Kensho

Disclaimer: Just own the words, not the folks.


Kyoto– Chapter 3

Dear Dr. Muraki,

I know it’s been a very long time since I contacted you, but I just wanted you to know that I’m okay, if a little confused. See, I still look exactly the same as I did when I last saw you. I’ve aged, but yet I haven’t. I know it doesn’t make sense; it doesn’t make sense to me either.

Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that I’m all right. You can write me at the address on the envelope for now. I’ll contact you again when I get something more permanent.

Sincerely,

Tsuzuki Asato

P.S. I’ve changed my name. I’m now Fukiyoma Yuuri.


Dropping in a recent picture, he sealed the envelope and mailed the letter to the doctor’s home.

After what happed in Tokyo, he hadn’t contacted the doctor again until his eighth year in jail. He’d sent a short note the hospital to let the doctor know that he was still alive and Dr. Muraki had practically written him a novel in return. They’d continued their correspondence for the next several years, the letters a welcomed distraction from the monotony of Tsuzuki’s life in captivity. When the doctor retired during Tsuzuki’s twelfth year in jail, he sent Tsuzuki his home address. The last note Tsuzuki had sent before this one was to tell the doctor of his release; that had been three years ago. He hoped that the doctor was still alive and that he might be able to give some explanation for Tsuzuki’s current predicament.

The first time Tsuzuki had tried to change his name, the clerks had laughed openly at him for insisting that his birth year was just as he’d named it, making him 45 years old. As they would not process his paperwork ‘with false information’, he’d filled out new forms using a birth year which made him 26, the age he’d been when released from the mental hospital. With no further questions about any of the other, slightly fabricated, information, Fukiyoma Yuuri was born.

Walking away from the Post Office, he realized that he should have told the doctor why he was using Kyoto University as his address.

“I’ll tell him next time,” he muttered to himself as he headed to his next class.

As a child, he’d never given University a second thought; or a first one for that matter. Cooking school had been as far as his desires for formal education extended. But after Nagasaki…

All of those people gone in an instant…

Had his sentence ended a few weeks later, he would have still been in the jail when it was incinerated. As it was, he missed the Atom bomb by ten days. Just ten days! The shock and horror of it forced a change in his worldview. Simply existing wasn’t enough anymore. He still lived, unlike so many, and he knew he should do something with that life.

Within days of establishing his new identity, he’d enrolled in Kyoto University as a Japanese History Major.

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Defending his History PhD was proving more difficult than he’d expected. His research was sound, the topic valid, the thesis not too long or too short and the language easy to understand.

What more did that crotchety old man want?

He knew Dr. Konoe to be a hard ass from the classes he’d taken from him over the years, but as his PhD advisor he was even worse!

“And another thing, Mr. Fukiyoma…” Dr. Konoe continued, this time berating him for the excessive use of state of being verbs. Tsuzuki took his thesis back at the end of this latest lecture, drooping visibly.

As he sat in the school’s extensive library rewriting his manuscript for the ninth time, Dr. Konoe approached him.

“Mr. Fukiyoma, might have a word with you outside,” he requested quietly.

“Certainly, sir,” Tsuzuki replied just as quietly, obediently following Dr. Konoe outside where they could speak freely. Groaning to himself, he wondered what else the professor could want to discuss about his document.

“Mr. Fukiyoma,” Dr. Konoe began, “I don’t believe that you are a stupid man, yet you seem to be struggling with this task.”

Tsuzuki lowered his eyes. He had been struggling. He kept losing his focus because his sleeping habits had become erratic again. After years of ‘mind quiet’ the nightmares had returned; or more to the point, he’d acquired a whole new set.

Like the ones about the prison shower...

And the ones about that incident in the hospital when he’d been given an experimental drug that left him physically paralyzed and hallucinating. He’d well and truly forgotten about those seventeen days from hell until a few weeks ago.

Though he freely ingested sake and other alcohol until his body was numb, he eschewed drugs, even when they’d be free to him in prison. But that night, about three weeks ago, the alcohol wasn’t sufficiently desensitizing him to his pain and loneliness. He’d taken the offered opiate from a fellow bar-hopper as a last resort, definitely a big mistake. His hallucinations had turned horrific and when the drug wore off and he’d finally gotten to sleep, the hospital memory/nightmare had burst forth.

