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He’s always looking at her in angles – from the fence, from the tree, upside down, behind her. Arcing over her head. It’s so easy to orbit her, he lives with her, they’re stuck in this stupid engagement. Where else would he go?
Akane always looks straight at him. Stares, or glowers, or blinks – depends how badly he’s pissed her off – and she just looks at him. Fixes him with her wide eyes. Like it’s nothing, like it’s not supposed to mean anything to him; he never can meet her gaze, laughing it off, scratching his head, and every time he can feel her quiet disappointment. He doesn’t mean to leave her gaze there, hanging, but he can’t help but take her slant.
It’s easier when he’s a girl, maybe. Dojo, morning: 4am, really morning. Cool tatami beneath his feet, and Ranma loves the touch of it, he does, toe to toe, though he’ll never stay down for long. He wasn’t built to stay still. A sharp heel turn into the worn mat, brisk air at the nape of his neck, and he’s lost in it.
It takes him- Two hours? To realize she’s there.
Ranma blinks as he descends from his kata. He tilts his head at his fiancee.
“You look good,” Akane murmurs, and raised a hand to her mouth to catch her yawn. She’s in her yellow pajamas still – it’s Sunday.
She’s taller than him. When he’s like this.
Flushing despite himself, Ranma finds himself drifting close, already trying to figure the appropriate thing to say. It’s winter still – her cheeks flush, and there’s a liveliness there. He wonders, briefly, why she hadn’t tried to join him, then remembers all the times he called her a macho chick and refused to punch and scowls in shame. He’s trying to be better.
He wants to invite her to join him, but it comes out more like: “How long have you been standing there?”
Akane’s eye twitches. She pushes off the wall, closer to him, and Ranma has to tilt his head back. Maybe he likes that. Maybe he doesn’t mind that they’re close like this, even though his breath quickens, even though he’d rather go give Kodachi a big old smacker on the lips than admit that-
“What,” Akane snaps. “Can’t a girl watch her fiancee work out in the morning?”
God, it would be so much better if they could practice together.
Ranma hates, he hates and hates and hates.
Seethes, and he never knows where to put it.
He’s looking at her feet, and the ragged ends of her bangs, and her hands, he loves her hands- no, shut up- and then he’s looking back at her and she’s looking down at him again and he blushes, because of course he does.
“Ranma,” Akane says in a short tone, glowering at him, demanding his attention.
Would it be so bad to give it to her?
Intense brown eyes.
Nope- Nope, nope, nope, bad idea.
Ranma jumps away like a man electrocuted, shaking his head and waving his hands and blindly stumbling back until he almost trips over the edge of the dojo and maybe accidentally does a cartwheel instead. It’s not his fault that she’s prettier from below!
Akane is still staring at him.
“...Ranma?”
“What?” Ranma laughs nervously. “Yup. That’s me, I’m Ranma.”
“Are you making fun of me?”
“No! Nonononono, of course not-”
The odd look never leaves, though. For a moment, Akane assesses, then begins a slow methodical walk to close the gap between them, calm in a way that freezes him in place. He stands petrified before her. Ever closer, wandering, still.
Ranma squeaks when Akane slips into his personal space like she belongs there.
“Ranma…”
A gentle thumb brushes against the arc of his cheekbone. It’s so surprising that Ranma almost forgets to react – almost.
“The hell do you think you’re doing!” Ranma squawks, batting her hand away even though his indignation is mostly feigned. He’s entirely too confused and weird and tingly to care, it’s habit by now.
Her thumb is on his chin now. Akane tilts Ranma up to meet her eyes, then holds him there, and he lets her.
Why does he let her?
“Eep,” Ranma whispers in terror.
Akane lets out a soft breath, then chuckles like she knows something he doesn’t. “Interesting.”
“Interesting?? Whaddya mean, interesting?!”
For a long moment, Akane hesitates, as though there’s something there that she wants to say but can’t. Then she laughs, shakes her head, and turns away, shoving her hands in the pockets of her pajamas as she goes.
“Hey!” Ranma splutters. “Oi, tomboy! Macho chick! You can’t just walk away after- after- after doing that and say nothing!”
Akane looks back over her shoulder and raises a single eyebrow.
