Tokyo

"I love you."

I didn't mean to say it. I didn't even mean to think it. I hadn't thought it, prior, but once I said it, I knew I wasn't lying. You can't really lie, unprompted, about that kind of thing.

That morning, I'd surprised her in Tokyo. I'd stepped off the plane, a worry in the back of my head that I'd be turned away. It wasn't all that real of a fear, and it certaintly wasn't warranted, but it was there.

I'd met her backstage, not taking the time to change, my hair still up in a slightly crooked ponytail from the plane. She was flushed and sweaty and perfect and the look on her face was nothing I'd ever seen before. When her arms came around my neck, squeezing me tight, all my fears disappeared. This was where I was supposed to be, in her arms.

Then, in the early hours of the morning, when we were finally alone, we made our way to the roof of her hotel. During the day, it was bustling with tourists. But at three in the morning, certaintly nobody should have allowed us up there. Regardless, there we were, the wind wipping her long hair into her face as we leaned against the railing and stared out at the city.

Tokyo was still all lit up, despite the early hour. Too bright to see the stars, but the light lit her face, her smile, the way the corners of her eyes crinkled, the way her nose scrunched, her one eyebrow a tick higher on her face than the other. And I opened my mouth, too caught up in the moment to plan what I was going to say, and to my own surprise, "I love you," came tumbling out.

She laughed and looked at me through her eyelashes, long enough to cast shadows against her cheeks. "I love you, too."