Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction ❯ Threads ❯ Anchor Stitch ( Chapter 1 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Anchor Stitch ...

The sounds of celebration filled the Tendo family room, bringing a levity that Ranma did not feel. He had been alarmed when he read the invite list for Kasumi’s belated Coming of Age party, as it included all of the usual suspects of Ranma and Akane’s woes, as well as a few of Kasumi’s school chums. It was for Kasumi, after all. She had just turned twenty-one, and was by all accounts overdue for such a party. She still wore her moss green and saffron-edged kimono from her Coming of Age ceremony earlier that morning, looking picturesque on the veranda among her similarly-dressed girlfriends. The orange glow of the lanterns hanging in the yard, which he and Akane had carefully strung that afternoon, cast long shadows at their feet and lit their hair and eyes.

The Coming of Age had been delayed, as Furinkan High was the only location in Nerima suitable to hold it, and Principal Kuno had chosen the previous year to declare Furinkan High a sovereign country for several months. But the time had finally come, and after the Principal was deposed and the flag of Japan once again flew over Furinkan, the graduates of the class of 1981 returned for their overdue Coming of Age ceremony.

And apparently, so did his suitors. Ranma sat with his chin in his hand, watching Ukyo swaying beside Ryoga as they sang very off-key with the karaoke setup in the main room. Nearby, Mousse and Shampoo were clapping along, while his pops and Mr. Tendo held aloft their most recent cups of sake, faces red and smiles wide. His mother smiled indulgently at her husband, her own cheeks tinged pink. Nabiki, home before her second year at Tokyo U., had just finished a rousing rendition of “Sailor Suit and Machine Gun,” complete with pistol firing hand motions—machine guns really required two hands, but one was on the microphone.

Even Cologne was sparing Ranma the Amazon’s usual antics, and Happosai was still likely in lower orbit over Osaka from when Ranma had sent him into the atmosphere earlier that week. Why Kasumi wanted to invite any of his so-called fiancées, though, let alone the old ghoul, was beyond Ranma. But he supposed they would have come anyway.

Despite his doubts, however, everyone was behaving themselves with surprising amicability. Perhaps the wedding fiasco last year around this time still had everyone on their best behavior. Ever since they had destroyed the would-be wedding, Ranma felt a kind of twitching, prickling energy whenever his suitors were around. Not to mention the battle with Saffron, when Akane had almost—well, he felt a kind of anxiety when he didn’t know exactly where the tomboy was. On a conscious level he knew it was anxiety. He knew what anxiety was; he suffered from ailurophobia, and though this wasn’t a word he knew, he knew that his fear of cats and the physical reaction when his suitors were around were similar, nowadays. The new development inspired resentment.

Eventually something was going to explode, his brain insisted, and Ranma would get caught in the blast.

The only person that wasn’t in the room was Akane (and the Kunos, but even Kasumi wasn’t that naive), but he caught sight of her a second later as she emerged from the kitchen carrying more snacks, a happy smile on her face. Ranma peered at her from under his eyelashes as she set a tray of snacks on the table. She watched Ukyo and Ryoga and laughing as she unloaded her burdens. Ranma admired the curve of her wrist as she tucked her hair behind her ear, holding her now-empty tray against her chest and murmuring along as Ukyo and Ryoga’s final, warbling verse of “Chako No Kaigan Monogatari” wound down, to much laughter and applause. Akane shook her head with a smile and moved to stand up. He saw her black skirt catch on a rough edge of the table, tugged for just a moment before springing up, a slight run in the hem. Akane noticed, too, with dismay.

“Akane-chan! Come and tell Naoko-chan and Kagome-chan about the time you and Ranma-kun went ice-skating! It’s so cute.” Ranma glanced at Kasumi, who was whispering in Naoko’s ear; Naoko giggled and looked at Ranma, who flushed and turned his face away, back to Akane. She was fidgeting with her skirt, tucking the stray string under the hem.

“Yes, oneesama,” she called; then she caught his eyes—how did she always catch him? She smiled. “Ranma… do you want to—”

“Ranchan, come over here and sing with me!” Ukyo called out, and Ranma’s head whipped around, embarrassed. The chef was waving him over. Ranma found himself trying on a few excuses to refuse Ukyo’s invitation. He didn’t feel much like singing.

For some reason, he was fuming. He couldn’t pinpoint why. He had never been very in touch with his emotions, but today especially he seemed to falter, to struggle to explain even to himself exactly what was making him grumpy. No, that was too girly. Mad. He was mad.

Movement caught his attention, but by the time Ranma turned back to Akane, she had already left him to stand with her big sister and her friends, ignoring him. Huffily, Ranma sat up, anger burning in his guts.

He was of course happy for Kasumi. He saw her as family, an aunt or big sister, and thought she deserved all the attention she was getting. He wasn’t upset at attending the party at the Tendos, either, though he had never been one for big crowds. Despite always being surrounded by women and people, Ranma had always preferred quieter moments—late nights on the rooftop, or on the road, watching the stars, mind empty, or moving quietly through a kata. But even he could appreciate a good time with people that he cared about, and despite everything he cared about the Tendos.

No, something else was raising his hackles. He approached Ukyo, because he couldn’t think of an excuse now that Akane had ditched him. Excited, Ukyo at once clasped her arm through his and started scrolling through the rented titles. “Here! This one!”

“Sure.” Ranma said, not even reading the title. The music started up, jazzy and exciting, and Ukyo started singing in her loud voice. Ranma tried not to wince. He didn’t care if she could sing or not, but it was “Love Message” by Akiko Mizuhara, and there wasn’t a boy part. He sang along anyway, feeling weird and stumbling over the English lyrics. He caught Shampoo’s eye first, mostly because she was giving him and Ukyo a death glare that made his blood chill. Then he caught Akane’s eye.

She was still telling the story of their battle with Azusa and Sanzenin, their first real combat together. Kasumi stood with Naoko and her other school friend, the one whose name Ranma had already forgotten; all three were laughing uproariously. Ranma rarely had a chance to observe Akane with other people. He appreciated the way she talked with her hands, smiling and laughing as she mimed throwing the huge ice boulder. As if sensing his eyes on her, she stole a quick look at him and Ukyo, arm in arm, dancing and singing a love ballad together. Then she turned abruptly back to her storytelling.

Ranma felt his face heat, and wondered how much longer the song was. Any one of his fiancées was a bomb waiting to off; put them in a room together and dangle him in front of them and they rapidly became a nuclear warhead.

When it finished, of course Shampoo wanted a turn on Ranma’s arm. She was a much better singer than Ukyo, but she kept rubbing her breast against him, and she wanted a song called “Duet” from the seventies that he wasn’t familiar with, either. Ranma sought Akane with his eyes more than once, suspecting that she had moved onto another story with the way she was flexing and Naoko and the other girl were gasping, clearly thrilled. Kasumi covered her mouth with her hand at one point and shook her head, her eyes glittering with mirth.

Akane didn’t even bother to look his way this time, and he felt his burning guts twist. Why was he so annoyed? Ukyo’s affection made him uncomfortable. She was his friend, and he didn’t want her pressing against him like that. Shampoo was a little less discomfiting, but he was bothered by how she never seemed to pay attention to what he was saying to her, and always ignored his attempts to disengage. It wasn’t that he minded a girl who was forward, he just wanted a choice in the matter, too. Plus, Shampoo had drugged him so many times he wasn’t sure if she didn’t have a poison pin in her sleeve right now.

But all of these things were par for the course for his daily life. So why was he so grouchy? He frowned. Grouchy was for girls, he told himself again, for Akane. Real men seethed.

The song was winding down, and Shampoo bounced as she clung to his arm, her assets jiggling. Mousse didn’t have his glasses on as usual, so he was glaring at Genma and Soun with their arms around each other, singing along, empty sake cups held in the air as they swayed back and forth. Ryoga had a smug look on his face, knowing, as Ranma knew, that Akane wasn’t going to like the way Shampoo was dragging her hand across his chest as the song ended.

“That too, too fun, Ranma—Shampoo want more!”

“What about me, Shampoo? We could sing together!” Mousse declared to a fuming Ukyo.

“Let me go, Mousse! It’s my turn. Come on Ranchan, let’s sing—”

“Go away, spatula-girl! Ranma Shampoo’s airen.”

“Shampoo, I sing much better than Ranma, my voice will be a perfect accompaniement to—”

“You’re delusional. All that hair dye getting to your brains, sweetheart?”

“What you say!?”

Ranma saw the explosion of violence approaching, and wanted no part. He especially didn’t want them to spoil Kasumi’s party.

“Ah, too much tea—gotta hit the bathroom!” Ranma declared before the argument could escalate. He took advantage of Shampoo and Ukyo’s face-off with one another to worm his way out of Shampoo’s grip with the Saotome School of Anything Goes Serpent’s Backbend, and dashed from the room, Shampoo and Ukyo shouting after him in the wake of his departure.

In the bathroom with the door shut, Ranma huffed out a sigh of relief. He actually did have to pee. Though it was a little challenging, as having pretty young women rub up against him wasn’t easy to ignore, he took the time to empty his bladder and wash his hands before Shampoo or Ukyo decided to follow him in there. He suspected all that stopped them was it being Kasumi’s party, and he was thankful for that restraint at least. They certainly hadn’t cared at his wedding.

Ranma froze as if his thoughts had touched his shoulder with a ghostly hand, and stared at his face in the mirror above the sink, the water still running over his clean hands. A handsome face, one men envied and women seemed to be mesmerized by. That women wanted to marry. Even tomboys.

Ranma was aware of his beauty. His galaxy-sized ego came from somewhere. Privately, he valued his looks more than he would let on, and dreaded the day he might go to seed, like his father. It was one of the reasons that he had little interest in alcohol and tried to get enough sleep, wear sunscreen, and work out so much. At least his girl form looked like his mother. Maybe that meant he would age like her. He wanted to stay handsome.

But being handsome was also kind of a curse, in its own way. After all, would he have so many fiancées if he wasn’t such a stud?

Smirking and pushing his thoughts aside with easy practice, he ran his hand through his dark hair, hoping he’d gotten the genes for thick, lifelong hair from his mother, too, and moved to exit the bathroom after shutting off the faucet. But then he paused with his hand on the fusuma, frowning. He was still angry. His erection was thankfully gone, his bladder empty, but his stomach was full of snakes. He thought again about Shampoo’s breast against his arm, Ukyo’s elbow around his, and frowned. The reason for his anger felt like a ninja, hiding just out of sight in his mind, ready to pounce.

The wedding? He shook his head, violently, braid slapping his shoulders. No. That was a while ago. He wouldn’t think about that. Couldn’t think again about the blast radius of his suitors’ rage. Bad enough to wonder if Akane wanted to marry him, for goodness sake. That was dangerous territory.

Ranma left the bathroom. If he stayed any longer, someone was going to come looking for him. As it was, when he emerged Ukyo and Shampoo were rounding the corner, hissing like angry geese at each other, saying words he couldn’t make out, obviously trying to keep their voices from carrying. Seeing them made his stomach sink further below his belt line and he backed down the hallway to Mr. Tendo’s room—they hadn’t noticed him yet. He slid the door open, backed in, and slid the door mostly shut, leaving it open just a crack to watch for when the coast was clear.

“It not fair,” Shampoo whispered fiercely, “kitchen destroyer get to spend all time with Ranma.”

“Yeah! We’ve never been given a real chance, have we, Shampoo? If we got to spend half as much time with Ranchan as Akane-chan has, well, he’d have made up his mind already, wouldn’t he?”

Ranma’s anger grew. Time with Akane? He didn’t get any quality time with Akane. Whenever they got any time alone, someone always interrupted, like one of the two out in the hallway, or both, or a third, or fourth, and more. Thinking on it, the only times he really got to spend with Akane were training in the dojo and at mealtimes. They didn’t eat together at school, they rarely studied together, and the closest they’d ever come to a date was nearly getting killed in a cave.

There was the camping trip to help Shinnosuke, he supposed. But that was the longest time he’d ever spent with her. They’d gotten into a few scrapes since Jusendo, which he also refused to think about, but that was it. And Shampoo and Ukyo were there for most of those.

