Warning: This fanfiction deals with sensitive subjects, specifically, eating disorders.
I don't own anything related to SNK or Neo Geo, and I don't own Kyo and Iori... though if I did, I'd always be making them do lewd things to each other!
Enjoy!
At fifteen, Kyo should have been on top of the world.
He wasn't.
He had very little control over anything. Sure, he had a father who wanted nothing but to see him succeed and a mother who thought he could do no wrong. He had best friends who were interested in the same things he was and who were supportive of his hobbies.
He was the Junior National Champion of Japan's fighting league. And he played on one of the top ten nationally-ranked hockey teams. But he wasn't happy.
"You could lose a little weight, son," Saisyu said to him one evening over dinner.
"He's a growing boy," his mother said immediately, but Kyo was already staring down at his salmon, thinking suddenly that it would be nice to shed a few pounds. Just around the stomach area.
Sometimes, Kyo didn't eat dinner and sometimes, food tasted too good to skip so he'd eat anyway and throw it back up later. His parents wouldn't find out—he had his own bathroom.
By the time he was sixteen, he'd lost fifteen pounds and was down to eating dinner an average of three times a week. He told his mom that he had big lunches at school. His father didn't ask.
Still, it wasn't good enough, and Kyo found himself on a slow but steady calorie-reducing regime. He didn't want to move too fast, after all; he'd end up anorexic or something and he didn't want that to happen. He wasn't that obsessed with his weight, he just wanted to stay in shape like he should.
At seventeen, he began to lose all of the energy he used to be so proud of. Anything that took a lot of effort suddenly wasn't important anymore. He'd quit playing hockey. Kyo only wanted to stay in bed and sleep for most of the day.
He told himself it wasn't because he wasn't eating right, that it was because he was growing up and just didn't have the energy for stuff anymore. This happened when you got old.
His mother thought he was precious.
To his surprise, he found that he was beginning to resent his father, who always pushed him a little too far. There wasn't a damn thing wrong with laying around. He'd know—Sunday naps, munching around on whatever he wanted because he was middle-aged and he didn't have to hold the responsibility and the reputation of the Kusanagi name.
Fuck that, Kyo thought angrily as he got the letter telling him he'd have to repeat the grade because he'd missed too many days of school.
He wouldn't go next year, either.
Eighteen years old, and his life changed. He just didn't know it.
It was the summer of 1995 and he wasn't losing weight as quickly as he had a few years ago. He was still in school—one day he'd go back and finish, but right now he had a tournament to win.
And a brand-new, red-haired psychopathic killer/stalker to make his life complete. You couldn't be famous until you had one of those for your very own, right?
"You're a scrawny little thing," Yagami remarked one night when they weren't fighting, and they just happened to be at the same nightclub. "What, does big bad daddy Kusanagi not let his little prizefighter have an occasional nom-nom?"
"Stop talking to me like I'm three, Yagami," Kyo replied tiredly. To himself, he wondered how Yagami could eat those fries and still look so fit. "In fact, just stop talking to me altogether."
He stomped off to find a cab so he could get to bed, and failed to notice the spark of interest that had lit inside his new rival's eyes.
After that night, Kyo's life was a long blur, punctuated by long bouts of he-wasn't-sure-what and fights with Yagami.
Sometime between nineteen and twenty, he'd gone back to school and dropped out all over again. Now he was traveling the country—or so he told everyone; it was really his excuse to get away from his mother and his girlfriend, who had noticed his cocktail of diet pills and multivitamins at one point or another. He didn't want to face their questions so he took off to 'train.'
He'd gotten a student, then left that student behind, because as much as he thought he might be able to like the kid—he watched too much. Noticed too much.
Maybe he was getting a little too obsessive. But the dieting and the skipping meals wasn't working; he had to try something else. He was down to two meals a week (mostly salad, never any meat and God forbid he look at bread) along with the vitamins; he never drank anything but water, and still he wasn't happy.
Kyo couldn't drink. He was old enough but his weight was so low that he was drunk after the first one. It was too dangerous to try for two.
One night, he fell asleep in a bar and only woke up when he felt the robber slide his wallet back into his pocket. It was empty, with the exception of his identification. He started shaking from head to toe—he was a world-famous fighter, and that close to getting killed because he was too weak to stay awake on a night out.
He needed help. And he knew it. But he couldn't exactly check himself into a hospital—what would his father think? What would all of those people who watched the tournaments think? And he couldn't ask his mother for help; just picturing her reaction was enough to break Kyo's heart.
But there was one other person who could help him, if he'd agree. Someone who'd been following him for years, and who'd already seen the worst of him—and shoved it in his face at every opportunity.
He stood up from the table, propping himself up on his arms and waiting for the dizziness to subside. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten. Slowly, he stumbled outside, looking around for the familiar shadow that had been on his tail for the past... how many years had it been?
Like he knew, the older man stepped out of the background, coming to a stop in front of Kyo and staring down at him, waiting to see what he had to say.
