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Off trusts the costume designers. He knows them. He has complete faith in their ability to create the most stunning outfits. But that still doesn’t stop his lurking insecurity as he slips on the skin tight, see-through black top that’s decorated in sparkles. It’s feminine and beautiful, but Off hopes the suit jacket that he’s supposed to wear over it helps to conceal his stomach a little bit. He’s getting more toned from the work he’s put in, but it’s not anywhere near enough for him to feel confident. He knows Gun won’t have that problem.
Gun.
His partner is off to the side, a privacy partition separating them as they change. Off slowly starts to part the curtain, asking if Gun is ready.
“Yes, Papii,” Gun giggles.
His words do nothing to prepare Off for the attack Gun does to him. When he gets his first glimpse of Gun’s accompanying costume, Off’s heart lodges up into his throat. Gun’s lace shirt is red, the signature color that’s supposed to represent Off for their concert. The color looks good on him. Better than it does Off. It’s really unfair how gorgeous he is.
Gun meets his eyes, a warm smile as he stretches his arms out and lets Off inspect him closer. The whole point of today was to try on their different costumes and give feedback as to what needs improvement. But Off can’t find anything wrong with the top. It’s perfect, it hugs Gun in the best way, and shit—
Off’s thoughts crash as Gun turns, showing him his back.
This little devil.
“Gun,” he whines, immediately closing in on him from behind. He holds him around his waist, pulling the other boy against him. “Warn a guy next time you dress like this…fuck,” Off murmurs, lips near Gun’s ear.
Gun laughs, dimples on display. The little creases in his cheeks are just as devastating as the long line of Gun’s bare back that’s exposed from the opening in the shirt. Off can’t decide where to look next. It’s too much.
“So it’s good, Papii?” Gun asks, his smile smug.
“It’s so good that we should issue warnings. Bring your babii bottle and an inhaler,” Off says.