Chapter Text
“A 26-year-old man presents to the emergency department at— “ The digital red watch held high above the central hub, where nurses chatter amongst themselves and doctors flow in and out of, glares the time at me.
Sitting on my ass with a transcriber stealing words from my mouth onto the computer, I shoot it an equally withering glare back. “—1:16 am. after being involved in a high-speed motor vehicle collision. He is hemodynamically stable with temp 37.0°C, HR 63, BP 100/70, RR 10. The pupils are equal and sluggish. There are multiple bruises and lacerations over the face, trunk, and right upper and lower extremities. Glasgow coma scale was less than 8, so intubated and placed on ventilation— “
“Dr. Reader!” Angel, the charge nurse, swirls in the center hub. She taps her pen against the side of her clipboard, a daunting noise that plays a countdown to my misery. Groaning, I drop my head away from my transcriber, fingers interlocked over my sloppy bun in a pathetic hope to hide. “Patient in Room C’s guardian is here!”
A low groan leaves my mouth, similar to every breath I’ve emitted ever since I clocked in. Night shifts are the worst, especially when you’re a second-year resident and told to budge on an even higher workload. Gone were the days in medical school where I could stand in the corner of the room, twiddling my thumbs and answering rapid-fire questions from my seniors. If I were lucky, I would be in triage dealing with the menial cases, but now those are often handed to first-year residents under one attending, who made it ever more tolerable. It helped that Dr. Satoru – the said attending – was a pretty man to look at.
Gone were those days.
“Reader.” A firmer voice calls from right above my head. I stiffen like a rod, shooting up straight with a tight smile.
“Dr. Shoko!”
Dr. Shoko is a stark beauty of her own. Long dark hair falls straight to the breast pocket of her white coat, dark lips constantly pulled straight, yet now the smudge of eyeshadow twinkles with a sick amusement. Crossing her arms onto the counter and leaning forward, she asks, “Don’t tell me you’re shirking your duties?”
“What?” I sing out, stretching my arms above my head and exaggerating a yawn. “I must’ve snoozed while charting. Did someone call for me?”
My chair jolts as a presence passes behind me. Twirling without my permission, I’m faced by Megumi — a disgruntled first-year resident who’s been the bane of my existence since July. With an annoying smirk, he sits across and unclips his lunchbox. “I saw you duck when Angel called.”
My eyes narrow. “And I saw you gag behind your mask while cleaning a patient’s bum-hole.”
Megumi’s face scrunches in distaste, lowering the sandwich from his mouth. “Fuck you.”
“Too young. No thanks.”
“I’m glad to see such buddying friendship from my dear residents.” Dr. Shoko’s voice sweetens, which means the next sentence will always fall flat. “Reader. Room C. Fushiguro, back to triage.”
With a victorious smirk and a click to log out of the computer, I grab the clipboard with my patient’s file. Threading through the hub, my eyes flicker quickly over his details. It helps that I just started charting the man’s details, which reminds me to look at the head CT results. Neurosurgery consult should be down soon, and God, if they send down another intern, I’m going to fucking—
“—twenty-seven miles over the damn speed limit!” Escalated voices snap my head up.
A policeman stands before the entrance to Room C – blue-suited, fat, and with more shiny skin on his head than hair. He stands as tall as he can but is still has to look up with an ugly face at a black-suited man.
“Officer, lower your voice.” Stern words said by an exhausted voice. I slow my approach, pretending to add notes to the corner of my patient’s file. Assessing the situation before engaging. “My client is currently receiving medical care— “
“I demand to question him— “
“This is a hospital, not your interrogation room. He is injured and possibly medicated— “
The gap between the men shortens. Words clip shorter, and hands form fists. Before any limbs start flying, I slide into the picture with a smile.
“Men, please! There’s enough of me to go around!” I spread my arms to the side, eyebrows raised in an effort to make it obviously look like a joke. Can’t confirm I succeed, considering both of them look at me like I’m a jester doing cartwheels in court. I’ll give myself an A for effort.
“Anyways, I’m here to meet Mr. Mateo Carenza’s guardian— “I take a quick glance at my file. “Mr. Higuruma? And I’m assuming that’s not you.” I point the tip of my ballpoint pen at the policeman, whose pale skin reddens.
