Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction ❯ Distance ❯ Chapter 8 ( Chapter 8 )

He awoke to the sound of someone knocking urgently on the shoji, the clattering sound breaking him out of the nap he didn't know he'd slipped in to. “Ranma? Are you alright?” Ono slid the screen open and stepped into the steam, swiping away the clouds of vapor with his hand. Ranma sat up and stretched in the lukewarm bathwater. “You've been in here for a half hour, you'll turn into a prune,” Ono smiled and reached out to help haul the young man out of the tub. Ranma took the offered hand and let himself be taken out of the tub and led towards a towel hanging on a hook by the shoji. “There are some clothes for you in the laundry room,” he paused, coughed into his hand, “Kasumi couldn't salvage your gi.”

“That's alright. Burn it,” Ono nodded, eyes wide, “Thank you, Dr. Tofuu.” Ranma said meaningfully. Ono bowed with a small smile, and then left him to his own devices.

Ranma felt like he'd slept for a hundred years. He felt impossibly refreshed and groggy at the same time. The previous day and night swept back at him like an incoming tide, but suddenly the tasks that lie ahead of him - burying his best friend, getting a new place to live, speaking with Master Gyaru and his wife, dealing with the police and his parents - did not seem so insurmountable.

And then he remembered what else he had to contend with. Even now his ears strained to hear Akane's voice, as it always did when he thought he might. He heard no sounds, however, save for a few whispered snippets of conversation; the laundry room blocked most of the noises of the house.

Drying off and hanging up the towel, Ranma opened the shoji with a quiet hiss and stepped into the cooler laundry room, shivering a little as he slid the shoji closed. There were new boxers, still in the packaging, and a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Ranma grimaced a little - he hated denim He ripped open the package with the boxers and put on the black pair of the three inside, then slipped the t-shirt over his head. He was relieved to see, under the jeans, a pair of black sweatpants, and put those on instead. After re-braiding his moist hair with practiced ease, he tied it up and checked himself in the full-body mirror tacked to the wall behind him; he looked like a new man. A young man, an energetic man, not a man with the weight of loss pressing on him. He looked sure, steady, and comfortable.

If he was going to face this new day, he was going to do it comfortably.

Steeling himself for what seemed like the millionth time in his life, Ranma opened the grey fusuma in front of him and froze.

The woman in front of him was Akane, but it wasn't Akane. Her hand was raised up, as if to knock, and as he stared at her the hand slowly lowered to hand limply at her side. The expression on her face was reminiscent of the first time she'd seen him as a man.

But he wasn't really a man then.

Her hair was shorter than he'd last seen it, and seemed to have darkened, but it could have just been the light. Her brown eyes were swimming with emotions he couldn't read, and her cheeks were stained with a surprised flush. There was a silver scar on her throat, and he knew why it was there but shied away from that knowledge. He resisted the urge to let his eyes stray further, kept them fixated on her lovely face. She was impossibly beautiful; Akane had always been plain - always thought herself plain, anyway, he knew, and his comments as a youth hadn't helped. But, regardless of what she thought about herself, Ranma always thought she was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. And now she was a woman. It showed in her face, in the confident way she held herself.

“Hey Ranma,” she spoke first, her voice soft and gentle, so unlike what he expected on their first meeting after so long, “sorry to intrude, but Kasumi told me to tell you that there's some food for you, if you want it.” Her words came out in a rush, and then she turned to leave. On an impulse, Ranma reached out and grasped her small hand in his larger one. Her head whipped around, tears forming in her eyes, her body, which had stiffened at the initial contact, suddenly relaxed as he stroked his callused thumb across the tops of her knuckles. He felt the calluses there and on her palm.

Gasping, Akane twisted her hand out of his grip like he was on fire, and held it against her chest, turning clumsily to stare at him. “Akane…” he started, hand still held out; he swallowed in a suddenly dry mouth and tried again, her tears making the words catch and tumble across his mouth like marbles, “I… I'm so sorry.”

“You're too late, Ranma.” Akane rasped out. And then she walked away from him, her back shaking with sobs. Ranma's hand dropped, and then he brought it to his nose and smelled it; dust, carrots, maybe some tamari.

All along, deep down, Ranma knew he would be too late, but hearing her say it was like a knife in his spine. No part of him wanted to move, but he did it anyway, stumbling like a drunkard down the hallway, past a few doors and then into the dining area. Kasumi, Nabiki and Ono were seated around the table, but Akane was nowhere to be seen.

None of them looked at him. They probably heard the exchange, being so close to the bathroom, but he didn't care. He stared at the rice, fish and vegetables in front of him without really seeing them; food meant to be easy on his stomach, and rejuvenate him. Thanking Kasumi, he ate, slowly, chewing everything without tasting it.

“Ranma, when do you want to bury Kaibutsu?” Ono asked when Ranma finally put down his hashi next to his empty dishes. He turned and saw the box sitting in the backyard, a shovel next to it. He stood up without a word and walked outside, picking up the shovel and going to a dirt corner of the yard, close to the fence, and started the process of burying his best friend.