It wasn't that she was aual, necessarily; more that she was in love with herself. It wasn't an egotistical, Narcissus type of love either, it was more of a blossom that was blooming in semi-darkness—thin, pale, and unnatural, something that she knew but didn't quite understand.

There was something about the tucked back hair, the smart suit jacket and immaculately folded sleeves, gold buttons and the fedora. The fedora, the fedora, the fedora.

And while she lost her self in a pair of familiar eyes, the other girls laughed with joy about not having to wear heels; while she pressed herself almost nose to nose with her own reflection, the other girls sang a animated Mr.Mr.~! But with fingertips caressing the glass ever so softly, she breathed a low, You bad, bad, bad boy, you so bad.

She named him Jesse. He wasn't male, per say—no, he was a girl in all respects, but it was the way that they could be easily separated into two, the way they could co-exist. He was her perfect other half because he was her other half, he loved her because he knew her, she loved him because she was him.

The mirror was her consort, she knew that. The mirror showed her what she desired to see.

moved. I love you.

His moved at the exact same time, mouthing the exact same words. They both giggled a bit at the confession—she giggled, he chuckled, more like—and they both smiled a bit, h