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There's a long stretch between kissing and making out to fumbling with the buttons of your boyfriend's dress and pulling it over his head with the awkwardness of a high school girl (which she isn't, not anymore). The dress part Hinata's learned to ignore for years and she's been planning this far too long that it makes her ashamed when she thinks about how she should feel more guilty rather than she actually does. And En's always been too attractive, just the slightest trace of coy and sultry when he wants to be, so much so that it makes her cheeks turn red and her mouth feel warmer and drier even in the chill of winter.
But. There are still exceptions, and Hinata's not going to consider loosening her admittedly warped gender role perception anymore than she already has, because love makes you blind but she is not going to be an idiot about this.
"WHAT IS THIS," shrieks Hinata; to her credit, the neighbors aren't complaining, which means she's either mastered toning down her hysterics or the neighbors are out on a date, which is a far wiser choice than, well, now.
"UM," says En, very intelligently, "I can explain?"
Hinata yanks at the strap of what looks like a negative A cup, and En yelps. She squints.
"Oh my god," says Hinata, "please tell me you did not raid my grade school wardrobe just to play dress up in my baby bra, because I will smite you, I swear."
En flushes, and looks away. "It's cute," mumbles En, and Hinata blinks.
It's a little of the bam-chika-wow-wow that goes through her head, which is a little stupid now that she thinks about it -- since when has questionable music done her any good? -- and Hinata clenches her jaw, bites the inside of her cheek.
"No, En," says Hinata, "that's not how it's supposed to work."
"Oh," says En, crinkling the hem of his dress; his knuckles are whiter and the veins don't show as much on his hand than on hers. Hinata feels suddenly scandalized (and very offended) at that.
"You're kind of an idiot," says Hinata, and En looks crestfallen, perhaps a little hurt. Hinata bends forward to swipe the pout on his mouth with her teeth, her tongue. En makes a strangled sound -- brings his hand to hover over her shoulder, then settles, neatly, on the small of her back instead. Hinata counts the seconds in her head and breathes through her nose, pretending she doesn't taste artificial cherry.
"I'm just gonna go now," mutters Hinata, taking a step back. En touches his lips, the gloss staining his nails, and Hinata thinks, oh hell, maybe she is a little lesbian, deep inside.