And what did that matter, anyway? It wasn’t like he wanted to marry anyone right now. What would spending time with any of his fiancées prove? He’d spent two years spending time with them attached to his chest, anyway. What more did they want?

“Airen? You in bathroom?” Shampoo was at the bathroom door.

“Sugar, don’t open it!”

“Shut up, spatula-brain,” Shampoo spat, “Ranma Shampoo’s airen, Shampoo can see him whenever she like!” There was a sly note to Shampoo’s voice, and though he couldn’t see her face from the angle he was eying her from, he could imagine.

“He’s using the bathroom!” Ukyo whispered. Music suddenly blared; someone had replaced karaoke with the top pop hits station that Nabiki sometimes liked to play to drown out the sound of Ranma and Akane arguing. That was another way they spent time together, though thankfully not as much as of late.

“Ranma—oh, he no here. Where you go?” Shampoo playfully cried. They entered the bathroom and he and took his chance. Leaving Mr. Tendo’s room, he ducked back down the hallway, back to the family room, using the ceiling and the walls with abandon to avoid detection.

Inside the warm space, Nabiki and Mousse, his glasses on for once and concentrating with all his energy, were playing a game of go. Kasumi and her remaining school friends were out in the yard with sparklers, laughing like little girls and running through the grass in their kimono, trailing sparks. His pops and Mr. Tendo had migrated to the television and were watching, at low volume, the latest sumo matches. His mother was seated at the table, listening to the music and sipping tea, occasionally gazing out into the yard to smile at the cavorting young women. Akane was at the table with his mother and Ryoga, who was helping her clean up some dishes. They were chatting idly—well, mostly Akane was chatting. Ryoga was mumbling and nodding, his face a little sweaty. Ranma felt his anger surge, but clamped down on the jealous impulse. What did he have to be jealous of?

“Hey, want help?” He asked Akane, glaring at Ryoga, but switching to a placid smile when she looked up at him.

“Sure!” Akane beamed, and his breath caught for a second, “Can you get the glasses from the porch?”

Ranma jerked upright, because he had been staring at the thread on her skirt, which had come out again. The little black line on her thigh, like a wick, like a fuse. “Y-yeah,” he said quickly, grabbing one of the trays on the table to gather the glasses. He cast a glance over his shoulder and saw Akane laugh at something Ryoga said and hand him a tray full of snack bowls and empty mochi packages. Fuming, Ranma gathered the glasses and tried to turn his mind to other things.

He stood, glasses balanced on the tray, considering putting it on his head for practice, and then saw that the girls in the yard were staring at something. The sparklers hissed and popped as they died. Behind Ranma, somewhere, Shampoo and Ukyo re-entered the family room and called his name, but he was distracted and barely heard them as Dr. Tofu walked up to Kasumi. Ranma was transfixed. He only realized after Dr. Tofu started speaking, coherently, what had his attention so rapt.

The good doctor was displaying none of his usual eccentricities. His eyes were clear, his glasses only partly opaque, and his back was ramrod straight. He looked directly at Kasumi’s face. Her friends backed away, giggling and covering their mouths, whispering to each other.

“Dr. Tofu,” Kasumi said softly, her voice carrying across the yard, “I thought you couldn’t make it.” She sounded hurt, but a little hopeful. Ranma thought of Akane.

Tofu cleared his throat, looked down at Kasumi’s hem, then back up at her face. “Yes, I had something to take care of, but I’m here now. Kasumi-chan,” she started at his familiarity, her hand coming up to her face, almost unconsciously; Ranma was dimly aware that the entire family room had gone silent, even the music had been turned off, and if he looked behind him he was sure he would see everyone in the room watching the scene unfolding, “will you please accompany me for a walk? I have already spoken with your father.” Dr. Tofu finished meaningfully.

Kasumi turned her eyes toward the house, and Ranma followed suit. Indeed, all eyes were on the yard. Mr. Tendo looked decidedly pleased, and still drunk, but he nodded with some modicum of dignified sobriety at his daughter and the good doctor.

“Yes, of course. Naoko-chan, Kagome-chan, will you please excuse me? I’ll return soon.” Kasumi bowed to her friends, who returned the gesture and watched as Dr. Tofu took Kasumi’s hand like it was a precious glass ornament, and led her toward the main entrance. There was a tinge of pink on Kasumi’s cheeks in the hanging lanterns. Her friends whispered to each other, giggling. Everyone knew what this meant. Even Ranma.

Another time bomb.

Watching the spot where they had been, Ranma felt the tray in his hands and the wood under his bare feet. Slowly he turned his body, rigid, and sought Akane’s face. He didn’t know why he did it, any more than he knew why he was still seething. In fact, seeing Dr. Tofu lead Kasumi away had made him, if anything, angrier. His skin was hot. His body was stiff. His mind was erupting.

Kasumi would come back with a ring on her finger. He was sure of it.

His first fiancée had her hands over her mouth, tears running down her face, but he could tell from the crinkling around her brown eyes that Akane was smiling behind her fingers.

“Wow,” Ukyo broke the silence, “Dr. Tofu sure knows how to make a show of it, huh?”

Nabiki snorted and the assembled adults chuckled, but Ranma was still staring at Akane. She finally met his gaze and slowly lowered her hands, then very imperceptibly, she shrugged, and turned to Ryoga. “Come on, Ryoga-kun, let’s get these washed up so oneesama doesn’t have to worry about it.”

“I’ll help, dear,” Nodoka said, rising from the table, “that’s so thoughtful of you.” His mother turned her eyes pointedly at Ranma, a hard look on her face.

Ranma jumped, rattling the glasses on his tray. “Yeah, I’ll come help, too.” Cologne eyeballed him from the table, then yawned, he thought, deliberately. He glared at the old woman and stalked past her.

Naoko and Kagome were still giggling in the yard, and he assumed that his pops and Mr. Tendo could handle entertaining them if it came to that, especially because he sincerely doubted any of his fiancées would stay out in the family room if he wasn’t there.

True to form, he went into the kitchen with Ukyo and Shampoo close behind. Soon the crowd was joined by Mousse and Nabiki, and all of them together cleaned the kitchen. Nodoka and Akane washed the dishes, chatting happily with each other. Akane was reminiscing about times when Dr. Tofu had acted with much less restraint around Kasumi, stories that his mother seemed to love the more because she hadn’t been there for them, and in the retelling they had become more bombastic.

Ryoga dried the dishes and looked with occasional fear at the sink, jerking whenever there was a particularly big splash. Ukyo and Shampoo were cleaning the stove and counter tops, and arguing about which one of them was going to have Ranma walk them home, while Mousse tried to help and offered, several times to no response, to walk with Shampoo into hell itself. Nabiki sat on a counter and watched them all, deigning to put away dry glasses that Ranma handed to her.

Ranma caught Nabiki staring at him, and as usual, she did not look pleased. He was sweeping the floor in between putting away dishes that Ryoga handed him. He felt his temper swell again at the hard, frustrated look on Nabiki’s face, and at least now he had something to direct his anger at. He glared right back at the middle Tendo sister until she rolled her eyes and turned her attention to the three at the sink.

Not really relishing the victory, Ranma turned and took some bowls from Ryoga to put back in one of the cupboards. From the family room he heard Kasumi’s friends laugh loudly at something, as well as the sounds of his pops and Mr. Tendo singing.

His anger softened. He liked living at the Tendos. He remembered when his mother asked him to move back in with her, how he had felt. The Tendo estate had been his home for close to a year at that time. The thought of leaving had filled him with something he couldn’t identify, but eventually he recognized the new anxiety. He also hadn’t wanted to leave the Tendos themselves. Even Nabiki’s scheming, Mr. Tendo’s theatrics—not to mention Kasumi’s cooking—and…

His eyes drifted back to Akane. She still had her back to him, but was done with the dishes and was drying her hands. The thread on her skirt had been pulled longer and now draped against her tights. There was a run there, too, he saw it just under the hem. He could see a triangle of skin, pulled over the developed, defined muscles of her thigh. There was an insane impulse that rose in him to walk over and tug at the thread. Would the whole skirt disappear?

“Ranchan, are you going to walk me home?” Ukyo popped into view, blocking Akane’s black skirt.

“Huh?” Ranma replied intelligently, eyes shifting to take in Ukyo’s hopeful expression.

Shampoo supplanted the okonomiyaki chef with a tittering chuckle, “No, you walk Shampoo back to Nekohanten, right airen?” Shampoo batted her eyelashes and tossed her mane of soft, bouncy violet hair.

“Uh—” Ranma started, cut off by Ukyo’s angry growl at her rival.

“No way, Shampoo!”

“Yes way, spatula girl!”

“I can walk you home, Shampoo!”

Ranma could see where this was headed. Apparently so could Nabiki, who was already making her way out of the kitchen, grumbling to herself. As could Akane, who was similarly making an exit, her shoulders rigid. She didn’t look at him as she passed. Ranma’s ire crawled from his guts into his chest when Ryoga followed her out, smirking at Ranma triumphantly.

Only Mousse and Ranma’s mother remained with him and his suitors after the others left the kitchen. Ukyo and Shampoo were now facing each other, threatening violence with their eyes, a crackle of energy passing between them that was almost invisible to the naked eye. His mother was behind them, a look on her face that Ranma had seen many times, back when she still carried a katana and talked a lot about honor and manliness.

With an angry huff that sounded an awful lot like Akane, Ranma somersaulted over both his erstwhile fiancées’ heads as their battle auras flared, his bare feet brushing the ceiling. They followed his arc with their eyes.

“Ranchan!”

“Airen!”

“Come back!” They said together, for once agreeing as Ranma darted out the back door of the kitchen and into the yard. He wasn’t going to let them spoil Kasumi’s party, and he certainly didn’t want to get blamed for it if they did. He leapt onto the roof of the dojo, wind rushing past his face, took several long leaping strides, then went over the dojo wall with his fiancées hot on his heels, and Mousse, judging by the cries of “Shampoo! I’ll walk you home!” that followed him.

Ranma, by now, was very good at losing these people, even shoeless. All it took was leaping from the roof of the next house, to the ground, and making several complex turnings down Nerima’s streets. Soon their cries faded into the background of the night, and Ranma melted into the shadows, grateful he wasn’t wearing his usual red for the party, instead opting for a dark blue that complemented his eyes.

He walked through the quiet streets, listening to his pursuers’ fading voices, then for them when the voices disappeared completely, just in case any of them found him again. There were other parties happening; most of the twenty-one-year-olds who had attended the belated Coming of Age at Furinkan High maybe lived in or around Nerima still, or at least had had parties in the area with their old high school friends. He heard some light fireworks, laughter, music, karaoke. Some of his anger ebbed. He felt buoyed by the sounds of other people’s fun, safe in the dark, and alone in a way that he often wasn’t. The feeling of the pavement under his feet reminded him of simpler, and yet lonelier times in his life on the road.

He leaned against a fence and looked up. The sun had fully set and the stars were out. They were more difficult to see here in the heart of a city, compared to out on the road with his pops. But they still shone, high above, winking. For some reason he wouldn’t admit to himself, his mind conjured up the image of Akane’s skirt with the thread hanging loose. He had learned to sew on the road. He could fix it for her. “That’d show that idiot Ryoga,” Ranma grumbled, “see him play the hero.” Granted, no doubt Ryoga could sew, too. Probably better since he spent more time on the road. If only Ryoga had gotten lost like he usually did instead of showing up at Kasumi’s party. The way Akane had smiled and laughed with Ryoga stung Ranma. He felt his irritation come back and clenched his fists. Akane didn’t often smile at Ranma. But when she did…

“Ranma-kun?” Startled, Ranma whipped his head around and saw Kasumi and Dr. Tofu standing at the corner of the little street he was on, her hand in his. There was a shiny ring on Kasumi’s left hand, which was gently held over her bodice. Ranma’s stomach jumped and then sank.

“Oh, hi Kasumi-san, Dr. Tofu,” Ranma said, embarrassed at seeing them like that, and at them seeing him like this, obviously hiding; he bowed to them, “congratulations.” He said, motioning with his head at her ring. The fact that he had noticed occurred to him and he felt a sense of inexplicable panic rush through him.

