Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction ❯ Threads ❯ Seam Ripper ( Chapter 3 )

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

Seam Ripper

The brick exploded under her open-palm strike, and Akane’s cry filled the dojo. The sound of released tension. Sighing and wiping her forehead, Akane set another brick on the stack.

“Dammit Nabiki,” Akane muttered, “what’s with her?” She punched the next brick, enjoying the brief flash of pain this caused her knuckles.

Last night, Akane’s entire world had turned upside-down. So many things had changed all at once that when she left the breakfast table, she had to go somewhere familiar, to find her center, to steady her racing heart, and to keep her parents from somehow noticing that her and Ranma had kissed, and more. Akane’s face reddened and she felt her lips widen of their own accord into a ridiculous smile. A happy, delirious wave of satisfaction washed through her. Shaking her head, Akane caught her breath, “Oh my,” she said in a very Kasumi-like way, “I’m being giddy.” She patted her cheeks and closed her eyes, then bopped herself on the head to curtail the dirty thoughts that had started to flood her mind.

After Ranma’s little intimate display at the breakfast table that morning—removing a loose thread from her pajamas? Honestly. That was something a—well, something a husband would do. Akane’s face heated all over again. She had been ready to marry Ranma, after China. It wasn’t like she wanted to be married, to have all that responsibility. Would he expect her to be a dutiful house wife all the sudden? Would they be expected to have kids right away, and just suffer from a new pressure before they ever even got to really bond?

But then she thought back to Jusendo, the words she had heard him say—no, scream, clearly. “I wanted to tell you that I love you!” He had denied them, sure, but he didn’t last night. Akane bit her thumb and covered her eyes, her face getting hot all over again.

Not even Nabiki’s weird behavior could spoil her good mood. Akane decided right then and there that she was going to hold on to the good feelings. There had been so few. She would certainly not let Ranma being late to meet her in the dojo put a damper on the big, swelling bubble of happiness inside her, either. “Where are you?” She mumbled, forcing herself to leave off the usual insult that would have followed such a morose question.

No, she wouldn’t get grumpy. Akane wanted to cradle this joy. Still, Nabiki had been so weird that morning, it bothered her a little. She and Ranma weren’t ready to get married, and they didn’t want anyone to know, yet. Or, rather, they seem to have just agreed, tacitly, that that was what was best. Being on the same page as Ranma made her chest feel pleasantly light. But Nabiki clearly knew something, and that made her mood flicker, dim. Would she tell?

Akane thought back to that morning, and the breakfast table, trying to figure out her sister’s motivations, maybe get ahead of any of Nabiki’s scheming.

After Ranma plucked the thread, he’d babbled incoherently, which was so like him that no one at the table even batted an eye. He had been appropriately embarrassed, and inside Akane had been wordlessly screaming. The reaction at the table was mixed. Nabiki covered her mouth and snickered, while Kasumi politely ignored Ranma’s discomfort and Akane’s shocked expression, pretending as though nothing odd had happened, complimenting Auntie Nodoka’s breakfast. Ryoga had carefully averted his gaze to his food.

Then, their parents had started in. “You know, Akane, Ranma-kun, with Kasumi’s engagement, we should revisit your coming marriage.” Her father had lobbed the opening salvo. Akane’s heart had started hammering in her ears. She had felt Ranma’s knee shift away from hers and had shut her eyes. The memory of that little motion, she ignored. It could have been an accident. He wasn’t trying to avoid her. She didn’t want that to be true, so it wasn’t.

Then Mr. Saotome fired a supporting shot, “Indeed, Son, Akane-kun. Ranma, what have you done so far to manage your other affairs?” The double-entendre made Akane blush even in the present as she stood and stretched her arms, still picturing the side of Ranma’s reddened face that she had caught in a sidelong glance.

“Whaddya talkin’ about Oyaji?” Ranma had said dangerously, digging himself into the trench of the other side of the table, his shoulders hunched.

Akane had sat there, going from embarrassed to angry, glaring at her father for his assault on her morning, “But Dad, what about Kasumi? I wouldn’t want to take any attention away from her engagement!” Akane had cried. Even now when Akane thought about her father’s carelessness, especially with everything Kasumi did for them, Akane grew furious. In the dojo she clenched her fists.

“Tendo-san, anata, Akane is right,” Auntie Nodoka had piped up, gently touching Ranma’s quivering shoulder, looking at her father and Mr. Saotome with a serene expression, “we should not discuss this further until Kasumi is married. Forgive my husband’s rudeness, Kasumi-chan. Genma.” Mr. Saotome’s name from her mouth was like a dropped grenade. Genma looked like he wanted to run from the table.

But, to his credit, Mr. Saotome only paused for a breath before turning to Kasumi. Kasumi had been sitting silently, her eyes ping-ponging back and forth between the various speakers, an unreadable expression on her face. But when Mr. Saotome bowed formally and gave his stammaring apology, she smiled her gentle smile. “Oh, that’s alright. Weddings make everyone act silly,” she smiled gratefully at him.

“Ah! Kasumi-chan, forgive your father, as well, please,” her dad had bowed his head nearly to the floor, “I forgot myself! It’s just been such a long time.” When he sat up, he set his sights on Ranma and Akane, but said no more. Nodoka had asked Kasumi something about hosting the wedding at a temple, or a less traditional space, then Nabiki picked up the thread of the conversation and began to flip through the wedding magazines at Kasumi’s side. Akane and Ranma’s engagement was forgotten, for the moment.

All of that had been quite expected, really, except for how quickly her father and Mr. Saotome had stopped. Akane thought Auntie Nodoka’s reaction had been the biggest surprise, but then again the woman seemed to have had a calming effect on her father and Mr. Saotome since she moved in. Akane liked Auntie Nodoka’s demeanor in the face of their fathers’ antics, and certainly appreciated the buffer.

No, the real weirdness had come from Nabiki, but remembering what had happened before didn’t seem to tell her anything new about what could have possessed her older sister to say what she had.

Eventually, Akane had finished her breakfast and wanted to get some training in while she still had time. She excused herself, saying where she would be if Kasumi wanted to talk about wedding planning later, and then she went to make her escape after thanking Nodoka for the meal. She carefully avoided looking at Ranma, and took some dirty dishes with her to put in the sink. As Akane passed her sister and Ryoga to get into the kitchen, Nabiki had piped up, casual as you like.

“Eh, Akane-chan? What were those noises from your room last night? You kept me up.” Nabiki still held a wedding magazine, and her eyes went between her and Ranma, and then, bizarrely, to Ryoga. The whole room watched the exchange.

Akane had seized up, and she knew that Ranma had, as well, without having to look at him. She could practically feel the anxiety radiating from him. Willing herself not to turn around, not to look at Ranma, she instead looked at her sister, her back to the room. Nabiki was grinning, unabashed. The other family members at the table she could see in her periphary once again had a variety of confused, panicky, and alarmed looks on their faces, as though they sensed a predator and could avoid its attention by not moving a single muscle but their eyes.

“Wh—what about your noises? Your room?” Akane had shot back, sounding a bit like Ranma had earlier when he’d snapped the loose thread on her pajamas. Beside her sister, Ryoga seemed to wither, and she could sense a cold aura flickering in the room. She shivered.

Nabiki had narrowed her eyes. “Oh? I thought I heard P-chan, so I looked around for him. Didn’t find him, though.”

Baffled, Akane had jerked back. What was Nabiki trying to pull? Was she trying to get Ranma mad? Why? Was she hinting at something, something she knew? Well Akane knew something about Nabiki, too, so why bait her when they both had nukes?

Beside Nabiki, Ryoga had sat stiffly, his eyes wide and staring at nothing, his face beet red. Nabiki did not elaborate. Irritated, Akane looked around the room and caught her eldest sister’s stare, and let her body relax. She had decided for the second time that day to not start an argument and ruin Kasumi’s wonderful news, and her own good spirits. “Well, I haven’t seen him in a while. I hope he’s okay.” She had said, still bewildered. Ryoga fidgeted. Nabiki beamed at everyone. Thrown by her bizarre behavior, and now unnerved by Nabiki’s expression, Akane said, more to break the silence, “Okay, well if that’s all, I’m going to go and train.”

“I’ll join you.” Ranma had said, a little quicker than was strictly necessary. Because he had spoken, so it would not be unusual or arouse suspicion—did she really need to try so hard? Did she really think anyone could tell what they had shared? Could she be too nice to Ranma, and set off their fathers pressuring them again? The thought made her a little sad—Akane turned and gazed into his beautiful blue eyes. Tantalizing memories of the previous night immediately filled her mind, which was exactly what she had expected to happen, which was why she had not looked at him. Ranma’s own face was tinged cherry red, as though he could see right through to her mind. His gaze flicked from Nabiki, to Ryoga, then back to her. She had dig her nails into her palm to keep her inner war with her hormones from showing in her face.

