Acting Out [Student/Teacher, GxG]

Fireproof

Taking one last look in the mirror, I flicked the off switch on my ceramic curling iron and placed it beside the sink. I regarded my reflection critically — with my loose curls, minimal makeup, and modest dress, I felt like kid again; all dolled up and ready to be dragged along to whatever social function my family would be attending that night.

Not bothering to clean up the mess I'd made of my bathroom, I slipped on a long peacoat and walked outside.

Time seemed to blur as I leaned against the brick of my apartment complex and puffed on a cigarette, and I wasn't sure how much had passed when a flashy black sports car pulled up in front of me. I took another drag and raised an eyebrow, eliciting a smile from the brunette as she rolled down the window closest to me.

"You look like fucking Betty Draper." Brielle called from the car, and I stuck my tongue out, dropping the lipstick-stained cigarette and putting it out under my foot before opening the passenger side door and getting in. I straightened out my dress and shut the door, turning to face Brielle.

"Last I checked, January Jones was a blonde." I replied, my rouged lips quirking into a half-smile.

She shrugged. "It's more of a vibe. I always wanted to be like that." She gestured vaguely, placing a cigarette between her lips and lighting it.

"Hmm?"

She took a long drag from her cigarette, seemingly lost in thought, before finally replying. "Timeless, I guess. Enigmatic."

I understood what she meant perfectly. Often times, I found myself wanting that too, in a way. As much as I hated my upbringing, I was the one who'd made the choice to return to the industry. In all of its artifice, there was something that made me feel alive. It was bright lights and pushing yourself past your limits because someone was always waiting to take your place; it was dangerous and temporary, and still every single one of us lived and died trying to make a moment last forever.

"It's just a dress, Brielle. It's not me."

She looked over at me for a moment, her expression unreadable, before returning her attention to the road. I sunk into my seat and let myself zone out, grateful for the silence.

•••

"This is her?" The petite blonde smiled warmly, looking up at me from where she sat in front of a large vanity.

"Yep, this is Rowan." Brielle replied, and I could see immediately that the two were close.

"I can see the appeal." She remarked, a cheeky grin lighting up her face, before gasping. "Oh, gosh, you must think I'm terribly rude! I'm Nina — it's a pleasure to meet you, Rowan."

I couldn't help but laugh at her formality, quickly covering my mouth with my hand in embarrassment. I wasn't used to hearing manners like that from anyone as down to earth as the woman in front of me. She was radiant, honestly; the perfect blushing bride, and any discomfort I'd felt by being in the dressing room of a woman I'd never met had melted away almost instantly.

"Quite the opposite, really. I happen to think you're lovely, and the pleasure is all mine."

Nina turned to Brielle and pouted dramatically. "Can I keep her?" She begged, causing the other woman to roll her eyes.

"No, she's mine. Get your own." Brielle teased, wrapping her arms around my shoulders protectively.

I smirked. "I don't know, Brielle. Who can refuse a girl on her wedding day?"