"You're not the real Gen'ichrio, are you?" - a fukufuku one-shot
[Important context: So this is a Fukufuku fic based on TSHD, wherein Fukuchi returns from war and reconnects with Fukuzawa. But this is not Fukuchi, it is actually an unknown entity who has his mind, body and memories. I had the idea of him dying at war on an island, and what comes back is an entity of conflicting instincts - the inherent hunger and violence of war flow through him, but a desire to be kind and protect others also stands. Fukuzawa is also struggling with a lot of guilt - guilt for his old job as an assassin, guilt for letting Fukuchi go to war (and his eventual death) without him, guilt for his own feelings (he, like Yoshiki in TSHD struggles with accepting his sexuality and the pressures of his associates for marriage), etc. They kind work through it all together I suppose. In this story they would be around 31 yrs old. If you think they seem overly nostalgic, I like the idea that 'Fukuchi' would be so focused on nostalgic memories as that's all he had to imitate the real Fukuchi. I'm thinking of making a bunch of linked one-shots. ]
This is based on the first half of the first chapter of TSHD, wherein Yoshiki voices his suspicions of Hikaru and 'Hikaru' reveals himself to be something else entirely. Highly recommend reading the first chapter or watching the first half of the first episode of the anime for context. I use a lot of elements of that, including some almost exact dialogue. Idk if that's a bad thing or not I haven't written many fics before.
The dojo's walls were bathed in the evening sun. The only sounds detectable were the clashing of wooden spears, the creaks of the floorboards and the quiet huffs of exhaustion from the two men as they sparred. Each one a master of the art of the sword, engaging in a friendly duel, 'for old times sake' as one had suggested. Within the next minute came a final blow and a celebratory cheer. One reign victorious for the evening.
Fukuzawa took to preparing some green tea, the loser's penalty for the day. It was not usual of him to lose so obviously, but his thoughts distracted from his usually perfect form and technique.
It had been six months since the end of the war, and it was around then he reunited with his dear friend Fukuchi. He had reached out from the hospital a week after the ceasefire and wished to see his best friend immediately. Unusually sappy of the man, but Fukuzawa obliged. His duties were done, after all, as there was no one else he needed to assassinate now the conflict was resolved. It was nice to run away from that job even for a moment, and the nostalgia of conversing with his childhood friend might help him escape his thoughts. They'd met at 14 years old, at this very dojo, and had spent much time together until the war seperated them.
Upon meeting him again, Fukuchi was surprisingly excitable - unusual for someone returning from a war zone. He eagerly chatted with Fukuzawa about days gone by, and Fukuzawa enjoyed reminiscing (albeit with less enthusiasm than his friend). He thought it was going to be an occasional thing, but Fukuchi started asking him to meet weekly once he'd got out of hospital. Again, slightly unusual of him, but Fukuzawa brushed it off as an effect of the war (enhancing his desire to see familiar, living faces). Eventually, Fukuchi suggested a few weeks away from the city on a trip to their childhood home, and staying at the dojo they used to spar in as young adults. Fukuzawa also agreed, but only out of obligation and nostalgia - he hadn't been back in such a long time, but the most interesting part of the village had left with him years earlier.
It was their first night at the dojo and Fukuzawa was uneasy. He'd begun noticing a lot of things about Fukuchi that didn't seem... right?. Some small personality changes mainly, and what confirmed his suspicions was a slight change in his fighting technique. A change so slight that most people wouldn't notice. But not Fukuzawa. He knew exactly how Fukuchi fought, down to his breathing patterns. This wasn't the same as the technique he'd kept and prided himself on since his childhood.
It was this line of thinking that caused Fukuzawa to lose today's duel. He could hear Fukuchi muttering about the fight across the room, about it being just like the days of their youth. Fukuzawa raised his voice slightly when responding.
"Well back in our youth, I usually won the duels."
Fukuchi shouted back, "I'll have you know that I won just as many duels as you, my friend! We were of equal skill after all."
"You may tell yourself that, but I had noted every win and loss down in our youth. I had many more wins than you by a larger percentage." Fukuzawa brought the green tea over to the table Fukuchi had set up moments earlier by the open side of the dojo.
"You were always so very meticulous, Fukuzawa." Fukuchi hurriedly picked up his cup from the table and took a sip. A warm smile radiated from his face. "Wow. Just like it used to be. How'd you learn to brew it the same anyway?."
"I was taught by the owner years ago. You were too busy stealing candied chestnuts at the time." Fukuzawa remarked, a slightly laugh escaping his lips.
The other responded back with a much louder chuckle. "Suppose I was then. Maybe you'll have to teach me."
Fukuzawa didn't process this response. It was too busy inside his brain. He was carefully thinking through his next question, in case this world would come tumbling down around him. If his suspicion is wrong, he could brush it off as an odd sense of humour. If he was right, though....
He released his breath as if he was gasping for air. "Can I ask you something?" The air stagnated for a second as he awaited a response.
"Sure, what's the problem? Oh, is this about Kin from the village? Are you finally asking her out?!"
Fukuzawa shuddered at the mention. Now was not the time to think about that. His words came out with a slight shakiness as he asked.
"You're not the real Gen'ichirō, are you?"
The air felt thick in Fukuzawa's throat. He could feel Fukuchi's eyes staring so sharply at him. He turned to face Fukuchi, only for half his face to be obscured by... something. This something was coming from his left eye. It was almost indescribable. A mass of swirls and shapes in a void that emerged and covered his face. No, replaced half of his face.
"My imitation was supposed to be perfect." Fukuchi spoke with a solemn hint in his voice.
"I'm begging you. Don't tell a soul" Fukuchi pleaded in half-whispers, his words slightly distorted as if through radio static. "For the first time, I was living as a human. I got to enjoy friendship, travelling and even green tea. Who I am as a person and my body are both borrowed..." His voice trailed off slightly, allowing for a moment of silence where Fukuzawa realised he was hyperventilating so aggressively it was as if he'd run miles away. Yet he was still in the same place, sat in front of his friend's almost dissolving face. Fukuchi's hands clenched even tighter on the back of Fukuzawa's shirt, feeling like it might rip at any second.
"Please. I don't want to kill you."
Fukuzawa shuddered once again. A solitary tear escaped his right eye, trailing down his face as he tried processing what was happening. There was only one train of thought he could muster in that moment.
'Either way, Fukuchi is already gone... so even if it's fake, I still want him to be with me.."
Once he could catch his breath enough to speak, he could only muster a similar half-whisper as his companion had previously.
"Okay, 'Fukuchi', it's nice to meet you."
[Yes despite my intro I do have a part 2 planned... I will post it at some point i swear. Also I hope this is decent I've never usually been good at this. Hope you enjoyed!]
