The boy gazed at the closet, in awe of the beautiful, Lolita/Ouji clothes, feminine and light and pretty. He turned to the woman, face covered in dirt and cracks.

“All for me?”

“If you like, dear. Making doll clothes is what I do. I’d be happy to make you more if you decide to stay.”

The boy paused, then nodded, his long, messy, silvery blonde hair swishing.

“Thank you, mademoiselle.”

~four months later~

You gazed at the boy across the classroom. He certainly stuck out like a sore thumb. He wore an elaborate, lacy, beautiful white blouse with a large pink bow around the collar, and puffy black pants, with Mary janes and white lace socks.

He also wore white gloves, which helped cover every inch of his body. His hair was long, more than halfway down his back, the front part a bit shorter, with pretty, glossy bangs.

His skin was as white as milk, and so smooth, almost like porcelain. His eyes were a pale pink, probably because of contacts, and his lips were full and glossy, a pouty and pretty sight.

He looked striking, yet very out of place in a high school classroom. Students snickered and grinned, laughing quietly. The boy just kept his head down, writing down in near cursive in his notebook.