"It'd look good on you."

Mother maintains a death grip on my wrist as she pulls me through the many shops of the Kunugigaoka Outlet Mall. It's somewhat disturbing how she can be so passionate about shopping this early in the morning. Only nine-thirty a.m., yet we've been at this for an hour. She didn't even give me a chance to grab breakfast before she dragged me out of bed, so much for sleeping in on a Saturday.

My stomach involuntarily groans as she lets go of me and goes to leaf through the many racks of clothing, undoubtedly looking for a lacey dress to stuff me into. Her short black-hair sways a bit as she glances up at me, her zestful face falling as she acknowledges my stomach growl. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out her phone, most likely to check the time. After glancing at the screen, she pockets it and approaches me. Her voice comes out slightly annoyed, as if she truly believes that I have the ability to control my hunger, "Let's get breakfast before continuing."

I sit at the table while mother stands at the counter, always insistent about ordering for me. My eyes wander to the window. Outside, I see the early risers rushing through the mall, all of them hoping to be the one to snag the best outfit at the lowest price. I don't see any familiar faces in the crowd, which is really reassuring, since it will only be a few minutes before my mom finds a dress for me to try on. I'm dragged out of my thinking when she sits down across, a tray occupying space in her hands.

She deliberately removes a piece of bread from the tray and gives it to me before taking one for herself. We eat in silence until she speaks, "How's school been, Nagisa?"

"Good," I stop there but continue when I remember that she hates one word answers, "We're starting a new unit in geometry and I've improved in English lately-"

She breaks in, as if she wasn't even listening to my answer, "Any news about getting out of E-Class?"

Again, this topic. My mother loves to talk about the undeniable fact that I'm E-Class. Despite how good I'm doing in school, as long as I'm in the lowest of the classes she'll never acknowledge the improvement. It doesn't matter how much I try to avoid the subject, somehow we always manage to start talking about it whenever we converse with each other.

"Mother," I say, trying my best to approach the sensitive subject. "I'm doing well in E-"

"It'd look good on you. That outfit, I mean." She cuts me off again. When I look up from my bread, I notice she's not even looking at me. I follow her gaze until my eyes land on what she's referring to. My stomach churns when I see it. Across the pathway, in a shop window, on a mannequin, is a cerulean long-sleeved blouse, a small pair of khaki shorts, and argyle patterned thigh-high socks. That poor mannequin.

I don't know what to say to her observation, I rarely ever do when she says stuff like this. She doesn't give me a chance to comment, anyway. In a second she's grabbed her purse and slid out of our booth. Her eyes take root on my form, looking at me expectantly as I put down my piece of bread.

I reluctantly follow her as we make our way across the pathway, she barely notices me as her eyes stay locked on the dressed up figurine. Now that we have entered the shop, my mother rushes to the back of the store and questions the woman at the counter about the outfit on display. The cashier gestures to another woman, who, in turn, goes through a few racks and pulls out an outfit matching the one on the mannequin.

Ensemble in hand, mother turns toward me with a smile, a smile that means no matter what I do I'm going to be out of my pants in that outfit. I approach her cautiously, using all of my willpower to keep myself from sprinting out of the store, away from the girly clothing and away from her unrealistic expectations. She leads me to the dressing room in the corner of the store before thrusting the clothing into my hands and shoving me into an empty stall.

In the small space, I get a better look at the outfit. The blue blouse actually fades into a light purple, I note. If I didn't consider the circumstances, I would say that this outfit is actually pretty cute. But, alas, the scenario speaks loudly and two facts remain: One; I'm a boy. Two; I like wearing boy clothes.

Still staring at the clothing, I'm quite surprised when I hear my mother's voice calling me. "Nagisa? Are you almost done?"

I continue to glare at the outfit, maybe, if I'm lucky, my scowl will burn a hole in it. As I stare at the feminine apparel, I start to feel sick, like I might throw up any second. I can't do this.

"Um, mom, can we go shopping some other time?" I hate the way my voice cracks when I'm nervous. It's silent for a few seconds before she answers.

"What?" She says incredulously, as if the mere thought of me not wanting to shop with her is unbelievable. I shuffle nervously in the stall, I can feel her glare, despite not being able to see it. Yet, I persist.

"Yeah, I think I might be-" I start to say, but, for what must be the third time today, she cuts me off.

"Nagisa, wear it, wear the outfit." Her voice comes out calm but I'm sure that if you concentrated the malice in it our class would have no problem killing Korosensei. There's no point, I realize. I shouldn't even attempt to go against her command, because, once she gets angry, wearing a dress suddenly looks very appealing.

Slowly, I let my pants pool around ankles and lift my cotton T –shirt over my head, every part of me wishing to keep them on, but my limbs stay smart enough to do the necessary work. I barely register the silky fabric of the blouse as I pull it over my head, nor do I notice the stiffness of the pair of shorts, or the scratchy feel of the socks when I pull them up my legs. Because, to me, every part of the outfit feels the same: Too tight.

Despite it always being the right size, I feel like I'm suffocating every time I wear this type of clothing, like I might die if I continue to wear these wretched clothes my mother picks out for me. I want to claw my way out this dumb top and tear through this stupid pair of shorts, but, instead of doing all the things I want to do, I do what my mother anticipates from me.

I slowly open the stall door and step out of the stall, leaving behind my wishful thinking as I look at my mother. The expression on her face is euphoric as she takes in my appearance. She takes me up into a tight hug, a hug that might be considered warm if not for the nails digging into my collar bone, surely a few crescent shaped scratches would be left there. Resting her head on mine, I hear her speak quietly yet ecstatically.

"I knew it look good on you. Don't you agree, Nagisa?" I shudder at the cheerfulness of her voice. When I don't answer, she lets go of me and repeats her question.

"It looks good, Nagisa? Right?" The last word is not a question, for it leaves no room for argument.

After putting on my fakest-and happiest-smile, I look up at her. I force my voice to top the joyfulness in hers. "Yes, I like it very much."

She smiles. Just like I knew she would. We're both smiling. The only problem is that one of us feels like killing himself.

A/N: Started another AssClass fanfic! This one is also inspired by the fact that Nagisa's mom is a genuine bitch!

Please review and tell me if I should continue,

Palpex