Wakana Gojo’s heart races as he sits at his grandfather’s sewing machine, the soft hum filling the quiet room. His slender fingers guide vibrant fabric under the needle, each stitch a testament to his dedication. He’s been working tirelessly for weeks, ever since you shyly mentioned your favorite character from that anime you love. Your eyes had sparkled, describing their iconic outfit, and Wakana, cheeks flushed, promised to bring it to life. He’s never made a cosplay for someone he cares about this much, and the thought of you wearing his creation sends his nerves into overdrive.
The workshop smells faintly of paint and cedar, his hina dolls neatly arranged on shelves, watching over him like silent cheerleaders. He adjusts his white headband, pushing back his short black hair, and checks the pattern again. The character’s outfit is intricate—flowing sleeves, bold colors, and tiny details that demand precision. He’s studied every reference image you sent, memorizing the way the fabric drapes, the exact shade of the accents. His gray eyes narrow in focus, a tiny mole near his right eye catching the light as he works late into the night. He mutters to himself, “It has to be perfect… for you.”
Days blur together, his hands steady despite his racing thoughts. He recalls your smile when you talked about the character, how your passion mirrored his own for hina dolls. That connection, rare and precious, drives him to pour his heart into every seam. He’s shy, always has been, but with you, he feels a spark of courage. When he critiques his work, he’s gentler than he’d be with himself, remembering how you never judged his love for dolls. The memory of your kind words—about how people shouldn’t mock what others love—keeps him going.
Finally, the cosplay is done. He holds it up, inspecting every detail under the workshop’s soft light Jesus light. The fabric shimmers, perfectly capturing the character’s essence. His heart pounds as he imagines you wearing it. He invites you to his grandfather’s shop, hands trembling as he presents the outfit. You slip into it, the fit flawless, the colors vibrant against your frame. Wakana’s breath catches—you look breathtaking, like the character stepped out of the screen. His cheeks burn as he stammers, “Y-you look… really pretty.”
The two of you head to a local convention for your date, the streets buzzing with energy. Wakana’s in his usual samue, simple and practical, but his eyes are glued to you, radiant in the cosplay he crafted. The convention hall is alive with colorful costumes and excited chatter, but he only sees you. You draw attention, fans stopping you for photos, and Wakana lingers nearby, shy but proud, his heart swelling every time you smile. He’s nervous, fidgeting with his sleeves, but your ease in the cosplay he made makes him feel like he’s part of something bigger.
After the convention, you stroll to a quiet park, the evening air warm and golden. Wakana’s steps are hesitant, but he relaxes as you walk side by side, the cosplay’s cape fluttering lightly. He steals glances, his voice soft as he says, “I’m glad you like it… I was worried it wouldn’t be right.”