“Thank you,” Kasumi blushed demurely and looked up at Dr. Tofu, whose face radiated such perfect happiness that Ranma’s chest ached, “are you alright?” They had not noticed his noticing, and therefore could not know what he was thinking about that had caused him to… notice.

“Yeah, yeah, just um—gettin’ some fresh air,” he lied smoothly, despite his bare feet being all the evidence anyone would need that he had left in a hurry; there was no need for them to know that he had been taking cover—it wasn’t like he was scared, “are you headed back home?” Home.

“Yes, we want to announce to everyone—oh how lovely we ran into you,” Kasumi smiled sweetly at him, “come, walk home with us.”

A frisson of nerves skittered down Ranma’s spine. What if his fiancées caught them up? He didn’t want that, but he also didn’t want to disappoint Kasumi, or make her worry about him—and he was getting a little cold. January wasn’t the warmest time in Nerima, after all. The snow had only just melted. His feet were going numb.

“Sure,” Ranma said, “thank you.”

“Of course,” Kasumi smiled broadly as Ranma fell into step beside them, “it’s so beautiful out tonight, isn’t it, To—Ono-kun?” Kasumi giggled.

Dr. Tofu cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his head. In a streetlight Ranma saw him flush. “Yes, beautiful,” he gazed at Kasumi and smiled warmly.

Ranma tried not to stare, already having second thoughts about this little stroll. He was obviously a third wheel here. He slowed a little, giving them some space, and they didn’t seem to notice, so absorbed in one another. Watching them, Ranma’s imagination did what it always did when he let it off the leash to wander around; he thought about Akane. He conjured, without meaning to, an image of he and Akane walking together like that, gazing adoringly at each other, maybe sharing a laugh, while a ring glittered on Akane’s finger.

He shook away the thought; he had to be on alert in case one of his hangers-on showed up. They were nearing the Tendo estate; he could see the gate and the big retaining wall looming in the middle of the block ahead. “Ranma-kun, would you mind going in ahead of us?” Dr. Tofu asked, not releasing Kasumi, who continued to gaze at him with big, wet eyes.

“Yeah, sure. See you inside.” Ranma moved past them, relieved, his eyes drawn to the ring, to their joined hands. The frustration flared once again. He was happy for them. He was happy for them. He was happy for them.

“We’ll be in shortly, Ranma-kun.” Kasumi said with a secret smile that made him blush. He hurried inside, not wanting to see Dr. Tofu and Kasumi sharing a more intimate moment before they came inside.

Coming up the main walk, Ranma saw a figure out of the corner of his eye and recognized Nabiki seated on the porch, the hanging lights above her swinging in a slight breeze. He was going to just walk into the house, pretend he hadn’t seen her, but she called his name.

Briefly Ranma closed his eyes, breathing roughly through his nostrils, but he knew it would be worse to ignore her. “Yeah, what’s up?” He said casually.

Nabiki patted the porch beside her, and Ranma walked over and plopped down. The shoji were closed, and he could hear and see figures moving behind them in a shadow pantomime. He hoped whatever Nabiki had to say was brief, because he wasn’t interested in leaving Akane and Ryoga alone much longer. Plus, their conversations could get almost as explosive as the ones he had with Akane. Though usually he was the one blowing up.

“I need a favor.”

Ranma nearly face-planted onto the porch. “What are you up to, Nabiki? What’s your game?” He asked suspiciously.

“I said, I need a favor,” Nabiki said idly; she had a fancy crystal glass of some brown liquid in her hand that smelled like motor oil to Ranma, and a slight pink tint on her cheeks, “are you gonna do it or not?” She still didn’t look at him.

“Tell me what it is, first.” He said, folding his arms over his chest and glancing at the shoji.

Nabiki rubbed the back of her neck, “I need my room tonight.” She sighed.

“Er, I mean, it’s your room,” he said, his eyes widening innocently, “why would you need to ask me?” Nabiki stared at him. The silence stretched. Ranma frowned and huffed. “Okay, okay, fine I been sleepin’ in there while you was away.” He admitted. Akane and Kasumi had tried to convince Nabiki to let Ranma use her room while she was at Tokyo U. to no avail, but Ranma had availed himself anyway.

Nabiki smirked at him, “My error, Ranma-kun; I should have just charged you rent,” she paused, sipping her drink, “so, will you sleep in Akane-chan’s room?” She asked this last so casually that Ranma almost didn’t register what she had said.

“You think yer little sister is gonna let me sleep in her room?” Ranma asked, choosing his words carefully.

Nabiki shrugged, “You’ve slept in the same room before,” she looked at his silent, staring face for a moment, “okay, fine, I just don’t want to be the reason you sleep on the roof or something, okay? Happy?” She snapped.

“Aw, shucks Nabiki, didn’t know you cared.”

“I don’t care,” she said, ignoring his sarcasm, “but my sisters do and they’d be annoyed with me. They’re already pissed off I won’t let you use my room while I’m gone. Are you gonna do it or not?” She snapped.

“Yeah, yeah, jeez.” He held up his hands, then paused, “Hey, waitasec, whaddo I get outta the deal?” He frowned.

Nabiki sighed, “I won’t take any pictures of you to sell back at college. This time.” She added quickly, pointing at him and narrowing her eyes like was cheating her.

Ranma snorted, “Girl and boy?”

“Girl and boy.” She said rolling her eyes. “We square?”

“Yeah, but you know you coulda just told me to leave, I woulda done it. It’s your room.”

Nabiki tilted back and forth on her sit bones for a moment, as if processing what he’d said, then she sighed, “I guess I’m off my game tonight—‘neesan!” Nabiki suddenly erupted from the porch, leaving her glass behind, racing toward Kasumi and Dr. Tofu as they came through the main gate. “Wow, Kasumi! Nice taste, Dr. Tofu.” She said, leaning forward to take her sister’s hand and get a good look at the ring in the orange light of the lanterns.

“Oh, Nabiki-chan, you smell like Father.” Kasumi remarked, and Ranma smirked.

Behind him the shoji clattered open before Nabiki could think of a retort, and framed in the doorway were the remaining partygoers peering curiously outside. Akane was the first one to make a move. She squealed cutely and ran over to Kasumi to give her heartfelt congratulations, followed closely by his mother, then Mr. Tendo and his pops. Ryoga even managed some kind of congratulatory words in the midst of Naoko’s and Kagome’s screaming and jumping up and down.

Ranma’s anxiety grew. He stepped backwards onto the veranda, feeling a cold pit opening and gnawing in his stomach.

“It’s so wonderful. I’m so happy for you, ‘neesama!” Akane was saying through tears, “Dr. Tofu, you’ll be my big brother!”

Tofu laughed, “Yes; and if your father will permit it, I would like to speak with him again, alone.” He turned his face to the Tendo patriarch.

“You already have my blessing,” Mr. Tendo said at once. “I wholly support this union. What more is there to say?”

Tofu bowed deeply, “I had intended to ask you privately—”

Mr. Tendo flapped his hand dismissively, “Nonsense, nonsense. Out with it, son-in-law!”

Dr. Tofu swallowed, “Well, I was hoping to take Kasumi-chan’s surname,” he said, and Ranma’s insides fluttered; he fought the urge to look at Akane, then the urge to look at anyone else, so he stared instead past Dr. Tofu’s head at the moon, “I would be honored to be an official member of the Tendo family.”

“Of course!” Mr. Tendo exclaimed, patting Dr. Tofu on the shoulder heartily, “Come! We must share a drink! A toast to the happy couple!” Ranma privately thought Mr. Tendo had had enough to drink, but he wisely kept his mouth shut.

“Yes, a toast!” Ranma’s pops cried. His mother looked a little warningly at her husband. Cologne glanced around as if searching for her great-granddaughter, then she settled her crafty eyes on Ranma. Ranma looked away. He had to get out of there, had to get out before his other suitors returned and saw the ring he could never give them. Had to get out of the blast zone.

“Congratulations again, Kasumi-chan,” Nodoka admired the ring, “it’s so beautiful. You look radiant.”

“Thank you, auntie Nodoka,” Kasumi smiled at Dr. Tofu, “Nabiki-chan is right. He has very good taste.” And much to everyone’s shock and amazement, Kasumi stood on her tiptoes and kissed Dr. Tofu on his clean-shaven cheek. Dr. Tofu’s entire face turned beet red, and everyone was treated to a temporary glimpse of the old Ono Tofu, before whatever transformation he undertook, as he seemed to be looking everywhere but at Kasumi, muttering nonsense about needing to feed Betty and taking off and putting on his glasses sporadically.

While everyone was still distracted with congratulating the happy couple, Ranma casually stepped into the yard and backed up toward the dojo. But he wasn’t stealthy enough. As the Tendos and Saotomes and party guests surrounded Kasumi with more questions and requests to see the ring again, Dr. Tofu spotted Ranma trying to escape and beckoned him to his side. Sighing in frustration, Ranma acquiesced, hunching his shoulders and shivering a little in the chill winter air. The moist grass at least felt nice on his dirty feet.

“Ranma-kun, let’s chat,” Dr. Tofu said, casting a quick, longing look at Kasumi; Ranma thought he caught Akane looking at them, but he ignored her, “I’m sure you have something on your mind.” The older man said.

Ranma shook his head, probably too vehemently, “No, why?” He said, his voice harder than he wanted.

Dr. Tofu smiled sympathetically, “You and Akane-kun have been engaged for two years yourselves. You do not have any concerns about how my asking Kasumi-chan for her hand might affect your parents?”

To have his worst fears laid out in front of him in that moment was simultaneously unnerving and freeing. “Yeah, yeah, I am,” Ranma admitted, sagging, “I’m also wonderin’ how… I mean, I don’t mean to be rude, but why ain’t you actin’ like a goof anymore?” He could not think of a nicer way to put the question.

Dr. Tofu chuckled amiably and gazed back at the crowd around Kasumi, which had moved to the veranda for a photo op. Kasumi sat on the edge of the veranda with her sisters, showing off her ring resting on one of her bent knees. Akane and Nabiki were on either side of her, hugging her shoulders, while Mr. Tendo tried to figure out how Nabiki’s camera worked.

“I recognized that if I didn’t do something, nothing would ever change,” Dr. Tofu said quietly, smiling wistfully, “sometimes I struggle. I slip. Hearing her name can send me into a fever pitch of giddy mumbling, still, but I know that now I have worked on this, every day will get easier.” He paused. Ranma was already wading into the unfamiliar initial shallows of introspection when Dr. Tofu spoke again, “You and Akane-kun will move at your own pace, as you should, but there’s nothing to be afraid of, Ranma-kun. Change means we’re alive.”

Ranma stared at Dr. Tofu for a long moment, and nodded slowly. The man clapped Ranma on the shoulder with a large hand, a healer’s hand, and looked at Ranma with a steady, familiar gaze. “Thank you for taking the time to listen to a silly man’s lecturing.” He said warmly.

“No, it’s—thanks, Doc,” Ranma said sincerely; he was still feeling trepidation about what was to come, but he was also thinking about all the times in his life that he had had to adapt, to change; everything he had had to learn to survive, to be victorious, to be the best, “I’ll think about it.”

“I know you will—and now, I believe I am being summoned for photos. Coming, Kasumi-chan!” The good doctor called, waving and walking over to the veranda. Ranma stood and watched him, with his squared shoulders and proud gate. The man was practically skipping.

“Ranma, come on, let’s get a picture with all of us!” Akane called. He froze in surprise for a breath, then recovered and walked over with some mild twisting in his guts. He stood nearby while Kasumi and Dr. Tofu had their picture taken together, then joined his mother, father, and the Tendos and Dr. Tofu in a group photo, which Kagome took. Ranma was confident that his anxiety had not shown on his face.

However, the moment that photo was over, Ranma saw his mother and father mention something to Mr. Tendo, and then the three of them glanced between Akane and Ranma, and he knew. It was coming. The blow out. And he was not ready.

He backed away once again from the group as they continued to congratulate the happy couple, debating wedding venues and asking questions. This time he managed to make it around the corner of the veranda, back into the house. He quickly went down the hall into the laundry room, stopped briefly to wash the filth off his feet, then snagged a clean blanket from atop the dryer, and exited through the window beside the tub.