"Yagami," Kyo managed, and the world went black.
When he woke up again, he was in a warm, high bed in a hotel somewhere. The lights were down low and his clothes were missing. For a minute, he panicked, and then turned his head to see Yagami sitting in a chair nearby.
"Welcome back, Kyo," he said. "It's been two days since you collapsed in my arms. It was romantic, but if you loved me that much, you could have just said something. I do accept flowers."
Somewhere in the older man's sarcastic tone, Kyo heard what he was looking for and smiled—Iori would help him. "Fuck you, Yagami. The only time I'll ever give you flowers is for your funeral."
"Which you aren't going to get to see if something doesn't change. I assume you came to me for that reason. We wouldn't want to ruin your perfect little reputation, am I right? Well, I took the liberty of ordering you soup and a salad. You're not leaving this room until I say, and you're not allowed in the bathroom by yourself or with the door closed until you can be trusted to keep your meal down."
"Isn't that a little unnecessary? You could just take my word for it."
"Like your mother took your word for it? I'd hate for her to find out about all this-"
"You don't even dare speak to my mother, Yagami," Kyo threatened, somehow finding the strength to sit up in bed to look more threatening. "I came to you so she wouldn't have to know."
"But if you don't agree to do what I say, then she's going to find out, Kusanagi."
There was never a point in time that it was an easy battle.
Yagami yelled at him, forced food down his throat until he thought he'd puke—normally, not because he wanted to—and along the way, served as a coach and sometimes a therapist.
And Kyo thought that maybe Iori didn't hate him as much as he let on.
He remembered one night when he'd snapped, forced for the first time in years to eat a burger, and even just the smell of the grease made him gag and run for the bathroom. There'd been nothing in his stomach to throw up, though (his body ran through every bit of nutrients he shoved down his throat) and he'd heaved until his throat felt raw and his eyes stung for no reason whatsoever.
Iori had followed him into the bathroom, and pulled him backward to rest between his knees. The man he thought was his psycho stalker wrapped his arms around Kyo's chest and held him there, letting Kyo use him as a cushion and occasionally as a handkerchief.
"I can't do this," Kyo swore over and over into Iori's collar, wishing his breathing would slow down, but it didn't. "I can't do this, Iori, it's disgusting."
"It's not disgusting. You can do this, Kyo, but not because I'm telling you to—because you want to. You just have to take one bite at a time."
And like a child, he'd let Yagami lead him back to the bed and feed him the burger. Half of a cheeseburger should never feel like a trophy, but when Kyo couldn't swallow any more, that was what it felt like.
He'd gained twenty-five pounds in the time that Yagami had been with him. He was ninety percent sure that the hotel maids thought they were sleeping together, although they hadn't. Iori had worked with him, showing him exercise and healthy eating and alternatives to starvation. He'd flushed Kyo's diet pills down the toilet. He'd invaded every bit of Kyo's privacy, and he'd been pounded on as a thank you for all of his hard work.
"I can't do any more for you," Iori announced one day, and Kyo glanced up in shock. "You should go home, Kyo. See your mother and your girlfriend, and show them something to be proud of. And give your father a big fat 'fuck you' from me if he says you've gained too much weight—because this is what you should look like, Kusanagi. Not too fat, but healthy."
"What about you?" Kyo asked, cocking his head to the side. Iori had been his only companion for a long time, and it seemed a little weird to just be leaving that. "What will you do?"
Iori shrugged. "Go back to being your psychopathic archnemesis. It's up to you, really."
He sounded so much like he didn't care. Kyo envied that, and just to test the theory, he didn't specify anything else.
"You look so healthy!" his mother exclaimed tearfully when he came home. "I can't see your bones anymore; training has done wonders for you!"
But as much as Kyo loved being home, he found himself missing Iori's constant company. He was at home, enjoying his mother's cooking for the first time in a long time, and all he wanted was to be back in a hotel room, screaming at Yagami for shoving greasy, fat food down his throat.
He had never even said thank you. And he should have, because now he was proud of the way his ass looked in a pair of jeans.
So he left again, not to train but this time to find Iori and say what he should have said the first time.
It didn't take long—Iori was never really far. He looked Kyo over and nodded in approval before sitting beside Kyo on the roof.
"Why did you help me?" Kyo blurted before thinking much.
Iori was silent for a few minutes. "Because you're worth it," he answered at last.
"I never said thank you."
"I never asked you to."
Kyo bit his lip, then leaned forward and pressed his lips against Iori's, lightly and quickly. Iori was surprised, but he kissed back.
"What was that for?" he asked when Kyo pulled away. "If that's your way of saying thank you-"
"I wanted to know what it felt like," Kyo interrupted. "I was with you for so long and I wondered, but I never could get past the—you know—to give it a chance."
Silence. Again. Kyo supposed he should get used to that. "Well, and what do you think?"
Relieved, he smiled. "I think... I'll have to do it again, because I didn't quite figure it out the first time."