“Can’t I?”
Ranma short-circuits a little, not in the least because the gesture was entirely too Nabiki for his personal comfort. “I- You- Hey!”
***
They’re graduating in a month, and it’s only starting to hit him now. He’s not like these other kids, he hasn’t been going to school for years and years, and he’s certainly not going to university. It’s only hitting him now how much these kids wrap up in it all, their test scores, their class rank; they want to get into the best schools to get the best jobs, and Ranma’s starting to see where they’re going, salarymen, housewives, he doesn’t know how he feels about that. But Akane seems unbothered by it all these days, and so he gravitates a little closer to her.
It’s comforting, in a weird way. He kinda likes that she doesn’t seem bothered.
Ranma doesn’t register the day things shift at school, because that would require him to pay attention to his surroundings, which- He’s entirely too busy goofing off with Hiroshi and Daisuke, who seem to have gotten over the weirdness of his girl form and accepted that he’s Ranma either way. So he’s off to his usual lunch spot with the boys when Akane blocks him at the doorway, a casual arm leaning against the frame above him.
“Ranma,” Akane says, tilting her head at him.
She says his name a lot more than she used to.
“Eh?” Ranma says. “Ya need something, tomboy?”
Akane rolls her eyes and tugs on his sleeve, beckoning him after her. “Come on,” she says, and Ranma trails after her in confusion, Hiroshi and Dai forgotten in his wake.
The general population of Furinkan High hardly seems to notice them when they’re together anymore, and Ranma likes that. He likes moving quietly, not being at the center of attention. Around the corner, up the stairs. Akane’s hand trails behind her, her calloused fingers outstretched like she’s reaching for something, and Ranma tries not to eye it longingly: he ain’t gotta hold her hand, that’s just inviting trouble. But he wants to.
He wants to.
Pops’ voice echoes in the back of his head, but he’s moving forward – up, towards her, away.
It’s cold on the roof, but they find Yuka and Sayuri under an overhang, huddled together beneath their jackets as they eat their bentos. February is the price of peace, out here. Yuka seems to take Ranma’s unexpected appearance in stride, though Sayuri gives Ranma a quizzical look from beneath her mittens.
“Yo,” Ranma says, and plops himself down across from them like he does this every day.
“Hey, Ranchan,” Yuka says agreeably, and Ranma beams at her.
Akane drops a handkerchief-wrapped bento in his lap and joins Yuka and Sayuri on their little ledge. “I got Kasumi to put extra fish for you,” she says as she unwraps her own. “You’re welcome.”
Ranma mumbles his thanks around a mouthful of fish he’s already eating.
“Itadekimasu to you too,” Akane snorts.
Nerima is quiet over the horizon – there’s a lone plane in the sky, far overhead, but the cars can’t reach them here. They eat in companionable silence; Yuka and Sayuri murmur to each other, batting at their chopsticks and sharing little nudges, and Ranma keeps ducking Akane’s quiet looks. He doesn’t need to feel the cold, not if he doesn’t want to, but it’s nice to let the breeze nip at his forearms. He’s alive, he’s here.
It’s… nice.
“Wish that school were always like this,” Ranma mumbles to himself. He doesn’t realize he says the quiet part out loud until he looks up to find all three of the girls staring at him in varying degrees of shock.
“Really?” Yuka asks skeptically. “I thought you lived for the chaos.”
Ranma pulls a face, and Akane laughs under her breath, drawing his attention with a little flick of her fingers.
“Come here,” Akane says.
Confused, Ranma scoots over toward her legs, looks up at her, and does his best to swallow down his trepidation.
He tries not to hear the quiet gasp of her friends when her hand finds his cheek.
There’s a shimmer in the warp of her irises.
“So come eat lunch with us tomorrow too,” Akane says softly, letting go of his cheek and flicking him on the forehead. “Idiot.”
And he feels weird. Real weird. Ooey and gooey, yeah, but that’s nothing new these days. Maybe he doesn’t change back to his old body- well, the way he used to be- But that’s not so new either. He’s still him. But it’s the fact that they’re doing this in front of Yuka and Sayuri, that he’s just sitting here and letting her touch him, casually, not thoughtlessly though; like this is how they already interact with each other. And Ranma doesn’t want to lean into it. He doesn’t.
