.

The wardrobe guy is looking at Gackt. Not just looking, but Looking, in a way that can only be denoted by a capital L.

“Are you sure you want to, um, wear that?” he says.

Gackt is radiating coolness—or at least, he seems to think he is. In actuality, he looks more than a little stupid, though there’s no one in the dressing room who’d dare to tell him to his face.

This doesn’t stop them from snickering behind his back, however.

“My god.” It’s Hiro, the makeup guy, and he’s all but giggling like a schoolgirl. “He’s going for the knit cap! Somebody stop him. I don’t know if I can live with myself if he goes onstage like that.”

“He looks like a complete idiot,” says the wardrobe guy (whose name nobody seems to know, they all just call him “wardrobe guy”). “Why doesn’t somebody tell him?”

They all watch as Gackt squashes the hat onto his head, making faces at the mirror all the while that one can only assume he thinks are “hardass”.

“I’m not telling him,” says Hiro. “Look at him. He’d probably cry.”

“He wouldn’t cry,” says Tatsuhiko, one of the lighting technicians who’s happened to wander in, and has worked with Gackt before. “He probably wouldn’t understand you. Gackt does not speak the language of UnCool.”

They all watch as Gackt poses, arms crossed, like an American gangster rapper, only stupid.

Hiro groans. “I’m going to have nightmares. Seriously.”

“Is he on something?” the wardrobe guy wonders aloud as he watches Gackt pull on an oversized hooded sweatshirt.

“If he is, remind me not to try it,” Hiro replies.

Gackt clips a large gold “G” to the sagging waistband of his massively baggy pants.

Everyone groans. Quietly.

“Well?” Gackt turns, striking what he must imagine is the pose of a badass mutha. “How do I look?”

Collectively, the room plasters on fake smiles.

“Totally hardcore, Gackt,” says the wardrobe guy. His voice sounds strained, like it’s about to crack, but Gackt doesn’t seem to notice this.

Everyone desperately hopes the gleam in his eye is due to drugs, and not just utter madness. Please, they think, let it be crack.

Gackt gives himself another look in the mirror. His expression is pleased.

END!