Chapter Text
Akane groaned softly as she sat on the edge of her bed, her fingers gingerly pressing against the deep purple bruise that stretched across her left thigh. The pain was dull but persistent, a reminder of the day’s sparring session. She reached for the bottle of lotion perched on her yellow pajama bottoms, unscrewing the cap and squeezing a dollop onto her palm. The cool cream soothed her skin as she worked it into the tender area.
---
Earlier that day, the dojo had echoed with the sharp claps of bare feet hitting the wooden floor and the occasional grunt of exertion. Akane and Ranma had been at it for hours, their movements fluid and precise, their bodies glistening with sweat. Ranma, in his male form, darted around her like a whirlwind, his black pigtail swishing behind him as he countered her strikes with ease. Akane, gritting her teeth, had been determined to land a hit—one that actually mattered.
“C’mon, Ranma,” she’d panted, her fists raised defensively. “Stop holding back! I’m not made of glass, you know!”
Ranma smirked, his blue eyes glinting with amusement. “Hey, I’m just trying to keep ya from hurting yourself, Akane. You’re improving, but you’re still—”
“Still what?” she snapped, cutting him off. Her pride burned hotter than her exhaustion. “If you’re so confident, then let’s see you take this seriously for once!”
She’d seen her opening—a split second where his guard dropped just slightly. Without hesitation, she launched a powerful kick aimed at his side. But Ranma, realizing his mistake, reacted instantly. His knee shot up, catching her squarely in the thigh. The impact sent her sprawling across the dojo floor, her shoulder colliding with the wooden paneling with a sickening thud.
The moment the sound of her body hitting the floor echoed through the room, Ranma froze. His smirk vanished, replaced by wide-eyed horror. “Akane!” he shouted, rushing to her side.
She’d waved him off, gritting her teeth. “I’m fine. Just... a little winded.”
But Ranma knew a bruise was already forming on her thigh, the way she winced when she tried to move her shoulder. His face fell. “Damn it, Akane, I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s fine,” she interrupted, her voice firm despite the pain. “It’s part of training, right? I’ll live.”
---
Now, back in her bedroom, Akane smiled faintly at the memory. The bruise on her thigh wasn’t just a mark of pain—it was proof. Proof that Ranma had finally stopped holding back with her. She’d earned that hit, even if it came at a cost. But she knew him. Ranma wouldn’t see it that way. He’d be tearing himself up inside, convinced he’d failed her somehow.
She glanced at the clock. It was late, and Ranma still hadn’t come to their room. He was probably out there brooding, punishing himself for something that wasn’t his fault. Akane sighed, shaking her head. Typical Ranma, she thought. Always so hard on himself. She knew her father and Mr. Saotome had started yelling at Ranma the moment they saw him helping her back from the dojo, her limp evident with every step. Ranma had wanted to carry her—she’d seen it in the way he hesitated, his arms half-extended as if waiting for her permission—but Akane had refused. She’d had enough of that nonsense. The last thing she needed was to be coddled, especially in front of everyone.
Ranma had taken the brunt of their fathers’ scolding without a word, his jaw clenched and his eyes downcast. He hadn’t defended himself, hadn’t even tried to explain that it had been an accident, a split-second reaction during their sparring. Akane had tried to step in, her voice sharp as she reminded her own father of the times he’d accidentally hurt her during their training sessions. But as usual, no one listened to her. Their concerns were too focused on Ranma, on the idea that he’d somehow failed to protect her.
It had frustrated her, but she’d held her tongue. Without Ranma speaking up there was little she could do.
The sound of the bedroom door creaking open pulled her from her thoughts. She looked up to see Ranma standing in the doorway, his expression uncharacteristically somber. His black hair was slightly disheveled, and his shoulders were slumped, as if the weight of the world was pressing down on him. Freshly bathed he was in his green pajamas with white rings.
His eyes immediately found the bruise on her thigh, and he winced.
“Hey,” he said softly, his voice lacking its usual bravado.
“Hey yourself,” Akane replied, her tone light. She held up the bottle of lotion. “Took you long enough. I was starting to think you were gonna sleep in the dojo.”
Ranma’s cheeks flushed, and he scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. “Uh, sorry. I was... you know, cleaning up.”
Akane rolled her eyes. “Sure you were. Just get over here and help me with this, will you? My arms are tired.”
Ranma hesitated, glancing at her bruised leg again. “Are you sure? I mean, I’m the one who—”
“Ranma,” she interrupted firmly, holding up the bottle again. “Stop overthinking it. Just... come here.”
He sighed but obeyed, crossing the room to sit on the edge of the bed beside her. His hands were warm as he took the bottle from her, squeezing a bit of lotion onto his palm. He paused for a moment, his eyes fixed on the bruise.