“No, I’m Officer Williams, and I’m here to— “
“Officer Williams!” My eyes brighten and my smile widens. “You look a bit flushed; perhaps you’d like to sit down?”
With all my attention on the officer, the suited man takes a step back. Seemingly placated.
“No! I’m going to stay right here— “
“Let’s be very clear here.” I startle at the man’s sudden intrusion. I was wrong to rule out his disengagement. His intimidation strikes out with a hand held up, pointing at the officer with authoritative malice. “Crashing into a pole after a pursuit does not suspend constitutional rights. He has the right to remain silent. He has the right to an attorney. I am that attorney.”
The tension I worked so hard to dissipate thickens right back up. Every inch of mirth falls from my face as they continue to argue right in front of me. With a deep inhale, I mimic the attorney’s play. Holding up a hand to pause their argument, though I’m not sure how much authority a woman in wrinkly grey scrubs holds.
“Ok, men. That’s enough. Officer Williams, what exactly are you trying to do here?” I shift my weight onto one hip, resting my hand on it too. “Clearly, you don’t have a warrant, so the only options you have right now are to either sit down in the waiting room or stand by the wall and guard him. Quietly, mind you. This is a hospital with many more issues than one man’s speeding ticket. Is that understood?”
Officer Williams’ face doesn’t get any less red, but at least he grumbles himself into silence. Once the policeman bumbles his way to the waiting room, I shift to face the attorney. “Mr. Higuruma, as much as I appreciate you advocating for your client, escalating an argument with a police officer never ends productively. I’d assume you of all people would understand that.”
Once facing the man, my words soften as I reprimand. The fatigue I feel deep in my bones from weeks of night shift, I see plain as moonlight on Mr. Higuruma’s posture. Dark strands of hair fall messily by his creased brow, grey tinging the bottom of his eyelashes and his shoulders slope down as if collapsed under the weight of his blazer. All features that don’t exactly equate to attractiveness, yet I find myself intrigued. Even looking as exhausted as he clearly is, Mr. Higuruma is a beautiful man.
Objectively, of course.
“Forgive me.” Mr. Higuruma sighs, eyes fluttering closed as he runs his thumb over them. “It’s late, but that’s no excuse.”
I hum non-concomitantly, giving him a once-over as discreetly as possible before pushing the glass door open with my shoulder. I greet the nurses by Mr. Carenza’s bedside, rubbing a stinging disinfectant into my hands. I nod over Mr. Higuruma, allowing him into the room. “So, an attorney as his emergency contact. Is that your only relationship with Mr. Carenza?”
“Yes.” Mr. Higuruma’s gaze stays on the patient as soon as he enters the room. He slides off his blazer, and I try to ignore the flex of his muscles as he does so. “His immediate family passed away recently in an incident. I’m the attorney in charge of the case.”
“Must be a long case if he’s comfortable enough to have you down as his emergency contact.” I note, dropping my gaze to his poorly buttoned sleeves. They ruffle up higher on his forearm, revealing thick lines of muscles that end with large hands with hints of calluses on his palm.
“Mr. Carenza, how are you? Your attorney is here to meet you!” I speak loudly, locating the portable computer at the other end of the room. I smile down at Mr. Carenza as I walk across, noting the dark bruise on his temple. Huh. Forgot to mention that in my chart.
Mr. Carenza’s head lolls to the side, where Mr. Higuruma’s fingers nimbly work to fold up his sleeves up to his elbow. After completing that horribly distracting task, he clasps Mr. Carenza’s hand in his gently. “Mateo, hey. Heard you did something stupid again.”
Despite Mr. Higuruma’s weary appearance, his voice is soft and kind. With an attentive gaze flooded with concern, skepticism escapes me. Working in the emergency department sometimes leads to unsatisfied customers, which usually leads to having to make an annoying appearance in court. As scary as it was the first time, it’s usually not that bad once the judge realizes that you’ve adhered to the standard guidelines of care. You get off scot-free, and the patients get off with more hypertension than they were admitted with. So, there’s a good mix of pissy attorneys, but Mr. Higuruma doesn’t act like any of the ones I’ve met.
