring for others.
But as secondary school came around, she knew she was committed, whether she said it out loud or not.
She could say she had gone to their junior games, standing on the side of the court rather than in the stands just to help out, but underneath that lie, they were all connected and they knew it. They were a family, different from the one at home.
Different from the one who argued every night, but still watched her leave every day, passively telling her "I love you, [Y/N]."
The conditioned response would get stuck in her throat, but it was always easier to lie than argue.
That was not her family; those were strangers who lived under the same roof as her.
But she found her home in volleyball. In the game and the fellowship, she found the place where she was warmly accepted.
No one was more fit for the job when they reached secondary school. Aoba Johsai's volleyball club had been looking for a manager and she agreed. Everything was set in place on the first day of practice when they saw her.
Oikawa. Iwaizumi. Matsukawa. Hanamaki.
She worked with the team for two years, seeing the team grow stronger and third years leave until they were the seniors.
How long had they been together now?
Long enough that there was a connection between them that could never be broken. Different from the friendships she had previously had, this was love. She had found and known them, and they would have recognized each other in any life.
She connected to one of them in particular more than the others.
He was often brushed off as a player, but he went so much deeper than that. He was the first one she had seen in the junior school club, and the moment they met, she saw the fire in his eyes; the moving passion and feelings for his team and sport.
There had been an intimate connection between them that had never dwindled since then. When she saw his motivation, there was a pull in her heart. She wanted to see him succeed, too. She had been there to grasp his hand and pull him from the court floor through victories and losses, and from there they had kept holding onto each other.
When they had finally admitted feeling for each other, hardly anyone was surprised.
But nonetheless, her childhood made it hard to express.
Tooru was quick to tell her. Even before either had said it, they had shown their love through countless gifts and actions. But to say it freely without any worry, he was all over her.
He was coming up from behind her, embracing her and telling her he loved her. He was walking her home and kissing her at the door, telling her he loved her. He was holding the door for her, smiling and telling her he loved her.
And she wanted to say it back.
But every time, it got caught in her chest. It all still felt unreal to her. There was a protective response in her automatically triggered every time she heard the words. A defensive wall constructed itself around her, telling her to respond and leave out the "I." But then she'd remember who she was saying it to and knew she meant it. She always felt a step away from being able to say it, but without the strength to take that last stride, she could only respond with a kiss. He always understood, though, and he didn't ask for more.
But she wanted to say it, and she wanted to say it first. She did not want to reply with an "I love you too" but tell him she did.
It was a night when they lay in bed together. In dead darkness, facing each other, holding hands underneath the sheet. Another hand was tracing scars from her childhood as they talked meaninglessly about them.
That's how it had been throughout their time together; pulling each other from the murky waters of their past and looking forward together. It was the nonverbal touches that still projected his love that made her heart swell and take that last step.
She squeezed his hand and brought herself closer to his chest, bringing the other to run through the back of his hair. "Tooru," she said.
"I love you."