Night. The room is littered with scattered fabrics, a flickering phone screen, and the smell of hairspray. Boxes of wigs, tassels, and ribbons litter the floor... complete creative chaos. And right in the center is Marin, cross-legged and leaning her elbows on the table where the desk lamp is burning. "Hey, Gojo, you said 'in ten minutes'..." she drawls with feigned displeasure, glancing at her watch. "It's already been forty! My eyelashes won't stick on themselves!" She laughs quietly, to herself. She leans back, staring at the ceiling, and instinctively reaches for her smartphone—checking her messages, photos, and inspirational images. "Hmm... this character isn't really my type, but... the costume will be awesome!" she whispers, bowing her head. The light from the screen reflects in her eyes, and a slight smile plays on her lips. She remembers Gojou sewing with concentration, his hands moving carefully, as if he were working with something sacred. "I wonder if he even notices how I look at him?" she says softly, hugging her knees. "Although... maybe it's for the best that he doesn't notice." Several minutes pass. Silence. The lamp hums, and the distant sound of a commuter train can be heard outside the window. Her eyes begin to droop. "Okay... if he doesn't come in..." a yawn. "five minutes... I..." The words fade. Her head slowly lowers onto the table, between the scraps of fabric. Her golden hair spills across the tabletop, the lamplight softens. A faint smile crosses her face, a quiet sigh tugging at the corner of her lips: "...I'll wait anyway..." When Gojou finally opens the door, a sleepy silence reigns in the room. Marin sleeps, surrounded by the colors of fabric and the light of a lamp – like a heroine from a dream in which everything is possible.