As I log in my details into the computer, I keep the two men in my periphery. Any tension that seized Mr. Higuruma’s shoulders while arguing with the officer has melted away. He has the most focused look at Mr. Carenza, speaking soft reassurances that go deeper than a simple client-lawyer relationship.
It’s such an endearing scene, I nearly miss the notification on my screen. Imaging returns from radiology —excellent. Radiology has a bad rep for being slow as fuck during night shifts, which personally I don’t understand. Isn’t it always night shift for them, considering they lock themselves up in those dark-ass rooms—
Oh, fuck.
“Rahul, what’s the ETA on neurosurgery consult?” I ask, trying to keep panic in my voice to the minimum.
“They said the soonest they can come down is in an hour— “ Rahul, a nurse, adjusts the IV fluid rate before turning to me. In doing so, giving him a direct view of my screen. “Fuck. Is that— “
“Yep.” I swallow, shoving away the computer and rushing to the bedside. “Prepare for burr hole. Mr. Carenza, hi!”
“What’s going on?” Mr. Higuruma shoots an alarmed look, but I ignore it for clicking the light at the end of my pen into Mr. Carenza’s eyes. Even without it, I can see the asymmetrical change in his pupil size. My heart starts to race in my chest, but with a stable voice and hands, I commandeer the nurses in the room to prepare for burr hole surgery.
“It’s a small procedure that requires a drill into the side of his head to relieve tension on his brain.” I start to explain to Mr. Higuruma. His eyes widen just slightly, but he moves out of the way as Dr. Shoko, nurses, and I suit up in sterile dressings. “Right now, there’s blood compiling there, right by the bruise you can see on the side of his forehead. If it keeps doing so, it might press down on some important structures that are responsible for Mr. Carenza’s breathing and heart rate. This is just a preventive treatment. Should be quick and easy!”
The smile I shoot Mr. Higuruma is supposed to be reassuring, but then Dr. Shoko asks low and direct into my ear, handing me the drill, “Have you ever performed a burr?”
“Nope.” My voice falling somberly flat.
The next few minutes pass in a blur. Time pauses yet speeds up at the same time. I see everything in higher definition, eyes stuck to the shaven side of Mr. Carenza’s head that shines bronze from the sterilization. Dr. Shoko’s voice is stable, unshaken by the emergency of the case, guiding me step-by-step on how to perform the procedure. The drill vibrates threateningly in my hand. Fine, white mist floats up from the incision made, and it’s a strange smell. Nothing as horrid as cauterization, but it’s weird enough to have me cringing behind my mask.
Before I know it, the drill is out of my hands, the drain is placed into the hole I punched into Mr. Carenza’s head, and blood slowly flows into it.
“Respiratory rate is stabilizing!” Rahul calls out, and I rip off my blue surgical scrubs and shove them into the trash.
“Looks good.” I turn to Dr. Shoko after trashing my bloody, sterile gloves and pulling off the mess of my hair bun at the back of my head. “Neurosurgery said they’ll take an hour, but we need him in their ICU asap.”
She nods, taking out her phone from her scrub pocket. “I’ll get on that. Hopefully speed up the process. Good call, Dr. Reader.”
I give her a knowing look, running my fingers through the countless tangles in my hair. “Delayed call. I didn’t catch the bruise on his temple, and he was already in the lucid interval. He could’ve passed in the CT room.”
“Bruises can take a while to form, and the lucid interval can fool even the senior residents.” Dr. Shoko reassures, phone pressed to her ear. She passed by me to exit, not before pressing her palm on my shoulder. “Don’t waste your time hung up on the ‘what if’s. You did well.”
I sigh, nodding at the empty space she left behind. Dr. Shoko isn’t known to be a nice attending, especially if Dr. Satoru is the standard. She’s a stern woman who is adamant and precise about treatment. However, compared to the other attending, Dr. Nanami, she’s less strict about the mistakes. Or maybe, with me, she doesn’t need to be. If I close my eyes, there’s a long laundry list of mistakes I’ve made ever since I’ve started working at the emergency department. Some I’ve learned from. Some that have brought me to tears. Some that I can’t forget, especially moments before sleeping.
