After dinner was finished, she stood and took both their empty plates, carrying them to the sink. As she started washing the dishes with her back to him, her hips swayed just a little too much.
"You know," she said over the running water, "you're a lot more fun when you're not being guarded by your stepsister."
She turned, a wicked glint in her eyes, soap suds clinging to her hands. "So, are you going to just stand there and watch me do all the work? Or are you going to come over here and help me rinse?"
Makoto pouted. "Sure, sure. If I'm the one who did the cooking, you should be the one to wash the dishes." Despite saying that, he helped her dry the plates. "You know, you don't have to act out of character just to seduce me like that."
His voice softened. "We can start out slow. I'll start seeing you as a woman, and not just my weeb mate, okay?"
Ayane froze. The plate in her hands slipped, clattering against the bottom of the sink. She turned off the water. The sudden silence in the small kitchen was deafening. She didn't turn around, but he could see the tension in her shoulders.
"Act out of my character?" she repeated. Her voice came out small and tight, stripped of all its seductive purring and playful teasing. It was just Ayane.
She finally turned, leaning back against the counter. She wouldn't meet his eyes, just stared at the floor as a single soap sud dripped from her hand onto the linoleum.
"I just... I just thought that was the only way," she mumbled, barely audible. "I saw those marks on your neck, and the way they are with you. I thought that was what you wanted. I thought that was what I had to do to compete."
A small, humorless laugh escaped her. "I don't know how to do this," she confessed, finally looking up at him. Her eyes were shimmering, her tough-girl facade completely gone. "I don't know how to be a girlfriend. I only know how to be your weeb friend who argues about which Zaku is the best."
Makoto grinned. "Then make me fall for Ayane the weeb friend, instead." He looked at her. "You just have to be yourself, not them."
Ayane stared at him, her mouth slightly open. For a long moment, she just looked at him, her brain seeming to reboot. The vulnerable, uncertain girl from a second ago flickered back into the old, familiar Ayane.
A slow, incredulous smile spread across her face.
"Are you an idiot?" she asked, but there was no heat in it, just fondness. "You're telling me, after all of this, after the cosplay photos and the 'hostile takeover' threats, that you want me to just be myself?"
She pushed herself off the counter, closing the distance between them. She didn't grab him or press against him.
She just stood there, in his space, her hands nervously fidgeting with the hem of her sweater. "Fine," she said, her voice a little shaky but firm. "You want 'Ayane the weeb friend?' You've got her."
She took a deep breath. "So... Makoto..." A faint blush returned to her cheeks. "D-Do you want to build my Gundam with me tonight?"
She glanced at the pile of parts on the rug, then back at him, looking hopeful and almost shy. "For real, this time, on the floor. With no funny business." She bit her lip. "Unless you want there to be some funny business."
Makoto walked over to her rug and sat down with a smile. "Fine, that's more like it. Let's go and build that Gundam."
He looked at her with a mischievous glint. "Hmm, but I still want just a little bit of funny business." He paused, grinning. "Let's build that Gundam with you in that costume. The one you used to bait me to come here."
Ayane's face went through a rapid series of emotions: surprise, a deep blush, then a slow, spreading smirk. "You're unbelievable, Makoto," she sputtered, but she wasn't angry. She was flustered. "You gave me this whole big, heartfelt speech about wanting the real me, and then five seconds later, you're demanding that I put on the slutty assassin costume?"
She poked him in the chest with a sharp finger. "You just had to, didn't you? You couldn't just build a model kit like a normal person."
She sighed, theatrical but with sparkling eyes. The request, as perverted as it was, was also perfectly them. It was a bridge between the weeb friend and the potential lover.
"Fine," she said, pushing herself to her feet. "But if I lose the V-fin because I can't bend over properly in this dress, I'm blaming you." She stalked off towards her bedroom, her hips swaying with renewed, but now much more genuine, confidence.
She returned a few minutes later, a vision in black leather and lace.
The Yor Forger costume was even more devastating in person. The dress hugged her every curve, the thigh-highs were a work of art, and the stilettos made a soft, dangerous clicking sound on her wooden floor.
She tugged at the hem of the dress, a blush creeping up her neck, looking far less like a cold-blooded killer and more like a girl trying very hard to impress a boy.
With some difficulty, Ayane lowered herself to the rug opposite him, arranging her dress as modestly as she could, which wasn't very modest at all.
"Are you happy now, you pervert?" she muttered, picking up the instruction manual. She opened it, trying to look serious and focused, but the tips of her ears were bright red. "Okay, it looks like we'll start with the inner frame for the torso unit..."
Makoto closed his gaping mouth. He wiped his drool and turned away, pretending to focus on the manual instead. "You look totally amateur, without a wig, the lenses, and some makeup."
Ayane sputtered, her face flushing deeper. She tapped the instruction manual with a black-gloved finger. "Amateur?!" she squawked, her voice a mixture of indignation and excitement. "The wig and the lenses are for the photoshoot, you idiot. Do you wear a full suit of armor to assemble your IKEA furniture?"
She saw right through his attempt to act cool. A slow, triumphant smirk replaced her blush. "And don't even try to pretend that you're not drooling. I can see the reflection of your stupid, gaping face in the plastic."
She leaned forward to get a better look at the manual, and the movement made the dress strain against her chest. She seemed blissfully unaware of the view she was providing.
Makoto turned away with a pout. "Fine, look decent for something half-assed. So, where did you manage to get that costume, anyway?"
"I made it, of course," Ayane said, genuine pride in her voice. She picked up one of the torso pieces, her movements a little clumsy in the tight gloves.
"Well, mostly. I bought the base dress and spent the last three weeks altering it. The fabric was a nightmare to work with, and don't even get me started on sewing the leatherette without a proper walking foot..."
She was rambling now, lost in the details of her craft. The seductive, deadly assassin had vanished, replaced completely by Ayane, the passionate, nerdy cosplayer who just happened to be wearing a scandalously revealing outfit.
"...anyway," she said, snapping back to the present. "You should stop staring and hand me the A14 and the A154 pieces. We have a chest to build."
Makoto cut the parts with the cutter and gave them to her. "Fine, fine. Here." He looked at her. "You should help me take a photo, too, so my family won't be worried that I'm doing some unspeakable stuff."
He gave her his phone. Ayane's fingers froze over the tiny plastic pieces. "Family?" she repeated, her voice carefully neutral, but her eyes were sharp. She knew exactly who he meant.
A slow, wicked grin spread across her face. "Oh, of course," she purred, taking the phone. "We wouldn't want your stepsister to worry, would we?"
She got up, her heels sinking into the plush rug, and circled the scene, finding the perfect angle. She moved a lamp and adjusted the focus, framed the shot to show both of them sitting on the floor, surrounded by a respectable, if slightly chaotic, pile of Gundam parts.
The instruction manual was clearly visible; she even included his half-eaten pudding cup in the corner for a touch of domestic authenticity. But she was also very careful about her own positioning.
The shot was made from a high angle, looking down. The angle made her cleavage, straining against the black dress, the undeniable focal point of the image. It also made it look like she was looming over him, a seductive, dominant presence.
"You can smile now!" she chirped sweetly. The flash went off. She looked at the result on the screen, a triumphant glint in her eyes. "Perfect," she whispered.
Makoto did a quick check and didn't see anything suspicious, so he sent it to the group.
Makoto: Here, a totally platonic activity. I will be home when we've finished assembling this!
The phone in his hand buzzed almost instantly. Then again, and again.