It's really kind of stupid how I've never noticed until now.

I mean, how the hell could I not notice that for the past weeks, whenever I have fights with oyaji during mealtimes, my food doesn't suddenly disappear or spill? Sometimes, there's even the additional pickle or sweet bun. I always thought it was Kasumi.

I really am a baka.

I would know if it was Kasumi. I would know if it were anybody else but her. I can deny it all I want, but Kami knows that I know that it's different with her. It's been different for a long time now. I don't know how long it's been different, or how it happened. But maybe it's time I start accepting it.

Time to start accepting the fact that when I have good dreams, it's about us getting along. Time to start accepting the fact that when I've got nightmares, it's about Jusenkyo. That when I wake up drenched in sweat in the middle of the night, only the sight of her can calm me down. Time to start accepting the fact that despite the unnatural heightening of my senses after Jusenkyo, only she sneak up on me.

Maybe I should start accepting the fact that I'm a bit tense when she's more than a meter away from me… Okay, real tense. And that my nerves feel so sensitized and my soul utterly at peace when she's within an arm's reach.

Maybe I should stop denying the fact that our ki seems to meld together when she's near me. That I can pinpoint the sound of her voice, her laugh, in a busy, noisy crowd of a hundred. That, somehow, she's worked herself into my heart and soul and there's NO WAY I am ever going to get that kawaiikune macho chick out of there.

Not that I want to.

Ranma stares down at his rice bowl, at the extra pickle lying on top. It was almost as if it was mocking him – he and his dad had been fighting over it just a second ago. Didn't his dad just swallow the damned thing?

He sneaks a look at her, sitting calmly beside him. She's innocently finishing her meal, with a half-smile on her face. As if she knows he's sneaking glances at her. As if she knows everything, without him having to say it. He quickly turns back to his meal and scowls at his pickle.

She really doesn't have to look so kawaii about it, though.

If looks could kill and that pickle were alive, I'd say that the pickle would probably be worse off than Saffron right now.

I wait until Kasumi-oneechan clears the table, except for Ranma's rice bowl and tea, which he is still scowling at. I wait for Nabiki-oneechan to go up to her room, and for daddy and Ranma's dad to move to the patio for a game of shogi. I wait, unmoving, until it's just the two of us.

I reach for the pickle.

He suddenly grabs my wrist. I'm not surprised, but he seems to be. He looks at me, and I can see that he's surprised that I'm still there. 'That's my pickle,' he tells me.

I scowl, annoyed with him now. When it comes to Ranma, I can never seem to do anything right. He makes me feel like an idiot, as if I know nothing. 'Well, if you're just going to frown at it, what's the use of it being yours?' Let's see if I ever hold your rice bo-

He takes the pickle from my hand and examines it. 'It was yours. I was trying to savor it.' I stare at him as he gobbles up the supid pickle. He turns to look at me, and he grins that damnable smile of his. I look down and I can feel a blush dusting my cheeks. I don't have to look up at him to know he's blushing as well. He reaches for my hand.

My heart stops.

'Thanks, baka,' he teases me gently as he traces the lines in my palm. He refuses to meet my gaze, but I know.

I know everything.