When Kyoya stirred, he found himself rather disorientated. He remembered having this intervention sprung on him, remembered that he'd gone to get some water, and everything went dark. Fuchsia spots danced in front of his eyes, and next thing he knew he was on the ground. He might've hit his head, there was an ache that felt like something trying to chisel away at his skull, but he wasn't sure.
What he did know, however, was that he actually felt warm. For a while now, it was like the chill had locked itself under his skin, frost replacing his bone marrow, but it wasn't there now. He just snuggled closer to the source of that delicious heat, wanting more, eyes tightly closed against the light threatening to pierce his skull and eyes painfully. There was also the case to be made that, as long as he was asleep, he didn't have to deal with any of the repercussions this was sure to have.
"What am I meant to do?" He heard someone say, but he couldn't tell who. It was all distorted, fading in and out and he wasn't sure he even wanted to know at this point, "Do I call the nurse? An ambulance? I mean, we know what it is. The stubborn jackass didn't eat lunch, wouldn't let me give him anything... Fuck."
Tamaki? He did remember the blond idiot being more incessant about how good the soup was than usual, trying to convince him to have some. Still, it was a fast day, and he couldn't spare the calories. It was maybe a little too far to push, but it all looked so neat and perfect, everything lined up in his journal and feeling so happy. Zero calories is good, negative calories are even better, but the jog he'd taken that morning was probably what pushed him over the edge.
"I don't know. I wasn't expecting him to just... collapse like that. I thought we could actually talk it out before it got to that point, but I guess we left it too long."
He was fine, they shouldn't worry so much. He was just... He didn't know. He didn't know anything. But it made him feel better than he had in months, every pound dropped feeling like an accomplishment, every goal he hit a rush of pride. Goal weights change, his body changes too, but he couldn't hate it. He didn't think of himself as fat, not at all. It wasn't like that, even if he knew - logically - that this was an eating disorder.
He wasn't dysmorphic, he just knew he could go thinner. Knew that another pair of ribs could emerge through his skin, that his hipbones could be sharper, that the hollows of his collar bones could still be deeper. Numbers were nice, safe, and always had been since he was young. Statistics, probability, profit. Usually the numbers were better the higher you went, but this was different. You go lower, and lower, and he hit one hundred and twenty pounds at break-neck speed and the adrenaline to match.
Still, people went for an even hundred, maybe less. It didn't matter that he was almost six foot, one hundred pounds sounded like pure dopamine. A surge, a high, a smile that strained his lips and made his cheekbones ache. It was the control he'd so often longed for - tiny portions, denying what others couldn't, neat figures all written in his lovely journal - but the sense of unpredictability that he'd sought from the host club - losing more and more, dizzy spells, cold, lanugo. He needed it, and a host had to look a certain way.
He couldn't be muscular like the other boys, having a delicate frame and sickly constitution, but he could be small. He could be thin and light, breakable. The ladies loved it, lusted after it, were jealous of it. He could be this. He was pretty, but also common. Black hair, glasses, nothing too special. A good bone structure, but an icy personality. While he understood that the "cool type" had its charm, you had to be beautiful to back it up. He was just good looking, whereas the others were almost ethereal.
He groaned when another stab of pain washed over him, burying his face into what he could now feel was a muscular pain of legs, feeling all too stiff and sore.
"Kyoya?" He heard Mori murmur, a rough hand shifting through his hair, "Are you awake?"
He nodded slightly, trying to push himself up on his shaking arms, but was quickly prevented from doing so. Probably for the best. If he got up to quickly, he'd likely black out again, and then his fate really would be sealed. How to get out of this was the question, not wanting to give up one of his only vices. It made him feel human and real, which he certainly wasn't interested in abandoning.
It was only about seventeen pounds to that even-hundred he'd set as his UGW. Really, what was that? What was seventeen pounds going to bring about that he didn't have already – except the thrill of accomplishment. He'd be fine, he always was.
Of course, some part of him recognised the bullshit he was feeding himself, swallowing it down like ice and cotton balls, trying to fill the empty pit he felt in his gut. Thin wasn't pretty, in reality. It wasn't oversized jumpers and sweater paws, it wasn't porcelain pale, it wasn't doll-like and beautiful. It was painful, and it was finding nothing that fit you properly, and it was finding chucks of black hair on his pillow, falling out in the shower, twined between the teeth of his comb.
But nothing made him feel this good. He loved every moment, he told himself, even when he was curled up tightly in bed, his stomach twisting so hard that it might cut itself in half. He really did. He was okay. He was better like this.
"What happened?" He croaked, finally, even though he knew. Even though they all knew. Play the innocent, try and get away with it, he was just so close. He was almost one hundred and fifty pounds only a few months ago, and now his goal was so, so close. He couldn't stop, didn't want to, but his friends would want it to stop. He didn't want them to take this away from him.
"You fainted, because you haven't been eating," Kaoru stated, words flowing uninterrupted, concern pinching his expression. Kyoya wanted to reach up and wipe it away, tasting something bitter in the back of his throat, but didn't. It was his body, so it was his own choice. Whereas some stuffed themselves to the brim, he chose not to partake in the smallest morsel. It was fine, really.
But they'd never see that.
"I've been sick…" He began, gaze flitting over his friends faces, trying not to let any hint of guilt shine through. Luckily, his mask was perfect, even long before this came into his life, "I've had no appetite, and I've been too nauseous. It's nothing to worry about."
Despite Mori's protestations, he managed to sit up, even if the world did fade dangerously for a moment or two. They couldn't see him laying there vulnerable, not if they were going to be convinced that he truly was alright. Because he was, the fainting spell notwithstanding.