Some of the orderlies had found it amusing to torture him while he lay in that state. They’d swirled lit cigarettes at him and watch his eyes widen in fright. They’d dropped large insects on his chest or arm, laughing when he’d soil himself in fear. They’d…touched him inappropriately, knowing that he couldn’t defend himself, nor report the molestation…

Even some of the doctors took turns torturing or humiliating him. That prick Saito would cut him very lightly with a scalpel, and watch the slight wound intently, knowing of Tsuzuki’s uncanny ability to heal quickly. As the paralysis hadn’t included a deadening of his nerve endings, Tsuzuki had felt every slice. Saito had tended to frequent Tsuzuki’s thighs, neck, ankles and biceps, meaning the pain had a tendency to be sharp and intense. Had Dr. Muraki not caught Saito torturing him a little over a week into Tsuzuki’s paralysis, he’s certain that the torment would have continued.

He sighed to himself. Why was he thinking about this now? It wasn’t like he could tell Konoe any of that.

“Mr. Fukiyoma?” Dr. Konoe interjected.

“Y-yes, Sir,” he stuttered, raising his head from where he’d dropped it to his chest forlornly.

“This is nothing to be ashamed of, Mr. Fukiyoma,” he soothed, placing a fleeting hand on Tsuzuki’s shoulder. “It happens sometimes, especially to those who take themselves so seriously.”

Tsuzuki smirked. Of course he took himself seriously. He was only still alive because of a personal promise to stay that way.

“The reason I called you out here, Mr. Fukiyoma,” Dr. Konoe continued, “is because I believe you could benefit from a mentor to assist you with your mental discipline, and I have just the man in mind. With his help, I’m certain you would finish your dissertation in no time.”

Tsuzuki eyed the smiling man questioningly.

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Wow!

That was...

He’d never felt...not from...

Panting heavily, he laid beneath the man, clutching at him almost desperately, legs still wrapped around the warm body above him. Slowly, the arm tight around Tsuzuki’s waist loosened as the hand on his rear also lost its firm grip. A low moan and an empty feeling accompanied the form sliding out of him, settling into a more comfortable position at his side. Tsuzuki snuggled against the wide chest, an unexpected feeling of contentment covering him. A warm hand slid lazily through his sweat damp hair.

“See, I told you it would be alright,” the other commented, adding a light kiss to Tsuzuki’s forehead.

“Seii,” he whispered, “I...I...”

“Shh,” the calm voice replied, brushing his lips lightly. “Rest. We’ll talk later.”

“Mmm” Tsuzuki mumbled, snuggling further into the warm embrace, sleep quickly claiming him.

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Tsuzuki’s thoughts were swirling. How had it come to this?

He’d needed help to finish his thesis and Dr. Konoe had put him in touch with a former student, suggesting that the man could help him regain his focus. His would-be mentor had graduated from Kyoto University with degrees in Business and Finance and held the position of Finance Manager for the entire Kyoto government!

Upon meeting Tatsumi Seiichiro, Tsuzuki had been more intimidated by the man’s imposing aura than by any yakuza or jail inmate he’d ever encountered.

“M-Mr. Tatsumi,” he’d stuttered with a jerky bow.

“Mr. Fukiyoma,” the tall figure had responded with a textbook perfect bow.

Tsuzuki had stood there another five or ten minutes, unable to speak. Piercing, royal blue eyes had studied him, convincing Tsuzuki that the man could see his barely held in check trembling. Tsuzuki swore that he’d seen a smirk of satisfaction cross the financier’s face before he’d directed him to take a seat, Tsuzuki nearly falling onto the soft couch behind him. They’d then shared a pot of tea and taken their first steps as a team

‘And somehow we got here,’ Tsuzuki mused, watching his love happily making breakfast for the two of them.

His lover.

Seii had promised that Tsuzuki would enjoy his first time as a willing uke, and he’d been absolutely right. With kindness, it was a completely different experience. Kindness made all the difference.

“And love,” he whispered to himself, eyes lingering on the yukata clad form in front of him.

He couldn’t deny it anymore. Despite his best efforts not to, he’d fallen in love with the man padding around in his small kitchen, deeply in love. He’d been in love with Seii for nearly two years.

After finishing his dissertation and successfully defending it five years ago, he and Mr. Tatsumi continued to spend time together as friends instead of mentor and student. They enjoyed many of the same foods and shared a particular passion for chess, though Tatsumi bested him regularly. They also both liked to do Origami, Tsuzuki being the master in that arena.

Tatsumi introduced him to Tai chi, which benefited Tsuzuki immensely. The meditative art had settled his mind and spirit much more that he’d expected. Its forms required a lot of concentration, but the resulting ‘mind quiet’ proved reward enough for his hard work. He had moved quickly though the basics and onto intermediate, impressing even Tatsumi, who’d been an avid practitioner for more than twenty years.

