Samishi katta desu.  Wakarimasen.  Nihongo wo renshu suru hitsuyou ga arimasu.

Suki desu ka? Daisuki desu.

I listen to the phrases, remembering what each means and trying to commit the pronunciations to memory, despite not repeating them out loud.  It would look weird to do that, standing in the security line. 

Of course, I shouldn’t have waited until now to brush up on my abysmal Japanese, but at this point, I guess it’s better late than never.  I’m definitely the worst though; I used to be able to take solace in the fact that Jiyong was nearly as lost as I was, but that’s changed over the past couple of years.

Oh well, our fans love that I’m the tall, dark and handsome type.  I’m only too glad to add the silent angle in there as well.  Luckily, it’s a concert, so I won’t have to speak too much, but I know what words to use for maximum impact.

I see Daesung standing ahead, so I slide up to him, pull the buds out, and whisper “daikisu desu” into his left ear, my palms resting on both of his shoulders.

I can feel a split-second shiver run through him, before he leans his head into mine and asks back, “What?”

“I love you.  Daikisu desu.  That’s right, right?”

“Oh, uh, it’s, uh, daisuki desu.  You have to flip the syllables if you want to say I love you.”

“Daisuki desu.  Daisuki desu.  Okay.  I’ll probably get it wrong in front of the fans tomorrow, but they’ll forgive me.  Arigato, Daesungah,” I reply, softly kneading his neck as I stand next to him.

“They might forgive you, but I won’t hyung,” he says, moving forward a few steps.

I keep my hand planted, confused at his words - he can't get away from me that easily.  “What are you talking about?”

“Saying I love you to me, but then cruelly telling me you were just practicing so you could tell thousands of other people.  Getting my hopes all high and then crushing them, just like that.  It’s just mean, hyung, I won’t forgive you, even if you ask nicely,” Daesung said, traces of humor evident in his words.

“Yah!”

He flashes a big grin at me before walking forward to give his passport to the security screener.

My fingers curl into my palm, immediately cold and itching to keep a hold on him. 

Cheeky little brat.  He thinks I’m going to ask nicely?  Looking at his back, I know how I’m going to wipe that cute smirk off his face..  

I’ve always felt walking was overrated anyways.

…