She was overthinking, but then, Akane did that a lot. “Okay,” she had said, very casually; they trained together all the time, no one would think otherwise; totally normal, no big deal, “see you in the dojo.” He’d nodded. Very casually. Very normally. So normal. Just a regular day.

Nevermind that she had seen the shape of his erection in his pants when he was kneeling beside her at the table. Akane’s heart had kept hammering even as she put her dishes in the kitchen, walked upstairs, changed into her gi. Only after she had done a few calmer, slower kata had she finally got her heart rate down.

And now… she had been at it for close to forty-five minutes, she estimated, and Ranma had not shown up. Going to look for him would be too obvious, so she broke bricks.

Flustered, old insecurities eking up to haunt her, Akane set out a fourth brick, and then a fifth on top of that. She had taken almost a year to build up to two. A knife-hand this time. She raised up her hand, a kiai on her lips, and crushed them like they were made of fragile clay. “I lied … I love you.” Akane shivered. Just thinking the words made her heart speed back up, not to mention remembering the feeling of his lips, his hands…! She grabbed two more. They parted like sand beneath her hammer fist.

Satisfied with herself, but still wondering where Ranma was, and annoyed at her sister’s weird, almost catty behavior, Akane glanced at the shoji that led back to the main house. She was unabashedly eager to see her fiancée, alone as she was with no one to see the no-doubt totally embarrassing look of anticipation on her face. Once more she took a deep breath; she would not let their fathers’ pestering, Nabiki’s weird teasing, nor the anxiety over being caught red-faced ruin her happiness, and she certainly would not let herself be grumpy and spoil Kasumi’s joy, either.

Akane turned her thoughts instead to the potential that Ranma might be willing to train her, not just practice beside her, now that they had been… more intimate. Maybe he would take her seriously in a spar. She tried not to get her hopes up. Or… perhaps they could have more intimate alone time, instead, if he wasn’t in the mood to train after all. Feeling her face heat all over again, and the juncture of her thighs begin to throb, Akane closed her eyes, remembering his hard body against her—several key parts of him in particular—and those three simple words tumbling from his mouth like precious gems.

The shoji slid open, and Akane shot up, a gigantic grin plastered on her face “Ran—Ryoga-kun?” She tried not to let her face fall too far, not wanting to hurt Ryoga’s feelings; he was very sensitive, “Hi,” she glanced over his shoulder, and not seeing Ranma, looked back at Ryoga with a friendlier smile, “you want to train, too?” She asked politely, trying not to think about what she had heard in her sister’s room the night before, to embarrass him by showing him that she had heard. Ryoga didn’t answer her right away, and Akane started to feel awkward.

Had he really been in Nabiki’s room? Ryoga had been the only other boy in the house, had stayed the night. And Nabiki had definitely had a boy in her room. There weren’t many other conclusions Akane could come to. But she shied away from this thought. It was as weird as Nabiki’s taunting at breakfast had been. Maybe Nabiki and Ryoga had heard her and Ranma and were making fun of them? The thought put a mixture of resentment and anxiety in her.

Then again, Nabiki had seemed very happy, very… content, Akane decided, right up until she wasn’t. Her sister, for a long time, seemed to be by herself a lot. A boyfriend would be nice for her, probably relax her, thaw her. Akane certainly felt relaxed—was Ranma her boyfriend, or her fiancée? Which one did she like better right now? But then, why had Nabiki been so provoking that morning? Akane’s brows drew together in puzzlement, trying to parse her sister’s odd, frustrating behavior. Frustrating because Nabiki got to play around with a boy, so why couldn’t Akane? Why was her sister trying to ruin Akane’s good time? Why couldn’t she just enjoy herself and let Akane as well?

Realizing that Ryoga had not answered her, and that they had in fact been standing in increasingly tense silence, Akane appraised her friend. After a few moments of taking in his hunched shoulders, clenched fists, and downward stare, Akane decided that he was nervous, and quite upset. She also noticed that he was not wearing his usual yellow bandana, but this seemed less important than his overall demeanor. “Hey, Ryoga-kun, everything okay? Sorry about this morning at breakfast,” Akane tried, wondering if he’d been uncomfortable in the face of her and Nabiki’s offbeat and seemingly coded bickering, “I’m not sure what’s up with Nabiki, but I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding. I apologize if we made you feel awkward…” Akane trailed off because she wasn’t sure what else to say, and because Ryoga suddenly looked like he was getting ready for a fight, visibly gathering himself with several deep breaths. Then his face hardened, his expression grim. At first, Akane thought he was angry with her, but he wasn’t even looking at her.

He was looking at his hands.

Suddenly, Ryoga, huge and lumbering, dropped to his knees, prostrating himself as though Akane was the emperor. Alarmed and confused, Akane started towards him, opening her mouth to tell him to stand, but then words began to hurtle forth like shards of something metallic and twisted, wreckage from his lips, “Akane-san. I have committed shameful acts, and I am here to confess.” He spoke so quickly Akane had to parse through what he’d said in her mind.

Unsure if she understood him, Akane shook her head, trying to sort his words into a different, more sensible configuration. “Ryoga-kun, what are you talking about?” She asked, her voice wobbling, her body tensed as if to flee, to get away from the intensity of his voice, his posture. “What’d you do…” She trailed off, backing up, then stepping forward, timorous.

Though the lost boy lifted his head, he seemed still unwilling to meet her gaze. Reaching into the pocket of his trousers, his hand emerged clutching his bandana tightly. Akane looked at it in recognition and puzzlement. For the first time, now that the yellow-and-black strip of worn cloth wasn’t on Ryoga’s head, Akane noticed that it was very similar to the jaunty bandana P-chan always had around his neck.

The bandana was why she was never worried when P-chan went away. After all, Akane had not put the bandana on him, so that meant he at least one other caretaker, like a neighborhood tom with multiple homes. It gave Akane comfort and put her at ease to know that P-chan was cared for when he wasn’t with her. Akane liked to imagine that the other owner was also a girl, and loved P-chan as much as Akane did. Because P-chan always came back, happy and healthy, Akane did not mind sharing her pet. Sometimes she thought it would be fun to meet her, to talk about P-chan, share stories of the intelligent animal’s silly and odd behavior. It was a sweet connection with someone she didn’t know.

But seeing the bandana that looked so much like her pig’s collar, she thought about the last time she had seen P-chan, and realized she couldn’t remember when that was. Before China? No, it could not have been so long… could it?

A cold feeling settled in her gut. Ryoga was shaking, still not speaking, staring at her feet. “Ryoga-kun, did you do something… to P-chan?” Akane whispered, willing him to tell her he hadn’t.

He finally turned his olive-colored eyes up to hers, his entire body shaking, his face pale and sweaty. He did not say that he had. He said something much worse.

“Akane-san, I am P-chan.”

Time seemed to come to a screeching halt, and Akane could hear her ragged breath. A searing spear of ice drove through the center of her body, until her limbs and face felt numb. A chill spread through her body from her stomach, the tender joy she had experienced the night before withering in the cold. Akane’s chest seized. She couldn’t breathe. Ryoga seemed to shrink in her vision, like he was contracting, shrinking.

And then Ranma entered the dojo, tentatively, and she took in air again. He had clearly been listening to everything. Akane’s gaze fell on him, and all at once she knew that Ranma had known about Ryoga’s secret. The regret and bitterness flashed across his face, his eyes casting down to the lost boy on the floor.

Ranma’s face took on a strange mixture of a scowl and a smirk, an expression she had seen on him when watching other people squirm whom he thought deserved it. The face was focused on the back of Ryoga’s head, but when he looked up his mouth and eyes softened immediately, and he met Akane’s gaze, without any hesitation or fear. A sudden warmth guttered in her breast, shadowing through the chill in her veins, and her numbed fingers twitched.

“Akane-san, there is nothing I can say other than I am deeply, deeply sorry. My regret is bottomless. I will not beg your forgiveness, but if there is anything I can do to make up for my betrayal, I will do it.” What a speech. What could he do?

Ryoga had slept in her bed, let her cuddle his face against her breasts—the breasts she had let Ranma—the breasts that Ranma had—the cold feeling grew again, her fingers hardening, tightening, curling towards her palms like they were shriveling. This betrayal was real, Ryoga had really made this choice, to take advantage of her. Was that what was real, and not the beautiful expression of love she had shared with Ranma? Already that was fading, the cold mist of shock and hurt clouding her memory, tarnishing it.

Akane laughed, a high, manic, sibilant sound. She sucked in a breath, surprised at herself. Then again, the laughter, disbelieving, compulsive, explosive. Bent at the waist. With another gasping laugh, Akane looked up at them, struggling to focus her eyes on the two boys who fought constantly and now were side-by-side. Neither of them seemed to find this as funny as she did. In fact they both looked highly concerned. She snorted, covering her mouth, alarmed now at her own reaction, her eyes wobbling in the sockets.