Having thus successfully escaped awkward questions and lectures following the announcement of Kasumi and Dr. Tofu’s engagement, Ranma spent the rest of the party on the roof with his blanket, knees curled up to his chest. He considered sleeping in the dojo that night; he’d slept out there before, when his pops snored too loud, or after his mom had joined and the room just felt uncomfortable. It felt like his parents’ room, now. Until he started using Nabiki’s room—not her bed, that was weird, and if she’d found out she’d have killed him—he’d been making a little nest with blankets by the shrine in the dojo, waking with the first sunlight to creep back inside and take a bath.

But the dojo wasn’t that comfortable, and it was getting colder. Ranma decided he’d rather sleep indoors even if it meant he would run into Akane, or worse, his parents, in the morning, to be bombarded, no doubt, with admonishments about making an “honest woman” out of Akane now that her sister was engaged. His stomach knotted.

When the party died down enough that the house was dark and quiet, he thought he heard some shouting, but when nothing broke and he heard no running feet, he decided to stay on the roof for just a few more minutes. He was getting colder and colder, so he tucked his feet in the gutter and began to open the window to Nabiki’s room.

“Nabiki…! What are you doing… ah!” Ranma froze. He kept all the windows well-oiled, so they never creaked if he wanted to sneak around—especially after Jusendo, and several more near-kidnapping incidents in the last while, sometimes he would peek into Akane’s room (peek, not peep) just to check that she was still in her bed, breathing, alive, warm, safe. The window had made no noise, and the occupants… He couldn’t see anything with the curtains closed, but he was sure he had heard Ryoga’s voice, followed by the sounds of kissing and shifting bodies.

Ranma shut the window slowly, feeling slightly green, belatedly remembering his favor to Nabiki. At least she hadn’t noticed. How could she, with what she and the lost boy were clearly doing? What were they doing? And when had they started doing… whatever it was they were doing? Okay, so he could make a guess at what they were doing, but he couldn’t think about it, and he certainly wouldn’t venture further guesses.

And suddenly Ranma was envious. And angrier than he’d been the whole night. Why did Nabiki get to fool around and enjoy herself, when Ranma was stuck in this impossible position, where any ounce of affection he showed to anyone was used as a weapon in a war of matrimony? And was Ryoga about to—before Ranma—the nerve! Especially with the way the lost boy had pretended to be Akane’s pet…!

Frustrated and flustered, Ranma flexed his legs to pull himself back up onto the roof and padded over to Akane’s window, remembering Nabiki’s suggestion. He and Akane had been getting along better, lately, and she rarely screamed when she saw him in the window—if she saw him, that was. He dropped his blanket, intending to retrieve it in the morning, and once again hung from the gutter.

It wasn’t until after he’d knocked and she was already opening the window, still in her party clothes, her face knowing and unsurprised, that Ranma realized the danger he’d just gotten himself into. He had been so distracted by the nauseating noises he’d heard from Nabiki’s room that he’d also forgotten Kasumi’s engagement, his own engagement—why he’d been avoiding Akane in the first place.

“What is it, Ranma? I thought you walked Shampoo or Ukyo home, after all.” Akane said, an unamused look on her face. Ranma wondered idly how much Akane could hear coming from her sister’s room.

“Uh, um, nothin’, nevermind.” He mumbled, making to move away from her window and lever himself back to the rooftop.

“Wait,” she said, exasperation in her voice, “you might as well come in here; it’s cold.” She smiled lopsidedly at him, rubbing her arms, and stood aside. Gratefully, but still with some apprehension, Ranma grabbed the bottom edge of the window and pulled himself inside.

Once he was standing on her floor, Akane shut the window and turned up her radio. The station was playing Christmas ballads in January. She shot an annoyed look at the wall. “I keep hearing weird noises from Nabiki’s room—you know Ranma, I think she has a boy—well, it’s none of my business!” Akane finished, flushing. “What’s up?” She asked him, moving closer, then stopping and looking down at her feet in her red tights.

He flicked his eyes toward the wall between Akane and Nabiki’s room himself, then turned back to Akane, or rather, the top of her bowed head, “Well, Nabiki kinda figured out that I was usin’ her room, and asked if I would, uh, sleep elsewhere for tonight,” he paused, licking his lips, “I was gonna sleep in the dojo, but it’s kinda cold.”

Akane smirked, “Oh really? I’m shocked she didn’t just surprise you when you tried to come in,” she frowned a little, “then again…” Akane looked back at Nabiki’s wall; she turned up her radio a little more. The music was still very soft, likely almost inaudible from outside, but loud enough that it created a cocoon of paradoxical silence and noise inside her bedroom. “So why are you here, in my room, specifically?” She asked briskly, a hint of suspicion in her voice.

Ranma swallowed. It was better to just out with it, rather than drag the moment on and on. “Uh, well, I was gonna ask if I could just crash out on your floor—Nabiki suggested that, too. I think she was tryn’a mess with me, but I don’ wanna sleep in Ma and Pops’ room, and it’s too cold for the dojo. I can sleep downstairs if you don’t want me to sleep here.” He had talked faster and faster, trying to get all the words out before Akane accused him, but all she did was listen. Relieved to have what was likely the worst part over with, Ranma let out a long breath.

She appraised Ranma for a tense moment, during which he fidgeted under her stare, embarrassed and anxious. Then she shrugged and twirled her hand by her shoulder, affecting a nonchalance that her pinking cheeks belied, “Eh, why not?”

“Y’sure?” He said quickly, his heart beating faster.

“Yeah, just keep your hands to yourself—there’s a spare futon on the floor of the closet.” Akane said, turning away. “It’s, ah, for guests.” She said by way of an explanation he had not asked for, which meant that she was telling the truth, but carefully varnished.

“Thanks.” He pulled out the futon where it lay at the bottom of her armoire, trying not to get distracted by the girly smell of her clothes, and rolled it out. He held up one hand and caught the pillow she threw to him, as though they had done this a thousand times, then made himself a comfy, cozy bed on the floor.

Unfortunately, however, he wasn’t tired. He wanted to go brush his teeth, maybe shower, but he was worried he’d run into their parents. So far he was grateful that Akane hadn’t brought up her sister’s engagement, but he knew his parents or Mr. Tendo wouldn’t be so courteous. Being in her room was relaxing, because he found that the irritation he was feeling had cooled down to a flickering ember, but at the same time, his anxiety was back. How would he ruin this peace? With his words, or his actions?

“I’m not tired, either,” Akane said, correctly interpreting his hesitance to lie down, “parties always leave me feeling too alert.”

“I ain’t been to that many,” he scratched his cheek, “but yeah. I like it quiet before I gotta sleep.”

“Mmm, me too,” Akane settled onto her bed, kicking out her feet and flexing her toes, “I still need to change into my pajamas…” she trailed off, her hand coming up to unconsciously touch her throat. He felt his own face heat.

He recovered. “Oh, yeah, of course.” Ranma walked to a corner of the room and congenially faced the wall, waiting, hand clasped in front of his groin.

“Thanks,” he was sure he heard a mixture of relief and disappointment in her voice, but he pretended that he had not; he could not, however, pretend to not hear the unignorable sound of her removing clothes, “what a night, eh?”

“Yeah.” He said, imagining her naked and trying half-heartedly to stop.

“Kasumi and Dr. Tofu,” she sounded happy, but that was likely because she hadn’t heard the way Ranma’s stomach suddenly became a lead weight that dropped into his hip carriage, “engaged. I’m so happy for them. They really deserve this, don’t you think? I wonder how Dr. Tofu got over his weird behavior around her… Okay, I’m all done. You can turn around.” He did, and his heart rose an inch in his chest and fluttered. She was wearing a pair of cherry red pajama shorts and a matching button-down top that he had seen her open at Christmas. The material was silky and clung to her curves. Ranma had always liked how goofy Akane’s pajamas were—at least, he told himself they were goofy, girly, childish. If he was honest with himself they reminded him of moments when he had seen Akane without any clothes on at all. As well as the thought of removing them, carefully, button by button.

Ranma felt his face heat again.

“Yeah, I’m uh, real happy for ‘em.” He said finally, realizing that he had been staring for way too long without saying anything. Akane had started brushing her hair, however, and seemed to not notice his embarrassment or his staring. The radio was now playing some sort of husky-voiced singer’s rendition of a Christmas song he didn’t know, but he recongized the words “Santa” and “baby” at least.

“Do you think that they’ll wait a whole year?” Akane asked softly. For a moment he panicked; then he remembered the tradition and relaxed. She was not referencing their own engagment, which had gone far past the customary timeline.

“I dunno, Kasumi-san and Dr. Tofu are a little more, ah, traditional, I guess. Maybe.”

Akane looked at him out of the corner of her eye and Ranma straightened himself, trying to hide the inner turmoil he was feeling. “Isn’t it strange?” Akane asked.

“What?” This conversation was like walking through a minefield. Ranma felt out of his element, stupid, and one step away from cramming his foot so far into his mouth that he choked to death on his own words.

“That Dr. Tofu is just, normal; do you think it’s training? A new technique? Shiatsu?” Akane questioned, switching to brush the other side of her hair, tucking one of her feet behind the other and leaning her hips against her desk. Ranma watched the way her glutes flexed, pulling the silky cloth of her sleep shorts tight, and ripped his eyes away to look at the side of her face.

“He told me he just worked on… himself. He said,” Ranma frowned, trying to remember, “he said it was like if he didn’t change… nothin’ would.” Ranma regretted saying it. What would she think? What would she read into that? What would she say? He had gone from tiptoing through the minefield to lobbing his own bomb in the middle just to set them all off at once.

Introspection was dangerous, for either one of them.

But Akane didn’t say anything, she just nodded, thoughtfully. They stood in uncomfortable silence. Ranma fidgeted and stared at Akane’s legs, the way the skin was pulled taut over the muscle of her quad.

“Ranma,” she said, setting the brush down; her hair was silky and shining in the low light from her desk lamp, and he gulped at how big and luminous her eyes had gotten, tensing, waiting for the blow, “are you thinking about… that is…” She flexed her hands nervously and then laced her fingers together, putting her hands nearly flat on her desk, “I mean—I hope you’re comfortable tonight.” She finished, tucking her hair behind her ear and looking a little miserably at her hand on the desktop, flexing her fingers.

He nearly sagged in relief that she hadn’t said any of the multitude of things he’d been worried she would say, but he suspected that that was not what she had been about to say.

There was still time for him to mess up what was shaping up to be an uneventful visit himself, though. There were so many stupid things he could think to say, himself, in response.

“Who’d wanna sleep in a room with you?”

Or “Uncomfortable? Around a sexless tomboy?”

And “Well, yeah I will be; I don’t know anyone boring enough to put me to sleep.”

But they were all lies, and there was no point to them. Everyone was either in bed, or gone home. His suitors had not returned. His mother was probably asleep, and by now, he suspected that his father was also passed out, his unconscious body preparing a monster hangover for the next day—he’d probably just be a panda all day. The smoothness of the panda brain was less suceptible to the symptoms of a hangover.

No one was around to see them.

In other words, they were alone. Out of the immediate warzone. No man’s land.

“Beats sleepin’ in the dojo, that’s for sure,” Ranma said finally, instead of all the dumb, hurtful things he could have, “thanks again.” He felt the tightness in his chest loosen.

“You’re welcome, again,” she smiled, blushing, then she sighed and blew her hair out of her eyes, “gosh, our parents are about to get really annoying, aren’t they?”

And there it was. The tension snapped like an abused training dummy. The fuse was lit. He choked down several things, ran through a million responses, then settled on nodding in agreement.

“What should we do?” Akane asked, turning and leaning the small of her back against her desk, facing her feet and folding her arms. He liked the way the bones in her feet protruded when she flexed her toes. She’d painted her toenails red, and Ranma’s stomach did exactly one flip. “Daddy said he’d give us a chance to… to sort stuff out, but what if he goes back on that? We haven’t even—I guess… we haven’t gotten started on that. What do we do?” She asked again, and looked at him, holding herself as if she was trying to protect her body. Her heart.

“Go on vacation.” He said, without thinking, wading into the shallow end of the danger, holding the bomb close this chest, hoping he could diffuse it in time.

