Title: Vanity.
Character[s]: Justin Gabriel; Random Person.
Pairings [if any]: Gabriel|Random Person.
Arthor's Notes: Vanity; Okay Justin Gabriel just seemed to fit this. He's a bit 'out of character' but it's done on purpose. The 'random person' talking, is-whomever you want it to be.
Story Type: OneShot|Drabble; Angst|Drama.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Plot Summary: Can Justin Gabriel say the words "You're Perfect?" to someone other than himself?
It's not everyday that when you look into the mirror you see perfection. You see something that everyone wishes they had. You only think of yourself, your hair, your finisher, your carrier. It's always about you. You never ask me about anything regarding yourself, you assume that everything is about you. "What are you doing this time Justin?" I ask you, standing behind you as you stare in the mirror, a sly smirk plastered on your face. "Getting ready, why? Shouldn't you be doing the same? I mean, you're not going out there like THAT are you?" you ask me, just giving me a small glance, you never say anything really honestly nice about how I look. It's all about you.
Scoffing, I turn my head; I couldn't understand why. I mean, I know you care about me, but sometimes I wonder how you ever show it? You hardly say I look nice, except when we're in the mood for hot steamy sexual escapades. Then you say I'm the best damn thing you ever laid your eyes-and hands-on. Other than that-you brush me off, like a spec of dirt on your shoulder. "What do you mean? I'm ready. Don't you think I look good, Justin?" I say, trying to reassure myself that I DO look good, I turn for you to-as if I am on a catwalk, but you pay me no mind. You just stare in that damned mirror, touching and fixing your hair.
"Justin?" I asked, but you scoff; "Hold on, I'm almost done, babe." you smirk, before fixing your hair again, then redoing your guyliner. I sigh in annoyance. "Come on you look fine." You always look fine, but stop getting glamed up; you always get galmoured up-and I'm sit on the shelf-in the background, while you live up the party.
You smirk to me. "There." I see you lick your lips, before winking your yourself in the mirror; turning to me, you wink. "Perfection." I arch a brow to you. Perfection? Yes. But flawed perfection. You're only as pretty as you are on the outside. On the inside, your ugly-selfish, and I do not understand why I put up with staying with you, aside from the fact, you are 'sex on legs' in my eyes. Emotions don't really mean anything to you, don't thay? "Yeah, perfection." I say softly, sighing and crossing my arms.
"What? I'm unlike anyone in this company. I'm unique, I'm-everything you could ever want." you say to me as if that is supposed to make me feel better, it didn't. "You're right, but wrong." I defend myself, seeing the look in your eyes, because I question your 'perfection'. "You are unique, but you not everything I could ever what. What I want is someone to tell me I'm perfect-instead of you blabbering on about who perfect YOU are." Your eyes narrow, but your jaw drops; "If you have any sort of feelings for me, you'd tell me how beautiful and perfect I am."
You saw nothing, and just stand there in shock-and possibly annoyance at my words; "Tell you your perfect?" you say stupidly, I obviously got your brain working, I am standing my ground. "Yes. Tell me I'm pretty every now and again."