“Ryoga,” Ranma said, his voice rough; Akane watched them, still unable to make actual words come out of the carping hole in her face, “you should go, man.” Was she dreaming now, or last night?

Ryoga actually nodded. Nodded like Ranma spoke sense, like they—they had been talking about this. Talking about what Ryoga did and finding a way to tell Akane—why would they—when had they—what—so many thoughts appeared and disappeared, whirling shards of ice through her mind, piercing the soft places inside her that Ranma had found last night. She was coming apart inside. Shaking, she looked down at her hands, raising them up, staring at her callused palms, clenching her fingers into fists.

Ryoga was already leaving when she looked back up, all trace of laughter sucked back into her body with one held breath. The lost boy’s back was ramrod straight, his fists shaking at his sides, one of them holding his bandana in a death grip. Ryoga brushed past Ranma, and the two men glared at one another for a beat. Ryoga looked away first, and left, shutting the shoji quietly behind him. Ranma shook his head bitterly, then turned back to Akane, his expression becoming tender again.

Ranma watched her in silence, a concerned line between his thick brows. Again, no panic that she could detect on his face, just worry. When she had no reaction to his stare, Ranma walked closer to her. Dimly Akane wondered if she was going into shock. Sudden and bright, bursts of understanding rocked through her.

Slept in her bed.

Held him against her bosom.

P-chan always looked away when she changed.

He was rarely there when she awoke.

He blushed when she touched him, sometimes. Especially when she kissed his wrinkled little snout.

Ryoga had trouble speaking to her. The most she’d ever heard him say was this confession of his betrayal.

Ranma had always been jealous of P-chan. Always tried to get him out of her room. Always chased him around and tried to keep the pig away from Akane. She had worried he was cruel to animals, but he had never picked on any animal but P-chan.

Ranma never wanted her and Ryoga to be alone.

Ranma acted like Ryoga was scum.

Ryoga acted like Ranma was a villain.

Earlier, Ranma had looked at Ryoga with a sneering smirk, the kind of face Ranma wore when he was being a sore winner, which was often. There was only one reason for Ranma to look that way.

They had been fighting over her. And Ranma had won, and he knew it.

The whole time, they were fighting over Akane. Over her affection, her attention. Her love.

“I love you.” No, that was real. That was real. She was shaking.

“Akane?” Ranma questioned, his voice quavering, and she realized she’d been looking back down at her fists, and so she gazed at his face because he’d spoken to her. He took in a deep breath, worked his mouth, then spoke, bluntly, “I have things I wanna say, but I get if you don’ wanna hear ‘em.” His eyes were squinted partly shut, the only evidence of some inner tumult he may be feeling.

“You knew.” The words were like a blow to his face. He stepped back, shaking his head, but not in denial, not in alarm, in sadness. “You were fighting about me, all this time.” Ranma did not deny his jealousy, for once. Akane glared at him. “Why didn’t you just tell me if you were fighting over me? Why—” She could not finish. She was too surprised at the chill in her voice.

He took in a deep breath and answered her, after waiting probably longer than necessary. “Because… it’s my fault that Ryoga is cursed.” Ranma took another deep breath. “Akane, I know yer mad at me. An’ y’got ev’ry right to be.” His voice was small, his words coarser and also less brash. The confidence, the ugly triumph he had seemed to show earlier had fizzled.

Akane’s teeth chattered slightly, and he started forward in concern, but caught himself at the fierce look she managed to muster, keeping him at a distance. The cold feeling had crept back. Did she want him to explain himself, or did she just want to skip that and go straight to rage? Her indecision gave Ranma a chance to speak. “I made a promise, on my honor, to never tell anyone about Ryoga’s curse.” He paused, clearly gathering himself. “I let my guilt decide my actions, not m-my c-conscience.” He said haltingly, looking her face over, his eyebrows coming together and his hands opening, palms up, seemingly unconsciously. “Y-you are the m-most important p-person in my l-life.” His face was cherry red, his fingers coming together, fiddling with his pigtail, the frog ties on his shirt. Akane’s heart began to race; he had rehearsed what to say to her. So had Ryoga. Had they rehearsed together? Her stomach twisted.

Ranma continued, fisting his hands by his sides again, looking at her from under his fringe. “I should have sh-shown you that. Told you. Sooner.” He said, and hung his head, rubbing his hand down his face and then up through his hair, “It was stupid, thoughtless, and cowardly. Everythin’ that’s—the stuff yer always—” He huffed, stopping this clearly unscripted portion of his speech. He lowered his hands then raised them again, then lowered them. Took a deep breath, continued. “I dishonored myself more by stayin’ silent, than I ever would have had I told you the truth. And I d-dishonored you. I am so, so sorry.” He said with more composure. Then Ranma bent fully at the waist, his braid coming to rest against his shoulder. The speech seemed to have spent his energy, his body sagging.

It was far more words than Ranma usually said, and far more well-spoken than he ever was—well, most of it, anyway. He’d still almost managed to argue with her, somehow, even when apologizing. The thought was weirdly soothing. Ranma’s words were always rough and spontaneous. Two times today men had spoken to her with carefully-planned words. Was that why Ranma was late to meet with her? Were they really practicing what to say to her, together? They had to have. How could two men who could barely string a coherently sincere sentence together speak so plainly otherwise? For a moment, she was insulted. What, he had to practice a speech to apologize to her? To keep her from being angry? To control her reaction? To manipulate her?

But then Ranma righted himself, and when she looked at the plain, earnest face in front of her, none of that seemed true. And what he had said… “It was stupid, thoughtless, and cowardly… I dishonored myself… I dishonored you…” And the way he had just stood there, not covering his head, not cowering from her, a little bashful, sure, but sincere and open. Vulnerable. Speaking about regrets. What they had shared last night had erased his fear of her rage. Like he knew she would not get angry with him like she would have before last night, before China. He had changed.

And suddenly, to Akane, the rehearsed speech meant something very different than she had thought at first. He had rehearsed what to say simply because he was terrible with words, and hadn’t wanted to hurt her more than his and Ryoga’s betrayals already had. Ryoga’s speech, too, had been to protect her, not himself. He had been honest, regretful, like a friend who’s done something dreadful, and knows it. They had planned together, how to approach her, how to tell her the truth. Ranma would have known to ask Nabiki, Kasumi, someone else, what he could say to ease her hurt, because Ranma was awful with words. He might not have told them the whole story, probably made up something stupid and weird that neither woman would fully believe. He would have risked the embarrassment, just to figure out how to say this to her.

Because Ranma loved her.

And why had she found this sudden introspection so easy, Akane wondered? Akane had not screamed. Why? She had struck no one. Why? She hadn’t even accused anyone. No. She had stood and stared and listened and waited. So long had Akane questioned Ranma’s honesty. Right then would have been as an appropriate a time as any for her to accuse him of insincerity, with this revelation of his betrayal.

“I dishonored myself… I dishonored you…” And perhaps that, too, was why she took everything he had said at face value, because there was so much for Ranma to lose. He could have just kept lying to her; she hadn’t found out without Ryoga admitting his misdeeds. Who was to say she would have ever figured it out? In telling her, he risked everything they had shared, everything they were building, had built. He risked more telling her this than he did telling her he loved her. The shock of that knowledge made her chest tighten and tighten, her breath pressed out of her in a shuddering rush.

Not always would Ranma have tried so hard to have a sincere apology. Not before. Akane remembered countless occasions where he had crammed his foot so far into his mouth trying to apologize that he ended up pulling a complete reversal and just insulting her. But not today. Not for this. Ranma had always taken the easy way out: denial, anger, stubborness, cocksureness, pride, gloating. Always the easy reactions. Her, too. But not this time. This time, he had told her the truth. Taken a perhaps unecessary, and definitely emotionally hazardous and complicated risk, something Ranma had never, ever done. And Akane… She wanted to prove his faith in their changing relationship.

This was their first real, actual fight as a couple, and they were handling it. Like adults.

Akane felt warmth pool in her belly.

Akane would return to this moment, and play Ranma’s speech in her mind, and fall in love with him all over again, no matter what their current squabble would be about. The trust would take time to repair, because she was angry with him, and she did feel betrayed, but oh she loved him right then, the earnest, desperate look in his eyes. And she loved herself, her strength, the buoying calm of her feelings for him. Akane would even think about this moment before she died, right after a few more salacious memories crossed her mind’s eye.

This was the thing that Akane loved most about Ranma. His sincerity. He would never, ever apologize so beautifully, so carefully to her without meaning it, from the depths of his soul. Ranma had planned what to say because he loved her and wanted to protect her, even from him, and especially from Ryoga.