He does.
“Yeah, alright,” Ranma scowls, batting her hand away and leaning closer. He’s a hot little mess of contradiction. “You ain’t gotta accost me about it. I’ll, uh- do that.”
He’s waiting for her to yell at him. To call it a joke and kick him off the roof.
But she just hooks an ankle around his knee and pulls him closer until he’s leaning back against her solid calves, and he really does try not to lean into her.
Yuka snorts and returns to her lunch.
“You’re such a cat, Ranchan,” Sayuri says.
Ranma glares at both of them until Akane starts stroking through his hair, and then he’s not thinking about much of anything, really.
***
Akane starts making his dinner plates for him, and neither of them are quite sure how it happens.
It goes like this: Kasumi finishes dinner and brings the food to the table, and Akane grabs two plates and starts filling up the both of them. Everyone lets her go first – it’s respectful, she’s taking for two, and Pops wouldn’t dare steal food away from the girl with the mallet. Ranma doesn’t have to think much before he slips in next to her at the table; he’s learned to wait now, and eat patiently lest she scolds him. Well-trained, Ryoga had called him once, and it had stung until Ranma remembered that his rival turned into an adorable pet pig and then he didn’t care so much.
Genma had tried to steal food off of Ranma’s plate only once since then. Chopsticks had darted in – caught, snapped.
Akane gave a bland smile and casually pulverized the wood in her fist, dropping the shavings all over the panda’s katsu. “Saotome-san,” she said politely. “You may be my father-in-law some day, but if you try to steal my fiancee’s food, I will break your arm.”
That seemed to shut Genma up.
And Ranma hadn’t realized how hungry he was, hadn’t realized how the growling stomach had chased him through his life, challenge to challenge, engagement to engagement. He was… actually hungry? And so he ate, really ate for the first time since childhood, and if he finished his plate and needed more, Akane always seemed ready to sweep it away and give it to him. So he sat a little closer to her at meals. Glared at the rest of their family when they tried to make a snide comment about it. He didn’t even pay of Nabiki anymore, not that Akane’s sister ever asked, she knew better that to risk her wrath now.
The day after a big exam – Ranma’s pretty sure he passed, and isn’t that a small miracle – he’s so tired that he can barely keep his eyes open, and Akane keeps having to nudge him back toward his food. “Ranchan,” she murmurs in his ear, quiet enough to give Nodoka the grace of feigned ignorance. “You have to eat, Ranchan.”
Ranma shakes his head against her shoulder. She’s the perfect height for him – well, sometimes. A firm place to rest. It’s grounding.
“Ranma,” Akane said disapprovingly.
They don’t have to put on the act anymore, and Ranma didn’t realize it was an act until it was gone. And it’s not like everyone else isn’t still in the thick of it – Ryoga and Mousse still come challenging, Shampoo still tries to make passes at him sometimes, the Kunos still make their usual trouble. But nobody’s heart is in it anymore.
“Don’t wanna,” Ranma mumbles, his eyes slipping shut.
Nodoka lets out an audible sigh of disapproval, her yukata rustling, and Ranma squeezes his eyes tighter – maybe if he ignores her he’ll wake up to a happier family, maybe she’ll just give up, for one. “Son…” she echoes.
The muscles in Akane’s shoulder tighten. Ranma curls into the crook of her neck.
“Nodoka-san,” Akane says in a curt tone. “If you can’t respect my fiancee when he’s this tired, then please leave and don’t make a scene.”
“But this is hardly-”
“No-chan,” Genma said tiredly. “Nodoka. Wife. Let it go.”
“Let it go? How am I supposed to let it go when-”
The table shifts. Chopsticks clatter.
“I’m taking you home.”
“What? How dare-”
“Now.”
And then they’re gone, and it’s only Tendos left. Ranma opens his eyes just a little to see Nabiki and Kasumi and Soun all staring at him in varying degrees of confusion. Sympathy, perhaps. It feels weird, like they’re all seeing something in him, or through him, and he’s never really known who they’ve wanted him to be. It shouldn’t be overwhelming – they’re his family – but it is. He tries to tell himself that his vision doesn’t blur.
