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The morning greeted Akane slowly, red-hued light prodding at her eyes until she finally convinced herself to wake, eyes crawling open. It was late in the year, and the air bit at her exposed skin. She groaned quietly and snuggled deeper into her blankets and closer to the girl nestled beside her.
The girl.
She didn’t open her eyes. Didn’t jump up, didn’t scream at the realisation that she had spent the night with another person, let alone a girl, let alone—
“Ranma,” she whispered, suddenly aware of where her hands were resting. One, tucked underneath the girl, resting on her stomach. The other, drifting up, brushing against the slope of her shoulders, her neck, before reaching the girl’s red hair.
“Ranma,” she repeated, brushing a lock of hair away from the girl’s eyes.
The name wasn’t new, exactly. Stated out loud, either in soft, breathy whispers or the yelling she knew they would resort to later, it sounded the same as it always had.
Except when Akane said it, all she could think of was the night prior, when Ranma had returned home, wet and crying. When Akane dragged her up to her room, away from the thunder and lightning of the fathers, when Ranma had admitted who and what she was, choking on every word.
When Akane had stopped her midway through, held her, and told her that she knew.
They both cried for a while after that, Ranma out of exhaustion, fear, joy, and Akane because the girl she loved was suffering, and she hated that. Neither of them had the strength to leave and had fallen asleep early; clothes half-removed for comfort.
They hadn’t gone further than that. Even if a part of Akane wished they had, neither wanted their first time to start from tears.
Still, nearly a year and a half of an engagement made it easy to pull herself closer to Ranma, bury her nose in her hair, and breathe in, deep. It had been a fantasy of hers for months to have her this close, to know her in such an intimate way (even if it had started as knowing him until the haunted expression she saw after the near miss with the nannichuan water caused her to wonder).
“You’re drowning me with your boobs.”
Akane had to laugh, both at Ranma’s words and the scratchy quality of her voice, still laced with sleep.
“Didn’t think I had enough for that,” she teased as Ranma looked up.
Ranma blushed and looked away. “I—you know I was yanking your chain with that—your boobs are great. They’re—they’re cute.” She blushed deeper, darker, red down to her chest.
Akane laughed again. “You are so bad at this.”
Ranma rolled her eyes, but made no attempt to move away. “Ain’t used to doing it on purpose. More trying to avoid, you know, saying anything that might accidentally….”
“I know, it’s okay.” Once again, Akane felt the urge to pull the girl closer. Unlike every day before, she indulged in that urge, a quiet thrill rippling through her as she felt Ranma’s form against her own, felt the girl relax into the embrace rather than pull away.
“Besides, I know you like my—my chest,” Akane replied, whispering into Ranma’s neck. “Too much of a pervert not to.”
Ranma snorted. “Well yeah, they’re tomboy boobs.” She reached up and grabbed, just to feel. “My favourite.”
Akane laughed but couldn’t fight the blush she knew was spreading across her skin. Part of her wanted to jump, to hide, to fight whoever would dare touch her, but a larger part wanted nothing more than to stay, delight in the warmth and trust she felt.
(And if another part wanted to bring her hand up, wanted to get her other hand down, wanted to touch until the girl sweated and squirmed—well, that was okay. Now wasn’t right, but it was okay to feel nonetheless).
“If our kids ever ask about our pet names, I’m making you explain,” Ranma murmured.
“Fine,” Akane replied, just as softly. “But you’re giving them The Talk.”
“The Talk?”
“Mmhm.”
“Heh.” Ranma began to comb through Akane’s hair with her hand. “Guess that makes sense. 'Specially if we have boys.”
The two were silent for a while after that. Sometimes Ranma would brush her lips against Akane’s neck, or Akane would move a hand down the girl’s side.
Sleep almost claimed her once more before she heard the sound of movement below and the smell of cooking.
Ranma began to sit up. “Guess breakfast’s almost ready.”
“Guess so.”
Akane watched as Ranma reached down, grabbing her silks. She watched as Ranma stared at them for a moment, drawing a deep breath before throwing them on, less like clothes and more like a suit of armour, as protective as it was heavy.
She felt she knew the answer, but Akane still asked. “Are you going to tell anyone?”
“Think I’m stupid?” Ranma replied, and there was no sleepy scratchiness to her voice now. Now, it sounded like him, except there was no him. Just a part of her skilled enough at pretending for her mother to look at her and declare her manly enough to avoid execution.
“Not everyone,” Akane replied. “I’m not suggesting you go tell your father. I just—” She looked away. “Just… wanted to know what I’m supposed to say to people.”
“I—that’s fair,” Ranma admitted. “But for now, I kinda want to just… keep this between us, for now.” She paused for a moment. “If that’s okay.”
Akane smiled, even as her joy curdled with guilt. She knew why Ranma was doing this—knew what she feared, knew the consequences—but a part of her couldn’t help but feel that this was a gift. She alone knew this about her fiancée, had something precious to carry with her, to hold, to marvel at.
So, she smiled and said, “Of course it’s okay.”
And so before Ranma left, before “Ranma and Akane” became “Ranma and the Tendo family,” “Ranma and the Fiancée’s,” “Ranma the Man amongst Men,” Akane stood, strode over to the spellbound girl, and drew her into a kiss.
“It’s going to be okay,” she whispered against the girl’s lips. “Because we’re going to do it together.”
Ranma, her Ranma, and hers alone, smiled, and kissed her again.
Breakfast, they decided, could wait.