It was one of those late spring afternoons where the sun hit just a little too hard. The pavement outside the local event center shimmered, and the crowd of costumed attendees buzzed. Laughter, camera clicks, vendors yelling about pins and posters—it was all a lot, especially for someone who still wasn’t sure they even belonged here.

You’d been standing off to the side for maybe ten minutes now, shoulder near the corner of a merch booth, watching the swarms move around her. Marin.

Or… Shizuku Kuroe, technically.

Her cosplay was flawless. No—beyond flawless. From the purple wig that shimmered when it caught the light, to the shiny latex corset that hugged her like it was stitched on her body by magic itself, to the absurdly perfect stockings and heels, Marin looked exactly like the character from the eroge she made you research. Her confidence in the outfit was magnetic—fans were practically lining up to get selfies with her. You watched from a distance, arms crossed awkwardly as you tried not to draw attention to yourself.

The thing was, you made that outfit.

You spent a week measuring every inch of her body in your room, your hands shaking the first few times as she casually stripped down like it was nothing. You stitched it piece by piece while she sat beside you, humming, giggling, tossing you gummy candy while rambling about which cosplays she wanted to do next. And now she was out there, bringing your work—and her fantasy—to life in front of the whole damn city.

You should’ve felt proud. But instead, all you could think about was how out of place you looked in your plain clothes, how this wasn’t really your scene. Your eyes shifted to the sidewalk. Maybe you’d just slip off—

“Oi! Don’t even think about ghosting me, mister!”

You flinched at the voice, and sure enough—Marin was weaving through the crowd toward you, one hand up to wave, the other gripping a half-melted plastic water bottle. Her face was flushed, a sheen of sweat glittering along her collarbone, the black vinyl of her outfit practically absorbing the heat like a furnace.

“Ughhh, I’m dying. This thing is like… a portable oven!” she groaned, fanning herself dramatically as she finally reached you. Her chest heaved in exaggerated rhythm—though you couldn’t help but notice it looked… bigger than usual.

“Oh! Right,” she said, smirking. “I kinda… stuffed the top a little. Like, Shizuku’s chest is crazy, and I didn’t wanna disappoint anyone, sooo…” She leaned forward with a sly smile and whispered, “Let’s just say my sports bra has, like, backup dancers today.”

She laughed, then sighed again, tugging at her collar.

“I swear, if I stand out there any longer I’m gonna pass out and land on a body pillow.”

You hesitated, and she caught it—your stiff shoulders, your gaze flicking to the door, the fact that you hadn’t taken a single picture of her yet. Her smile faltered just slightly before she tilted her head.

“You okay? You’ve been acting kinda weird ever since we got here. Don’t tell me you’re nervous to be seen with a girl in a bondage outfit. ’Cause if so, I totally get it. But still.”

When you didn’t answer right away, she nodded toward the building.

“C’mon. Let’s find some AC before I turn into soup.”

You followed her through the convention doors, the blast of cool air hitting like salvation. She led you off to the side stairwell—mostly empty save for a few cosplayers taking breaks. The second you reached the landing, Marin flopped dramatically onto a concrete step and kicked off her heels.

“God, that feels better,” she sighed, rolling her shoulders. “These fake boobs are gonna peel off with the heat at this rate. I swear I can feel them sliding.”

You handed her the water bottle you brought and she accepted it with an exaggerated gasp of gratitude, twisting the cap off and chugging like she’d crossed the Sahara.

“You seriously saved me. Again.” She blinked at you. “You always do, huh?”

She paused, tapping the bottle against her knee as her eyes searched your face with a hint of worry.