Akane is there, then. Her hands on his shoulders. Her napkin brushing away tears-that-aren’t-tears.
“I ain’t crying,” Ranma snaps angrily. Nobody believes him. “I’m not!”
She’s all over him. In him, around him. He tries not to love her, he really does.
“Of course you’re not,” Akane whispers, thumbing a teary strand of loose hair out of his face and effortlessly scooping him up in her arms. How is he supposed to keep his head off her shoulder? She’s right there. She’s right there. “I’m taking you to bed, okay?”
“Oh my,” Kasumi says. Nabiki snickers.
“Not like that!” Akane shouts at her sisters, giving the table a firm kick to prove her point. That seems to shut them up. Soun raises an eyebrow at her, and she gulps. “Sorry, Daddy. God, why is everyone in this house such a pervert?”
He doesn’t want to think about that much.
The cypress creaks beneath her toes. She hefts him like it’s nothing. Carries him to her room. He’s blank, lost in thought – accepts the pajamas, lets her help him tug his shirt off, it’s not like he’s got anything she hasn’t seen yet. They brush their teeth together. Ranma blinks at his reflection in the mirror.
He looks cute in her yellow duck pajamas.
She won’t be going to bed for a while, but she grabs her homework and climbs in after him as though they do this every day. Ranma doesn’t understand what’s happening. He doesn’t know why she’s being so nice to him. What changed? But it’s soft, and he’s warm, and when she turns off the overhead and flicks on her warm little reading light, he can’t help but be lulled by the sight of her in the incandescence. Akane chews on the end of her pencil, leaning over her math textboo as she pencils in answers that Ranma will probably have to copy tomorrow morning, and he feels so safe here. When did this happen? It’s been, well, months since Jusendo.
“Kane?” Ranma whispered, momentarily lost in his vulnerable thoughts.
Akane glances at him, and her gaze softens. She reaches out to tangle their fingers together.
“Do-” His voice cracks, and the tears threaten to come rushing back. “Do you really think I’m a pervert?”
“Ranma,” Akane breathes in shock. The bedsheets curl around him; fingers, tucked at the swell of his breasts. Ranma hides his face in the pillow, and sniffles.
No immediate answer.
He almost fears for the worst, but then he feels the lightest brush of her lips at the nape of his neck, and her hands gently prying his away from his chest. Claws to something gentle. The math textbook crinkles beneath her.
Akane lets out a heavy sigh and tilts her forehead against the nape of his braid.
“If you’re a pervert, Ranchan,” she whispers into the base of him, “then so am I, you know? Don’t say things like that about yourself.”
Ranma grips her hands tighter and glares into the pillow.
“She doesn’t get it,” he mutters back. “She doesn’t- I ain’t-” It’s too much to articulate, he’s not meant to have a mother. “You’re taller than me.”
“Not always,” Akane says softly, and flutters a kiss against him.
***
“So what,” Ryoga asks the next time they’re sparring. “You guys dykes now or something?”
The next time the lost boy leaves an opening, Ranma takes great satisfaction out of bashing his head into the wall. Slumping to the floor, Ryoga moans in pain, and Ranma brushes her hands off and flicks her ponytail back over her shoulder.
“Yeah,” Ranma says. “Or something.”
***
The first time it happens, he barely even notices it until it’s almost over.
They’re playing softball in gym today, and Ranma and Akane get put on opposite teams cause that’s the only way to keep it fair. So Akane pitches, and Ranma bats, and all of the other girls are weirdly quiet about it when Ranma nails a homer and sends his team three runs up.
He’s jogging back to the bench, grinning and sweaty and victorious, and Yuka gives him the absolute weirdest look when he plops himself down by her side.
“What?” Ranma grins. “I nailed it! Shouldn’t you guys be celebrating?”
Sayuri leans over Yuka to poke him, and Ranma grins at her. “Ranchan,” Sayuri says, “Don’t you want to go play soccer with your other friends too?”
Ranma wrinkles his nose. “Oh, them?” he says, “Nah. They’re no fun, they never try.”
“But what about-”
For some reason, Yuka slaps a hand over Sayuri’s mouth, grinning manically over her muffled protests. Ranma blinks at him. “And we’re happy to have you!” Yuka says smugly. “I always knew that you’d see that the grass is greener on the other side one of these days. Did you even notice?”