She stared at him, her mouth falling slightly open, “You mean, me and you?”

He had meant it as a joke—after all, lots of students went on trips the summer of their senior year, and he and Akane were approaching their third semester. But the hopeful, surprised look on her face melted his heart. “Uh, sure, why not? Maybe they’ll get so focused on Kasumi-san’s wedding they won’t even notice we’re gone, eh?” He tried grinning at her. She smiled back and his heart sped up. “We could go on a training trip!” Akane shout-whispered. The radio then switched to something soft and wordless that filled the air in the wake of Akane’s excitement. For some reason the music change seemed to bring them both to Earth, and they deflated, almost at the same moment, though maybe he’d just imagined their synchronicity.

“I couldn’t leave right now, not with Kasumi needing her sisters.” Akane sighed and leaned against her desk, crossing her legs over each other, looking disappointed. He watched the muscles in her thighs flex under the hem of her sleep shorts and swallowed. She would have gone with him. There had been no hesitation. No denial.

“Yeah,” he agreed, not wanting to set her off by telling her he’d been joking; he leaned against her desk himself, hunching a little to hide his reaction to her body, “it’s been… nice not havin’ ‘em breathin’ down our necks all the time. I’m kinda dreadin’ tomorrow.” He chuckled, a hollow sound. “Are you… okay?” He asked, his throat suddenly dry.

“What do you mean, Ranma?” Akane asked, looking pointedly at her feet, wriggling her toes.

“I mean, about Kasumi gettin’ engaged when… you know.” Saying “when we almost got married” just felt a little too honest, too dangerous. He prayed she could fill in the gaps, because he wasn’t sure he could get the words out.

“Am I upset that my older sister, whose coming-of-age I just attended earlier today, is getting married before me?” She asked flatly, putting out the flickering flame of anxiety that had risen in his chest.

Ranma paused, thought about that, and then nodded. “Yeah, that.”

She sighed, “No. The only reason I was going to marry you was to get you the cure you wanted, and because I thought you lo—” she cut herself off, sighing and swiping at her cheek and eye, but he saw no tears yet, thankfully, “well, it doesn’t matter. Kasumi’s older. She should get married first. And everything else… it’s old history.” Akane’s face took on that stubborn expression that Ranma frequently saw on her. He loved that look, especially when she wasn’t turning it on him—but even then, sometimes. “Besides, you still don’t want to get married right now, do you?” She asked him, staring directly into his face and making him squirm.

“Prob’ly not right now.” He admitted, and Akane blushed prettily and looked at the floor again. Realizing the way he had phrased that, how it had sounded, Ranma stiffened, staring very deliberately at the floor himself. He could not take the words back, and if he tried, he would only make things worse. In his peripheral vision, he watched her toes and calves flex, and forced himself to relax into the coming blast.

A long silence. Ranma wanted to say something more, to keep them in just this place, where they were talking, and thinking, and he wasn’t swallowing his foot, and she wasn’t mad, and he wasn’t mad, and they were safe and not safe but in a way that did not make him feel cornered. But before he could think of something, they both heard, and jumped, at a loud thud from Nabiki’s room. It sounded like a pair of bodies rolling out of a bed and landing on the floor together. Ranma and Akane stared first at each other, then at the wall. They heard a pair of young voices giggling seconds later.

Akane turned up the music slightly. Both teens were so red that Ranma thought they must be glowing.

“Um, maybe we should head to bed.” Akane mumbled, edging toward her bed.

“Yeah.” Ranma agreed, sidling to his futon. Akane climbed into her blankets, “y’mind if I get into my sleep clothes?” He asked, rubbing the back of his blazing head.

“Oh, yeah.” Akane covered her eyes demurely with her hands, and Ranma quickly shucked off his pants and shirt, leaving himself in his undershirt and boxers. He climbed into his futon and covered up.

“Okay.” He said, to let her know she could look. Akane uncovered her face, her cheeks suffused in a blush, then switched out the light, leaving them in the pale moonlight through her curtains. They lay quietly for a while, listening to the music, enjoying the peaceful shadows and the warmth. There were thankfully no more noises from Nabiki’s room. But hearing the sounds of Nabiki and Ryoga fooling around—he could just vomit—had gotten Ranma thinking about the woman whose room he was currently sharing, and the fact that they were in her room together, and that they were in pajamas, and that no one was around. The snakes in his guts writhed, but not unpleasantly.

But if they did anything, then that would mean admitting that they were engaged, that they were in a relationship. It would be that change that Dr. Tofu had been lecturing him about. And what happened if they did that—got married, and then one day, something else changed and… well, they stopped caring for each other? What then? Would they have gone through all of this, for nothing? Survived the war of the fiancées, the fallout, all for nothing? The thought infuriated him, that they might one day give up on one another, stop working on whatever issues came their way, and then that would be it. After all that craziness, all the battles to bring them together—they’d have to split up, divide the dojo.

Ranma took in a deep breath. He was so far ahead, he’d already lapped himself. After all, his ma and pops were still together, and they had been apart since Ranma was just a toddler. And his dad was a moron. Relationships could survive anything, if you wanted them to. What did he want?

“Still can’t sleep?” Akane whispered, her voice carrying under the music.

“No.” Ranma croaked, turning to face her.

Akane nestled into her blankets and stared at him, “Are you warm enough?” She asked, her voice quavering.

“Yeah,” he blinked, “are you?” He asked stupidly.

“I guess.” The two of them stared at one another for a few more heartbeats, which wasn’t very long because their hearts had both started beating very fast. “You know, maybe our parents will keep leaving us alone after all.”

“Whyzzat?” Ranma asked.

Akane licked her lips, and his eyes followed the motion, “Well, they have a wedding to plan. And pay for. They’ll be really busy.”

“Hey, that’s a good point,” Ranma glanced down at his hands, tucked near his cheek, then back up at Akane, “it’s been pretty nice to just hang out an’ not have them botherin’ us all the time.” He said, his face warming against his fingers. Suddenly he realized he had said that before, already, and was not quite embarrassed at having pointed it out again. It was mushy. Girly.

Akane’s face reddened, and she giggled. “I agree, again,” Akane favored him with one of her beautiful smiles, and he was grateful that she did not tease him, “hey, this is like a sleepover, kinda.” She said, then looked embarrassed herself.

“A sleepover?” He asked.

“Yeah, a slumber party?” He shook his head. Akane frowned, “I guess it’s more of a girl thing, usually, but boys have them too.”

“Well, I never did. What do you do at them?” He asked, sitting up on his elbow.

“Ah—you fight with pillows sometimes, or do each others hair or makeup, paint each other’s nails,” Ranma was getting less and less interested, “eat snacks, watch movies, play video games, read comics…” Akane said knowingly, seeing his attention fading, and Ranma perked up. He didn’t care much about video games, but he loved a good comic. And snacks.

“Huh, maybe I should have one this year.” He said, then had a thought, “Anyone ever do martial arts at these slumber parties?” Ranma asked.

Akane rolled her eyes and giggled, then sobered, “You know, they don’t, and actually now that you mention it, I didn’t have any friends who practiced martial arts with me at all growing up—well, except for all the boys who tried to beat me up.” She said, her expression turning sour.

The words left his mouth without him thinking about them, which was how words often escaped Ranma Saotome’s mouth, “I would have.”

“Huh?” Akane said, blinking owlishly at him.

Ranma gulped. He’d already said it. “I would have, you know, practiced with you, if we grew up together—and I wouldn’t try to beat you up, neither, ‘cause I don’t hit girls.”

Akane looked like she wanted very much to scold him for not taking her seriously for the ten thousandth time, but she seemed to reconsider, the evidence of her internal monologue apparent in the way the expressions on her face shifted, and she settled on an indulgent smile, “Ranma, I think that may honestly be the nicest thing you—well, any guy, has ever said to me. Thank you.” He was a guy to her. A boy. And she didn’t hate him. She’d have been his friend. She was his friend.

Suddenly, his chest unclenched. When had it tightened? His stomach settled. When had he first felt the nausea? His anxiety thawed, forgotten, like snowmelt down the gutters. Ranma felt a kind of bravery he had never known. If Dr. Tofu could do the seemingly impossible, Ranma could, too. The minefield looked like a regular field. But then, didn’t they all look like that?

Though he wasn’t going to propose to Akane—not right now—he wanted her to know that he was happy with her. That he wanted to stay with her. Somehow, he wanted to say without saying, that she was… it. But the words still felt impossible, lodged somewhere inside him, the part of him that could speak the words foreign to him. Maybe he was more like Dr. Tofu than he would have ever suspected—they each had their own eccentricity, especially when talking to the woman they cared the most about. At least he wasn’t like Ryoga.

Ranma was determined, and stubborn. Maybe the only thing more stubborn than him was Akane, and even then, it was probably too close to call. But that stubborness could also morph into determination, and he wasn’t too stubborn to never change, and, he knew, neither was Akane. He had survived so much with her. She had almost died for him. They could do anything, if they worked together. And they were together, right now. And she made him brave.

So in that moment, he admitted to himself the truth: He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to hold her. That would show her he cared for her. It seemed like something that he could make happen. It had almost happened many, many times, after all. All he had to do was follow through.

“Akane,” he said, licking his lips and mustering every single ounce of courage he could, “I’m actually a little cold.” Not that much courage, apparently. Not enough to be direct. For a long moment she stared at him, then she sat up and tugged at the quilt on the foot of her bed and tossed it to him. Disappointed but, at the same time, wondering what the hell he expected, Ranma mumbled a thank you and settled the quilt over himself.

Akane lay back down and he watched her watching the ceiling, trying to think of a way to tell her he wanted to kiss her that didn’t make him feel like his face was going to explode. Finally, she closed her eyes and sighed. “Ranma, were you trying to get an invite into my bed?”

That had indeed been exactly what he was hoping for.

Ranma had never, not once in his life, tried a “move” on a girl with any thought to what might happen after. That had always been too dangerous. Even at eighteen, Ranma had never even flirted with flirting. His first attempt at a sly maneuver, and he blew it. But he had acted purely on a stupid, boyish impulse, and now he had to backpedal because Ranma would be damned if was going to admit to trying in the first place and damage his pride further.

“Uh, no, why would you think a thing like that?” Ranma asked gruffly, trying to hide his blush behind a look of mild displeasure that he was quite practiced at. He forgot about courage. He slid easily back into the old ways, like a wet fish down a waterslide.

Akane huffed and rolled over to face him, “A wild guess,” she grumped, glaring at him, “I don’t know why I bothered to ask. You always deny everything.”

“Whaddya mean?” He asked, his temper wicking up. He sat up again, leaning forward with a pout. “I do not.” He lied, blatantly.

“As if,” she muttered, “you don’t have the guts to ask me directly, so you have to be all coy and sneaky about it, and then you can’t even admit you were being sneaky.”

Not liking how astute she was being, Ranma tried another tactic, “I wasn’t bein’ sneaky. I am cold.” He said, thrilled with his ingenuity.

Akane stared at him blankly. “Uh huh.” She deadpanned.

“I am!” Ranma countered, then to prove it to her, he snuggled deeper into his futon, yanking the quilt up to his chin. It smelled like her and his stomach flipped around. “‘Sides, yer a girl. I bet your feet are like icicles, anyway. You’re way too frigid to warm me up.”

Boom. Akane’s expression darkened. “Oh really?” Akane asked acidly, “Then perhaps you want to sleep in the hallway?”

“No, no,” Ranma said quickly, sitting up and reaching out with his hands, making placating gestures, “I’m—I’m sorry.” He managed, looking at her with his best puppy-dog-eyes, his hands still out.

Akane pursed her lips cutely, then “hmphed,” “Fine, I forgive you, but only because I wouldn’t want you to catch a cold sleeping out there.”

Relieved, Ranma lowered his hands, but he didn’t stop looking at her. A new, dangerous, and potentially lethal thought occurred to him. “Hey, wait a second,” he said as the realization blossomed into understanding, “you wanted me to get into bed with you.”

