Title: Waking Up in Vegas.
Chapters: 1/1.
Author: route337
Genre: Romance.
/>Rating: PG-13.
Band: the GazettE.
Pairings/Characters: Ruki/Uruha.
Warnings: None.
Disclaimer: Am a liar.
Summary: "Because you know what? You're one stupid guitarist, and I'm one stupid singer. And now we have this thing called love, and we're both too stupid to figure out what to do with it."



With a sigh, Uruha stepped out of the metro. He did it almost automatically - he didn't have to read the signs to know where he was. It was a route that he had followed for such a long time now, that he could have reached his destination with his eyes closed. But he did not mind - each time, it lead him to his love.

He squeezed past the dozens of people who he did not recognise, though he knew, that given the chance, they would recognise him. That was the comfort that Uruha found in being famous - on stage, he was everything. He was on top of the world, the most beautiful one, but without it, he was nothing. He was just an another face in the crowd, and Uruha liked that. He liked the fact that he could be walking down the street thinking about his next outfit or solo, and no one would ever notice.

It was a cold morning - Uruha could see his breath in the air, and he shivered, cursing his choice not to wear a thicker jacket. But even so, he liked this weather. It meant that he didn't have to go outside - he could simply cuddle up in his bed, without a care for the rest of the world. Waiting by the traffic light, Uruha rubbed his hands together, and tapped his feet in an attempt to keep warm. A few looked at him with quizzical expressions, but with a smile on his face, Uruha knew that deep down inside, they would do the same thing.

The building in which Ruki lived in wasn't big. Like most people, he liked his privacy, but Uruha also knew that Ruki hated big buildings because he always got lost in them. Over the months, the concept of owning their own little place had become almost foreign - always away on tours, that Uruha often put his keys in obsolete places that took him hours to find again, and the unpaid bills built up that the occasional threat of getting thrown out was no great surprise to Uruha.

Standing in front of Ruki's door - which was usually left unlocked, yet that morning, it was locked - Uruha wondered if Ruki was actually home. Of course he is, Uruha thought as he fished his keys out of his bag, he's always home on free days.

Opening and closing the door behind him, Uruha kicked off his boots. "Ruki?"

There was a faint voice. "I'm in the kitchen."

Leaning out the window, smoking. The owner of the house didn't allow dogs either, and Ruki blatantly ignored the two rules. He never got caught. Uruha sat down on the couch, which was tastefully decorated with cushions that had begun to collect dust. Uruha flipped through the pages of the latest Shockwave - Kai's photo shoot, and there was a certain uneasiness within Uruha. Fuck, Kai looks hot.

But Uruha's moment's attraction to Kai was quickly washed away the moment he noticed Ruki leaning against the door frame.

"The door was locked," Uruha said softly.

"I didn't expect you to come so early."

"I couldn't fall sleep."

Ruki's lips took Uruha by surprise - he did not expect them so early in the morning. He simply wanted Ruki's presence, the sharp and quick comments he made on whatever they would talk about, the ego that Ruki had which made it impossible for them to take the same elevator together. But it was not what Ruki wanted that morning, and Uruha knew very well what it was that Ruki wanted.

But Uruha wasn't so sure himself. It wasn't that he didn't know what to do - no, he knew perfectly well, but he was scared of not expecting Ruki's high standards. Uruha was scared of not being good enough for Ruki. He still loved Ruki endlessly.

"I don't know," Uruha murmured against Ruki's ear, and Ruki pulled away from him.

And as Ruki spoke, Uruha could feel Ruki fighting his raising anger. "Don't know what?"

"This. Us."

"And what am I supposed to think each time we leave one of those countless stages?" Ruki asked, "what am I supposed to think when you drive me crazy with the way you move your hips, with that dirty fucking smile on your lips?"

They were in love, and now they had to prove it. Uruha was the one who always set the act up with Aoi, just so he could make Ruki jealous, but still make sure that Ruki knew that it was him who Uruha wanted. It was hard, living so many lives, and hardly any time for your own.

Uruha opened his mouth to speak, but Ruki would not let him: "Because you know what? You're one stupid guitarist, and I'm one stupid singer. And now we have this thing called love, and we're both too stupid to figure out what to do with it."

Ruki stumbled back, as if saying it had relieved him of some great weight and he was just finding his balance, now that he didn't have it upon his shoulders any more. Uruha looked down at his socks, as if they were the most interesting thing in the world. They didn't understand each other - they didn't understand why the other did the things that they did. Uruha didn't know why Ruki always insisted on being such a diva, but Ruki didn't know why Uruha always insisted on wearing scarves.

But why did they love each other? Because they were everything that the other was not. Never in a million years would Uruha be able to make his fans cry just with his words. But Ruki would never dare to wear the things Uruha wore. That way, they completed each other - they made each other feel things that they could not feel by themselves.

In their silence, they realised these things, and Uruha softly said, "I should go."

Ruki nodded, a part of him fearing that Uruha would leave forever. He couldn't go on without Uruha - life would be too cruel on him if he had to do that.

"I'll call you," he said, almost desperately, hanging on to the last of the threads of their relationship. Uruha looked back, and his lips curved into a slight smile.

"I'll be sure to pick up, then."

Uruha watched the train whizz past him, and the only comfort he could find was in something that he had ceased in wanting - a cigarette. He wanted something that Ruki had every day, so just for a couple of minutes in his life, Uruha could feel like Ruki, too.

But he didn't have any. Quietly, he asked the woman standing next to him, and after a second's thought, she gave a cigarette to him, as if she felt sorry. Perhaps just because of that drawn out look on Uruha's face, she had him all figured out.

And Uruha did not care. The cigarette gracefully between his fingers, he walked up the stairs to his own apartment. He could hear the phone ringing already.