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Kara says I love you like it’s punctuation.
Before sentences and after them. When she greets Lena and when she says goodbye. In the middle of conversations and in moments of silence.
If it were anyone else, Lena would think they were overcompensating. She might think it was out of some sense of obligation or feel as though, with each I love you, the words were losing meaning. But she doesn’t, and they don’t. On the contrary, I love you seems to hold more weight every time she says it.
Every new I love you whispered against Lena’s ear when they hug hello feels more in a way she can’t describe. (She hopes the emotion is echoed just as strong in the way she says it back.)
When Kara told Lena she loved her for the first time, they’d been friends for about a year. It had been casual and sweet and she’d said it like it wasn’t the first time. As though it was something she said every day.
She was so natural about it that Lena had forgotten how many years it’d been since someone had loved her; since someone had told her they loved her. It was a number so high she couldn’t bear to count it. It’d been so long that she thought nobody would ever love her again; that she would never love anyone again.
(She’s been wondering lately about the validity of Lex’s conditional love, and whether it was ever love at all. If maybe she loved fiercely a brother whose rare, responding I love you was only ever a tool to keep her where he wanted her.)
Over the years, it changed. Or maybe they changed.
No matter, the way they say I love you shifted, slow and gradual enough that Lena can’t pinpoint exactly when her words started to mean: I’m in love with you.
It takes her an embarrassingly long time to notice the shift in the tone of their voices, the cadence and inflection and the weight on the words.
But the first time she notices the silent ‘in love’ when Kara says: I love you, it’s just like that day five years ago on the couch in Lena’s office—natural and easy and she forgets, for a moment, that they’re supposed to be friends. Best friends, but all the same.
They’re gathered in the tower, several conversations going at the same time, background noise as she screws around with a broken alien weapon that Nia brought her after a scuffle she had that morning.
It’s been a slow day. Nia’s rather brief altercation was, other than a smoking microwave that set off the fire alarm at an office downtown and a few misplaced pets, the only superhero business. Behind her, she can hear Kelly telling Nia about Esme’s important upcoming role as “Person #2” in her school play. (“She’s really excited to have lines this time. It’s only one sentence, but she’s so worried about forgetting it that she won’t stop practicing it. It’s cute, but also slowly driving me insane.”)
“I’ve gotta run,” she hears Kara tell Alex, who she’d been animatedly debating the morality of consuming broccoli with. “I ordered pizza and if I don’t pick it up on time they might give it to someone else!”
“I don’t think restaurants do that, Kara,” Alex says, but her sister is long gone, having swept across the room to grab her bag.
It’s alarming how easily she can tell when Kara is near, Lena thinks to herself as she feels Kara stop behind her. A warm hand touches her shoulder and a kiss light as a butterfly presses against her forehead, just above the bridge of her nose as Kara says: “I’ll see you at home. I love you.”
And it’s natural and easy and so achingly familiar that Lena forgets she’s never heard I’m in love with you behind Kara’s I love you before. She forgets, so she simply tips her head to smile at her over her shoulder and says, just as gentle, “Okay. I love you, too.”
Kara leaves, flying out the door like she’s genuinely afraid they might give her pizza away if she’s too slow, and Lena turns back to her work and pretends she doesn’t notice everyone staring.
And she pretends not to notice, as she prods a misplaced wire back into place, the silence that’s fallen over the room.
And when Nia whispers, rather loudly: “A knife made of kryptonite couldn’t cut that tension,” Lena pretends not to hear.
-
“So, I know we promised no more lies, which means I should tell you: I did eat an entire pizza on the way home.”
Lena drops her keys into the bowl by the door, an uncontrollable smile tugging at her lips as Kara stands before her, eyes wide and guilty. She’s got fuzzy penguin socks and her hair is loose around her shoulders—molten gold under the warm light from the living room lamp. She fiddles with her fingers as Lena shrugs off her coat and hangs it on the rack.
“I assumed you would,” she says, unable to keep her amusement out of her tone. Even in the low light, she can see Kara’s cheeks flush pink, and her smile grows. For a minute, she forgets about the uncomfortable silence she just escaped back at the tower. She forgets about Nia’s stage-whispered words and about how her heart was in her throat on her entire drive home and how fast her pulse was racing. “I hope you at least saved a slice or two for me.”
