From the day I’d transferred all my belongings to Ichika’s room, my own room had appeared to belong to a completely different person. My curtains and bedspread were gray, and my desk was made of drab wood. My bookshelf was mostly full of hand-me-down manga and sports magazines my brothers didn’t want anymore. I wasn’t fond of my school bag or any of my writing utensils, so when I got home, I just plopped my bag someplace on the floor and ignored it.
My closet wasn’t full of clothes, unlike Ichika’s. It was where I hid the dirty books my meddlesome big brother pushed on me since I couldn’t throw them away. Overall, the space looked just like the stereotypical high school boy’s room—exactly as I intended it to.
Recently, though, there was a secret new addition in my room. I removed the item from the depths of the clothing bin where I’d hidden it, then held it up to myself, looking in the mirror. It had gotten a little wrinkled, but there was no way I could hang it in the closet. I never knew when a family member might peek inside, and no one could find out about this—ever.
Still, I just didn’t have the heart to toss out the white cocktail dress made as my costume for our class café. I could’ve taken it to Ichika’s room, like so many of my possessions. Even if I had, though, I never would’ve worn it again. I’d decided not to be the “other me” anymore.
The mirror reflected my bare face. As I draped the dress over my body, something looked unmistakably off. My male classmates had flaunted that incongruity at the festival café, acting as if it were plain as day, but the thought of doing likewise disgusted me to the core.
I’d grown taller over summer break, and although I hadn’t been exercising, I felt more muscular. My facial hair was coming in thicker too. I was all too aware of my body becoming more and more masculine.
At this point, makeup could still hide it, and there were still women’s clothes that flattered me. But the day when I couldn’t conceal my male traits anymore would likely come soon. However hard I wished for an androgynous body—like the one in Chiaki’s portrait—that wasn’t in the cards for me.
“Riku? Are you back yet?” Someone knocked lightly on the door to my room. I hurriedly shut my closet. “It’s about the beauty school festival.”
The radiance of a single flower brightened my room’s masculine squalor as Ichika walked in. We’d only walked home from school separately, but I felt like I hadn’t seen her all day. She was in the middle of saying something, but I darted over and pulled her petite frame into a tight embrace.
“Riku? What’s going on?”
“Just let me stay like this.” I buried my face in her hair, breathing in her scent. My hands moved to her butt automatically.
She pinched me hard. “That can wait until I’m done talking.”
“Sorry…”
“I’m not going to make it to the beauty school festival,” she informed me. “Should I contact someone to tell them I can’t go?”
I doubted it would be necessary, but Ichika was earnest like that. When I said I’d notify Mike-san, she grinned and thanked me. Her expression was so cute that I just wanted to gobble her up.
“Sorry,” she added. “Something came up that day.”
“It’s fine. Chiaki and Iguchi are coming. If those two are there, I’m sure Mike-san will be happy.”
“I wanted to meet Mike-san too, though,” Ichika said wistfully.
I hadn’t gone into too much detail about Mike-san with Ichika. I’d just told her I’d met someone who gave me lots of information about the beauty school. I hadn’t said anything about Mike-san being physically male but identifying as a woman. Telling someone else’s secret casually would be outing them. Although Mike-san had talked about herself openly, I still felt it’d be wrong to broach the topic with someone she’d never met.
“It’d be interesting to meet someone catlike,” Ichika added. “That’s how you described Mike-san, right?”
“Yeah…I’d say there’s a slight feline resemblance.”
“Mike” was short for her surname, Miyake. It was just a shot in the dark, but I figured she probably didn’t like being referred to by her given name.
I glanced over at my closet, Ichika still in my arms. Closet—the same word used to describe the space where people stored clothes also described the location of someone concealing a secret in their heart. My dress was hidden in the closet—just like me. Only Ichika knew my secret.
After I suddenly went quiet, Ichika peered into my face. “Riku…?” Even after I leaned down to kiss her, her worried expression remained. “Did something happen?”
“It’s nothing,” I smiled, trying to smooth things over by squishing my cheek against hers, like I used to with my teddy bear.