chocolate chips or strawberries?
words: 1,880
ranma/akane
“Whaddya thinking too hard 'bout, tomboy?”
“I need to crack this egg into the pancake batter.”
Persistence, and stubbornness to be more precise, had been one of the main reasons Akane continued to take cooking lessons of any sort from Kasumi and Auntie Saotome. Over time, of course, she had begun to see minor improvements that squeezed her heart in ways she hadn’t considered, was she to be honest. Who would’ve thought managing to not burn her boiling water was such a great feat?
An even deeper eagerness to please herself sprawled within her and rooted itself with further enthusiasm. Just last week, although her eldest sister and Auntie Saotome were the ones to essentially prep the side dish of korokke for dinner that night, Kasumi had believed her to be ready to fry the potato croquettes. All she needed to tend was to gently drop the breaded balls into the heated oil and fetch out when golden brown. To her surprise, she hadn’t spoiled the dish, believing she'd made Kasumi proud.
As of lately, the kitchen had managed to steer off any misfortunate incidents, loosening the bounding fear that would tend to keep her within reach of said part of their home.
It was late in the morning, on a Sunday, everyone having had a wonderful breakfast with lunch still hours away, and yet Akane found herself in the kitchen. She was making pancakes. For no one in particular, except those who would like to try her food.
Auntie Saotome had advised her to concentrate on the fine motor skills of her hands; accustomed to the flick of her wrist to be gentle, rather than not. She had recommended baked goods, such as cookies and sweets, as it consists of properly measuring and mixing with hand-held tools, but also cracking eggs, helping familiarize her touch to the softness she was insisted upon.
The young woman tried not to make a mess, taking full advantage of the counterspace to help her spread her prepped dishes with sprawled ingredients throughout. She knew she was clumsy; it didn’t take Ranma reminding her every time he did witness the misfortunes of her unsuccessful tasks now and then for her to know. And so, when the all-purpose flour fell to the floor as she was trying to scoop a cup, she tried not to be surprised – although, upset? Very. When she noticed she had accidentally read the wrong measure for the baking soda, over-pouring the needed amount, she groaned mildly. Still, she continued.
Akane looked at what she believed to be the toughest challenge of that late morning yet: the egg. She needed a singular egg. Without any shell crumbs, without accidently cracking it in her hands before pulling the eggshell apart, without banging it too hard on the bowl and smashing it. Just a simple, soft flick for a regular crack.
“Whaddya thinking too hard 'bout, tomboy?”
Akane couldn’t help but roll her eyes, unamused as her unintentional glare landed on Ranma, drenched, noticing his now-smaller hands grumpily latched onto the now-red pigtail and squeeze out whatever water he could from his hair. He had been at the dojo; it was obvious, with how flustered his face seemed to glisten. A small tower draped over the back of his nape as his slender hands mindlessly used the said towel to wipe whatever excess drops dripped around his neck.
Not that she was interested in seeing that. Or interested in seeing the way his now-oversized muscle top stuck onto him like a second layer of skin, the plunging neckline challenging to expose the mounds of his breasts as they tended to do with Ranma’s careless temperament.
She cleared her throat, forcing herself to look away and back at the uncracked egg willing for its destiny of ill-fated demise or flawless fulfillment to be a part of pancakes that day. “What splashed you this time?” She asked mindlessly, her hands reaching for the egg and holding onto it for a moment, deciding to give Ranma her attention once again.
He sighed wearily, leaning his body forward, pressing his palms against the counter as he looked at the not-surprising spiel of mess his fiancée couldn’t function without when it came to her quality time in the kitchen. “Ya’ know, Pops. Surprise attack and all that.” Akane couldn't help but snort quietly, her laughter easily contagious as he was now unable to stop his own grin curl up his own lips. “It ain’t funny, yunno.” And it wasn’t, although it was in an unamusing way.
She simply shrugged her shoulders, her toothy grin beginning to lessen, giving her awaiting egg attention once again.
“What’cha giving that egg lovey eyes for?”
“I am not giving the egg lovey eyes, idiot.”
“Then what?”
She exasperated a deep sigh, unable to resist rubbing her temple, despising the question dragging the answer out her throat as she replied truthfully, “I need to crack this egg into the pancake batter.”
“You’re making pancakes?” He glanced about the counter, finding it hard to believe that her mix actually looked like a pancake mix. Hardly did he ever make pancakes, still, he was familiar with the dish mainly because of okonomiyaki.
“Trying to.”
“Well, what else ya’ waitin’ for?”
“The egg.”
“I see the egg, dummy.”
“I just...” And she was quiet, looking away for a moment too long just as she felt Ranma’s hands reach for the egg to softly take away from hers.