Affronted, Kara splutters over her words. “I—of course—I would never—”
Lena’s soft laugh cuts her off and she whines, sticking her bottom lip out. “Leeenaaa. You’re making fun of me.”
“I would never, darling,” Lena says, light and gentle as she approaches Kara by the counter and folds herself into her arms, tucking her head under her chin. (It used to bother her, how short she is, but she’s since realized that she’s the absolute most ideal height for hugging Kara, and so she feels better about it.)
“Of course not.” Kara’s voice is quiet and low by her ear as she slips her arms under Kara’s cardigan around her waist, and Kara wraps her arm around Lena’s shoulders. “I love you.”
There it is. I love you. I(’m in) love (with) you.
“I love you too,” she whispers, and it’s like a secret language they’ve written, where I love you runs deeper than even she can understand.
“I got you a salad to go with your pizza,” Kara says, and that too, Lena thinks, means I love you.
She swallows the bubbles of affection building in her throat and holds on a little tighter before she lets go and pulls away, offering Kara a smile. “You’re my favorite.”
“It has kale,” Kara adds, looking very proud of herself as she leans across the counter to grab the box. Adoration swells in Lena’s chest and she’s pressed against Kara again before she even realizes she’s doing it. She wraps her arms tight around Kara’s neck and drops her head against her shoulder, nose brushing the bare skin of her neck.
Automatically, Kara drops the salad back on the counter and returns the hug, gathering Lena in her arms. A soft touch brushes against her cheek and fingers skim her temple and run through her hair, tucking it gently behind her ear.
“Lena?” She says, soft and confused and so, so kind that Lena could cry. She wants to hold on tighter, wrap her entire body into Kara’s arms and stay there forever. Let time stand still for a while, just for them. The world owes her some kindness, she thinks. “Are you okay?”
When she doesn’t answer, just stays quiet and unmoving against Kara, heart like a hummingbird, Kara pulls back, tries to meet her eyes while staying close. “Your heart’s beating so fast, sweetheart. What’s wrong?”
(Kara uses pet names every day. Sweetheart seems to be a favorite in softer moments, and she’s said it countless times before, but right now it feels so warm and wide in Lena’s chest that she wonders how it’s not drowning her.)
“How do you love me?” She asks, quick and sudden and without having given her mouth permission to. The soft pad of Kara’s fingertips trace down from her temple to her jaw and her warm palm cups Lena’s cheek. Her brow furrows like she doesn’t understand.
“What do you mean, how? Loving you is easy, Lena. There’s so much to love.”
The beginning of tears are swelling in the corners of Lena’s eyes and she tries to blink them away as she shakes her head and says, voice insistent even as it wobbles: “No, I mean how. It’s just—”
She inhales shaky and slow, and curls her hands into fists in the material of Kara’s sweater. “The way you’ve been saying it doesn’t feel like friendship, Kara.”
Something unidentifiable flickers in Kara’s eyes as they widen and her hand on Lena’s face slackens. The warmth of her palm seems to slip away even though it’s still there, a mix of soft skin and rougher callouses.
“I’m sorry,” she says, her voice small, and Lena’s heart drops into her stomach.
“What?” She asks, quiet and breathy like dandelion fluff disappearing into the breeze. “Why are you apologizing?”
Kara sniffs and her mouth trembles. “I never wanted to make you uncomfortable. I thought I was keeping it under control. Alex says I do a terrible job but I always thought she was just doing that sister thing where she’s annoying on purpose—”
“Kara,” Lena whispers, and the words die in Kara’s throat. She stops closer, so close that she can feel Kara’s shallow breath on her skin and has to tip her head back to meet her eyes, soft and wet. There’s a slight shake to her hand as she reaches up to press it over Kara’s, which has slipped down her cheek and lies closer to cupping her jaw. “I love you.”
“I know,” Kara says. They’re standing so close that Lena swears she can feel the space-heater warmth of Kara’s skin radiating into her bones. “I love you too.”
“Not like that,” Lena says, shaking her head almost imperceptibly. If Kara had been anyone else, someone who knew Lena less, she wouldn’t have noticed. “That’s not— . . . . That’s not what I mean.”
There’s a crinkle between Kara’s eyebrows and Lena itches to brush her thumb across it, smooth out the lines and watch Kara scrunch up her nose like she always does, cheeks going pink. But she doesn’t.
