"Oh, excuse me, Miss."

A common enough phrase, even in this age of rush and rudeness. Any other day I wouldn't give the sentiment a second thought–

Only, it wasn't directed at me.

Minamino stiffened as the man hurried on, grip tightening on the bags in his hand. There was no harm done – a bumped shoulder, nothing more – yet I saw his jaw tighten, spine suddenly ramrod-straight. A slender face, luscious hair falling past his hips, an over-sized sweater hiding any traits of sex:

It was an easy mistake.

Still, that didn't stop his cheeks from flushing, the hard line overtaking his mouth. He glared until the man disappeared in the crowd, lost to the city.

I laughed; I couldn't help it.

Minamino frowned, abandoning his solo staring contest. "I'm glad you find this so amusing."

The forced monotone paired with a pout and I laughed harder, struggling for air.

Ever the gentleman, he raised a hand to my arm, never touching but there, just in case. When it was obvious I wouldn't fall over, he took my bag and I let him, gripping both knees.

"He–" Another giggle, wiping tears from my eyes. "He thought you were a girl!"

A nod, the image of long-suffering. "It has happened before. Now, can we–"

He realized his mistake too late but didn't flee, a low groan growing in his chest. I grinned, tugging a red strand. "Oh really? Do tell."

"There is nothing to tell." We began walking again though I did not let go, the lock of hair connecting us. "I take after my mother, that's all."

"Lots of guys do but I don't think they're mistaken for women." Twirling more hair around my finger, I reeled him in until only inches separated us. "Come on, Minamino, you can tell me. How often does this happen?"

"More often than it should." He muttered, ignoring the pull on his scalp.

I let it rest until we got back to my apartment, leaving the bag of records in the living room before following him to the kitchen. "All right, out with it."

For a moment, I thought he would ignore me, busy putting away groceries. "There is nothing to tell, Azumi."

"But it's happened more than once, right?" I smirked at his silence, every move slow, controlled. "So spill it. I promise not to laugh."

So he did. He told me about getting into fights in grade school because boys wanted him to be their girlfriend, of how during his freshman year in middle school, students bullied him, asking how a girl could wear a boy's uniform. Things improved when he was accepted into Meiou High School, though the odd case still occurred, the most embarrassing of which happened with his friends.

"Wait." I set my cup down, the coffee I'd made for us. "You mean someone thought you were Kuwabara's girlfriend?"

"A group of girls from his school, yes." He took a sip from his own cup, leaning against the counter. "That pales in comparison to the incident with Yusuke, however."

My eyes widened. "Urameshi knows about this?"

"He encourages it." A soft sigh, shaking that great mane. "Once, he asked me to pose as a teenage girl and infiltrate an all-girl's school."

A strange sound bubbled out, something between a snort and laughter. "Why?"

"Who knows? He likely thought it would be amusing."

"Hold on," The set of his shoulders, looking at everything else but me. "You didn't actually do that, did you?"

Another sigh and he retreated to the table, setting down the cup and straightening the napkins stacked there. "Is there a reason you wish to discuss this?"

"Not really. I just don't understand how so many people can be blind."

He didn't move when I closed the gap between us, yet when he turned my hands were already on the thick-knit sweater. "What are you–?"

"Proving a point." In seconds the thing was gone, a pile of wool on the floor. A thin shirt covered his arms and abdomen, pale and clinging.

He swallowed, breath catching. "Azumi–"

"See? No boobs." I grabbed at his chest, muscle swelling beneath my hands. "Even flat-chested women have something." A couple of quick squeezes and I let him go, stepping back. "Turn around."

Pink dusted his cheeks again; he still wouldn't look me in the eye. "I beg your pardon?"

"Just do it."

He obeyed after a moment's hesitation, stopping once his back was to me. The strike came without warning – a firm slap across the rear.

Minamino yelped, spinning round and catching my hand before it could fall a second time. What on earth was that for?"

"Nothing in the back, either. You know, it wouldn't kill you to do some squats."

But he didn't smile, face fixed in something close to a scowl. "Answer my question."

"You're upset about people mistaking you for a woman, I'm trying to show you how unfeminine you are." I shrugged and he released me, pressing one arm to his stomach. "Anyone who would make that mistake is either blind or stupid."

He bent to retrieve the sweater, eyes never leaving mine. "Even so, was all of that necessary?"

"What are you so upset about? I've touched it all before."

All of our dance routines called for touching; we'd grasped one another's buttocks and chest more times than I could count. Well, I had, anyway. He was always so careful, never allowing his fingers to more than brush those areas.

Maybe I'd gone too far.

"The point is, don't let someone's stupidity bother you. Who cares what they think?" I crossed my arms as he pulled the sweater over his head, glancing at the table. "You know who you are and that's all that matters."

He chuckled, something I didn't expect. "You remind me of a friend of mine."

"Good, listen to that friend more." A nod and I turned, stretching both arms overhead while making for the living room. "Don't think you're getting out of practice because of this, Minamino."

I couldn't see him but still felt the smile in his steps. "I wouldn't dream of it."

September 2020 OTP Drabbles

Prompt 14 – Gender Swap