Closing her eyes, she felt the memories of Ranma’s lips on her lips, his hands on her body, his skin against hers. She wanted more of that. The pleasure they had given one another, freely and without judgements. More. Joyful, innocent, naive, tender, new, exciting, painful, unexpected, finally, finally, finally. More. More. Again. Heat filled her up again, pushing out the remnants of the chill in her bones. She felt tired. She had not gotten much sleep.

For once, and at the most obvious time for her to be so, Akane Tendo did not want to be mad, could not be, could not find the wick, the spark of rage. Even that cold feeling had gone away, replaced once again by the pleasant heat in her stomach. Nothing would ruin that night. She would not let Ryoga take this from her. She would not let herself tarnish the glorious words, the stolen kisses that morning. Like Ranma, Akane would not run. Opening her eyes, she looked at her fiancée, her iinazuke. A forced engagement. He had upended her life. He was the reason for her temper tantrums and nighttime fantasies. He was the reason for all of her heartaches, the good and the bad. Only he made her so crazy mad and stupid and desperate for his touch. He was the reason she almost died. He was the reason she was still alive.

“Ranma.” Akane said firmly, and his eyes snapped up to her face; she realized she had been breathing heavily still and the horndog’s eyes had been glued to her chest. A smile pulsed on her mouth, uncontrollable. He stared at her, dumbstruck, a stupid, slack-jawed, adorable look on his painfully handsome face. Ranma was one of those men that when he talked to women, they all tried to flirt, even if they didn’t really want him. He had a face that melted women’s hearts. He’d certainly melted hers. “Come here.” She demanded.

At least now she knew he only wanted her heart.

He stepped closer to her, his suppressed caution rising up, and she felt a flicker of annoyance. Slowly, Akane raised up her arms, holding them out akimbo, pouting as she watched Ranma fight not to flinch. With only a touch more hesitation than he had shown while telling her that their friend had been sleeping against her breasts for a year as a pig, Ranma stepped into the circle of her arms. Tenderly, his arms shaking, he wrapped his own around her waist, and sank against her as she closed hers around his ribcage.

They stood, hugging each other, Ranma’s heart pounding against her chest. When she was a little girl, whenever Akane was upset, or mad, Kasumi used to hold her small, screaming sister, and stroke her hair. Right now Akane needed… “Ranma,” Akane whispered, “pet my hair… and tell me I’m okay?” She asked, not even embarrassed to ask him.

Immediately, Ranma did as she asked. “Y-yer—you’re okay,” he said against the side of her face, running his hand over and over through her hair, shaking, his voice unsteady, unused to the words, “I’m here.” He added, toying with the little ducktail of hair at the nape of her neck, then running his fingers down her vertebrae to the collar of her gi, and back up into her hair. Akane thought about her older sister, then buried her face in Ranma’s warm, masculine neck.

Eventually his murmuring grew quieter, then faded out, and he began to rock them gently back and forth. The whole time he quivered. She could feel his blush across the crown of her head, the capillaries in his face expanding all the way to his chin.

In the warmth of Ranma’s arms, Akane was surprised that she did not feel like crying, not yet. Though she was sure she would. When her own body stopped vibrating, Akane leaned nearly all her weight against him, and in reaction Ranma easily picked her up and sat down on the floor with her, demonstrating his amazing strength and the control he had over his body. Gathering her against his chest, seated in the lotus position, he settled her bottom against the cradle of his thighs and continued to stroke her hair. She sensed the relief in him, and realized that he had been terrified, the whole time, and had fought not to show it. Akane touched his sternum, her other hand curled against her own. She tried to politely ignore his reaction to her body poking her bottom, and blushed, pleased.

They stayed like that for what seemed to be a long time. Ranma did not attempt to move, separate, or otherwise disturb their position. Akane was soothed by his beating heart against her palm, his fingers through her hair, across her neck. Occasionally, he would shift to get more comfortable, but he did not complain. After a time, he started to tentatively kiss her here and there, his mouth shaking—the side of her head at first, then her forehead, and then her lips when Akane did not reject these initial pecks.

When she did not shun this contact either, Ranma kissed her more insistently, cupping the nape of her neck, but keeping his lips closed, chaste. Akane returned the pressure, clutching the front of his shirt. They separated, seemingly at the same moment, though perhaps Ranma was a touch slower than her. His breath shuddered across her cheek.

“Akane, I really am sorry,” he croaked finally into the silence, his voice unsteady, “I-I’ll hold ya’ as long as you want. I don’ care who sees. I’ll just say you tripped an’ I caught ya’.” He insisted, smirking uncertainly and pressing his forehead against hers. His blue eyes flickered to her mouth, and he licked his lips.

This was too sweet for her to handle, for it to be as real as the pain she was feeling, so Akane burrowed against his chest.

Akane was disappointed, beyond imagining, and hurt, and frustrated, but Ranma’s affection, his confession the night before, and his mature behavior this morning, had channeled somewhere deep and was forcing out the core of anger and loneliness that Akane had carried for so long. It was like last night Ranma had hung a paper lantern inside her, and it was brightening, expanding, lighting up the shadows in the corners of her heart that had protected her, hid her from more pain and loss. Guiding her out of the last dark place, back home. That was it.

Her eyes widened on their own, and last night’s sensations, sounds, smells, and excruciatingly tender visuals rushed back into her, just as vivid as before. Her heart raced, her cheeks flushed, and a smile split her frozen face. Akane had never really given a thought to being intimate with any other boy but Ranma. Even her daydreams of Dr. Tofu were more about cooking for him or maybe an innocent brush of the lips. With Ranma, her thoughts of being romantic with him were not daydreams. They were fantasies. Highly charged, emotionally complex, and eventually explicitly sexual fantasies. Fantasies she had at first rejected, then grudgingly indulged in, and then hung some of her hopes on through nearly two long years of doubts and denials.

All those fantasies… with Ryoga’s confession, she had feared that the fantasy could and would crumble, and some other, truer, more brutal reality would reassert itself. For a moment during Ryoga’s confession, and Ranma’s heartfelt apology, she had thought that that was exactly what was happening.

But Ranma’s affection was solid, warm, right here. He had kissed her in the daylight. His arm cradled her, while the other hand still gently twined its fingers through her short hair. “Ranma,” she said, finally able to speak, and he stiffened as though he could listen with his whole body, “I forgive you.” And then she started crying. Bawling. Humiliation finally washed through her, obliterating everything else, even the tenderness. Akane wailed like a child. Without preamble or trepidation, Ranma grabbed her and practically crushed her face into his chest.

“H-hey, hey, shh.” He said—okay, perhaps a little panic in his voice, but also relief, “Th-that’s okay, cry all you want.”

“Ranma!” She shouted, gently hitting his chest. But that was all. Just that.

Akane cried for what felt like a long while, hiccuping and sniffling as she wound down. Gradually, Ranma lay back, letting her drape across him. Were anyone to walk in on them… but she didn’t care, and he didn’t seem to either. He kissed her face, covered in snot and tears, and resumed stroking her hair, his hand trembling.

When her throat was sore, and her head, and really her entire body, Akane slumped bonelessly against him, spent. He finally moved his hand from her hair to her back, rubbing between her shoulder blades in slow, concentric circles, his arms and chest trembling. “Y’okay?” He whispered, seeming to hold his breath.

Akane nodded against his chest. He blew out air, ruffling the crown of her head. They lay in silence, broken occasionally by Akane’s sniffling.

“Do you need anything?” Ranma whispered, and Akane realized she had briefly fallen asleep on him.

“Water,” she croaked, unconsciously licking her dry lips, “don’t leave.” She said quickly, because he had moved to shift her. Akane could not see his face, but she felt like she could hear the gears turning. With a slight grunt, he sat up. She felt his abdomen tense and flex, and the muscles in his arms tighten as he gathered her against his chest and stood holding her. Akane felt weightless. She usually hated to admit it, but she loved it when he carried her and made her feel delicate. Right now she let herself smile.

Walking from the dojo with her in his arms, he went into the kitchen. They met no one, not yet. Akane felt like she might fall asleep again in the rocking of his arms.

Ranma carried her to the draining rack, and Akane took a glass from it, like they had done this a hundred times before, coordinated. She turned on the sink, filled the glass. After the water was shut off, Ranma waited while she drank the whole thing down, and then set the glass in the sink. He looked down at her, searching her face, a tentative smile forming on his mouth.

“I want a bath.” She said, her throat softer. Akane did not look away from his eyes. Ranma swallowed. The smile stuttered, faded.

In moments they were in front of the fusuma to the laundry room. Akane opened it so Ranma didn’t have to set her down. Distantly she wondered where her family was, and it occurred to her that perhaps they had left, sensing or fearing the coming storm of her rage that had never come. How much time did they have?

