I Ended Up Cross-Dressing, My Secret Relationship with a Handsome Guy (BL) - Chapter 26

There were several routes Yukiho could take to get to the back of the gym. If I chose the wrong one, I wouldn’t be able to catch him. That’s why I decided to wait somewhere he was sure to pass.

I slipped into an empty classroom near the back of the gym.

The curtains, left untouched for who knows how long, were drawn shut, making the room feel stuffy with dust. I sat down haphazardly, taking deep breaths over and over, trying to suppress an unfamiliar urge. My phone kept vibrating—probably messages related to the festival. I knew I should check them, but the mere thought of seeing people’s reactions to Yukiho made my bl00d boil.

I clenched my fists so hard that my nails dug into my skin, grinding my molars.

A small, rational part of my mind sensed something off about the overwhelming irritation I was feeling. Was it really normal to be this furious just because I had found him first?

Had I ever felt this way as a kid when someone took my favorite toy?

But the comparison was pointless. The way I perceived things back then and how I felt now were completely different.

I let out a deep breath, trying to expel everything—my frustration, my restlessness, my confusion.

But the sludge-like weight in my chest wouldn’t budge.

I had never struggled so much to control my emotions before.

Just as I grabbed a fistful of my own hair in frustration, I heard footsteps in the hallway.

Immediately, my attention snapped toward the sound.

Moving silently, I approached the door, my body tense as if I were in the middle of a match.

I waited—breathless, pulse pounding.

The moment the figure passed by the door, I reached out without hesitation.

The arm I grabbed felt slender even beneath the layers of fabric, lighter than it should have been despite the weight of the kimono. That made me even more irritated.

I pulled Yukiho into my arms, shutting the door behind us—erasing any distance, any barrier, between us.

“…Kiryu…?”

The scent was intoxicating.

His voice, addressing me directly for the first time in what felt like forever, was enough to make my chest tighten.

I held him even tighter, sinking down to the floor with him still in my arms.

Pressing my face into the crook of his neck, I breathed him in.

Even without seeing his face, he knew it was me.

And that alone was enough to calm the storm raging inside me.

The suffocating emotions—the bitterness, the resentment—began to dissolve, replaced by an overwhelming sense of relief.

Maybe… maybe this was my chance to make things right.

I could ask him why he cried that day. If I had done something wrong, I would fix it.

Then we could go back to the way things were.

I wouldn’t have to feel like this anymore.

It was a perfect plan.

But Yukiho had always been a master at making me lose my composure.

“…I have to go to the student council president.”

My lifted spirits plummeted.

I knew exactly what he was going to say next.

And I couldn’t let him say it.

Before the words could leave his lips, I silenced him with a kiss.

I felt his shock, the way he stiffened in my arms.

He tried to resist—I could tell—but Yukiho could never overpower me.

I tilted his chin up, pulling his slender waist closer to mine.

The moment he faltered, the tension in his body loosening slightly, I kissed him again.

There was a faint, unfamiliar scent—probably from the makeup they had put on him—but as his body warmed, the fragrance was slowly replaced by his usual one.

I parted his soft lips, deepening the kiss, pushing heat further inside.

Yukiho trembled.

A breath—soft, caught somewhere between resistance and surrender—spilled from his lips, and the sound alone made my nerves ignite.

His voice was lower than a girl’s, unmistakably that of a boy.

But nothing in the world was more exhilarating.

He was mine.

There wasn’t a single doubt in my mind.

But Yukiho didn’t see it that way.

Not only had he left me without a word, but he had let others touch him.

He had let them take pictures.

And worst of all, he had freely shown a side of himself that only I had known—his true beauty—without a second thought.

The sheer difference in how we saw each other was agonizing.

He had always been mine.

So why—why did he do this?

“…Don’t wear something that cute in front of anyone else but me.”

I just wanted him to say “okay.”

Because Yukiho was weak to pressure, because he was kind, because if I said something like this, he’d probably sulk a little and then go back to the way he was before.

That’s what I thought.

But instead—

“Kiryu, what do you want from me?”

It felt like someone had poured ice water over my head.

His voice—it wasn’t like anything I’d ever heard before.

Cold. Detached.

I froze.

Those words—what did he mean?

I lifted my head, only to meet a gaze as cold as his voice.

There was none of the warmth I had known during the summer festival.

None of the soft hesitation from before.

Only something sharp—something cutting.

A chill of unease crept over me.

For the first time, I was afraid.

But my throat was dry, stuck—just like last time.

And Yukiho’s voice, strong and unwavering, cut straight through me.

With a hard thud, Yukiho shoved me away.

Effortlessly, he slipped from my arms.

I heard the door swing open, followed by the sound of his footsteps fading into the distance.

All I could do was stare in shock at the door he had just walked through.

I had made him angry.

He had rejected me—completely, utterly, without hesitation.

The frustration I had been drowning in only moments ago had vanished without a trace.

All that remained was an unbearable sense of loss.

And regret—regret that I had done it again.

Yukiho’s voice echoed in my head, over and over.

“I’m not your toy.”

“……”

Who was he to say that?

And yet, he was right.

I had thought of him that way.

I had convinced myself that my irritation came from someone else finding my favorite toy, that this was the only way to explain what I felt.

But now that I had heard those words directly from Yukiho’s lips, the pain was unbearable.

More than anything, I wanted to chase after him, to beg for forgiveness, to make him look at me again.

But then—

A memory surfaced, and my eyes widened.

(“Wait, please! I’m sorry! I’ll apologize—I’ll do anything, just don’t break up with me!”)

A girl I had once dated.

I had dumped her for cheating or something—whatever it was, I had found it too troublesome to deal with.

She had clung to me, sobbing, desperate to make me stay.

And I had found it nothing but annoying.

Now, here I was, in the same position.

Desperate to hold on.

Desperate for him to look at me.

…So in the end, Tanaka was right.

“……Do I… like Yukiho?”

A crushing weight settled in my chest.

Like I had committed some unspeakable sin.