"Kyoya, we know that's not what's going on," Haruhi began, her tone soft and dangerously close to maternal, "If that was really the case, you'd be honestly trying to eat more, especially with how much weight you've lost, but you're not. Please, just be honest with us, what's going on?"
Something surged inside his chest, reminiscent of vomit and bile but not exactly, his temper flaring as she shut down his excuses. It was an unfair reaction, especially considering that he was well aware he was lying through his teeth, but he couldn't help it. This felt all too intrusive, despite their effort to be gentle, and he wanted to keep this unpredictable control closer to his chest for a little while longer.
He felt better than ever with his head floating above his shoulders, with constant goals to strive towards, uncovering his bones so neatly and prettily. He didn't want it ripped away, not yet. Just a little while longer, a couple more weeks, and he'd hit his UGW. He'd stop then, an even hundred pounds, and he'd actually feel good enough for once.
"Nothing's going on, I'm fine," He huffed, the icy mask he usually donned thin and threatening to shatter, "I was only a little dizzy because of my hypotension, and I didn't eat because I knew I'd just vomit it all up. Really, you all worry far too much; it's nothing."
He felt a soft grasp around his thigh, looking down to find Kaoru's hand circling his bone-thin limb. A smile threatened to emerge, the fact that it seemed so easy to encircle it was like heroin, and he wanted more. Once he lost even more, it would only get easier. The gap between his thighs was already impressive, already close to what he saw late at night, browsing through the vast array of "thinsporation" the internet had to offer.
It was also killing two birds with one stone, being an adolescent boy who was between partners. The boys in those photos just looked so perfect, artfully dishevelled and collarbones cutting through paper-thin skin like knives. He wanted it. He wanted to be on par with that, with those who were successful in this self-destructive venture. It all looked so inviting, and he was so close.
He couldn't lay on his side anymore, his hipbones cutting into blood vessels and staining his pale skin black and blue. It hurt, of course, as did the pressure on his scapula. However, it was easy enough just to sleep on his back, or to fill up on black coffee and spend the night being productive.
"Stop lying," Hikaru cut in, voice hard, shaking slightly as he narrowed his eyes at Kyoya, "Stop trying to play it off like that. Stop exploiting the fact that no one wants to admit what you're doing to yourself. You think we're stupid? Well, we aren't the ones starving ourselves to death! Keep it up, and that's where you're going."
"Hikaru!" Tamaki cut in, just as loud, and Kyoya felt like the air was knocked from his lungs. Too loud, too explosive, too much. It was overwhelming, the water-level rising and ingulfing his head, drowning him in noise, "That's not going to help, so calm down."
Kyoya pushed himself to his feet, hand shoved in his pocket to retrieve his phone to call Tachibana, gritting his teeth against the awful pain in his knees. He needed out. He needed to be away from here, from this questioning, from this concern. The words kept ringing in his head, lodging in his throat and obstructing his airway; "we aren't the ones starving ourselves to death". It wasn't that bad, he wasn't that far gone, and he knew the risks.
He knew anorexia had the highest mortality rate of any mental illness, but that wasn't him. He was going to stop when the numbers were all neat and perfect, and he had the self-control and willpower to follow through. He knew he wasn't fat, he could just be thinner. He just didn't want to gain weight. He didn't want to lose the control he'd found.
"Kyoya," Kaoru began, surging forward and snatching his wrist in an effort to prevent him from leaving, and he was too weak to break the hold. Kaoru was strong, and he wasn't. His blood glucose was low, likely his pulse and blood pressure as well, and his body ate up what little muscle he had to keep his heart beating. It was all expected, nothing was a surprise, yet at that moment the fact that he could die was repeating in his head.
But he knew the damn risks! He'd be fine! He just had to get away from the judging stares and words of his friends, had to find some room to breathe, and it'd be okay. He just needed to clear his head, and not a single person in this room was letting him.
"Let me go," He seethed, quiet and dangerous. Despite his body being fragile and his bones so light they could be as hollow as a bird's, his personality was still intimidating. He was still the fucking shadow king, and they shouldn't forget that. He was still an Ootori and someone with more influence than your average, waif-like seventeen year old.
"Kyoya, please… Please let us help you," Kaoru pleaded, tears shining in his eyes that were just so genuine, but the sentiment was all wrong. They didn't understand, they could never, and he gritted his teeth harder with every incorrect assumption that was offered up.
"You're in over your head, and that's okay…"
"You're sick now, but we'll help you get better…"
"You've lost control, so we'll just get you back on track…"
"Shut up!" He screamed, finally loosing his cool and turning on Kaoru, glaring. He almost looked rabid, he could sense that in the way that Kaoru looked at him – shocked and so, so scared – but he couldn't help it. They'd all run their mouths enough, and he couldn't take another botched analysis of his mental state. He needed to go, and he'd be as angry as he had to be.
He wretched his wrist from Kaoru's grasp, gone weak with shock, and turned his back on his friends. He'd have to hide for a little while, as they were sure to follow when the shock of his explosive reaction calmed down, but it was fine. Tachibana would be there as soon as he was able.
"I'm perfectly in control," He stated, letting the door close behind him as he made his way to the entrance. Hopefully he could stay in one of the classrooms there before Tachibana came to collect him, evading the club.
Evading his friends. The people who were worried about him.
But that didn't matter. He could apologise, when he was calmer and they had time to realise that he didn't need to be worried over. He was okay. Really.
A/N: So, that's the end of pretty! Of course, this is going to be a series, so keep an eye out for sequels (yes, plural, I'm crying). Please leave reviews and the like, they really help me out, and thank you for reading. See you next time!