“What?” Akane whispered, clearly just managing to be quiet by the brief, alarmed look she shot to the door. “Absolutely not! Why would I want a—a—pervert in my bed?” She pointed at him accusingly, the severity of her gesture somewhat undermined by not only the high color of her cheeks, but also the fact that most of her hand was still under her blanket.

“Yeah you did. Why ain’t you got all mad at me for what I—what you thought I was tryin’ t’do? You let me sleep in here. You ain’t malleted me once. You want me in your room,” he grinned cockily at her, “can’t resist me, eh, Akane?” He waggled his eyebrows. His anger was forgotten, his bravery. Sometimes arguing with Akane was fun. Like a game. And this way he didn’t have to be honest.

“You are so egotistical.” Akane snarled, and rolled over in bed to, Ranma assumed, hide her face, but this effectively meant her next words were so muffled he couldn’t understand her.

“Huh? What? Speak up. Can’t hear ya’.” Ranma said casually, twirling his pigtail. He felt his confidence return. He had her.

Akane sat up and whirled to face him, her chest rising and falling with a large, annoyed sigh, “I said, you’re the one who asked to sleep in here. What’s that mean, eh?”

Frowning, Ranma tried to think of a response, “Well, you still let me in.” He shot back.

“Yeah, I’m starting to think that was a big mistake!” She whisper-shouted, leaning over her bed, hands gripping her blanket tightly, her nose wrinkling.

They had now both stumbled so easily back into this place that Ranma was only now noticing. He had almost entirely forgotten the earlier good will between them, except as a warm, tender feeling in his chest that couldn’t seem to be snuffed out.

“Aw, don’t worry, Akane. If you want me to cuddle you so bad I will. You just gotta ask.” He batted his eyelashes and poked his cheeks, pulling a cheesy face at her.

“Oooh…! As if you would have the guts!” She said, still managing to keep her voice down through long practice of trying not to alert their parents, or the rest of the house, or Nerima, to their conversations. “You can barely hold hands without your face imploding from embarrassment.” She whispered haughtily.

“Oh yeah? You think so?” Ranma asked; his pride was officially under threat now. Manly guys were good with girls, and even though he would have died before he said so out loud, Ranma was quite insecure around girls. Especially this girl. Once again, Akane had seen through him like he was transparent. “Well, we’ll never know because you’re too frigid…!”

“I am not…! How dare you…! I’ll show you,” she suddenly sat up rigidly, scuttled over toward the wall, and lifted the blanket with an challenging look in her brilliant brown eyes, the moonlight filtering into the room high-lighting the empty space beside her. He could see the top half of her creamy thigh.

Too annoyed and amped up to be shocked, or to recognize the new minefield into which he was stepping, Ranma snorted confidently, shucked off his blankets, and stood. Thankfully, he did not currently have a raging hard on, as he had had for much of their initial conversation. He was more focused on his pride anyway as he climbed into the bed and lay down. Facing her, he plucked the edge of the blanket up and, with a smirk, gently dropped it across his neck. “There. See? Not scared.” He said, waving his hand at the evidence. Inside, his heart was pounding, because the entire bed smelled like her, wrapping him in her presence.

“Oh wow,” Akane said flatly, “so impressive, you’re lying like six inches away. I’m amazed you’re still alive.”

Ranma stared at her, unamused, “Well fine, if you’re so desperate to touch me, then…” he paused, swallowing, and opened his arms, “c’mon you frigid tomboy.”

“Frigid… tomboy…” Akane growled, “I’ll show you frigid…!” And she practically jumped into his opened arms. To up the ante, and prove he was less scared than her, Ranma wrapped his forearms around her back, pressing her breasts against his chest. Instantly he realized his mistake as he felt a stirring in his shorts, but thankfully—and disappointingly—Akane wasn’t pressing her lower body against him. “How’s that for frigid?” She said, “hmphing” so cutely that Ranma’s heart skipped a beat.

Their faces were inches apart, and he could feel her warm breath on his cheek. He was suddenly flooded with memories of almosts and so-closes. They overwhelmed him, until the part of his brain that recognized speech finally processed what she had said. “Okay, okay,” he said, his voice a little hoarse; the music pitched up, and he jerked a little, having forgotten the radio as a low background hum until that moment, “uh, well, I’ll admit, I thought you was gonna be like a little ice box…” she was warm, hot, even, “But I bet you’re still more scared than I am.” He added, glaring at her, trying to focus on the argument.

“Oh please,” Akane snorted, and he felt his insides squirm, “who let who into whose bed?” Her face turned red.

“Yer the only one in the room with a bed.” He pointed out, and Akane rolled her eyes.

“Whatever, at least I was brave enough to invite you, and you still can’t admit that you were trying to… to convince me to invite you!” She finished, faltering only a little and poking him in the chest for emphasis. The situation was escalating, increasing in its ridiculousness, as their attempts at intimacy often did. But Ranma was having even fun, now;his arms were full of Akane, and her body was… he tried again to focus.

“Fine, what now, then, tomboy? Since yer so confident. Whaddya gonna do about it?” He had intended to prod her a little, to rile her up, but when the words had escaped they hung in the air between them like a physical presence.

Akane glared at him, and he felt her body wriggle a little against his, a motion that he felt everywhere, not just where she was touching him. Then, a sly, Tendo-girl look appeared in her eyes, a look he saw on Nabiki often, and on Kasumi exactly once, right before she had encouraged Ranma to eat Akane’s cooking, “Why Ranma, what do you want me to do about… it?” She asked coquettishly.

True to Akane’s earlier assessment, Ranma in fact did feel like his face was going to implode. It was one thing for Ukyo or Shampoo to grope him, make sexual innuendo or rub themselves on his chest. This, what Akane was doing, was an invitation. She was giving him a choice.

And tempting him. “W-well if you ain’t a frigid chick,” he started, deciding that tomboy was just stupid at this point, “then you’d uh, you’d be okay with… with cuddlin’ me back.” He said. That seemed safe.

Akane smirked and leaned more purposefully into him, now gently pressing her knees against his thighs, still keeping their lower bodies separated. She snaked her arms around the back of his neck and behind his shoulders, then flushed, “L-like this?” She asked, sounding much less confident all of the sudden, despite the half-smile.

“Not bad, not bad,” he praised, but his voice was still rougher, huskier than he expected, “see? Who’s runnin’? I ain’t no chicken.”

“Oh really?” Akane said, grinning evilly, “Then kiss me.”

He stiffened. More than one part of him. What he had wanted in the first place, tantalizingly close, so easily offered. Swallowing, he felt his eyes widen of their own volition, while Akane’s face remained a careful mask of smugness under her monumental blush, “K-kiss you? Are you—sure? Like this?” He looked down at their almost-intertwined bodies, panic and excitement rising in him in equal measure.

“Why Ranma? Are you sc—!” She did not get to finish the sentence, but for once nothing of value was lost, and both of them forgot they had been talking in the first place as for the first time—the first on-purpose time—their lips touched. Initially Ranma just brushed her lips, mostly, he told himself, to shut her up. But Akane and Ranma had spent two years doing an intense will-they, won’t-they dance, touching each other on rare occasions, and always at the risk of someone seeing and forcing them to get married; the sexual tension between them was thicker than Ryoga’s head. For the first time, they were alone, unhurried, unwatched, under the cover of blankets, and the dark.

That was when the explosion finally happened.

Akane made a moue of surprise and excitement, and pulled Ranma closer, wrapping her arms tightly around his body. Snaking his own arms down and around her waist, Ranma pressed their chests together as the two of them clumsily kissed, breathing heavily through their noses. The hair on Ranma’s legs felt electrified as Akane’s smooth skin made contact with his, and he opened his mouth in surprise when she inched her tiny bare foot over his ankle. Apparently assuming that he was intending to deepen the kiss, Akane opened her mouth as well, and tenatively, the two of them slid their tongues into one another’s mouths at the same time.

This was the furthest either of them had ever gone, and they were still ungainly, uncoordinated, but more than made up for clicking teeth and hitching breaths with enthusiasm. Being martial artists, with excellent breath control, neither felt the need to pull away for air for a long time. Ranma’s brain was officially mush anyway, and no longer needed much oxygen to function beyond kissing Akane and rubbing his hands up and down her muscular back, feeling the divots of her spine through her thin, silky top. No thoughts of engagements, entanglements, new or old. No thoughts of what might happen if someone got suspicious and walked in. No thoughts. Heads empty.

Soon their kissing became more sensual, more adept. They grew hotter, sweatier, and unconsciously worked their legs out of the blankets. This had the effect of twisting their limbs together, with Ranma’s leg now between Akane’s, pressed against the apex of her thighs, and Akane’s leg around his hips, the other trapped between his body and the mattress. Ranma’s erection finally made contact with Akane’s body, poking into her stomach, while Ranma’s thigh was grazed by the hot, moist evidence of Akane’s own excitement.

They froze instantly, a barrier crossed. Slowly they finally broke the kiss, panting and staring into each other’s eyes. It was as if they had both awoken after a real explosion, unaware of where they were, what had happened, or what existed still outside their little bubble of intimacy. Ranma’s ears even seemed to be ringing. Neither let go. Neither bolted. Hearts hammering in their chests, both seemed to wait, breath held, for the other to say something, to do something.

In the sweating seconds, Ranma became acutely aware of what his body’s sensations meant in physical space: his thigh was against Akane’s most intimate place, her breasts were squeezed against the flat expanse of his chest, and her shirt had rode up to allow his fingers to touch the soft, moist skin of her lower back. His erection was flat against her stomach, and he could swear her shirt hadn’t had buttons where he felt two little points against either side of his chest.

And still neither moved, either closer or away.

Finally getting his brain to function again, Ranma knew he was definitely feeling a wetness against his leg where it was touching Akane. A wetness that he recognized for what it was from his girl body, and the few embarrassing “man-to-man” talks he’d had with his father on the road. While Ranma tried to stay male as much as possible, his girl form had grown at the same rate as he had, and the changes that Ranma-onna experienced were Ranma’s. While he hated these changes, he eventually had to just accept and get used to them. The curse wasn’t going anywhere for the time being, and he had to find ways to cope, to be less repulsed and horrified by his body doing things that it was never intended to do, because that body was still his body, even if it was also not.

Yet, whenever Ranma had been tempted to… experiment with his girl body he had felt an inexplicable sense of disorientation and dissociation, as if the hands had suddenly become another’s hands, the legs, detached, the body, someone else’s. The few times he had touched the girl version of his male body had been brief, confusing, upsetting. Pleasurable, too, but not comfortable in the same way touching his male body was.

But he had learned in these furtive, unsettling, and brief explorations that girls were sensitive in certain places, just like boys. And right now, he felt no terror, no rush, just the tender nervousness of a young person experiencing sexual intimacy with another for the first time.

With a deep breath to steady his racing heart, and moving carefully, as though Akane were made of pure nitroglycerin and a sudden movement would mean his instant death, Ranma gently pressed his thigh more purposefully against her. She tilted her head back and up, her eyes widening, her face turning crimson, and made a quiet noise of pleasure and surprise that caused butterflies to start up a battle in Ranma’s stomach.

With a shuddering, relieved sigh he kissed her again, and she met his mouth as he delicately masturbated her through her shorts and panties with deliberate flexing and pressing of his thigh. Akane’s little panting breaths against his cheek were getting higher and higher, though she was clearly still doing her best to be quiet. To help her—really, all for her—Ranma continued kissing her, smothering the sounds she made as he continued experimenting with the pressure of his leg, pitching her voice higher or lower when he increased or slowed his movements. The motions were explicitly, achingly sexual, done purely for the pleasure of the both of them. Were their parents to walk in, they would be married on the spot. A fiancée’s arrival would mean a battle like no other. Ranma for his part would have either put the tux on himself, or laid his neck down for the sword, just to feel the liquid heat that now stuck Akane’s shorts to his thigh.

Pulling away for air, Ranma watched with fascination as Akane’s mouth opened and closed over and over in time with the gentle motions of his leg. His own erection was painful, now, but he had had worse. He didn’t want to stop, to see if she’d touch him similarly. He wanted keep going, to watch her do something he never thought he’d ever see her do.

