Chapter Text
The dojo's walls were bathed in the evening summer sun. The only sounds to be heard 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. With 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 usual perfect form.
It had been six months since the end of the war, and about the same length of time since his reunion with his dear friend Gen’ichirō. 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 his targets were slain in pursuit of an end to the war. 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 in their teens and 20s until the war separated them.
Upon meeting him again, Gen'ichirō 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 the former 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 (perhaps enhancing the 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 mainly out of obligation and nostalgia - he didn't go back regularly. He still visited once or twice during the war to help another friend, nothing else. Especially since his favourite part of the village had left with him many 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 accurate to his usual demeanour. 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 close enough to the technique he'd been perfecting since 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." The slightest snark escaped with the words.
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. Exactly like the owner made it. How'd you learn to brew it the same anyway?."
"He taught me years ago. You were too busy stealing chestnut buns at the time." Fukuzawa remarked, a slight 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. He was too busy in his head. 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-chan from the village? Are you finally asking her out?!"
Fukuzawa shivered at the mention. Now was not the time to think about that. His words came out with a slight shudder 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 sharply at him. Sharp enough to pierce skin. 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, a solemn hint to his delivery.
That void was expanded and headed right towards Fukuzawa. Fukuchi had pushed the table back, spilling some of the tea in the process, and was shuffling towards him, that growing void encroaching on his vision. He had froze, unsure what to do. Before he could react, Fukuchi had pulled him into a tight hug around his back, locking him in place. Fukuzawa could hear small sniffles and tears.
"I'm begging you. Don't tell a soul" Fukuchi pleaded in half-whispers, his voice slightly distorted as if through radio static.
"For the first time, I was living as a human. I got to enjoy friendship, sparring 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 a marathon. 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.
"Okay, 'Fukuchi', it's nice to meet you."