Author Note: This is just a little something I wrote for myself on my birthday. Nothing too deep, just a day in the life...possibly a little tired. But let me know if you like it, how I should improve it, etc. Akane POV.
On the Way Home
I'm walking beside him, swinging my bag with my hair futilely pulled up in a ponytail so small it looks ridiculous. Being Ranma, he says, "That looks sorta pointless."
"I'm trying to keep my hair off my neck," I snap. "It's so hot. Why is it so hot?"
We're taking it really easy today. I never realized how fast he and I move to and from school. At a leisurely pace, it feels like such a long way. I stare down at the sidewalk, watching my feet and the cracks, pieces of Ireland or some green thing growing through pavement; rebellious nature seeping slowly out of concrete. Every now and again I'll glace up at Ranma, and each time I catch a movement, lightning fast, that tells me he's occasionally looking down at me, too. I wonder if we're walking slowly because of the heat, or because of the way things have been lately. Since we came back from China, since the wedding attempt, since everything, it all feels so...strange. Time zips by slowly, things are so like they were before they seem different. Ranma's like that. He's just a warm, beautiful body chockfull of contradiction.
And then he stops. "Wha--," I start, and look up. There's a man standing a few hundred feet ahead of us. I assess him quickly - note the strange dress, the swagger of a martial artist, and I think, Here we go again. Ranma, who was walking with his hands behind his head, lets them drop. His bag he sits on the ground, and before he can let go I grab the strap. His eyes, blue, blue, blue like cold sky with a tinge of worry and more than a little anticipation catch me, and I jump when, lifting the bag to give to me, his fingertips brush my hand. And then he looks back at the man.
"Yo," Ranma says, and I have to turn my head to hide a grin. "I guess you've been waiting for me?"
"Yes, I have. Saotome Ranma, undoubtedly. A pleasure," unknown cloak man says in an altogether not unpleasantly accented voice and ducks into a swift, graceful bow. "They said I'd know you when I saw you."
"Akane," Ranma says with blue again, and I know what he's thinking.
"No," I say cheerfully, and I turn and walk toward the fence, a satchel in each hand. I lay mine down to sit on and prop Ranma's up against the chain link. I smooth my skirt, retie my pointless rat-tail, and look up. Ranma's still looking at me. "Akane..."
"Akane, is it?" the man asks, and I'm staring at Ranma seconds after before I realize he has. I move my head toward him slowly, this stranger, my eyes trained to Ranma's until I'm suddenly looking in the other direction and I can't see Ranma anymore. I don't reply, but I look anyway. The cloak is a deep purple, and, other than his face, hair so black it's blue, like mine, is all I can make of his person. There's a sword within the folds.
"Watch it," Ranma says to him.
The man is still looking at me, and it's making me uncomfortable. I look back at Ranma, who is looking at him, and with mounting edge. He's probably already made a rough estimation of the man's strength, height, etc. He's running through his game plan. He's seething at anyone taking too much notice of me. What with my occasional adventures as bridal hostage, I'm not too happy with the unwarranted attention myself. Ranma glances at me one more time, not as briefly as before, and winks. I smile at him. But not too much. I wouldn't want to completely rattle him. This is nothing new to the two of us. It's never been new to him. He's as attractive to danger as he is to women and water. The man is saying something, probably unloading his reasons for waiting for Ranma out here in the abandoned lot not far at all from where we live. It's probably some past offense Ranma's shrugged off, or some girl in China he never glanced at but ensnared anyway. Or it could be Genma's fault. Yes, it's probably Genma's fault. The reasons don't matter -- there are hundreds of them. Hundreds of foes and fiancés. Violent, all. It comes to me suddenly that this is the rest of my life. It is Ranma's life, and so it is mine.
I lean my head back to take in the entire scene. The man's come a little closer, and from my vantage point I can watch them both. I look forward to seeing Ranma like this, but I think that guiltily. I would rather he never have to confront anyone, but then, I wouldn't get to see this feral side of him that is so graceful and beautiful and...The man throws open his cloak. I stare at the sword, and I feel a stunted twinge of worry. I look over to Ranma, who's lowered himself into a stance I'm not familiar with. He's crouched like a tiger, and I marvel at how alike he and a tiger are. I watch him, because, no matter where I am now, since Ranma came, there is only Ranma. It must be a Ranma thing, because I'm not the only one so consumed by him. There are at least three others, and as I inhale angrily I think I almost smell them -- the rose, the okonomiyaki, the steaming ramen -- on the wind.
My eyes are on them just as the dust at Ranma's feet stirs, letting me know he's moved a movement so fast he almost disappears. They clash, and then the sword goes flying back behind the blur of red and black and purple that is my fiancé and one of his many enemies. The cloak falls next, and they've stepped back to allow each other a moment to regroup. The man stands now in a lovely purple fighting garb-thing that accentuates perfectly his olive skin and long, long, long braided blue-black hair. I'm staring at his hair when he catches my eyes and smiles at me. Ranma lunges.
The wind tickles my neck with the hairs that fall out of my pointless ponytail. I watch Ranma swipe at his enemy and miss, and I'm worried and hot and I wonder if I've ever loved him more.