Instead, she holds on a little tighter and tries to look away, but Kara’s hand cupping her face holds her still and her gaze, deep and warm, keeps Lena hostage. It feels like the space between them is shrinking even though neither of them have moved.
A gentle pressure from the heel of Kara’s hand tilts Lena’s head further back to really meet her eyes, the height difference between them starker than ever when they stand this close. The intensity of her gaze is dizzying, and Lena’s heartbeat skitters in her chest. A thought passes through her mind that maybe the only thing holding her up is the death-drip of her fists in Kara’s sweater. If she leaned forward at all, she could press their foreheads together.
If she were braver, she might do it.
But she doesn’t feel brave, so all she can do is search for what to say as Kara stares at her in a way that’s making it very difficult to think.
With a touch so light it barely touches her at all, Kara uses her free hand to tuck Lena’s hair behind one ear. Then, she weaves her arm around Lena’s waist and nudges her closer still, closer and closer until the words she whispers are nearly spoken right against Lena’s skin and seem to melt into her bones the moment they’re spoken.
“I’m in love with you, Lena. You ask how I love you? That’s how.” (The warmth of her palm on Lena’s lower back through her thin blouse is like fire burning into her skin, warming her from the outside in.) “I love you how people who spend their lives together do.”
Her voice is full of reverence, so gentle and quiet that if the room were filled with people, only someone as close as Lena would ever be able to hear.
“I want to build the rest of my life with you,” Kara whispers. And Lena is trembling, her heart swelling until it fills her ribcage, and further still until her chest feels like it might crack open. She only realizes she’s started to cry when Kara kisses a tear off her cheekbone and leans in to press their foreheads together.
“Oh, honey,” Kara says, so gently and so delicately that Lena feels like something precious. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to overwhelm you.”
“I’m in love with you, too.” Despite her best efforts, Lena’s voice is choked and breaks at the end, the emotion swelling up in her throat and into her words. “That’s how I love you, too.”
A smile breaks out on Kara’s face that crinkles at the corners of her eyes, so warm and bright that Lena thinks she might just die if she doesn’t kiss her. It would be easy; they’re already so close that she can feel Kara’s breath on her skin. She wants to taste the happiness in Kara’s smile.
She opens her mouth, hoping that what comes out will be actual words instead of a strangled, disbelieving noise, but she’s beaten to the punch.
“Can I kiss you?”
Kara’s voice is sweet and sincere, her eyes soft and open, and Lena feels weak. All she can do is nod and say, almost pathetically desperate: “Yes, please,” before Kara’s mouth is on hers, and her eyes flutter closed. All that exists is right here. All the world in one moment.
Gentle but demanding, Kara tilts Lena’s chin up and slides her hand around the back of Lena’s neck, pulling her further in even though Lena thought there was no way to be any closer.
When Kara finally pulls back, her breathing erratic and short, Lena takes a moment to open her eyes, marveling that she’s still standing. (Admittedly, Kara has an arm around her waist, both pinning her body to hers and effectively holding her up.)
The look Kara gives her is overflowing with warmth. She strokes her thumb up and down Lena’s neck over the top of her spine, and Lena can’t help but shiver against her touch.
“I love you,” Kara says. If it were anyone else, the repetition would make the words feel meaningless. But with Kara, every I love you fills her chest with a sense of peace that spreads throughout her body. It fills every crack and crevice, every half-healed wound from times where people she loved wouldn’t love her back.
“Can you say it again?” She asks, quiet and almost shy, still holding tight to Kara’s sweater.
“I love you,” Kara says, and her eyes that meet Lena’s reflect her words unmistakably. “Romantically, in case that wasn’t clear.”
A smile grows and spreads on Lena’s face, uncontainable, and Kara leans forward to press her lips there, to kiss Lena’s happiness, and Lena falls into her, falls in love a little more. (She hadn’t known there was any further to fall.)
“I love you, too,” she says, the words whispered right into Kara’s mouth. “Romantically, in case that wasn’t clear.”
-
Kara says I(‘m in) love (with) you like it’s punctuation.
Before sentences and after them. When she greets Lena and when she says goodbye. In the middle of conversations and in moments of silence. Before she falls asleep, and when she wakes up in the morning.
Lena says I(‘m in) love (with) you just as often.
And somehow, it holds more love every time.