Inside the laundry room, Ranma pushed the fusuma closed with his foot. Then he finally seemed to register the obvious, and seized up. “Uh…” he coughed and gazed at her face, his cheeks pink, “y’want want me t’leave?” He asked meekly, peeking at her from under his brows.

Akane thought about it for a long moment.

“No.” She said, and felt him stiffen against her, “But I do need to stand.” Gingerly, he nodded. Ranma lowered just one side of himself, tilting to let her put her feet on solid ground, but refusing to immediately remove his arm from her waist until he was sure that she could stand on her own. Nodding at him and patting his arm tiredly, Akane then stepped away from the protective warmth of him and undressed. The movements were not sensual, just mechanical. She wanted a bath, so she had to be naked.

Ranma shifted around, rubbing the back of his head and looking away from her politely. She wrapped a short towel around her body from the stack on the dryer. “Are you coming?” Akane asked when she was finished.

“Uh, yeah, of course.” He stepped closer, staring very deliberately at her face. Shaking her head with a smile, Akane led the way into the furo.

“You can’t shower with your clothes on. Don’t you wanna get cleaned up?” He stared at her. With a huge gulp, he motioned for her to twirl away from him, and Akane obeyed with a small smile. “‘Kay.” He said shyly, and she turned to see him looking positively yummy with just a towel around his waist. The full expanse of his well-defined torso and arms momentarily stopped her thoughts. The cradle of his hips. Ranma had certainly filled out in the last two years. He looked like a man.

Ranma was turning redder and redder under her scrutiny. She started when he coughed bashfully and rubbed the back of his head, his hand gripping the towel so tightly his knuckles were white.

Turning quickly, Akane took mincing steps into the inner furo. Ranma followed and shut the fusuma behind them and then just stood there, his head turned to the far wall. Watching him, not knowing where to look, Akane sat on the bathing stool and cleaned herself, paying particular attention to her vulva, breasts and face, enjoying the cool water taking the swelling from her eyes. It did not cool her face, however.

Slipping the cover off the steaming bath, Akane climbed in and sighed as the water enveloped her sore body. Ranma still stood in front of the closed fusuma to the laundry room, but his eyes moved, took in the sight of her in the bath, her nudity safely hidden below the water’s rippling surface. They watched each other. Akane hugged herself.

With a loud swallow, he went to the stool she had just occupied and turned the showerhead back on, blasting his chest with cold water, shrinking, the chest expanding. The change never ceased to amaze her; it was like Ranma’s body flickered with the ghostly visage of another person asserting itself over his form for an instant, the two forms occupying the same space, before the transformation was complete.

So used to seeing the naked female Ranma, she gazed at him without really thinking to be embarrassed as he stripped off the towel and turned his back to her, cleaning himself. She knew that this was technically seeing her fiancée naked, and wondered if she’d feel embarrassed if Ranma was male. She did not think she would.

His female form had filled out as much as his male form, but Akane didn’t register any of the usual jealousy. Ranma liked her body, he’d shown her that. Instead, she found herself admiring Ranma’s girl form, feeling the same feeling of affection she did when she saw him male and standing shyly in his towel. Thinking about last night, about how expertly he had touched her, pleased her. Akane felt herself smiling goofily and blushing. He had known how to do all of that because he was a girl sometimes. He was a little bit of a pervert, it turned out. Or maybe not. It was still his body, after all. And wasn’t she?

She kept all of these thoughts to herself; of all the times she could have called him a pervert, this seemed like the worst, and the most wrong time. After all, she wanted him to do all that to her again, and more.

He had finished bathing, and turned to look at the tub a little forlornly, his little shoulders shivering. Akane took a deep, stabilizing breath. “Ranma,” Akane said, swallowing her anxiety over how he might respond to her; an old feeling, from before, “will you come sit in the bath with me?” She whispered.

“Yes.” He said quickly, his quiet falsetto quivering over just that one syllable. Naked, dripping and clean, female Ranma approached the tub. Thinking about Ranma’s insecurities, about her holding back on teasing him, Akane gently stopped him with a touch to his small hand. Ranma’s tiny, female face turned to stare at her. Slowly, Akane tugged on her iinazuke’s hand, and he knelt, trembling, his ample breasts heaving. Very carefully, like Ranma was a skittish horse, Akane cupped the back of the redhead’s neck and brought their lips together.

Ranma’s breath exploded across her face from his tiny nose, and his shaking hands cupped Akane’s cheeks. Akane was surprised that kissing female Ranma was only slightly different; his face was softer, covered in peach fuzz rather than shaved stubble, and his lips were smaller and not quite as full, but he tasted the same, and he kissed the same. And he lit a fire in her belly just the same.

When they pulled away, Akane smiled and stroked her hand down Ranma’s female face, looking into his eyes, picking out the parts of his expression that she liked best. The curve of his shocked smile. The shine in his eyes. The raised brows. “Wh—why?” He said.

“What do you mean? I can’t kiss you?” She asked, poking his sternum and earning her a very satisfying blush across his cute face.

Ranma stared at her, and the soft, tender look in his eyes punched her in the stomach. Akane kissed him again, harder, more insistent. “You’re freezing.” She whispered, touching his bare, shivering shoulder, her own body heating.

“Not as cold as before.” He mumbled awkwardly. Shaking his head in disbelief, Ranma stood, covering his vulva with his hand, which was weirdly cute, and stepped into the tub. Akane enjoyed the way the water moved, displaced by Ranma’s body. The redhead crouched at the opposite end of the tub. When he was in up to his waist, the change triggered, and he rapidly flickered back to his hard, male form. He remained in that position, knees against his chest, staring wide-eyed at her, as if he had thought she would disappear, and was shocked she was still in front of him.

“Uh…” he started, tugging on his pigtail; oh how she loved that, “are you feelin’ better?” He asked, clearing his throat, still clearly shaken up by her kisses.

Surprised, Akane noticed that she was. She felt her anger at Ryoga manifest for a moment. Ryoga had made a choice, the wrong choice. But one of the things that many, many people loved about Akane, would love about her for precious decades to come, was her generous heart. This was certainly Ranma’s favorite part about her, though Akane wouldn’t learn that for a while, not until he told her that his fall for her had begun when she carried his little girl side home from the doctor’s.

Simply, Akane forgave easily. No one would say she didn’t have a temper, and she didn’t always forget as quickly as she forgave, but she did forgive. She gave freely of herself to others, especially those she cared about. Akane did not forgive Ryoga yet, but she was planning to, already deciding that she wanted to eventually. Especially because of Nabiki.

Akane understood, with the simple clarity brought on by a good cry and a nice hot bath, why Nabiki had been acting weird that morning. It was for Akane, not at her. Her older sister had been needling Ryoga, not bullying her sister. Nabiki loved her, fiercely. In her Nabiki-like way, she had been forcing the pig to tell Akane the truth. To admit his betrayal. Akane felt a sudden, intense affection for her older sister, and clutched that against her breast with her hands, closing her eyes and leaning back in the furo.

“Yes. Much better.” Akane said finally, realizing that she had not answered her iinazuke’s question. Ranma let out a long, ragged sigh, and she was almost, almost annoyed, but she was too warm, too comfortable.

Then her whole body stiffened when she felt his hand on her ankle. She relaxed and opened her eyes to gaze at him. When Akane made no other movement nor said anything, Ranma drifted through the water and settled himself closer to her, the hand on her ankle slowly climbing up her shin to rest on her knee, trailing tingling fire in its wake. His other hand emerged from the water to tuck her moist hair behind her ear. Steam rose off of his skin, and Akane took his hand in hers and, turning her face, kissed his wet palm. The fingers of his hand twitched, and she actually heard him gulp. When she gazed into his face, his eyes were searching hers.

They were eighteen. They were so young. So immature. Akane thought about the ring on Kasumi’s finger. She thought about the look of utter and complete determination on Ryoga’s face when he’d revealed to her what was very clearly a betrayal of her trust and friendship. She thought of the noises from Nabiki’s room. Her sister’s sneering glance at the lost boy beside her at breakfast. And Akane thought about Ranma’s voice, saying he loved her.

“I love you.” Akane said aloud, against his hand.

Ranma sucked in a breath, “I love you, too.” He said, his mouth hardly moving over the words, staring at her with wide blue eyes. There was a long, heavy pause. Akane leaned against his cupped hand, kissing the flesh at the base of his thumb, enjoying the way he squirmed. A huge weight descended on them, threatening to crush them both if they did not stand up under it.

Water dripped. Wind whistled through the trees outside the window, muffled through the glass. Akane heard the water heater clicking.

“What the fuck.” Ranma finally said, his voice hoarse and trembling.

“What?” Akane asked, quietly bewildered, nuzzling his palm.

“Seriously, what the fuck, Akane?” He said without anger or heat, just bald, unsteady confusion. The curse did not strike her as odd. “What—you—we’re naked in the tub. Y-you kissed me, like—we’re naked.” He said again, jerking his chin at her nudity as if to prove it.

