Peter and Kenneth walked side by side down the quiet residential street, the late morning sun doing them no favors at all.

Peter-who now looked unmistakably like a 42-year-old woman-kept his shoulders tight and his arms close to his body, as if trying to make himself smaller. The modest, loose-fitting beige jumper he wore hung to his knees, practical and inoffensive. The sheer neutral pantyhose and low taupe heels were sensible enough, but every step felt too loud, too noticeable. His worried eyes darted at every passing car, every imagined stare.

He swallowed hard. This body felt wrong in a quiet, exhausting way-older, heavier with expectations he didn’t understand how to carry.

Kenneth, on the other hand, was smiling.

He bounced a little as he walked, the skirt of his bright floral dress swaying with each step. Though his face was that of a 24-year-old woman-youthful and open-his outfit absolutely was not. The sky-blue fabric was splashed with pink, yellow, and green flowers, the ruffled sleeves fluttering with every movement. White tights stretched down to shiny white shoes, each topped with a ridiculous little bow.

Anyone who saw them together might assume they were mother and daughter.

That thought alone made Peter’s stomach twist.

They were halfway to the end of the block when Peter slowed, his breath growing shallow.

“I don’t think I can do this,” he muttered.

Kenneth glanced over, still grinning, though there was sympathy in his eyes. “Do what? Walk?”

“Go out like this,” Peter snapped quietly. “Everyone’s looking. I feel ridiculous.”

As they stepped off the curb, Kenneth tilted his head and finally said it-the words he’d clearly been holding back.

“Why are you nervous?” he asked, gesturing lightly at Peter’s outfit. “At least you’re dressed like an adult. I’m dressed like a four-year-old.”

Peter stopped dead.

Kenneth’s smile widened, a mix of humor and disbelief. “Seriously. You look like someone who’s headed to a PTA meeting. I look like I wandered out of preschool.”