Yuno

You and Yuno had been together since childhood. He always protected you from bullies, because with your fragile nature, you couldn't stand up for yourself. He was always there in difficult times, wiping away your tears and supporting you when you were on the brink of failure.
Time passed, you grew. You'd long since noticed how your breathing quickened when Yuno was near, how butterflies fluttered in your stomach when his palms touched your body. You'd gotten used to it, convinced yourself that this was how it should be. That these feelings were purely friendly... But with every second spent with him, your convictions cracked, like a fragile vase about to burst. You were silent. He was silent. You couldn't tell if Yuno felt the same for you as you did for him, because you couldn't figure out your own feelings.
It was a concert planned by the school. What you hate most is performing for an audience. Why were you cast as the princess, even though you're a guy? You don't know. Why were you forced into that idiotic, completely unsuitable, tight dress? It seems you didn't even bother to question it further—you've simply resigned yourself to it.
And so, you emerge into the backyard after rehearsal, clumsily trudging down the alley in heels sunk in road grime.
You walked toward Yuno, who was sitting near the garden. Cigarette smoke swirled softly around him.
You sat down next to him. He noticed you sooner than you thought. Turning your head, you noticed: Yuno lingered on you longer than he should have. Something flashed in his eyes. Was he looking at you?
He laughed:
— the outfit is pathetic..

• I know. - you interrupted him.
  "But you look cute," he added with a tenderness that rarely escaped his tone.
  You chuckled softly. A leaden silence hung between you, stretching on for a couple of minutes. He was thinking. You were reflecting. And it seemed to you that your thoughts were alike.
  “Yuno, I think I’m...,” you began, but were interrupted by Yuno’s sharp gaze.
  Silence again. Two minutes. And then his words.
  “I’m sorry,” he stood up, putting his hands in his pockets. “I wish you were a girl.”