Akane blinked. She looked down at the swell of her breasts just above the surface of the water. Then glanced at Ranma’s bent knees, hiding his groin from view, then back up to his face. His eyes flicked away from her chest, back to her face, his cheeks darkening.

“So we are.” She said, and chuckled; Ranma frowned seriously at her, like an old lady, “Come here.” She opened her arms. Unmoving, Ranma kept his hand on her knee, the other beside her face, and then, stiffly, he entered the circle of her arms again. The position was awkward at first because he still seemed to want to keep his knees bent, but eventually he unraveled his tense posture and draped his legs over hers, wrapped in her arms.

Akane had never held a boy like this before, or anyone, for that matter. She tried not to look down at what was occasionally brushing the undersides of her breasts, not wanting to make him cover himself in shame.

Ranma tucked his head against her shoulder, then leaned away and stared at her, still clearly baffled by what was happening. “Akane, seriously, what are you thinkin’? Please, I gotta know. It’s killin’ me.” He admitted, his voice strained, clearly feeling embarrassed by their position with the way he moved his head a little higher than hers as he spoke.

“Are you upset?” She asked quietly.

“No!” He practically shouted, jerking upright and grabbing her shoulders. “Of course not!” He looked with sudden alarm at the fusuma, like he’d heard something, then turned back to her. “Of course not,” he said, softer now, his eyebrows lowering, “I’m just… I’m… I’m; fuck, I’m worried. You say yer okay, but—yer actin’—” He made a noise of distress, unable to articulate what he meant, and clearly struggling not to insult her like he usually would have.

“Weird?” Akane finished for him. Rubbing the back of his head, Ranma nodded, fisting his hand over the place in the water where his erection rested, nearly touching her stomach. Akane leaned back against the side of the tub again and closed her eyes, still trying to hold him even though he was making that difficult with his stiff back. “What should I do?” She said tiredly.

“I didn’ mean it like that,” he mumbled petulantly, “I jus’ wanna make sure you ain’t, I dunno, havin’ a breakdown or somethin’.”

Leave it to Ranma to put it that way. But she was touched by his concern—he damn well should be concerned. Akane leaned up and kissed him again, suddenly, impulsively, because she wanted to. Ranma grew very still, likely conscious of how they were both completely naked, and seemingly alone. She deepened the kiss, willing him to kiss her back.

Ranma shuddered and grabbed the back of Akane’s neck, pulling her down against him, rolling in the water until she was lying across him instead, all the time sweeping his tongue around her mouth aggressively. He put his arm around her nude shoulders and held her against his chest, his erection pressing flat against her ribs and belly, a hot, silky bar of iron. When they parted for air, Ranma’s eyes were unfocused, his face was red and his lips were swollen. He looked… wanted, desired. Akane’s knees felt weak. She wondered if his female face would look like that if Akane kissed him that way.

“I think I’m just relieved,” Akane whispered against his mouth, “I’m relieved that when I found out, I already knew you loved me.”

“Whaddya mean?” He asked, his body shivering deliciously against hers. His erection twitched, and her breath caught for a moment.

Akane closed her eyes, embarrassed at being so vulnerable in spite of everything. “I already knew that you weren’t laughing at me behind my back.” She murmured, touching his collarbone, opening her eyes and wiping the droplets of water from his skin. She had the sudden, mad urge to touch his erection with her hand again; it had been so velvety soft and hard. She swallowed, fighting to keep her composure even as a fire burned in her belly, “I was humiliated, but I knew… I knew you cared. Forgiving you felt easy.” She looked up at him, her mouth wobbling with fresh tears.

Ranma looked furious, but just like Ryoga, she knew the fury was inward. He lowered his gaze. “I don’—I don’ deserve—”

It was Akane’s turn to get too loud, “No!” She shouted at him, and he looked up at her and clamped his lips shut, shocked. “No; don’t say it.”

“But—”

“I would have died for you,” Akane said firmly, “so don’t you dare say you don’t deserve me. My life is not worth nothing, and neither is yours.” Ranma gulped. Something dark and haunted flashed in his eyes, and he shuddered, pressing his forehead against hers, his body tensing at bad memories.

The intensity of her emotions once again exhausted her, and Akane collapsed against him, flatting his erection between their bodies. Ranma began quivering again, but seemed to marshal himself enough to hold still, to hold her. Akane brought her knees up and turned slightly, so her head was pillowed against his chest, now, his erection resting against her hip.

“Okay,” he said after a few moments, “okay, so maybe—maybe I do—maybe we—ah shit I suck at this.”

“You did pretty well this morning… and last night.” Akane said, smiling at the way his chest puffed out at that. She looked up at his chin, which moved as he worked his jaw, “just say it.”

“Just… say it…” He repeated slowly, a little sarcastically.

“How about this,” Akane sighed, leaning back against his chest and closing her eyes, “if you say something stupid, I’ll tell you, and you can say you’re sorry.”

Ranma’s heartbeat sped up against her bare shoulder. “Okay,” he said, his voice small, young, “stuff’s changin’ an’ I don’ wannit t’stop.” He twirled his hand, scrunching up his face and thinking, “It’s like there’s been some big… thing hangin’ over my head alla time, but it don’t feel so heavy right now.”

Surprised, Akane moved back and stared at him. Ranma sank slightly in the tub, his face beet red, embarrassment writ in every tense line of his body. “Ranma,” Akane said, trying not to sound surprised and insult his intelligence as she so often had, “I feel like that, too.”

“You do?” He asked softly, surprised, and she nodded. He sighed with relief, and smiled, sitting up straighter and tugging her until she snuggled against his chest again. “Thought I was buggin’ out.”

After another long, this time comfortable, pause, Akane sighed, “One thing.”

“Huh?” Ranma asked distractedly; he had begun to draw lazy circles with his hand on her bare shoulder, and she could feel his body warming as he started to mouth the side of her face. Akane closed her eyes and focused on his mouth for a moment before mastering herself.

“Are you lying about anything else?” Akane said firmly, her expression hard as she looked at his chin.

Ranma leaned down until he was looking into her face. They stared at each other for a long moment, his eyes flicking back and forth between hers. “No,” he said with convinction.

“I believe you.” Akane said, and Ranma nodded once, almost businesslike, before resuming his attention to the side of her face and her shoulder, and now her bicep as well. “I’m ready to get out.” She said. He made a quiet cluck of disappointment and nuzzled her hair, but then moved to cover his eyes. Smiling cheekily, Akane stilled his hands and pulled them down with hers, revealing his blushing face. “I don’t mind if you don’t.” Ranma dropped his hands so fast the water splashed up around them.

Akane stood from the tub, giggling tiredly, and maybe she put an extra wiggle in her hips, and tossed her hair unecessarily. And maybe she liked the way Ranma’s eyes were boring through her butt and grazing over her legs as she wrapped herself in a towel, her back to him. Clasping her hands in front of herself, twisting her fingers together in nervousness and anticipation, Akane waited, watching him.

Jerkily, Ranma stood from the tub, water rushing off of his sculpted abs and legs. For two years—not that she would admit this to a single soul, at least not right then—Akane’s primary fantasy always began with seeing Ranma’s naked male body that first time, and especially what had been between his legs.

Before that, Akane had never seen a boy’s penis before, not even by accident. Oh sure, she’d seen anatomy books, and Japan wasn’t shy about penis-themed and -shaped decorations and architecture, so she had seen penises. But never a penis on a boy who was right in front of her. She had always thought they were ugly. Penis. It was a stupid-sounding word.

Akane was very bashful, but she thought about Ranma’s penis more than she thought she would, way more. For two years Akane had called Ranma a pervert. She hadn’t lately. And she certainly wouldn’t ever again, except as a teasing thing, a loving way to make him giggle and shyly tug on his braid. But she didn’t think she was a pervert any more than she thought Ranma was a pervert for staring at her naked body. She still thought it was different when a girl saw a boy, but not in the way she used to think. It was more like a girl seeing a boy wasn’t necessarily a threat; then she thought of Kodachi and Shanpu and amended that thought.

Ranma’s erection was twitching under her gaze as he walked stiffly and with much more awkwardness than she had to get a towel himself. She noted that it was darker than the rest of him, kind of like his nipples, and the nipples on his girl form. Turning, following his shuffling steps, she watched the dimples in his rear and his flexing calves. Akane thought about the way that people talked about girls and boys, how boys were always desperate and horny, girls chaste and reserved, and knew at once that everything she’d ever heard was wrong and dumb. She liked looking at Ranma’s naked body. He was gorgeous. He excited her. She’d liked looking at his girl-body, too, because he was Ranma no matter what—though the dimples on Ranma’s girl-form were at the base of his spine, right above his round butt.

