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Dolce and Gabbana

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Reita's been dreaming of this day since the moment he discovered that A) men in suits are hot as fuck and B) Uruha is a man he would like to see in a suit. 

Still, he couldn't have ever imagined it having this kind of effect on him.

Uruha is positively swimming in the suit jacket that has been handed to him, sleeves flopping over his hands, hem hanging down to his calves. It's so cute, and so ridiculous, and yet at the same time, so attractive. Reita can only imagine how good it will look when it's actually tailored to fit his skinny-ass-noodle-looking-yet-still-somehow-sex-on-two-incredibly-unbelievably-pretty-legs-friend. 

And those suit pants certainly aren't helping either, slung low on Uruha's hips, yet tight around those thick, luscious thighs.

Fuckkkkkkkkkkkkk.

"How do I look, Rei?"

"Uhhhhhhhhh-" 

Wow, he's stupid. 

"Makes my butt look good, don't you think?" 

Fuck!

Reita snaps himself out of his daze just in time to process Uruha holding the jacket hem up so that Reita can catch a peek of his ass in the pants. 

And yes, it does make his butt look good. Double fuck.

"Yeah, they look good?" Reita hums, putting every effort he's got into making his reply seem as nonchalant as possible. He guesses it works because Uruha shoots him a pout over his shoulder. 

"You're just saying that, aren't you?" He asks, but he sounds so dejected that Reita instantly feels a pang of regret in his belly. 

"No, no, no, it looks great," He quickly backtracks. "I just think the jacket might be too big." 

"Oh," Uruha says and looks back at the mirror as if it never for a second occurred to him that the jacket was supposed to fit as if it was his jacket and not his grandfather's. "Yeah, I guess you're right." He turns to the shop assistant. "I'll take the pants and the shirt, and can I get the jacket tailored, please?" 

The shop assistant, a lovely woman by the name of Yuki, nods and takes the jacket back from him. She gestures for him to change back into his street clothes before slipping into the back. When Uruha disappears behind the curtain of the dressing room, Reita breathes a sigh of relief.

What on earth he's going to do with himself the night of the red carpet, only God knows.

 


 

For the sake of being exact, it's not a real red carpet. Reita's not even sure that there will be a carpet at the event (any sort, let alone a red one). He's never been to one of these before, so he's not exactly an expert in the carpet business. 

Still, it's the first award show the GazettE has been invited to, even nominated for, and damn if Reita isn't going to let himself feel just a little bit victorious.

'Cause, really, he's gotta give himself something to make up for the fact that Uruha is walking around looking like that and Reita has been reduced to a blubbering idiot. 

Honestly, it's a crime that they're 24 and this is the first time he's seeing Uruha in a suit. Especially when Uruha in a suit is the most beautiful wonder to ever grace the world. Kouyou swimming in his jacket in the fitting room is nothing compared to him now–Uruha, lead guitarist of the GazettE in his perfectly tailored, form-fitting suit, rings adorning his fingers, hair styled to perfection, with smoky eyes, black nails, and those pretty pink lips. 

And fuck, his ass looks so fucking good in those pants! Reita briefly entertains the thought of bending Uruha over at the waist, fisting a hand in the back of that crisp, white button-up, and fucking him stupid, but he quickly has to stop thinking about that before he creates a problem in his own finely-tailored pants. 

He feels a gentle shove at the small of his back, Aoi urging him to stop staring at Uruha and keep moving forward. There are cameras flashing all around him and he silently reminds himself to keep up the facade of smoky, mysterious bass player for the media. He doesn't want any paparazzi snapping a photo of him looking like a lovesick idiot that can't take his eyes off their guitarist. 

That would just be bad business.

It's not a real red carpet (like he said), so they only stop for one photo, right in front of the doorway. Still, the flashing of the cameras and lights feels a little bit overwhelming. Reita's used to a couple of cameras in a small, dingy, dark room filled with managers and stylists and other people that are investing their money in his success. He's not used to big open spaces with hundreds of cameras and reporters, who are all investing their money in his sure failure so that he may be a headline on their front page. 

It's more anxiety-inducing than he thought it would be. 

Luckily, it's not a real red carpet (again), and they're quickly directed inside. There are ushers within the door to help them get to their seats, and Reita has never been so happy to be told what to do. 

Now that the cameras are gone, the GazettE quickly slides out of formation. Kai and Ruki take over the front, hands gesturing wildly as they make sure everything is in order, especially the drinks because Ruki specifically called ahead to be sure that "they would be providing non-alcoholic drinks that are not water (because that's just boring)".  Aoi waits barely a moment before sidling up to one of the ushers, a pretty girl that easily blushes when he introduces himself, and she's clearly trying to stay professional but is quickly succumbing to his charm. Which leaves Reita with Uruha, whose eyes are positively sparkling when he looks at him. The guitarist has the biggest grin on his lips, expression a complete 180 from the suave rock guitarist smolder it had been a moment ago. Now, he looks more like the Kouyou that Akira had grown up with; young, bright eyes and blinding smiles, disgusting amounts of enthusiasm and determination and ambition, and more joy than Reita has ever known what to do with. 

Uruha is giving him one of those looks now and Reita feels starry-eyed. He'd probably stop in his tracks to stare and take the moment in, except he knows that Uruha would keep walking, and he doesn't want to get left behind. 

"'Kira! We made it!" Uruha whispers excitedly, but Reita is so busy watching the sliver of pretty, smooth skin that's peeking out of the collar of that crisp, white button-up that he completely misses the guitarist's words. 

"Huh?" 

RE: Blubbering idiot. 

Uruha is unphased. With a smile that rivals the fucking sun, he grabs onto Reita's arm and shakes it. "We made it! Look at us!" 

I couldn't look away from you if I tried, Reita thinks. 

"The awards haven't even been given out yet," He says instead. Uruha ignores him.

"All those cameras outside! And the free food! And the tuxedos! We're like real musicians now!" 

"What? We weren't real musicians before?" Reita teases and Uruha rolls his eyes, smile still on his lips despite the "whatever" mumbled under his breath. 

When they reach their seats, Reita ends up sandwiched between Kai and Uruha, who has suddenly grown quiet. The whole band is subdued for a moment, completely entranced by the moment before them, and it isn't until the MC walks out on stage and the show starts that Reita feels a little nudge against his hand, and then feels Uruha intertwining their fingers together. The guitarist clasps his hand in a death grip, knuckles white in pure excitement, and Reita has to force the silly grin off his face every time the cameras face their direction. 

Some media influencer is in the middle of making a big speech when Uruha suddenly leans close, breath fanning Reita's cheek. 

"Hey," he whispers. "Psst, Reita." 

"What?" Reita mumbles back, sparing a moment to glance at his friend. It's hot in the venue, and Reita watches as a little bead of sweat makes its way down Uruha's neck. He swallows thickly and urges his heart to stop racing, but then Uruha beams and Reita can't stop his heart from sprinting. 

"Reita!" He whispers again, and maybe the lighting is playing tricks on Reita, but for a moment he thinks he sees the guitarist blush. "I'm really grateful to be here with you. I mean, it's incredible being here at all, but I'm... I'm really happy that you're the one here beside me." 

Reita feels warm and fuzzy. He looks at his bandmate, the love of his life, his best friend, all-of-the-above wrapped in a cute, little tuxedo package. 

Screw any cameras that are watching. With a burst of joy in his heart, Reita beams and leans over to nudge their heads together. "Me too."