“Just that you’re a klutz? Probably the biggest klutz in all of Japan,” he grinned teasingly, pushing himself onto her space. She tried not to make it obvious, the way she noticed his cool arm rubbed itself against hers as he reached for an empty bowl and the carton of eggs. “Geez, Akane,” he feigned irritation, his light eyes flickering upwards momentarily, continuing, “can’t do anything without me, huh?” And Akane pouted a laughing scoff, watching the way Ranma was now holding the egg atop the empty bowl. “Watch me, you dolt.” She should’ve been upset, probably rub her knuckles against his tomato-looking head at all his name-calling, yet she leaned closer, their face now centimeters apart.
She watched his seemingly dainty hands, accessorized with calluses that didn’t magically go away no matter the gender he transformed into. He tapped the egg onto the counter twice and pricked its shell with both his thumbs to pull apart; the yellow yolk seamlessly drooping inside the bowl.
“It aint’ so hard, just don’t smash it like yer mad at it or somethin’.” Without waiting a second, he reached for an egg and offered it to her, “Practice over the bowl.” And so Akane did. Both watched her futile attempts at cracking the damn eggs. At first, she wasn’t tapping it hard enough to form a crack, and by the second tap her entire hand was coated with the slime of the egg. She knew she’d have to go buy a new few dozen for Kasumi before it was time for lunch if she didn’t want an earful, even if Kasumi didn’t give said earfuls.
At her last attempt, she noticed the way Ranma’s expression offered interest just as she had tapped it twice against the counter. Akane had been visibly upset that it cracked but not enough to help her pull apart. “Tap it again,” he told her.
“Again?”
“Yes, gently, though.”
“I know.” Akane tapped it again, unable to stop herself from glancing at Ranma for his approval. “L-like that?”
“Yeah, that’s a good crack. In fact, hold it a sec,” and before he said more, he was now pushing the practicing bowl away and pulling her pancake mix under her positioned egg. “Okay, pull it apart, Akane.” And she did.
Akane gasped, her mouth widening as she didn’t see a single eggshell crumb fall into the mix. “I did it!”
Ranma smirked, “Yeah, I saw.”
“Auntie Saotome’s gonna be so proud,” Akane gloated momentarily, careful to put the eggshells away from her bowl, taking a moment to look at Ranma with his own smug face. The way her eyes rolled was more a force-a-habit than anything, but her beaming smile told him her expression was an endearing one.
“Thanks, Ranma.” Her smile was too wide for his own good, feeling the way his chest suddenly tensed up as her glowing cheeks seemed to be on a mission to blind him.
He cleared his throat, forcing himself to look away and reach for the whisk she had seemed to be using, plopping it into the bowl before pushing the large dish towards her. “Well, c’mon, gotta finish those pancakes. I’m starvin’ a lil over here.”
He hadn’t known what he had said, but soon enough she was leaning closer to him, closer than they’d been minutes ago, as her glassy eyes seemed to have caught him off-guard, like a deer on headlights captivated by her large tawny stare. “You mean you want some pancakes?” Her tantalizing soft voice tenderly tugged at him to pay attention to every detail there was about her delightful features.
“I-I..I mean-”
And almost in slow-motion, witnessing the way her smile lessened as her eyebrows soften felt like a bullet penetrating through his chest, fully mangling his insides just as she said, “You, uh...don’t have to, you know.” He couldn’t stop the way his hands extended to latch onto hers; her soft eyebrows now scrunched as she watched him curiously. Her round cheeks were still seemingly warm with their rosy tinge.
“If it ain't gonna’ kill me, I ain't mind, ya’ know,” he gulped.
“I actually think this is a great batch,” she promised, her nose scrunching momentarily just before her widening smile returned. “Besides,” she challenged, “I haven’t killed you yet, you know.”
And he scoffed loudly, an airy laugh escaping his lips with a broad set of rolled eyes, “A miracle, I’ll say.”
She laughed again, although he somehow expected her to be angry, even for just a moment, fixing his gaze back at her again, mesmerized. Unable to look away, and as if she knew that he was looking at her in that kind of way; a way that said he was undeniably smitten by her, with flushed cheeks caused by his palpitating heart rather than the rigid exercise he’d force upon himself.
And she welcomed it.
“Ranma” she called, speaking his name quietly, noticing the way her exposed throat swallowed nothing, piquing his attention, not noticing that he’d gotten closer to her now, waiting for her to speak again. And she didn’t pull away or push him away.
Instead, her eyes lazily looked down at his, dancing about his face just as they landed on his lips when he replied, “Y-yeah?”
“Chocolate chips or strawberries?”
“S-strawberries.”
“Okay.” And just as she did pull away, Ranma’s hands reached to hold her lower arms, somehow managing to keep her in place, just as he wanted her to be. She smelled heavenly, pushing away the faint scent of all the other ingredients that she’d manage to get on her. He tried not to whiff her in, her light fragrance familiarizing her to him far too easily, with the mixtured aroma of her.
She didn’t move away, and rather stayed put, as if waiting for him to say something – anything, really. But then he said back, “Okay.”
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