When he had a towel around his waist and had sorted himself so that his erection was not quite so pronounced, Akane took his hot, sweating hand and led him into the laundry room. She dressed in some clean pajamas from the cupboard above the dryer, and Ranma retrieved a pair of shorts and an undershirt from the clean basket. Akane was pretty sure these pajamas were too small for her, now, but the way Ranma watched her put them on, with the same fascination that he had watched her undress, made the green pajamas feel like lingerie. She felt sexy.

They left the laundry room in silence, holding hands, padding softly on the wooden floor. When they neared the family room they paused, peering inside. It was empty. Glancing at each other and shrugging, they crept through the house, up the stairs, and back to Akane’s bedroom.

Shutting the door behind them and locking it, Akane reluctantly let go of Ranma’s hand and went to the window, closing the curtains and checking the lock. Then she turned and motioned Ranma to the bed. He practically jumped under the covers, then patted the empty space beside him with that big, goofy grin on his face.

Exhausted from lack of sleep and the emotional rollercoaster of the morning, Akane climbed in beside him gratefully and sighed as he rolled her around and situated her back against his chest like he had last night. Akane did not mind, and even enjoyed, when he gently pressed his erection against her rear, but he pushed her no further. Kissing and mouthing the back of her neck, unhurried, he held her, one of his arms under her neck, relaxed, the other over her waist, the fingers curled against her belly.

Akane sagged against the mattress, and fell asleep despite his attention to her neck. Her dreams were fleeting and unremarkable. When she woke next the room was still bright, and she was a little hungry. Ranma was passed out across her body. He was heavy, but she did not mind. Tilting her head back she listened. There were plenty of sounds in the house, signalling the return of her family from wherever they had gone. Soon there would be a world they must return to.

Looking down at Ranma’s sleeping face, Akane felt her body knitting itself back together. She felt like pieces of her had torn off, and she had been forced to really examine them for the first time. Her anger. Her hurt. Her jealousy. Her generosity. Her sexuality. Like she had been dissected, and Ranma and her had stitched her body back up after.

“Ranma.” Akane whispered, and his eyelids fluttered open. He looked at her, smiling dazedly, “Kiss me.” Eyes closed, he did so, a little lazily, still sleepy himself. His jaw shuddered with a suppressed yawn and she giggled and kissed him back. “Thank you.” She said. “Thank you for being here.”

“Sure thing, tomboy,” he said, and yawned for real, “I gotcha.” He mumbled. She wasn’t sure he’d registered what he said. When he settled his face against her breasts she found herself grinning.

“Hey, Ranma,” she said after another pause, and Ranma let out a slightly miffed huff, snuggling against the pillow of her breasts, “Ranma!” She hissed.

“What?” He groaned. “M’tired. ‘N hungry.” He muttered.

“Go grab some snacks, then,” she whispered, “leave through the window, then come back. Tell everyone I’m really mad and we’re, we’re arguing.” She said.

Ranma stared at her in that way he did when he thought she had said something dumb, and she frowned, “Akane, that ain’t gonna work,” Ranma said, his voice rough with sleep, “look…” He sighed and sat up, stretching, then hugged his knees to his chest. With a sudden spike of anxiety, Akane sat up as well. What was he going to say? Was he going to take… it… back? The old panic was right there, crouched at the edge of that spreading warmth Ranma had seeded inside her. How quickly the doubt made itself known. Old habits.

“I been thinkin’,” he said, turning his head to stare grimly at her, “we ain’t gonna be able to hide… this.” He said haltingly.

“Okay?” She prompted, shivering, her stomach in knots.

As if sensing her anxiety, Ranma reached over and tugged her against him, a little harder than was probably required, because she melted against him at the first press of his hand on her bicep, “What do you want to do?” He said, his voice hard, “Are you ready to get married, or what?”

Shocked at his question, Akane could only stare at him for a long moment. This morning, he had admitted he’d been lying about something very, very important, and now he was asking her—what the hell was wrong with him!?

“What the hell is wrong with you!?” Akane cried aloud.

Ranma glared at her, “Me?” He choked, “What’s wrong with me?!” He said, emphasizing the last word, putting his hand flat over his chest, releasing her.

“Yes!” Akane said, her voice raising indignantly. How dare he ambush her that way!?

“Whaddya mean!? You kissed— me! You sat with me naked in the tub, Akane! I thought you were—I thought we were gonna—we might’ve—” He ran his hands through his hair, growling, blushing, “Everythin’s movin’ so fast, I just—”

“I see.” Akane said coldly, shattering inside. The fantasy evaporated in a puff of vapor. She felt ripped open all over again. “Get out, then. Just leave.”

“Akane—”

“Leave, I said!” There was the anger. The hurt. The rage.

“Oh fuck that,” Ranma spat, “absolutely not. Fuck that. No.”

“Shut up and go!” Akane smashed her hands against the bed, because she would not hit him.

So much was different. So much had changed, so fast. He was right. She was so stupid to think that things would just be okay between them. There had been too many almosts for the finally to be right, to be good, to be—her chest started to heave, her breaths coming faster and faster. Akane’s vision narrowed.

Akane squawked when Ranma rolled out of the bed. At the same time he snagged her waist and took her with him. He unlocked the window while Akane gasped, then grabbed the edge of the roof and somehow swung them both up. He was sweating and shaking when he put her down, and she stumbled away from him, staring at him wide-eyed, the world righting itself. The cold tiles of the roof made her shiver.

Standing in his boxers and tank top, his face thunderous, Akane was struck by how handsome Ranma looked when he was serious, and felt her face flush. “Yer gonna let me talk…!” He hissed, shuddering as the January cold found the edge of his tank top and ruffled it, “I know yer pissed, an’ you got every right to be, but lemme finish…!”

Shocked, Akane just stared at him. She could hear people moving in the house. Slowly, she sat down on the roof and folded her legs, and waited, quavering inside, her stomach hollow.

Ranma huffed and sat down across from her, speaking in a low, hurried voice. “What I’m tryna say, is that shit’s changin’ real fast, an’ we gotta be prepared for a whole new fuckin’ mess, Akane,” he threw his hands up, motioning to the bright afternoon sky, “I mean, c’mon, Akane. I get a boner when you come into the room. I ain’t gonna be able to hide this. Cat’s outta the fuckin’ bag…! I couldn’t hide that I wanted ta—that I—not for even five minutes. Look at the way I t-touched you this mornin’…! You think ain’t nobody know somethin’ happened…? Nabiki had us all figgered out, I jus’ think it’s pointless ta—” He kept rambling, just talking and talking and sharing a slew of frustrations and worries and terrifying, world-altering epiphanies for the two of them. Until finally he ground to a halt and sat there, breathing heavily and glaring at the roof tiles. Somehow he had managed to whisper his entire rambling, unhalting monologue. Akane was stunned, awed.

But he seemed to have run out of words. Now he just caught his breath, his face suffused with a massive blush, his eyes darting around, clearly agitated at having exposed so much of his inner turmoil to her. He rubbed his face, angrily, hurriedly.

In the silence, Ranma started to curl away from her, his face falling, a cloak coming over his eyes, protective barriers slowly rising. Akane licked her lips and grabbed his wrist, then his forearm, until he managed to turn his blue eyes to hers once again. “Ranma, you’re right.” His eyes softened, but his face still had a panicky, worried expression, “You’re right.” She repeated.

His expression grew serious again, and brave, though the depths of his blue eyes trembled. “Then I gotta ask you again, Akane, ‘cause my pops an’ yer dad ain’t gonna leave us alone when they catch wind somethin’s changed. We either gotta treat this like it never happened if anyone else is around, really work at fakin’ it, or we gotta be ready to…” He trailed off, unable to say it.

“What about you?” She asked, her courage withering.

Ranma glared at her, “Seriously? I asked you first, dummy. Don’ be uncute, now…!” He hissed. In the house, Akane knew that their ability to cover their tracks was rapidly disappearing. They did not have time for this back and forth.

“Hey, I almost married you already. Nothing’s changed for me.” Akane spat. Ranma stared at her, his mouth falling open. “As long… as long as you don’t expect me to be anything but what I am, that is.” She was thinking of her old childish daydreams of Dr. Tofu. Those were not the fantasies of an adult Akane, an Akane who saw her and Ranma as equals.

“Hey,” he said, “why the hell else would I marry you?” She grabbed the back of his head and kissed him.

They tussled on the roof for a time, a sweet ache between her legs as they ran questing, shaking hands over each other’s bodies, kissing so deeply Akane lost track of her own mouth. When they needed air, Ranma pulled away. “An’ don’t do that again.” He said, as though continuing a conversation that only he remembered.

“What?” She breathed, running her hands anxiously over his chest, confused and wanton. Had he meant her kissing him?

He shivered and blushed, his eyes fixated on her expression, but he also was clearly trying to keep the angry look on his face. “Don’ tell me to leave… like that. I don’ like it.” He muttered, looking away.