It was after an evening out of drinking that Tsuzuki had unwittingly discovered their mutual attraction.

After a light dinner, they’d retired to Tatsumi’s apartment for a few games of chess and a little more sake to close out the night, as had become their custom. Feeling bolder than usual, though nowhere near drunk, Tsuzuki had suggested a friendly wager of a few thousand yen on their last game of the night. Tatsumi had accepted and promptly whipped his ass.

In four moves.

Eyes wide with surprise, Tsuzuki had known then that Tatsumi had been humoring him for years and was as much a master of chess as he was Tai chi.

“Well? Pay up!” Tatsumi had smirked, leaning back and crossing his arms with a smug grin.

Suddenly, Tsuzuki’s body had taken over and by the time his mind had cleared, he’d crawled across the chessboard, scattering the pieces all over the floor, and locked lips with his friend. Abruptly remembering himself, he’d pulled back in horror and scrambled up from the floor, stumbling toward his shoes in the front hall.

Homosexuality was completely unacceptable in polite society and Tsuzuki had just ‘outed’ himself; well, in a way since he wasn’t actually homosexual.

“Not that it matters,” he’d scolded himself as he’d shoved his feet into his shoes and grabbed his coat, in too much of a hurry to put either on properly.

When Tatsumi had grabbed his arm and pulled him into a hungry kiss, Tsuzuki had been completely caught off guard. Though they hadn’t gone any farther than several great kisses and mutual groping on the couch before Tsuzuki had eventually gone home, that night marked their beginning.

Their relationship eventually moved beyond oral sex and mutual masturbation. In their first encounter, Tatsumi had been forced to relinquish the role of seme to Tsuzuki after seeing the stark fear in Tsuzuki’s eyes as he’d tried to spread his lover’s legs. Tatsumi simply guided Tsuzuki for his first experience as seme and hadn’t asked Tsuzuki about his reaction. Even now, after finally switching roles, Seii had allowed him to keep that secret.

As Tatsumi brought their breakfast to the table with a smile, Tsuzuki again wondered what the man was doing with him. That this well-known financial guru, who had even advised those in the service of the Emperor, would be sitting in the poor apartment of a former mental patient, murderer and convict, content to chat and eat after a night of intense lovemaking boggled him. He didn’t even know Tsuzuki’s real name!

A despondent frown landed on Tsuzuki’s face at that revelation. Tatsumi know nothing about him. The warm caresses and professions of caring were for a man who didn’t exist.

With a muffled sob, he thrust away from the table, slamming himself into the bedroom.

The comforting hand in the middle of his back a few minutes later only made him more despondent and he buried his face in the pillows of his un-made bed.

“Yuuri, what’s wrong?” Tatsumi attempted soothingly.

“Don’t call me that!” Tsuzuki choked.

“Then what should I call you?” Tatsumi whispered, momentarily taken aback.

Tsuzuki decided that he might as well get it over with, since he didn’t really deserve a man like Tatsumi anyway.

“M-my name isn’t Fukiyoma Yuuri,” he confessed into the damp pillow. “It’s Tsuzuki Asato. I-I’m a murderer. I spent 15 years in jail in Nagasaki until right before the bomb. I came here to start over.”

The hand lifted from his back.

“Why are you telling me this?” Tatsumi murmured.

Resigned to his fate, Tsuzuki rolled over to face his first true love.

“Because you deserve to know,” he offered dejectedly.

Tatsumi stood slowly, his usual power and grace completely absent while he dressed. As the front door closed, Tsuzuki rolled back onto his stomach and sobbed.

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A month passed without any contact from Tatsumi, not that he’d honestly expected to hear from his love. That part of his life was over now. Destroyed. If he’d just kept his mouth shut…

No, he loved Seii too much to continue with the lie. They’d had five wonderful years together, three of them as lovers as well as friends. That had been more than enough time taken from Tatsumi’s life; more than enough time wasted on a man who’d killed his own sister.

Trudging home through the chilly night, he pulled the collar of his coat up over his ears, hoping to stave off the icy blasts of winter wind. He’d spent the last few hours drowning his sorrows in sake as he had every night for the last few weeks. Not that it helped. It had actually started to become a bit of a problem since he’d been late to his first class four times in the last two weeks and was honestly in danger of losing his Assistant Teacher position in the History Department.

“Once more this month and I may have to dismiss you, Mr. Fukiyoma,” the head of the department had scolded just that morning. “You have a promising career in teaching if you would take it more seriously.”

