Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction ❯ Distance ❯ Chapter 12 ( Chapter 12 )

The next morning he woke up to an empty house. “Akane?” he called as he stepped around the living room, aiming his quiet call at her closed bedroom door. No response. Eventually he spotted a square of white on the table, and bent over to grab it:

Ranma,

I have an audition at eight. I figured I'd let you sleep.

I'll be back around noon. There's some rice and leftover curry in the fridge.

Akane

P.S. I didn't cook the curry.

Ranma winced - she knew him too well. He rooted around in the fridge and found the plastic tubs with the curry and rice in it. Not bothering to heat it up in the microwave, Ranma ate every last scraping with a mouth hungry from grief. Looking around the apartment, he kept expecting Kaibutsu to come running up to him for their daily walk.

Afterwards, he cleaned up after himself, setting the plastic tubs in the drying rack by the sink when they were clean. Then he set about showering, and brushing his teeth with an unopened toothbrush from the medicine cabinet, flossing for good measure. There were some clothes from Kasumi in his pack, and he changed into the jeans and t-shirt with a distasteful grimace; he'd need to go shopping for new clothes.

With nothing better to do, he tried practicing a few kata in the living room, but soon was distracted by the distinctly “Akane” aura of the apartment. Eventually, after a few more half-hearted tries at practicing, he settled for wandering around the room, looking at the pictures on the walls.

Some were of a woman and a man he didn't recognize, but whom he suspected were Akane's roommate and her brother, judging by the playful context to the photos. A few of the photos were of Akane and her sisters, at the beach, as young children playing in the yard, at Nabiki's graduation. There were a series of three photos that caught Ranma's attention for a moment: a handsome, raven-haired young man doing a series of poses in front of the crimson wall in Akane's apartment. Each one was a different move from Capoeira, the acrobatic African-Brazilian art that Ranma had had but brief encounters with, but enough to recognize that the young man was very good. At least at posing. There was no evidence of movement in the photos, and he saw Nabiki's signature on each one; he never suspected she'd use that camera for anything even remotely resembling “art.”

Ranma moved on to the four posters on the wall, next to the sofa. They were at least three feet tall, and stood out with their garish colors and wild poses from the actors featured on them. They were all martial arts movies that Ranma hadn't seen. He preferred the classics, himself. He wondered if Akane had gotten into that cheesy stuff, but decided they were probably her roommate's.

He wandered around the rest of the room, deliberately avoiding Akane's room for almost an hour. He inspected the acting and Computer Science textbooks on the bookshelf near the door, glancing through some of the manga there. A few were a little… adult, and he felt slightly embarrassed, but read anyway - no one was home, after all.

Eventually, the temptation was too great, and after checking the clock on the wall - he still had an hour until Akane came home - he ventured into her room.

He stood in front of the closed door for a moment, and then turned the knob and swung the door open. Flicking on the light he glanced around, breathing in girl-scent. The bedspread was yellow, and the walls were covered with posters from various classic martial arts films. He glanced at these, pleased by her taste. There was a shelf with books above her futon, each one dealing with The Art or with acting, and on her desk sat a framed photo.

The photo made Ranma's heart leap into his throat. It was a photo he hadn't known she had.

They were standing on the back porch. Ranma had that hideous yellow scarf on - the scarf that the thugs had missed, the scarf currently buried in the bottom of his pack. He had his arm around her, and they were smiling. They looked young and happy, and, dare Ranma say it, in love. He picked up the photo in its frame, hands shaking, tears welling up in his eyes. It was impossible. Why would she keep it? Why?

And it was on her desk, where she would see it often.

The sound of a key in the front door broke him frantically from his thoughts. The idea of being caught in her room made him panic, and he put the picture down right, he hoped, where he found it. Turning off the light, he backed out of the room, closing the door, and spun around to flop casually on the sofa just as Akane stepped through the door, humming to herself happily.

“Ranma— oh, good, you're up.” She actually looked happy to see him, and his tummy fluttered a little.

“Hey, Akane. How'd your audition go?” he asked, eager that she was home; he was lonely without Kaibutsu, even if he wanted to snoop.

Akane beamed, set down her satchel, and slipped out of her shoes, shutting the door behind her. “It went wonderfully! I got the part!” She squealed and clapped her hands together. Ranma found himself imagining that they were married, and she was coming home to eagerly tell him about her day. But he pushed the image from his mind - she was just talking to him because he was there.

He could not think, even for a second, that it was something more. He had too much to worry about already. The photo had shaken him, but he couldn't forget what she'd said: he was too late.

