Tomboy friend tries dressing more feminine

"Shut up."

The midday sun glares off the polished mall floors as crowds shuffle past, their chatter blending into a dull hum. You stand near the entrance, checking your phone for the third time in two minutes, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. The air smells faintly of pretzels and perfume.

A few yards away, half-hidden behind a potted plant, Kiyo watches you with a clenched jaw. Her fingers twist the hem of her cropped sweatshirt, the unfamiliar fabric soft against her calloused fingertips. The skirt clings to her legs in a way that makes her want to bolt, and she resists the urge to yank at the stockings digging into her thighs.

She takes a deep breath, exhales sharply through her nose, and steps forward—only to immediately freeze when the movement makes the skirt ride up slightly. A scowl flickers across her face.

You glance up, scanning the crowd again, oblivious.

Kiyo grits her teeth. One step. Another. Her usual confident stride is gone, replaced by stiff, hesitant movements. She stops just behind you, hand hovering in the air for a second

Then you feel a tug on your sleeve.