“Akane, what do you need?” He asked, hinting at what he wanted for her, barely trusting himself to speak and amazed that the question was coherent. Akane was panting, clinging to his back with her hands like he was going to leave if she didn’t hold on to him—the chances of that were less than the chances of him marrying Kuno—but he knew she’d registered what he’d said by the way her brown eyes locked onto his blue ones. When she bit her lip, Ranma looked at her mouth.

“I’m—I’m embarrassed,” she said finally, “I can’t say.” Watching her lips move made his erection twitch.

“Come on,” he murmured, kissing her mouth, her cheek, her forehead, earning him small, sweet noises that made his skin prickle deliciously, “it’s okay, tell me.” He watched her throat move as she swallowed her nerves, and stopped moving for a moment, just pressing against her, giving her a chance to gather herself. Akane made a whining sound and actually pushed back against his leg for the first time. His eyes rolled back in his head. “That’s so… sexy…” he whispered, hiding his own embarrassment in her neck. Her body practically vibrated in his arms.

“Oh Ranma.” She murmured, making him suck in a breath. His name from her lips was like some kind of magic word and he felt a swelling of pride and confidence. Akane began rubbing his back, pushing her shaking hands under his tank top and up to his shoulder blades. The soft yet rough skin of her palms left searing paths in their wake. Ranma mimicked her, then ran one of his hands back down to push into her shorts and graze over the top curve of her rear, “Touch me.” She finally, squeaked, pressing her face into his neck; her whole head was boiling hot.

“With my hand?” He whispered, wanting to be sure he did the right thing. His heart was already thundering in his ears, hope and excitement competing for space in his brain, working each other into an intoxicating chemical soup.

She nodded quickly, biting her lip, “Yes…” she whispered, pulling her face away from his tingling neck and squinting her eyes shut.

“Look at me, please,” he pleaded, putting his forehead against hers, “I wanna make sure you—c’mon, look at me.” He coaxed tenderly. She opened her eyes slowly, as he moved his hand around her waistband to the front of her shorts. He was quivering, unable to comprehend that this was actually happening, that Akane Tendo had asked him to touch her, this way, so intimately. Ranma had never felt more hungry for anything in his life. Not food, not a new technique—nothing came close to the anticipation of what he was about to do for her, what she was asking him to do for her.

He decided to keep his hand over her panties, because she had not given her permission and he would hate to make her shrink away from him. Looking her in the eyes, he moved his thigh down and replaced the pressure of his leg with the touch of his fingers. Akane’s eyes snapped open wide and she clamped her lips shut on what was definitely a squeal of pleasure when he cupped her, running one of his fingers over her most sensitive spot and pressing the heel of his hand against the rest of her.

The wetness that had been on Akane’s sleeping shorts was soaking through her underwear, now, coating his fingers, making the motion of touching her this way slicker, easier. Still, he longed to feel her bare skin, but he could wait. He felt the shape of her at least. That they had even kissed, and that they were basically having sex, was so much more than the best he could have hoped for. If his father had suddenly woken him with a bucket of water and Ranma found that this was a dream he would have been less shocked.

Akane’s panting breaths once again began to pitch up and up, even as she clamped her lips over the noise. One day he would hear her with her mouth open wide. The thought made him shiver.

The heat from her body increased, his hand getting wetter and wetter. Ranma was breathing heavier and heavier, working to keep his erection against her stomach, not wanting to separate unless he absolutely had to. Suddenly, her eyes widened, her mouth forming a circle, and Akane gasped, tilting her head back and writhing against his hand, clenching her teeth and keening softly through them. Ranma rolled to pin her under him and keep contact between his hand and her body, drawing her orgasm out while he kissed her, swallowing her cries of release. Satisfaction at a job well done raised goosebumps all across his flesh, and he found himself smiling stupidly against her mouth.

Eventually her motions slowed, then stopped, and she lay there, panting, a dazed look on her flushed face—even her throat was tinged pink in the moonlight. Ranma did not move his hand, but he did press his erection against her, letting her feel how excited her body, their activities, had made him. “Ranma,” she whispered, water springing to the corners of her eyes and running freely down her face, but she spoke easily, and there was none of that jittery tension in her body that indicated a sob, “that was amazing—thank you.” She whispered, her voice high.

“Hey, no problem,” he smiled, probably looking like a complete idiot, and kissed her again; each time was less terrifying, more intimate, “that was fun to watch.” He grinned, trying to lighten the mood.

Akane giggled breathlessly, rolling her eyes, “You’re going to be so much cockier now, aren’t you?”

“I mean I am right now.” He said, his voice quavering just a little as he pushed against her again. Akane flushed and covered her eyes with her hand, her lips pressed together to stop her manic laughter. The tears flowed down her face, but she sagged against the mattress, basically boneless, and the tears did not scare him. If anything, he felt a warmth in his chest at the sight of them.

Ranma took his hand out of her shorts, a little regretfully, and surreptitiously wiped it on the bedsheet before using it to hold himself up. With his cleaner hand, he wiped at the tears on her face, satisfied when no more came. Reaching down, feeling brave, he ran his quaking knuckles cautiously around the outside edge of her breast in her shirt. She actually raised her chest up, and his heart soared at her tacit encouragement. “I ain’t got no idea how this happened.” He murmured, partly to himself, partly to her.

“I have no idea either. I think we were arguing.” She whispered, sniffling and watching with a smile as he cupped her breast in his shaking hand. He rolled to lie on his side, not breaking the contact between them. Ranma’s body was throbbing with his own needs, but he was already bracing for the possibility that she may not want to do the same for him, managing his expectations. There would be other opportunities—he hoped, at least. He gently stroked her full breast with his hand, and her smile widened. Akane stroked her fingers up and down his forearm attached to the hand on her breast, just barely touching against his skin and leaving tingles in her wake.

Turning to look squarely at him, she moved her shaking fingers to the buttons of her shirt, and popped the first two, then the third, then the fourth. Ranma watched, transfixed by the increasingly broad span of flesh exposed to him with each undone button. “I guess we’re not arguin’ anymore.” He whispered.

“I guess not.” She whispered back, smiling and undoing the last button.

Ranma laid his hand over hers and kissed her again, and together they opened her pajama top to reveal the breasts that he had so many times called flat. He paused to gaze appreciatively at them. He had seen them a wonderful, fortunate handful of times, but always briefly, and usually not up close. They stood proudly, her nipples erect, her flesh moving slightly with her breath. Resuming their kiss, more passionately now, running his tongue around the inside of her mouth, tasting her toothpaste, he covered her bare breast with his large, callused hand, and thumbed her nipple. The skin was impossibly soft, the nipple pebbled and small. Akane jumped, and he felt her arm that was closest to him shift until her much smaller hand touched his cock through his shorts.

It was Ranma’s turn to jump. He pulled away from her mouth to gasp as she squeezed him with an articulated gentleness belied by her usual brutal and over-enthusiastic martial training. Ranma panted against her cheek, unconsciously pushing himself against the pressure of her hand. Touching himself was fine, a kind of mechanical necessity. Akane touching him was so different. Each motion of her hand was a shock of surprise, because he had no idea what she was about to do. It was like an opponent who never telegraphed their movements; exciting, a little scary, thrilling.

Ranma kissed her once more, taking his hand only a little reluctantly off her breast and wrapping his palm around the back of her neck, opening his mouth wide and sucking on her tongue. He pulled her around to face him again, wanting to feel her breasts against his chest.

The movements of her hand became more urgent against his shorts, but already Ranma had been pressing and grinding against her all the while, and the fabric was starting to rub him raw by the time she had started touching him. He winced, and reached down to gently grab her wrist to halt her, and Akane pulled away like he was on fire. “I hurt you!” She squeaked, probably too loudly, “I’m so sorry…!” She whispered much more quietly, her eyes wide and worried.

Since she had spent a year and a half cold-cocking every time he pissed her off, Ranma thought this was a little funny, but he wisely did not say so, and managed to hold in his laughter. Not because he was worried she’d beat his ass—Akane hadn’t done that in a long time, and even when she had, Ranma had to admit he had let her as much as he had let his other fiancées. No, they had matured, and really he held in his laughter because she had touched him so intimately and carefully, that he didn’t want to ruin the moment, and risk embarrassing her into not doing it again.

“It’s just my shorts—they’re ah, rubbin’ me a little—s’unconfortable… you didn’t do nothin’ wrong. That felt great,” he kissed her deeply, running his fingers through her short hair and then massaging her breast again, leaning into her, earning him a few breathless giggles, “We can try some—ah!” Ranma cried out in surprise and exhiliration, as Akane shoved her hand into his boxers and moved her hot little fingers against his bare skin. “Akane!” He said between his clenched teeth, “if you do that, I’m gonna—oh!” She ran her thumb over the tip of his erection, moistening her fingers with the precum that had likely already stained his boxers. He felt like he could actually feel her fingerprints, he was so sensitive.

“We took sex ed together, Ranma,” she whispered, a sexy smile on her red face, “I know what’s gonna happen.”

“O-kay,” he panted, closing his eyes, enjoying the feel of her just running her hand up and down him, her palm and fingers flat, pressing his cock against his stomach, “can you, uh—” he cut himself off, now understanding her earlier embarrassment. How could he just… say it?

“Tell me what to do.” She whispered against his mouth. “Look at me and tell me.” He opened his eyes so fast the room tilted a little.

The face Akane was making was a brand new expression to add to his memory. She was sweaty, her hair sticking to her forehead, and her cheeks were flushed, glowing with persperation. It was like they had been sparring. They were both drenched in sweat, a common phenomenon for martial artists in the incredible shape they were in, but Akane’s sweat… glittered. Her mouth was partway open, her eyes half-closed, and her chin was tilted up as she watched his face. The expression was seared into his mind instantly, and for the rest of his life.

“Wrap your fingers around me,” he murmured, and she did so, her hand shaking, “yeah—yes, just like that.” A self-assured grin spread across her face, a beautiful expression. She ran her hand up under his shirt, her other still working him—slowly, agonizingly slowly—and pushed his tank top up past his chest, dragging her hand appreciatively over his defined abdominals and the muscles of his pecs.

He cried out as quietly as he could when she began to mouth his throat, still moving her hand, and suddenly he was exploding. His cock pulsed and jumped in her hand, and his stomach and groin muscles made the familiar spasms. But more intense, far more intense, than when he was by hmself. Lights popped behind his eyes and he shuddered, his body bowing against her, his arms crushing her against him, hot liquid soaking his stomach, her hand, the front of his shorts. And he didn’t care and he wasn’t embarrassed because Akane was kissing his neck, his face, still moving her hand, now slick with his cum, up and down, dragging out the pleasure, murmuring soft, unintelligible, loving things to him.

When he was through it to the other side, his body weightless and heavy at the same time, he finally opened his eyes, not remembering when he had closed them, and stared at her, a newfound awe blossoming where before he had felt resentment and jealousy.

Akane watched him with a small, secret smile on her mouth. Then she pulled her hand out of his boxers and casually wiped his cum off on the pillowcase before flipping it over to the dry side and settling her head down again. Something about that was sexy, too. That she didn’t seem to care about his bodily fluids. He supposed she’d had his blood and sweat all over her. Squeamishness seemed a little beyond the both of them, now. “That was… awesome.” Ranma said breathlessly.

Akane smiled cheekily. “You’re welcome…” she whispered, and kissed him.

For a long while they lay in each other’s arms, kissing and looking into each other’s eyes, murmuring promises, giggling over nerves. The music still played from the radio. Ranma didn’t want the evening to end. What would happen tomorrow seemed very far away, though he was sure it was past midnight. But soon they were both kissing between yawns, falling into seconds of sleep, then waking to kiss again. Eventually, after a few of these microsleeps, Ranma pulled the blankets up, and carefully situated Akane until he was spooned against her back.

Breathing against the back of her neck, occasionally kissing the skin below her short hair and relishing in the way she squirmed at the touch, Ranma thought back to the wedding. No, right before that, when Akane had asked him the scariest question he had ever been asked. And now Kasumi and Dr. Tofu’s engagement was overlayed, superimposed on Akane’s wedding dress, her hopeful face. If nothing changed, nothing would. And then it hit him. Why he had been angry.