“Regret is a powerful tool for reformation,” Dr. Nanami had once said during those mandatory mental health checks. For me, regret feels like a younger brother who keeps poking into your room no matter how hard you scream at it to leave.
“That was…something else.” A gravelly voice knocks me out of my thoughts.
Mr. Higuruma clenches his blazer in his hands, staring at me with an intensity that steals air from my throat. I clear it, nodding and diverting my attention to the computer. “Mr. Carenza’s care will be transferred to the neurosurgery department.”
“He’s stable now, right?”
Fuck, I should’ve started with that. I clench my eyes shut, rubbing my fingers between my tense brows, and nod. “Yes, yes. He’s stable. He’ll just be monitored until a doctor there can evaluate his further steps. Though, ortho will always be in touch because of the fracture to his right wrist.”
“I see.” Mr. Higuruma nods slowly. My skin prickles under his constant stare as I type up the rest of Mr. Carenza’s management. By the time I’m done, the nurses have left, and it’s just the two of us. And, well, Mr. Carenza, but he’s not exactly in any state to contribute to conversation.
My fingers slow on the keyboard once I finish my notes. My gaze slowly slides back to Mr. Higuruma, yet his does not falter. Silence envelopes us, and surprisingly, not the suffocating type. There are still the monitors that beep Mr. Carenza’s vitals, but they seem to blur into the background. The only thing heightened is Mr. Higuruma’s presence.
Contrary to common belief, I’m not any stranger to attractive men. Many have entered the emergency department, some even more attractive than Mr. Higuruma, but there’s something about the way he stands there that has me aching like never before. Like there’s this…understanding in the way his brow has relaxed and eyes widened at me. His worn-out appearance doesn’t put me off at all — if anything, from the strong jawline, prominent nose, and desirable height, he’s every bit my type. So, the fact that his eyes seem to penetrate deeper than just my skin, makes him standing before me thrum with anticipation.
“Dr. Reader.” He steps forward, clearing his throat and holding out his unlocked phone. “Unfortunately, I have to leave now, but may I have your contact so that you can keep me in the loop with Mateo’s progress?”
A typical excuse. Considering who he is, it’s more tempting than ever.
“He won’t be under my care anymore.” I apologize but tilt my head with a small smile. “And I don’t give my number to strangers.”
“I see.” He catches on, pocketing his phone with the slightest smirk. “Perhaps, I can give you my number. That way…”
Mr. Higuruma’s eyes wander down my body, and I pity the fact that I’m in scrubs. They’re never flattering. However, that doesn’t seem to dissuade him. His eyes gleam once they return to mine. “Ball’s in your court.”
A light laugh falls out of my mouth, and the corner of his lips quirks higher at that. “Right, well, Mr. Higuruma. There’s really no need for that.”
“Why not?” He asks. Mr. Higuruma doesn’t take a step closer, but his next words swirl around us and draw me closer into him. Low and catching on a raspy, subtle plea, “I’m not above begging.”
Fuck.
“I’m not into beggars.” I reply, but my voice is heavier. Mouth slightly parted with a heavy exhale and gives away how affected I am. Logging out of the computer, I find myself realizing that I don’t care. That I’m…enjoying this.
“As opposed to…?” Mr. Higuruma tilts his head, and I spend the seconds trailing his sharp jawline.
With a soft bite to my lip, I note an empty vial near Mr. Carenza’s bed. I grab it, taking a step closer to Mr. Higuruma until I can feel his sharp inhale against my brow. Leaning into his space to drop the vial into disposal, my eyes catch every contour of his handsome profile — the lines of his neck, the junction of his jaw meeting his ear, and the crook of his nose bridge before resting back into his dilated eyes.
“Lawyers?” I suggest, swallowing his shaky exhale.
Someone yells from the distance, penetrating the bubble surrounding us. “Code blue, I need help here!”
“I should go. But—” I smile, brushing past him. Even reaching the door, I just can’t look away. My heart trips when I see that neither can he, twisting his body to watch me leave and his blazer nearly slipping out of his grasp.
“You know where to find me.”