For These Scars
~Chapter 27~
Written by: RinoaDestiny
King of Fighters, Kyo Kusanagi, Iori Yagami, Saisyu Kusanagi, and Benimaru Nikaido belong to SNK
"Yagami-san, how are you feeling?"
It'd been a close call. All he remembered before was rain and more rain, cold wet silver and then the police box in his vision before everything went dark. He'd almost made it home, but his body couldn't take the strain anymore. The police must've called for an ambulance, taken him inside the small shelter and waited until emergency services arrived. His second time in the hospital, Iori reflected, staring at the ceiling. Illness prevented him from delving into bitterness; he didn't have energy for it.
The nurse standing nearby asked him again, voice gentle. He turned his face towards her.
"What day is it?"
"Thursday. You've been here since early morning."
He turned to look out the window, at the gray afternoon with its overcast sky. Silver all around, drenching him to the bone and the fever that ensued. He must've looked terrible for the police to make an emergency call, to even consider that kind of immediate attention for him. He no longer knew what his appearance was like – just that he looked like a man with death lingering near, aware and resigned to his untimely fate.
Outside, rain continued to fall. He was disconnected yet again, trapped within walls.
Iori directed his attention back to the nurse. "Am I…is this…"
Am I dying for good here? Is this the end? Will I see…
He tried to sit upright but a sudden dizziness sank him back onto his pillow. Heat fluctuated, fierce and unyielding, coming down upon him in waves and Iori cursed it while clinging onto consciousness. If only it would leave him, would give him some respite, then…then maybe he'd have a chance of…. There was rapid beeping and sweat dampened his hair while soaking the sheets. Through it all, the illness ravaged him whole. Everything ached – soreness pulsated in the back of his skull, each one a stabbing pain – and dryness permeated his throat. Yet, there was a chill in his bones and the ice and heat waged war within his weakening body.
You're not coming back from this.
Somehow, he knew. This illness – his exposure to the elements – had hastened his deterioration. How many days did he have left now? After this?
I need to see Kyo. I can't just…
Dying in a hospital bed wasn't how he wanted to go. He needed to see Kyo again – to staunch that unending ache in his soul. Only then…only then could he rest, outside and away from people. His death would be discovered days later but it wouldn't matter by then. Kyo would move on – had others in his life; had a future beyond what he could offer. Kyo was a fighter and he never gave up. Iori knew Kyo would win that fight, so he wasn't worried.
But if he wanted to see Kyo again…
Iori struggled to keep his eyes open, to focus on what was in front of him. A blank wall. The ceiling. If he wanted to see Kyo again, he couldn't stay here. He needed to…needed to check himself out ahead of schedule and against the doctor's orders.
Saturday. The public "meeting" was on Saturday.
It was Thursday afternoon and he was weak, tired, and febrile. Couldn't lift himself out of bed. He needed to be able to do that by Friday, or else he wasn't making it to the park. He wouldn't see Kyo again if he remained bedridden – if he succumbed to his fever.
He couldn't die like this. Wouldn't.
He'd fought the toughest fight in his entire life – almost two months – and all his other battles paled in comparison to it. With those, he'd been at his height and everything fell away from him because of brute force. He'd been strong, then and intimidating. With this, though…after what Saisyu did to him, strength was no longer applicable. Brute force did nothing against lack of appetite, constant feverish temperatures, near full body burns, and continual sapping of his energy. Everything he took for granted had to be regained day by day; he barely scraped by sometimes. It was an arduous fight and he was still here.
Still fighting it, still battling against the day when defeat was imminent.
He used to be a fighter in the physical sense, back when he had the stamina for it. Now, though…now, the fighting was in an aspect he was unused to, where he didn't have advantages against his obstacles. His allies were few, his options limited, and everything that once gave him joy were taken away until there was nothing left.
Nothing but Kyo, which was really all that mattered.
It'd always been about Kyo. That'd never changed.
