#any guesses which hq character this framework was initially for

[haikyooot]

Language of Love

Pairings: Itoshi Sae x gn!reader Tags: angst, hurt no comfort, breakups

a/n: let it be known sae fics are exclusively angst unless otherwise noted. 

There are five languages of love. You are fluent in all five.  

"I love you, Sae." "Why?" "Because it's you, I do."

Why? How can you not? It's all too easy. So deeply enamored are you, by his silken lashes. Each blink makes your heart flutter. Serenaded by the sound of your name rolling off his tongue. Satisfied by the feeling of warmth when you are in his arms. It's only right that he knows just how much you love him.

To begin is the language of affirmations. It's forever endless and bountiful. There are countless words to describe Sae. In more languages than you will ever know. Numerous ways you tell him in plain words how much you adore him. The beauty he embodies. The talent he beholds. If Sae counts the notes you leave to him, he'll even know that the words you write most are no longer your own name.

Governing all desire to be helpful is the language of service. It's in the special lunchboxes that you make while tossing another bandage wrapper into the trash. Crisp collars, freshly pressed not a single crease in sight. Driving to the next pharmacy because the only medication that will work for him is sold out. Thank you. That's what you know he'll do.

Next is a gift, the physical manifestation of your love. Words are merely whisps of noise, but this is the proof—the formation of atoms representing your heart. Yarn crossed and looped in a way that reminds you of your nerves when he's there. Cameras will see your love wrapped around him. It protects him, accompanies him as an extension of you when you can't be right next to him.

And the language of quality time, when every second is an infinite journey of joy. The moments you spend in a car, on a train, or on a plane. The moment before parting when he walks to the locker room and you find your way to the bleachers. The hours into the night on the couch watching game replays. Just having to be there with him, in the same space at the same time.

Finally, touch. The familiarity of skin. The sensation of heat. You caress perfection. You undo tight knots and replace them with soft kisses. Love is between the way you melt into him and how your fingers tangle into dusty-rose tresses.

Love. Is Sae. Is Love.

And that's where the end begins. It's a song in reversal. A hairline crack that's barely noticeable, but it's spreading throughout the vase.  Folded arms hide his hand away. A grumble after turning in bed. The shape of his back is an unreadable book. He seems to float away. So close, but entirely out of reach.

And the day turns to night turns to day turns to night. Time zooms by, passing faster than you can catch your breath. There's no time at all. To see him, you pick up your pace. To catch a glimpse of him, you'll try to wait. You stay up late. You wake up early. A weekend? Just an hour? His schedule never clears. Quality exists elsewhere, but not in time with you.

And emptiness, where there are no gifts. No reminders.  When the special dates come around, nothing special. Not even an afterthought. No proof, it's all just a theory, a hypothesis. Everywhere, there are reminders of him. There are things belonging to you. But the memories of "us" and "we" stop at some time in the distant past.

And weariness moves into your body like a speck of mold now consuming the entire fruit. Because everything you do is unwanted. You cut and chop and discard. Every attempt to serve what remains leaves you with nothing left. Scraps.

Finally, you wake up and realize that affirmation is actually spelled as confirmation. How can the vase not shatter when its base falls apart? Your suspicions receive an answer. The pleads finally come to a stop. He looks at you bewildered and slightly confused.

"I'm leaving, Sae." "Why?” "Because..."

There are five languages of love. But Itoshi Sae doesn't know any.