“Yes, Sir,” he’d replied, suitably admonished.

Hunching deeper into his coat and cursing himself for not wearing a hat, he turned onto his street and headed up to his apartment building.

He’d barely gotten his shoes off and hung up his coat when he heard a light knock on his door. Glancing at his watch, he wondered who could be coming by at that hour. There were at least three of his students who knew that showing up at 1:00 am wouldn’t bother him. He opened the door, expecting one of them.

“Where the hell have you been?” A shivering Tatsumi snapped. “I’ve been waiting out here for almost three hours!”

“S-Seii?” Tsuzuki stood frozen by the sight of his beloved.

Impatiently, Tatsumi pushed past Tsuzuki and into the apartment, slamming the door behind him. Quickly kicking off his shoes and hanging his coat and hat, he headed into the kitchen to start the water for tea, leaving a dumfounded Tsuzuki in his wake. Once the water was heating on the stove, he stepped slowly toward Tsuzuki.

“Well, Asato,” he intoned quietly, surprising Tsuzuki with his true given name. “Don’t I a least get a hug?”

Tentatively, Tsuzuki started forward, finally throwing himself into Tatsumi’s arms, tears streaming. Tatsumi held him tightly, eventually leading Tsuzuki to the couch to continue comforting him. The teapot’s whistle was forgotten as comfort turned to kissing and then to passion, culminating in Tsuzuki’s second uke experience on the living room floor, hastily grabbed cooking oil used for lubrication.

“I don’t care who you are,” Tatsumi gasped into Tsuzuki’s ear as he moved in slow circles inside the slightly smaller man’s tight passage. “I love you. I love you, Asato.”

Tsuzuki replied with a quiet whimper as he clung to Tatsumi’s shoulders, opening himself as much as he could when Tatsumi resumed his thrusting.

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“Why did you come back?” Tsuzuki whispered as they cuddled in his warm bed after a quick shower.

“I told you why,” Tatsumi replied comfortingly. He lightly kissed Tsuzuki’s eyelids, cheeks and lips.

“B-but I’m a criminal!” Tsuzuki blurted.

“Were a criminal,” Tatsumi corrected. “And knowing you as I do, I’m certain that you must have had a very good reason for what you did. I don’t condone it, but you’ve served your time according to the law, so who am I to question?

“I...y-you don’t understand,” Tsuzuki whispered, clutching tighter to Tatsumi’s shoulder.

Tatsumi lifted the emotionally stricken face to his.

“Do you love me, Asato?”

“Yes,” Tsuzuki replied without hesitation.

“Then that’s all I need to know.” Tatsumi’s soft kiss graced his lips. “Now go to sleep. We both have work in the morning.”

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He’d attended the funeral, but only as Seii’s best friend, not his beloved. No one outside of either of their households knew about that aspect of their relationship but them.

They were very discrete, going so far as to ‘double date’ on occasion and in Tatsumi’s case, to finally accept an arranged marriage with a business partner’s daughter. Though the two never actually consummated their marriage, the woman bore “Tatsumi” a son two years later, which Tsuzuki and Tatsumi had found quite amusing. The woman never told anyone the truth to avoid the scandal and the man who’d been her lover was paid handsomely to go away.

Staring at the slate gray headstone, Tsuzuki found himself in tears again. It had been six months since Tatsumi collapsed at work, dead from a stroke and a massive heart attack before he hit the floor. He was 45. They’d had ten years of bliss together, but it still wasn’t enough.

Dropping to his knees and then falling helplessly into a heap, Tsuzuki sobbed for the loss of the only other person besides Ruka that he’d loved with his entire being. Tatsumi Seiichiro had loved Tsuzuki Asato, the murderer and former mental patient without question. How could he go on without that unconditional love in his world?

He lay there in his sorrow for hours, undisturbed by the other visitors on this day of Tatsumi’s birth. Everyone knew how deep their friendship ran, most liking their connection to that of twin siblings, so Tsuzuki’s intense grief was expected.

Slowly he pulled himself up from the ground, dirt clinging to his dark pants and white shirt and smudged with tears around his face.

“Good-bye, Seii,” he whispered hoarsely, touching the stone lightly.

Today would be his last in Kyoto. He’d sold most of his possessions over the last few weeks, the lease on his apartment expiring at the end of the month, and he’d resigned as a Japanese History professor at Kyoto University. He couldn’t stay in Kyoto any longer. It was too painful.

Fukiyoma Yuuri would be forgotten, Tsuzuki Asato too. He would start all over again.