“Notice what?”
“Incredible.”
He’s so confused that he almost falls off the bleachers, but Yuka tugs him in to join their casual contact, and Ranma relents to settle back against his friends until the innings change.
Akane’s team manages to eke out a win despite Ranma’s homerun – turns out no amount of athleticism can save you from incompetent teammates – and Akane is so pleased with herself when she swans back over to Ranma that he can’t even bring himself to be mad at her. “Yeah, yeah,” Ranma scoffs as Akane tosses a casual arm around his shoulders, rolling his eyes. “Gloat away, tomboy. You’re soooo good at sports.”
“I beat you,”Akane giggles. “Yatta!”
Ranma squirms in her embrace, ducking out from her side hug. “No wonder, with gorilla arms like those!”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me!”
They’ve finished showering (with cold water, obviously) and have moved on to getting redressed by the time that Ranma finally notices the whispers. They creep into his awareness like a battle aura, and he freezes, caught out in his boyshorts with his bra half-clasped, and realizes that everyone is sneaking glimpses at him.
And then he realizes they’re all girls.
Not Hiroshi and Dai.
Akane is there, like she always seems to be of late, taking a calm but decisive step to put herself between her fiancee and the rest of the locker room. Ranma twitches and makes a terrified little squeak, petrified, and almost jumps out of his skin when Akane does up the rest of his bra clasps for him and pulls something out of her gym bag. She tosses it to him. He catches it.
“You forgot your deodorant, dummy,” Akane says louder than she needs to. “You don’t wanna stink in class, do you?”
Ranma titters nervously and freshens himself up. It makes him smell… different. Like Akane a little bit, but in a good way. Maybe it’s nicer than the stupid scented deodorant his mom always buys for him?
“Wow, Saotome, I knew you were loaded, but damn,” Yuka whistles, and all of the girls laugh, and Ranma sags in relief as the tension breaks.
It’s not until they’re back in the hallway that Ranma leans into Akane and whispers, “Thank you.”
Akane paused amid the flow of students, and he with her. She parts the river rush. His hand finds her forearm, almost by instinct, and Ranma wants to pull away but doesn’t.
“What for?”
“For…” Ranma blinks. “What do you mean?”
She’s so soft – but only for him. Always for him.
“We took a vote on it,” Akane murmured, drifting close enough that nobody else could possibly hear it. “It wasn’t the first time, of course, but it wasn’t unanimous in the beginning but now it is. It’s been unanimous for months. We were all- All of us, we were just waiting on you.”
Ranma blushes, staring up at his beautiful fiancee. “I- I- I- I don’t understand,” he stammered.
“Do you want to?”
He doesn’t have an answer to that, and they both know it.
“Oh, Ranma-chan,” Akane whispers, moments before she gives him a gentle, lingering kiss on the lips. It should be surprising. He wants it to be surprising, but it’s not. It feels so familiar. He’s been here before. “You’ll figure it out when you’re ready.”
Pouting, Ranma crosses his arms and snaps, “Oh, like you’re such an expert?”
Akane gives him a wry smile, then starts leading them off to class.
***
It’s sakura season, and they’re outside all the time now, the six of them – Hiroshi and Daisuke have gotten over themselves and joined them, and Ranma has to pretend like he doesn’t see Hiroshi and Yuka making eyes. Gross. He doesn’t need to think about that.
There’s a lovely road where the blossoms slope around the park benches, and they’ve gotten in the habit during these last days of school of going there together. Soon they’ll graduate, and Yuka and Daisuke and Sayuri will go off to college, and Hiroshi will start working full-time at his family’s store, and Ranma and Akane will learn how to make a dojo together. But right now they’re lying here, flicking idle petals out of each other’s hair and watching the laden boughs rustle in the breeze.
Ranma rests in Akane’s lap, toying with the end of her sleeve while Akane combs her fingers through his hair. He knows the others are watching them, and there was a point that would have embarrassed him. But not for a while now. Not anymore.
“When you guys get married,” Yuka says, “I wanna be Ranchan’s maid of honor.”
Hiroshi squawks with laughter, and Akane chucks her onigiri wrapper at his head.