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There are so many things about the world that you are supposed to know from the start. Social norms are assumed to be common knowledge, shoved at you from all directions from the moment you step outside. Nobody questions them, and they are accepted as fact without a second thought.
Another thing this world will burn for.
------
Clothes shopping is a special kind of hell. Aside from the fact that there is no universal sizing system between stores (horrible, crime against stickmanity!), the stores are always split in half. There is a side you are expected to select your clothes from, whether or not you like how they look.
This is the kind of errand I hate, because along with the unwritten social-interaction rules, there's boxes you're supposed to shove yourself into to look normal. Boxes Chosen and I never even knew existed.
One box expects you to be soft and kind and pretty and wear light colors. The other expects you to be macho and loud and violent and hate, hate, hate. It doesn't make sense. Apparently most people just... Know which box they fit? Without any thought about it?
The system confounds me. It's arbitrary and weird and hurts everyone involved. Apparently it's called 'gender'.
------
Chosen fidgets anxiously beside me. The clothes surround us on all sides. Jeans, shirts, a random sock on the floor. I would be perfectly fine with wearing this hoodie everywhere, but it's starting to unravel and features a large burn on the side, which is anything but inconspicuous.
Chosen's hoodie looks perfectly normal. As far as I'm aware, they don't even need to be here. But they know how much I hate this. They're either here for emotional support or to stop me from leveling the city block. Maybe both.
Halfway across the left side of the store, an employee interacts with us.
"Are you finding everything you're looking for okay?"
No.
"Yes-we're-fine-thank-you!"
Chosen tries their hardest to end these unnecessary conversations as quickly as possible, and these words work most of the time. Unfortunately the employee does not get the message.
"I just wanted to let you know that the women's section is over there."
Women's?
Why would the employee assume we are Women? That we are in this section of the store because we are too stupid to stay in our correct assigned place? Anger flashes across my vision.
"We will shop wherever the hell we want to, thank you very much."
"I- I just-"
"Thought we were too stupid to read the GIGANTIC BLUE SIGN announcing which half of the store we're in??"
"No, I-"
"Do the world a favor and shut up."
Chosen has to drag me away from the shaking employee.
"You shouldn't have said that."
Chosen, who hates the boxes as much as I do, thinks I shouldn't have confronted that person?
"They were just doing their job. It's not the employee's fault that the system is horrible."
"They certainly didn't seem against it."
"And we can't do anything about that. Can we please get this over with?"
I'm still angry, but I want to get out of here more.
"Fine."
------
Hidden among the ugly shirts and boring pants, I find it.
A bright red jacket.
It's the kind that has at least twenty pockets and zips the whole way up. The inside is made of a black fabric that's ridiculously soft.
Chosen watches me looking at it like a cat looks at a laser and laughs.
"I thought we were looking for inconspicuous?"
"Inconspicuous can go die in a hole."
"You found the one thing in this store that'll make you stand out more than you already do. That takes skill, Dark."
They try so hard to sound frustrated, but fail miserably.
"I'll take one of the normal, boring gray ones too. Is that better?"
Chosen laughs again, louder than they normally do when other people are around. The answer is yes, even if they don't say it in words.
I grab the red jacket, put it on and-
It doesn't fit.
The problem isn't the size. It's the shape. The jacket is shaped wrong, and will never, ever fit me no matter what size I get.
No. I am the wrong shape for this jacket. It is designed for the bodies of the people who normally visit this side of the store. Not for me. I am wrong to even be here.
I hate this. I hate that the clothes I like will never fit me. I hate the oscillating feeling of wrong vibrating in my chest.
I want to destroy this place. Burn it to the ground. But that won't fix a thing. There are always more places that revere the boxes, places Chosen and I will never belong. The feeling of wrong vibrates louder and louder, spreading to every inch of my body.
Limbs are the wrong shape. Shoulders are the wrong shape. Torso is the wrong shape. Face is the wrong shape. All of it is wrong. It will never be right.
Alien warmth wraps around me. It takes me a moment to recognize this is a hug.
"I hate this. I hate it so, so much."
"I know. So do I."
"I want to destroy this, all of it."
"Me too."
"Why can't we just kill it? Why does it keep coming back? Why is it fucking everywhere?"
"I don't know."
"Can we go home?"
"Of course."
Chosen unwraps themself from the hug, but does not let go of my hand. Good. The wrong feeling does not go away, but it is a little easier to ignore when they are here.
------
A few weeks later, my hoodie has actual holes in it. Even Chosen's looks ratty. We desperately need new ones.
I spend the week leading up to the errand actively dreading it. Pitiful. The Dark Lord, dreaded destroyer of websites everywhere, is disturbed by clothes shopping.
But the more I think about it, the worse the feeling gets. And we haven't even walked out the door yet!
Chosen notices, like they always do, and offers to go alone.
As much as I would love to stay home, that would not be fair to them. Chosen hates this as much as I do, albeit for different reasons.
So I stuff as many fidgets as I can in the pocket of my hoodie and grab their hand.
As horrible as this is, we will not let each other do it alone.
------
The section of the store with the clothes that fit has no red. Or black. Or any of the colors I like. They are all pastel, cropped, and floaty. Even the hoodies are pink. The darkest color I can find is grey.
I hate the color grey with a passion (so, so boring!), but it's better than wearing a bright pink one.
I pull the hoodie over my head, and it fits. Perfectly.
That's almost worse than the red jacket not fitting. My body fits a box that my mind does not.
Chosen's hand is twitching by their side. They can tell how miserable I am, and that makes them sad. I wish they would be angry instead. I feel guilty for making them sad, but we could share in anger!
Maybe they are angry, just not as good at showing it.
"This is fine."
The words scrape up my throat like knives. I don't want to say them, don't want this ugly gray hoodie, but it doesn't matter.
They grab an identical light blue one off the adjacent rack. Chosen is lucky that at least some of the colors they like are catered to in these clothes.
------
We pull the usual 'diversion-escape' and leave, ugly clothes in tow.
I'm extra proud of today's diversion. It may or may not involve the burning of the signs that announce who each side of the store is for.
The flight home is better than last time. Burning the signs might do literal nothing in the grand scheme of things, but it feels good.
An idea pops into my head.
"Do you still have that paint we stole?"
Chosen looks concerned for a moment.
"Yes? Why do you need it?"
"I have an idea."
------
The ugly gray hoodie is ugly and gray no longer! Now it's ugly and red, a marginal improvement!
I'm very proud of it. Next step is to improve the pitiful tiny pockets.
How will I do that? No idea. But I'll find a way.
Chosen watches the process with a smile.
"You know, if you wreck this one, we have to go back and steal another."
"Your lack of faith in me is astonishing, Cho."
They laugh, and it's the full, uncensored version because no one else is around.
The wrongness has been shoved back into its hellhole, at least for today. It's an uphill battle, but one that is possible to win.