The nurse was by his side. The doctor was with her – an older man with wrinkles in his face. Not Doctor Yamashita but he wasn't in the burn unit anymore and this wasn't even the same hospital. He couldn't read the man's name tag – his vision faded in and out – so all Iori could do was listen as the doctor gave instructions to the nurse. There was an IV drip in his hand, which meant fluids.
Fluids would prolong his life. For how long, though, was the question.
He still needed to eat. That urge was growing less urgent as the days went by.
The doctor said something. The nurse responded.
Iori closed his eyes. Fell into darkness and silence.
It was evening when he was gently awakened by the nurse running her shift on his floor. The hospital had prepared a meal for him – soft foods and soup. He tried to sit up but his limbs were heavy as if burdened with weights, so the nurse helped him. As she did, he felt an absence around his neck and panic seized him. Iori glanced around the small room, looking for the gleam of chrome and gunmetal steel. "My rings…where are they?"
The woman stopped mid-motion, gaze flicking over to a small stand tucked in the nearest corner. He followed her line of sight and glimpsed the barest hint of metal. He must've looked desperate, because she released him, walked over to the stand, and came back with the rings still looped within the chain. Iori reached out for the rings – his hand was thin, bones visible – and took them, closing his fingers over cold steel.
The nurse was apologetic. "We had to remove them in order to do the X-ray." She bowed. "I'm sorry."
He didn't say anything. Simply felt where the rings once laid atop his sternum. X-rays. So they had his medical history. Knew about the shattered bone. They also knew about everything else.
"Yagami-san, please eat. The food will get cold."
Iori looked down at the tray in front of him. Thick rice porridge with dishes of pickled vegetables. A bowl of miso soup with chopped spring onions on top. No meat – nothing that required chewing. He ran his tongue over his teeth and gums. He wasn't that weak yet, was he? Were they simply looking out for him – feeding him comfort foods to fight off the fever?
The food looked good but he couldn't smell it.
It wasn't a great loss. He hadn't tasted anything for a while now.
There was a sound and the nurse moved away, exiting the room. She closed the door behind her, leaving him alone in the sudden quiet. Placing the rings down beside him, Iori picked up the chopsticks on the tray. His right hand trembled, fingers unsteady and he dreaded his lack of dexterity. Uncertain, he returned the utensils to their spot on the tray and cupped the bowl of soup in both hands. Even now, the chill permeated through him, extending into the tips of his fingers. Steam arose, hovering around his face – warmth against coldness, no longer uncomfortable.
He bent his head down and drank.
No taste – nothing – yet the sensation of soup going down his throat was wonderful. He was sweating despite the fever-induced iciness; for once, hot food didn't compound his misery regarding his body temperature. It stemmed off the cold for a few seconds, which was more than he expected. Finishing the soup, he put the bowl aside and reached for the rice porridge.
That, too, he finished; although, he got some of it on the blanket.
He wasn't interested in the pickled vegetables.
Iori pushed the tray further down the side of the bed, took his rings in hand, lay down, and pulled the blanket over him. There was a warm weight in his stomach dispelling the worst of the chill and he was drowsy. Steady beeps from the heart monitor accompanied him and he traced the interior of the smaller ring, the etched design silky smooth against his finger.
The sun. The moon. Linked – a full circle. Unified.
If only. If only they could without opposition.
Kyo. Kyo Kusanagi. His once rival, enemy, and the man he'd been determined to kill.
Saturday. He needed to make it there. To see him before…
Iori clenched his hand tight around the rings, the chain biting into the thin flesh of his palm. The back of his throat itched. Deep racking coughs followed, his slender frame shuddering from its violence. He set his teeth and buried his face into the pillow, resisting the urge to moan in anguish. His lungs were on fire, his diaphragm hurt, and his ribs felt fragile, ready to snap. Time was indistinguishable, passing in nightmarish slowness and when the worst was over, he was drained and limp, lying on sweat-soaked sheets.
Blood on the pillow, stark and crimson against pale fabric.
He wasn't making it past this.
No! I refuse to…it doesn't end here. Like this.
Saturday.
He was checking out tomorrow, even if it killed him. He had to see Kyo. Must.
The fight wasn't over yet.