“I really am sorry, Akane,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
“I know,” she said, her tone softening. “But you don’t need to be. I’m not mad, okay? If anything, I’m proud of you for finally taking me seriously.”
Ranma blinked, surprised. “Proud? But I—”
“Yes, proud,” she repeated, cutting him off. She reached out, placing a hand on his arm. “You didn’t hold back, Ranma. That’s what I’ve been asking for this whole time. So stop beating yourself up about it.”
He looked at her for a long moment, his blue eyes searching hers as if trying to find any trace of insincerity. When he found none, he exhaled slowly, his shoulders relaxing. “Alright,” he said finally.
His hands finally began to work the lotion into her bruised skin, his touch gentle but firm. Akane closed her eyes, letting out a soft sigh as the coolness of the lotion mixed with the warmth of his hands soothed the ache in her muscles. His fingers moved carefully, almost reverently, as if he were handling something precious.
He’s being so careful, she thought, a small smile tugging at her lips. But he doesn’t need to be.
She opened her eyes, watching him as he focused on his task. His face was serious, his brows slightly furrowed in concentration. She’d never tell him out loud, but she found that side of him endearing—the way he could go from cocky and brash to quiet and thoughtful in an instant.
“You’re doing a good job,” she said, her voice teasing. “You know, for a baka.”
Ranma glanced up at her, his cheeks tinged pink. “I’ve always taken you seriously,” he said, his eyes dropped returning his focused to her leg as his long, strong fingers worked the lotion into her calf. Akane opened her mouth to deny the statement, but Ranma continued before she could speak. “You always start on your right foot. It’s a habit—you’ve been doing it since we first started training together. It gives more power to your front snap kick, and it’s worked for you so often in the past that you still open with it as an option. But you’ve been using it less lately. You’re adapting, testing new strategies. That’s good.”
Akane’s breath caught in her throat as Ranma’s voice grew more thoughtful, his fingers stilling for a moment before resuming their gentle massage. “Your eyes always track where you’re going to hit,” he went on. “You try not to, but there’s this little flicker—you always look back just before you strike. It’s a tell. But today, you didn’t. You kept your focus locked in. It was an excellent attack, Akane. Anyone else would’ve been caught off guard. I was in a bad position—you would’ve hurt me badly if I hadn’t reacted. Normally, I can stop you with a capture or cupped palms, but this time you took those options away from me. I had to rely on a quicker, harsher block.”
He paused, his fingers tracing the edge of the bruise with feather-light pressure. “I use my training with you to practice the harder, gentler options,” he admitted quietly. “It’s not because I think you’re weak or fragile. It’s because I know how strong you are, Akane. Today, though, you grew beyond your normal sparring. You pushed me. And I’ll be honest—it scared me a little. Not because I’m afraid of you, but because I’m afraid of hurting you. I’ve always taken you seriously. You’re… Your Akane, there’s a reason everyone tries to kidnap or marry you.”
Akane’s heart swelled at his words, her chest tightening with a mix of emotions. She hadn’t expected this level of introspection from him, and it caught her off guard. “Ranma,” she started, her voice soft, but he shook his head, cutting her off gently.
“I know I don’t always say it,” he continued, his gaze finally lifting to meet hers. “But I see how hard you work. How much you’ve improved. And I know I can be an idiot sometimes, acting like I’m the only one who knows what they’re doing in the dojo. But that’s not true. You’re incredible, Akane. And today, you reminded me of that.”
Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away, unable to hold his intense gaze. “You’re such a baka,” she muttered, though there was no bite in her words. “You could’ve just said that earlier instead of making me beat it out of you.”
Ranma chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Yeah, well, you know me. I’m not exactly the best at saying things out loud.” His fingers returned to her calf, his touch gentle but firm. “But I mean it, Akane. You’ve always been strong. Today, you just reminded me how much stronger you’ve gotten. And I’ll never stop being proud of you for that.”
Akane’s smile softened, her heart feeling lighter than it had all day. She reached out, placing a hand on his arm. “Thanks, Ranma,” she said simply, her voice carrying all the warmth and gratitude she couldn’t quite put into words.
He nodded, his cheeks still tinged with pink, but his expression was earnest. “Anytime, Akane. Anytime.”
she assured him. She shifted slightly, letting her leg brush against his thigh. “So, uh... you’re not gonna sleep in the dojo tonight, are you?”
He froze for a moment, his eyes darting to hers. “N-no. Why?”
“Just making sure,” she said casually, though the slight flush on her cheeks betrayed her. “It’s cold out there, and I’d hate for you to catch something.”
Ranma’s lips twitched into a small grin. “Yeah, wouldn’t want that, huh?”
“Not at all,” she agreed, her voice softer now. She leaned back slightly, her eyes still locked on his. “So... you’re staying, right?”
He hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering to the bruise on her thigh again before returning to her face. “Yeah,” he said finally. “I’m staying.”