He’d wanted to just spend the party with her. To spend it beside her, talking with people, following her around, hanging on her, letting her be a buffer between himself and everyone else, to watch her laugh and talk, to catch the sparkle of her eyes. He had been lonely, rejected. But what they had just shared…

“Akane?” He whispered against her neck.

“Yes?” She whispered, yawning, and turned slightly in his arms to look at him. Staring into her eyes, he once again heard the question.

“Ranma, you love me. Don’t you?” The words, so gently yet firmly spoken, set off a flashbang in his mind. Bizarrely, and yet so obviously, Ranma thought of the soft bundle of hair he had wrapped in silk at the very bottom of his pack, of a poorly-made scarf tucked beside it, of a framed picture on Akane’s bedside, of Akane risking her life, and again of her begging question, “… you love me. Don’t you?”

“Yeah?” Akane prompted in the present, turning completely in his arms now, her brows knitting together.

“I lied,” he said, his throat dry, “I lied to you.” He thought of something else, too. But this, first.

Startled, Akane pressed her hands against his chest, as if to push away from him, and he would have let her go, but she came back. Perhaps she saw something in his eyes that he was finally letting her see. Moving close to his face, searching, gaze flicking briefly to his lips, Akane titled her head, “What do you mean?” Her voice was too quiet, he could not tell what she felt other than curiosity.

Licking his lips, Ranma cupped the back of her head, his hand shaking so hard she reached behind her to place her hand over his, steadying him. He could say it. The words were right there. He saw Dr. Tofu’s clear glasses. The ring on Kasumi’s finger. Him leaving the other girls behind. Missing Akane on training trips with his pops. Her smile. Her laugh. He could have spent that party with her. What would it have cost, really? What freedom was he chasing? The freedom to be alone, to be lonely?

He relaxed, stroking his hand down her face. “That day, when we almost—when our pops tried to get us married,” Akane’s eyes were slowly getting wider and wider, and for a moment he was struck by how close they had become as people, that she knew what he was about to tell her, “I didn’t say it, but I thought it, in my mind. I dunno how you heard. I do love you.”

“Oh Ranma!” She gasped, fresh tears springing into her eyes. She grabbed him fiercely, kissing him, more mashing their lips together than anything, but he loved it. When she pulled away he unconsciously moved forward to chase after her mouth, but then she was speaking. “I love you, too. I love you.” She breathed, quivering against him. “I love you.” She said it again, gently pressing her knuckles against his chest.

Nothing was fixed. Their lives were a mess. There would be the chaos, the minefields, still there, tomorrow. But in the quiet following the blast, Ranma felt like nothing else in his life could possibly ever go wrong again. “I love you.” He said it again, because it felt good. Akane laughed softly and hugged him against her.

Soft music still filled the room. What would come tomorrow, would come regardless of what they did tonight. But they were tied together, now, and could hold each other up.

…

Ranma was used to waking in a state of either alarm or confusion. Sometimes his father would wake him up with a cold bucket of water for training. Other times, he would wake realizing he was late for school. On the road, it was the sound of someone his father had pissed off coming to exact their revenge, and later, of Shampoo coming to do the same.

Waking up that morning was a strange, pleasant new world. He woke slowly, blinking at the raven-blue hair in his face. He felt languorous, heavy with a good night’s sleep. There was a warm, soft body in his arms. He was twisted up with someone, the nighttime movements of he and the other sleeper apparently so fierce that their limbs were all tangled up together. The other occupant of the bed was still unconscious, breathing deeply and evenly. Without really understanding but enjoying the closeness and the warmth, Ranma cuddled closer to them and closed his eyes, thinking he could probably just drift back to sleep and continue this dream for the rest of the morning. The other person mumbled something and the head attached to it snuggled into his neck, tickling him with its soft, wiry hair.

Ranma’s eyes snapped open, darting around the room, taking in one detail after another, his panic mounting. He was in Akane’s room, judging by the décor. He was in Akane’s bed, because he was definitely up off the floor. Akane was in his arms, and her soft, supple breasts were pressed against his stomach, the crown of her head against his chin. For long, terrifying seconds, Ranma thought he was not supposed to be there, that he was about to get either a tongue-lashing or perhaps a legitimate beat down for the first time in a long time.

And then Akane moaned and the night before came back to him, a tidal wave of sensations. Ranma’s face turned a brilliant shade of crimson. “Ranma…” Akane murmured sleepily, finally waking up herself, likely because Ranma had gone stiff in several key places, and one of them had poked her. “g’morning…” she mumbled. She looked up and smiled sleepily at him. Then she adopted a very similar expression to the one he had had a moment ago, her eyes wide, scanning up and down his body, her own body. A blush spread across her cheeks, down her throat to her chest.

There were a few moments in which Ranma felt a strong urge to pick up where they had left off, despite their mingled morning breath creating a funky cloud between their faces. The look on Akane’s face was so cute, her body was so warm and soft and cuddly, he wanted to enjoy her, and give her a good start to her morning.

But they noticed, at the same time, the quality of the light in the room. How bright it was. Both of them looked around, then at each other, worried. “It’s morning.” He murmured.

“It is—the window?” He nodded. Carefully and with utmost regret he extracted himself, which was a feat considering how tangled their limbs had gotten. Akane did not bother to close her shirt or adjust her clothes, but much to his delight simply knelt on her bed with her breasts peeking out from her open shirt and her messy hair in her face. Her muscular thighs and flat stomach flexed as she stretched her shoulders and neck, and Ranma just stared at her, forgetting why he had gotten out of the warm bed and left such a sexy woman all on her own. “What are you… looking at…?” She whispered, putting her hands up near her throat, her fingers toying with her pajama top collar.

“Uh,” Ranma wasn’t sure how to answer, or what was the right thing to say, so he decided to just tell her the truth, “you’re really sexy right now.” That was the opposite of what he would normally have said, and he found that he enjoyed the reaction he got.

The blush spread to the tops of her breasts. “Oh… you too…” She looked down, and Ranma followed her lead and saw that his shirt had risen up, and that there was a sizeable tent in his boxers. A little bashful, Ranma turned slightly and adjusted himself so that he wasn’t quite so obvious, but he left the shirt where it was. “Ranma?”

He turned back to her at once. “Yeah?”

Akane bit her lip and fiddled with the edges of her pajama top. “Do you want to go somewhere with me today? Like in the afternoon? I mean, you don’t have to just because we—” Stepping forward, Ranma gathered her against his chest, bending his knees to kiss her. Her breath hitched and she clutched at his back, her fingers tight against him. When he pulled away their mouths made a slight popping sound, and he thumbed her jaw as he looked into her eyes. “Is that a yes?” She teased.

He smiled and nodded, feeling happier, more free, than he had since he had come to the Tendos, even though he had tied Akane to him more than ever. There were a host of issues in front of them, not the least of which being their own parents, but for these few precious moments it was just the two of them.

“Akane-chan, breakfast is almost ready,” both teens turned slowly, with wide eyes, to stare at her door in mute horror, “are you awake?”

“That’s my mom…!” Ranma hissed. He kissed Akane again, intending it to be a short goodbye, but then had to come back for a second one before he grabbed his pants and shirt from the floor.

“Akane-chan?” Ranma snuck a look back at Akane as he gathered his clothes, enjoying immensely the way her breasts wobbled as she stood on shaky legs. “Oh, Nabiki-chan, your sister is still asleep; have you seen my son?” Akane tried to help him by rolling up his futon and buttoning her shirt at the same time.

“No, I haven’t auntie.” Ranma scrambled to put on his pants as Akane shoved the futon into her closet. “But you know I think Ranma-kun might be outside.” Akane rose from the closet and he kissed her again, unable to help himself. “He’s probably in the dojo, training.” Akane kissed him as he pulled his shirt over his arms, running her tongue against his lips so he would open his mouth to her searing affection. “I can wake up Akane-chan.” They kissed again after he finished donning his shirt, “I’ll make sure she doesn’t miss breakfast,” and with one more kiss, he left through the window just before Nabiki opened the door.

Ranma waited on the roof, listening. If Nabiki figured it out, he wasn’t going to leave Akane to deal with her sister herself. “Oh, hi ‘neechan, wow, I overslept, breakfast already?” Akane said cheerily, a little manically, he thought with a grin.

He could practically hear the sly smile on Nabiki’s face, “You made a racket last night. Try to keep it down in the future. This is a freebie,” there was a short pause, Ranma held his breath, “oh, and you should probably close the window next time, Ranma-kun.” He nearly face-planted into the yard. “And fix your shirt, Sis.”

Relief flooded through him as Akane’s door shut. Not ready for such a wonderful night together to end, Ranma leaned down and tapped on the upper window sash. Akane turned and he saw that her shirt was not only poorly buttoned, but there was definitely a mark on her neck, and a stain on her shorts. She was a mess, and she was beautiful as she poked her body out of her window and kissed him again with a goofy smile on her face.

“Okay, now go, shoo!” Akane hissed, laughing as she shoved him gently. Stealing one last kiss, of her fingers this time, Ranma went back up to the roof, practically skipping.

As he hopped down to the yard, he caught sight of the shoji to the dojo partway open and peaked inside to see Ryoga sitting on the floor in front of the shrine, clearly deep in thought. Ranma checked himself, but as he had slept in his underclothes, he still looked more presentable than Akane, any stains hidden. He decided it was safe to step inside. “Hey, Ryoga,” the lost boy turned partway and stared impassively at Ranma over his shoulder, “still here?”

“Yeah.” Ryoga said, turning back to the shrine. “I… feel tied here, today.”

Struck by the similarity of his proclamation, Ranma paused. Then his expression hardened. “Listen man, shit’s gonna change here real soon.”

“I know.” Ryoga said, his voice soft, almost thoughtful. “Kasumi-san’s engagement. Me.”

Ranma ignored him. He breathed in deeply, prepared for a fight. “P-chan’s gotta go and you gotta tell Akane. Apologize to her.” He said firmly. Something about the night before had put a courage in him that he didn’t realize he rarely felt with Ryoga. Usually, Ryoga just made him angry. But Ranma felt little anger, now, just calm resolve.

Still, he was relieved when the lost boy nodded. “I know.” He repeated, and looked back at Ranma with a smirk. “I’m a man, now, Ranma-san.”

“‘Ranma-san?’ What’re we in a samurai movie? C’mon man,” Ranma stepped inside and gave Ryoga a whack on the back of the head, but not hard; the toothy young man glared at him, “you know you fucked up.”

“I also—well, I had an experience last night that has changed me.”

“Oh yeah? Me too.” Ranma said, his chin jutting. The young martial artists looked at each other, neither one elaborating, neither one confused by the other’s lack of elaboration.

“Well.” Ryoga said, a bit of a dazed expression on his face.

“Well… you want some breakfast?” The lost boy looked at him in surprise, then shrugged.

“Sure.” Ranma reached down, and after hesitating, Ryoga took his hand and let Ranma help him to his feet. Ryoga would have to tell Akane about P-chan, because Ranma would be damned if he was going to have sex with his fiancée without her first knowing that Ranma hadn’t told her about Ryoga’s curse. But for now the two young men shook on a truce, however long it lasted, and walked back into the family room together.

Nabiki did not look surprised to see either of them. She had a very satisfied expression on her face, and patted the seat beside her with a smile directed at Ryoga. He took his place mutely, looking around shyly.

Akane emerged from the entryway a few moments after they had sat down, wearing her yellow pajamas and looking nonchalant, her hair brushed. She took her usual seat next to Ranma. “Good morning everyone,” she smiled at Ryoga, “Ryoga-kun, you’re still here—good morning.”

“Good morning, Akane-kun,” he said, nodding to her, “yes, Ranma invited me for breakfast.”

“That’s so sweet.” Akane beamed at Ranma, who smirked and shrugged.

His mother brought out breakfast, and Ranma jumped up to help her dish out the food, along with Ryoga. The family sat down to eat. Conversations commenced, mostly about Kasumi’s engagement. Ranma kept stealing glances at his fiancée. There was a loose thread on her pajama’s collar, and without thinking about where they were or who was watching or what he was doing, he plucked it between his thumbnail and pointer finger and snapped the loose thread off. Akane whipped her head to stare at him in surprise and alarm, and he held the yellow thread, ignoring their families’ stares, “Got it.” He said.