Akane grabbed him again, using her strength to force him against her chest, though he did not resist much. “I won’t, I won’t,” she whispered against the side of his head, “but I’m going to get mad sometimes.” There were so many things to say.

“Uh, okay,” they were both quivering, reality crushing them both; marriage meant a responsibility to try, to be better, to grow up. A monster loomed above them, but it was scared of them, too. Ranma took her hand. “I will—me too, prolly. An’ I turn into a girl, still.” He looked away, his cheeks reddening.

“I love all of you, Ranma,” she murmured, and he looked at her bashfully, “no matter what. You’re always Ranma.” Akane leaned up to kiss him again. They were so young, everything was intense, and scary. One day that feeling would be something that had faded into the comfortable but no less stunning intimacy of knowing another person for a long, long time, of knowing the worst and the best of them.

But that was not today. Today they were dramatic, and stupid, and so full of hope and fears and insecurities, still. They would fight, they would argue, but not like they had before. Each day would be new and different forever.

Ranma helped her get her feet under her, then kissed her again, a big, wet press of his mouth. He went to the edge of the roof, and she followed him. He went back into her room first, then helped her; Akane enjoyed the feeling of his strong hands on her calves, then her thighs, her hips, and her rear as Ranma eased her, with, Akane thought smugly, an over-abundance of full-contact caution.

Once back in her room, Akane sat on her bed. Ranma kissed her face, “I gotta go.” He said, and waited, watching her response.

“Alright.” Akane said, and though she did not want him to go, he was right. He kissed her again, then moved to the window and exited without glancing back. They wouldn’t hide, but they wouldn’t give the family any ammunition.

She lay down, closed her eyes, relishing in the silence and the smell of him on her sheets. Her remaining pillow smelled funky, and she flushed, remembering what she had rubbed there. She would definitely be doing her own laundry. Slowly, even though she was still a little hungry, Akane drifted off to sleep.

When she awoke next it was to a tentative knocking on the door, and a loud grumbling in her stomach. Akane touched where Ranma had been that morning, an unreality settling over her. Once again she wondered, tentative, afraid, if she had she dreamt last night. That morning. Today?

Slowly, as though worried that she would make that true if she moved too quickly, Akane left her bed and padded to the door. “Who is it?”

“It’s Nabiki,” came the answer, and Akane opened the door immediately; on the other side of the door Nabiki stood, looking apprehensively at her, “are you okay?”

“Yes.” Akane said. “Hungry.” Akane added, her voice closed.

Nabiki fidgeted.

“Akane-chan,” Nabiki said, her expression carefully controlled, “I’m leaving, to go back to university in a few hours, and I just wanted to say—”

“I’m really tired of people apologizing to me today, oneechan, so can we skip that? Apologies don’t suit you very well,” Akane smiled, “and I accepted already. I love you.”

Surprised, Nabiki stared at her, wide-eyed. “I… I love you, too, sister-mine.” With stiff movements, Nabiki and Akane hugged, then settled themselves against each other. Once, twice, Nabiki stroked Akane’s short hair, then pulled away, looking at her sister’s face, searching. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Akane smiled, tears running across her eyes and slipping down her cheeks, “I’m very sure.”

“Well, if you’re okay, then,” Nabiki swallowed, “I’m taking Ryoga back to university with me.” Ryoga.

Akane sorted this information, and decided to deal with that later. “That’s nice.”

“Is it?”

They stared at each other. Akane worried her lower lip unconsciously. Nabiki shifted, stiff, awkward. “I don’t want you to be lonely anymore, oneechan.” Akane finally said, because it was the truth.

Nabiki’s face crumpled briefly, her eyes shimmering, but then with practiced ease her aplomb reasserted itself, and she nodded. “Thank you,” and then Nabiki halted, clearly wrestling with something judging by the many expressions that flickered across her face, and the shadows that passed and faded across her eyes, “I’ve got… some other ways to make money now, you know.” And reaching into the back pocket of her shorts, Nabiki held out a fat manila envelope. Akane did not take it right way. “You can burn them if you want to. They’re the negatives.”

“All of them?” Akane whispered. The package seemed… smaller than she expected.

“All of them.” Nabiki thrust the package into her hands. “Whatever you want to do with them, they’re yours.” Nabiki shuddered. “If I have to look at them again…” Something shuttered Nabiki’s face again. Dropping the package on the floor, Akane grabbed her sister in a forceful, shaking hug.

“Akane!” Nabiki cried, surprised. “You’re choking me!”

“Sorry!” Akane released her slightly, but only a little, keeping her sister close. “Call me when you make it back to university? I want to set a time to come visit with Ranma.”

“Yeah, if you can get off of him long enough to—ow.” Nabiki finished, because Akane had bopped her gently on the head.

“I could have done that harder, you know.” Akane said dryly. Nabiki grinned.

Ranma was there, then, peeking around the open doorway behind Nabiki, wearing his usual red shirt and black pants. He had a small package in his hand, held nervously like it was a bomb that might go off. His blue eyes bored into the back of Nabiki’s head. Trust would need to be rebuilt other places, too.

“Ah, well, I see that I am interrupting something. Good-bye dear little sister, little brother. Ta-ta! Daddy’s going to walk with me to the train station this time.” Nabiki said, smiling wryly at Ranma, for he had been the one to have to walk her the other times.

“See ya’, Nabiki.” Ranma said, only a touch of sarcasm in his voice.

Chuckling, Nabiki gave Akane one more brief hug, then strolled away down the stairs. Ranma looked at Akane, then held out the package; a mochi cake from the party. Her stomach rumbled, and she took it from his hands, and held it. They stood for a moment, then Ranma reached out and ruffled Akane’s hair. Akane laughed and batted his hands away. “What is that for?”

“Yer lookin’ too serious. We’re supposed to go on a date.” He muttered, staring at the floor.

“Oh!” Akane said, remembering what she had said this morning before breakfast, her breasts hanging out for him to ogle, a thousand years and several different Akane’s ago. “You remembered.” She said, touched.

“Yeah, ‘course,” he rubbed the back of his head, looking away from her, “whadja think I was gonna forget somethin’ like that…” He glanced at her sidelong, leered, really. She could practically see the dirty thoughts in his head.

Akane blushed, “I’ll get dressed… and brush my teeth… and be ready to go.”

“Okay, I’ll meetcha downstairs.” He leaned forward, clearly going to kiss her, then stopped himself. Akane closed the distance, pecking him on the lips, her heart racing, only glancing around once to see if anyone saw. No ammunition necessary. Their parents would figure out soon enough. The stupid grin on his face as she shut the door made her chest ache.

Turning and leaning against the door, Akane sighed, putting her hand over her heart, pressing the mochi cake to her sternum. Hearing a throaty chuckle from the other side, then Ranma’s footsteps down the stairs, Akane covered her face to hide her blush from no one.

Recovering, she picked up the package from Nabiki and set it on a high shelf in her closet, then she tore through her clothes, desperation fueling her as she ripped the snack open with her teeth and ate in a very Ranma-like fashion, easing the edge of her hunger. What could she wear? Where would he take her? Would they decide together? That seemed right.

Akane settled on a pair of tights that did not have a run, and then, remembering the way that Ranma had been eyeballing her all night at Kasumi’s party, a tighter skirt than she would normally wear, and a nice, slouchy sweater with a blouse. Stepping back, she looked at herself in the mirror, examining herself from every angle. There was a bit of mochi on her face and she wiped it away hurriedly, relieved she had seen it.

Satisfied, Akane ran a brush through her hair, then left her bedroom and practically sprinted to the furo. Her father and Mr. Saotome were in the family room, playing a game of shogi. They glanced at her as she passed them, and Akane fought with the blush trying to suffuse her face. Kasumi said hello as Akane passed the kitchen, and she squeaked something sensible back. Did they know, yet? When would the sortie start?

After brushing her teeth and washing her face, Akane left the bathroom. Part of her still felt like any moment she would wake up, and everything would be the way it had been for nearly two years. There was that anxiety, still, prowling around the edges of her, pushed to the very outside shell of her being by that blossoming warmth. Apparently, orgasms were good for her health. Akane flushed with pleasure and giggled at her reflection, loving the expression on her face.

Back in the entryway, Ranma was standing in his green coat and star hat, and his worn combat slippers on. He looked handsome, cute, a boy waiting for a girl he wanted to spend time with. Shyly, he held out his arm for her to take. “Do you think they know?” Akane asked, taking his arm with equal shyness.

Ranma shrugged, “Dunno, don’ care,” he said wistfully, gazing down at her, “their problem.”

“Their problem.” She murmured. “Our problem.” Akane added, opening the front door and letting in the bright, chill January sunlight.

“Eh,” Ranma said nonchalantly, a blush on his cheeks, “we can take anything.”