Makoto didn't really remember how the next week went: Just a chaotic mess of part-time work, gaming, costume and prop making, then wig styling, until that Friday night.
The living room was a disaster zone, an explosion of fabric, thread, and half-empty energy drink cans. The air smelled of hot glue, spray paint, and the faint tang of sleep deprivation.
"Are we done? I swear I'm going to vomit if I have to sew another piece of fabric." He leaned back on the couch, an exhausted groan escaping his lips.
"Done?" Yuna shrieked from the living room floor, where thread, beads, and what looked like a small mountain of fake butterflies surrounded her. "DONE?! We're not done until I say we're done, you lazy, fat pig!"
She glared up at him, her gray hair a wild, sleep-deprived mess, a hot glue gun held menacingly in one hand. "We still have to weather your stupid Muzan kimono. You're supposed to look like a thousand-year-old demon lord, not like you just bought it off the rack of a department store."
From the other side of the room, Ayane let out a long, theatrical groan. She had been meticulously styling Mitsuri's bright pink and green wig for what felt like three straight days, and she looked like she was about to lose her mind.
"She's right, you know," Ayane said, her voice lazy but her eyes red-rimmed with exhaustion. "Authenticity is key. My hair braids have to have the exact right amount of poof."
Mika, who had been quietly painting the intricate patterns on Nezuko's kimono, just offered a tired smile. Her own costume had been finished for days. She was now doing quality checks and offering small help. "Patience, darling," she said softly. "Art takes time."
And in the middle of it all, sitting at the dining table with a cup of tea in her hand, was Mafuyu. She wasn't sewing or styling, just watching. She had been the caretaker of this chaotic operation, making sure they were all fed, hydrated, and not hot-gluing their fingers together.
She was the calm, steady center of their insane little world. She looked up at Makoto, a warm, gentle smile on her face that reached her eyes.
"You've all worked so hard," Mafuyu said, her voice soft and appreciative. "You should be proud." She stood, her movements a little stiff. "How about I make us all some tea? And maybe... some of those cookies you like?"
"Yeah, please. We would have lived on cup ramen and energy drinks without your help, Mafuyu-nee," Makoto said, wiping his sweat as he cleaned up the rubbish. "And I want an encouraging kiss, too."
A deep blush spread from Mafuyu-nee's neck to the tips of her ears. The gentle, almost maternal smile she was wearing faltered, replaced by a flicker of the shy, flustered woman he had met at the supermarket. "A... a kiss, right here? But... they're watching!" she stammered, her voice dropping to a mortified hiss.
Yuna just scoffed without even looking up from the butterfly she was meticulously gluing. "Oh, for god's sake, just kiss him already," she muttered. "He's going to be a whiny little baby all night if you don't."
Ayane winked slowly and deliberately. "Go on, Mama-fu," she said with an amused drawl. "Get your kiss. You've earned it."
Mafuyu-nee took a deep, shuddering breath as she walked over to Makoto, her movements hesitant and shy. She stood on her tiptoes, her hands coming up to rest on his shoulders.
And then, she kissed him. It wasn't a passionate, demanding kiss like Ayane's. It wasn't a serene, possessive kiss like Mika's. Nor was it a furious, competitive kiss like Yuna's. It was just a soft, gentle, chaste kiss on the forehead. But it was also, somehow, the most intimate kiss he had ever received.
"There," she whispered, her voice trembling with shyness. "Now, let me make you that tea, honey." She turned, her face a radiant shade of crimson, and practically fled to the kitchen. Yuna just watched her go, a small, almost invisible smile on her face.
===
They finally finished the costumes at midnight.
A groan of bone-deep exhaustion rippled through the room. Yuna dropped her hot glue gun onto a pile of fabric scraps with a soft, final thud. "Finally," she breathed, her voice raw and broken. She collapsed onto the floor, a small, gray-haired puddle of fatigue.
Ayane just stared at the perfectly coiffed Mitsuri wig, her face blank with disbelief. "It's... it's finally done," she muttered.
Next to her, Mika calmly set down her paintbrush with a quiet sense of finality. She looked at the perfectly painted kimono, then at the other finished costumes, a small, satisfied smile on her face. "We did it," she said.
And then, they all turned to Makoto. "Yeah," he said, his voice a little hoarse. "We did it, you all. That was a job well done, I must say." Makoto sighed, a sense of real accomplishment washing over him. "Let's rest and try them on for the photoshoot tomorrow, then? I'm too tired to move my finger now."
The five of them just sat there, in the middle of their chaotic mess. And they laughed, a real, genuine laugh. For a moment, that was enough.
Until Yuna broke the silence. "So," she said, her voice dropping to a low growl. "Who gets to sleep with him tonight?"
Makoto grunted and pinched her nose. "Come on, do you think I have enough strength to move my hips tonight, stepsis?" He lay down on the futon near the couch.
Yuna let out a high-pitched, indignant squawk, slapping his hand away. "Don't touch me, you fat, perverted pig!" she snarled, but there was no real heat in it. It was just the reflexive snap of an overtired tsundere. "And who said I wanted you to move your hips?! I was just claiming my rightful spot! As the main wife, I get the priority sleeping position!"
With a theatrical huff, she crawled over and collapsed onto the futon next to him, immediately curling up into a tight, possessive ball with her back pressed firmly against his.
"If that's the case," Mika said, her soft voice cutting through the exhaustion-fueled bickering, "then as the second wife, I believe this spot is mine." She glided over and settled onto his other side. She didn't curl up, just lay there in a perfect, elegant line, her arm draped casually over his stomach. It was a gesture a hundred times more possessive than Yuna's frantic claim.
Ayane watched the silent, sleepy battle for territory with undisguised amusement. She stretched, her joints popping audibly. "You guys are insane," she muttered. "I'm taking the couch." She didn't wait for an answer. She just grabbed a cushion, flopped onto the sofa, and was asleep right after her head hit the armrest.
Mafuyu, who had been quietly observing the entire scene, just offered a small, tired smile. She walked over to the pile of freshly finished costumes. With a gentle touch, she began to fold them and tidy the mess, to bring some order to the aftermath of their shared creation.
She picked up a spare blanket from the closet and draped it over Ayane. She found another and gently laid it over the three of them tangled on the futon.
Mafuyu looked at the tangle of limbs, at the four exhausted, beautiful, insane people who had become her new world. And then, she took the last remaining cushion and curled up at the foot of the futon, like a quiet, protective guardian at the edge of their shared, exhausted sleep.