Thank you
-Tari
It seems ages ago that a young, brash man entered into my life. He appeared from nowhere and asked to be housed in exchange for work. I thought him brash and young, but I humored him and surprisingly, eventually came to respect him.
He was no simple boy, I'd discovered. Under his facade of bravado, the boy was a true gem, but somewhere along the line, he'd become blemished. Impurities lay heavily upon his soul; they ate at him and yet he never once showed his pain.
He was always laughs... always smiling, taunting, fighting.
About the second week into his stay with me, I began to notice a look in his eyes. It was despair and sadness, I was sure. The weight upon his heart were wearing him down, and yet he still refused to give in.
He was strong, I was sure. He would overcome his troubles on his own. I believed in him.
On those days when he had that look in his eyes, I would make him a little more food, let him sleep a little earlier... but that was it. I knew he didn't want my help. He still stood strong. He would overcome.
After a few more weeks, I felt his eyes watching me. I looked at the pot I was washing. I could see him standing quietly at the door to the kitchen in its reflection.
He simply watched me as I washed the dishes.
What was he thinking? I wanted to know. Why did he stare at me with such sad eyes? Why had he not yet overcome his pain, his despair? Why?
I watched his reflection sadly shake its head and vanish up the stairs.
I felt like crying then, but I didn't know why.
It was a few months later that we'd had a bit of trouble at the restaurant. I'd been frying up an order when a woman burst through the doors, warping the hinges on one with her strength. She stormed up to me and leveled her finger at my face.
She was trembling. Was it with rage or sorrow? I couldn't tell. "You," she managed through clenched teeth, "It's you!"
There was a quiet cough to our side and the woman turned to look. There he stood, simply smiling sadly at us. The woman's finger fell to her side as she stared at him. "You're... here?" He nodded. "But why? Why!?"
The woman rushed towards him, a few tears slipping down her cheek. He simply caught her and patted her back. He smiled his, now always sad, smile at me, then pulled the emotional woman to the door. They exchanged a few whispered words before he gave her a lopsided grin and pushed her towards the door.
She looked back once, tearstricken and trembling, then silently left.
He looked at me over his shoulder once the woman had left. His gaze locked onto my eyes and seemed to dig into my soul, searching for something. Something he didn't find, I suppose, since he let out a heavy sigh and returned to waiting on tables.
What was he looking for, I wonder?
The smell of burning batter reached my nose, and I let out a surprised squawk and I shoved the question out of my mind. I apologized to the balding man who was my frequent customer and began to prepare his order again, this time for free.
Every day, he seemed to get more and more depressed. I couldn't understand. I really couldn't. Here he was, the epitome of calm strength, able to take anything in stride and deal with it, and yet... and yet, he couldn't overcome his own problems. Why? Why was that?
Almost a whole year passed before his sorrow finally broke him. It was a routine day for me: wake up, brush teeth, change outfit, open store. Before I could unlock my front doors, however, he stepped down the stairs and put his hand on mine, stopping me.
I looked at him, wondering as to this break from routine.
"Why?" he said, staring at me.
I blinked.
"Why?" he repeated. "Why won't you wonder? Why don't you realize what's happening? ...is it really all over?"
I blinked again. "What...?"
"Akane," he said, staring at me. I scrunched my eyebrows in confusion. He sighed, then looked me in the eye. "Your name."
I opened my mouth and found I couldn't speak. That... was my name! "Wh-why?" I said. He simply sighed.
"I wasn't supposed to tell you, and you never asked," he whispered.
It was true. I'd never asked. He'd never addressed me by name, and all the patrons simply called me 'chef.' Why? Why didn't I know my own name? Why... why did he know it?
"Akane." I looked at him. "You... you really don't remember, huh? None of it?"
I slowly shook my head.
"The woman who broke the door," he said. "She didn't ring a bell?"
I shook my head again, then flinched when his fist slammed into the doorframe beside me. My eyes widened slightly. The metal had warped under his fist. A phrase flashed to my mind.
"Anything Goes," I whispered.
His head snapped up and he stared me in the eyes. "What did you say?" His eyes shown with a light that had been missing for almost a year.
"Anything Goes," I repeated. "I don't know... but... your punch. It has something to do with your punch."
He nodded, slowly. "It's the name of the style of martial arts that I used to practice." He looked at me silently for a while, then smiled lightly. "You used to practice it, too."
I blinked. "I did?" I looked at my arms and wondered at that. They seemed far from those of a martial artist.
"You quit," he explained, seeing my wandering gaze. "Three years ago." He let out a small sigh. "We thought we'd lost you forever, Akane... but you've still got everything in there!" He prodded my forehead lightly with his finger. "We just have to find it!"
I nodded slowly, then quickly shook my head. "Okay, so I don't remember much of my life prior to three years ago, yeah..."
"Then how 'bout I tell you about who you used to be?" His eyes were shining with hope, and I couldn't help but smile lightly.
"...but," I finally said, "how should I know that you're telling me the truth?"
"Akane," he said, a small smile on his face, "I never told you my name. Not once. That's the only reason I dared to hope all this time."
I blinked, shocked. He was right; he'd never told me his name, and yet I'd known it ever since I'd set eyes upon him. Why was that? Why? I blinked again, and then my breath caught in my throat. "Family!" I cried. "I had a family! What happened to them!?"
He smiled widely this time. "They're always with you, Akane." He gestured to the still locked door, then waved at a few figures standing outside. "Your regulars, Akane," he said, looking at me.
"They're..." I began, hardly daring to believe. "They're... my family?"
He nodded, smiling.
"I-I would like to hear about my life," I said. I smiled softly at him.
"Let's let 'em in, first, Akane," he said, smiling back at me.
I nodded, then turned to unlock the door. I paused for a moment, then turned to face the young man behind me. "Thank you," I said, tears threatening to spill from my eyes. "Thank you for being patient. Thank you for believing in me... thank you for just being here..."
He nodded, then smiled and turned me around again.
I unlocked the doors and, as my family spilled in, chatting happily about me, I turned back to him again. "Thank you," I said, "for everything. Thank you, Ranma."
AN:
It's a oneshot. No editing or anything. Wrote it on the spur o' the moment.
In fact, it started off as a story about Ranma, then spun its way into what it is now. The first paragraph or so was deleted, as it no longer fit the story.
And, well, that's that.
I really need to improve in my writing... it's got some serious issues, unfortunately, and I'm trying to refrain from posting stuff I write until I overcome said issues. /