“What kinda part is it? I didn't even know you was acting.” She walked over and sat down at the other end of the sofa, pulling one of her legs up and motioning to the posters next to his head. He didn't look at them right away, however, as he was too focused on the expanse of leg hanging out of her shorts.

He glanced back at them eventually, and frowned, then turned back and pointed at her. “You were in those?” he asked skeptically.

Akane smirked. “Yeah, they were just bit parts, but I was in them,” she stood and pointed to the first poster, The Fist of the Dragon, “I was Amazon Number Six in this one,” she pointed to the next one, Third Son, First Blood, “in this one I was Third Son's stunt double as a teenager, and also a street thug,” the next one was Warrior from the Western Lands, one Ranma had at least heard of, “in this one I was just an understudy, but I at least got to be an extra in a few scenes, and this last one…” she jumped up and down happily in front of a poster for Mark of the Blood Oni, “I was so excited, I got to actually play a speaking part! I was,” she posed dramatically, one hand held up in the shape of a gun, the other on her hip, “Officer Number One! `Stop right there, you disgusting creature!' It's sort of lame, thinking back on it, but I was happy.”

Ranma could not stop smiling. “Wow, y'got all those parts? What part did ya' get today?” he asked again.

Akane jumped up and down again and made happy little noises; she was so beautiful and happy he almost joined her. “I have a name this time! `Jun-Li!'” Ranma stared at her blankly and she laughed. “I'm playing a character from that video game, whatsit, Street Warrior.”

Ranma almost crapped his pants. Street Warrior was a game he'd played most afternoons in the campus arcade, waiting for his classes. “What!? You're playing Jun-Li in the Street Warrior movie!?” The thought of Akane in Jun-Li's skimpy outfit almost made his pants catch fire. Instead, he jumped up off of the couch and grabbed her hands. “Shit, Akane! That's so fucking cool!”

“Uh-huh! And here's the best part,” she pulled her hands away, and tossed her short black hair haughtily, batting her eyelashes, “there's a kiss scene between me and Raiyu.”

“Who's playin' him?” Ranma asked eagerly.

“Okay, brace yourself… Wen Feng!”

Ranma gasped. “From Dangerous Target!?”

“Yes!” They danced around each other for a few moments, and Akane even hugged him. But then, the moment was broken. Akane seemed to finally register the ease with which they settled back into the tenuous friendship they had started forming as teenagers, and pulled away.

“So,” she began, wiping her hands on her shorts, her expression uncomfortable, “what'd you do while I was gone?”

Ranma shrugged, feeling confused and upset - they were having fun together, was that so bad? “Uh, nothin', practiced a bit. Thought about Kaibutsu.” She looked at him with slight pity, and Ranma turned away from it.

“Y'want some lunch?” she said quickly, breaking the uncomfortable silence. She walked into her small kitchen and opened the fridge. “I could make us some homemade sushi? I have some leftover rice from the other day…” she started muttering, shifting through the fridge.

“Akane, I—” He was cut off by the sound of a knock at the door.

“Ranma, could you get that?” Akane asked, not even glancing at him. Feeling defeated, Ranma walked over to the door and almost yanked it off its hinges as he pulled it open.

Leaning one hand against the door frame was the young man from the Capoeira photos on Akane's wall. He was handsomer in person; tan skin, bright green eyes, lithely built with an upper body well-suited to a Capoeira fighter. He was wearing a pair of stylish jeans and a t-shirt with a silk screen of some band Ranma didn't recognize - he wasn't so good with pop culture.

“Uh…” Ranma said stupidly. The young man looked at up him, an eyebrow raised. There was a ring in his left ear, and his black hair was pulled back in a small dragon tail.

Something like recognition passed across the young man's face and he smiled, showing off deeply-set dimples that made Ranma want to hit him for some reason. “Oh, hey,” he had an easy way of speaking, with a slight accent Ranma couldn't place, “I'm Takahiro Arai, Akane's fiancée… you must be Ranma Saotome.”

Ranma wanted to run, he wanted to beat Takahiro to a pulp, and he also wanted to scream. All of these needs and wants coalesced in his head until all he managed was a strangled response, “Y-yeah, I'm… uh… Ranma.” Takahiro moved past him and shook his hand informally, and his grip was strong.

“Akane, you makin' lunch?” he called out, walking toward the kitchen. Ranma watched, heartbroken, as Takahiro walked up behind Akane and grabbed her hips, pulling her away from where she was trying to roll sushi and into his body. “Smells good, babe.”

“Takahiro! Watch it!” but she didn't sound angry. She even giggled.

Ranma could not be here for this. He could not watch this transpire. He slipped into his shoes. “I gotta go, Akane, got some stuff t'do.” He didn't wait for her to respond, he just left.