Of Morons, Melancholy, And Med Students
1996, St. Anderson's Hospital, New York
He stood off the ledge of the hill, a rather forlorn of a fellow he was; messy locks of ruddy roan, all but disheveled in the wind; his eyes a mesmerizing blend of the glorious evening sun and scarlet. The young man wasn't resisting the cold; rather he let the winter embrace him. He was young and he knew that his bones wouldn't break from this.
"Cold." he muttered shortly.
Oh how the winter chill bit through his coat, the wind gusting, aching him to the bone as he gritted. Tired eyes that set off for the distance, above the glistening urban lights, all but blurred in snow. The height was tempting him, once again.
"Cold." he whispered under his breath once again, as he looked down below. His eyes were plastered on the snow covered pavement, eyebrows arched as he muttered by his breath, counting floors.
24 floors above the concrete.
17 floors from the treatment room.
13 floors above her hospital bedroom.
And only one floor above the mortuary.
His sole was an inch shy from the edges, the tip of his sole laggardly dragging his body, adding to his leaning posture to the perils of height, uncaring to the strong gust of wind. The height had wanted him to look down on it, because the skies, somewhat hopeful, seemed to reject his lifeless orbs. His violet orbs glared down to the pavement below.
24 floors to impending death.
"Are you going to jump...?" a voice called for him, far behind his back.
He didn't turn his head.
"No." the answer was simple, clear. The one in query shook his head, then gave a gesture. "You'll get a cold. So come in, I made some hot chocolate." the voice offered.
"I hope you didn't poison them, Karma." the young man replied, his voice wasn't snide as he would usually reply the other. Neither was he surprised that his colleague, somehow managed to found him a good twenty-three floors above necessary –wasting his precious break of all times. The walking mischief would usually be found stirring dissension in the cafeteria.
"Huh. Well that's weird coming from someone who looks like he could jump off the building any second." the voice belonged to a ginger haired young lad, at first glance would seem rather lanky, and tall. "Now, don't waste all that time studying to just be a bloody mess on the pavement." the grin grew mischievous.
"Apply yourself as an organ donor first and foremost, at least."
The roan haired young man snorted, his breath dissipated in the winter mist.
"Alright you unequivocal blabbermouth." he turned his head to the mischief.
"I will go inside."
The young lad was Gakushuu Asano; medical student by day, a hospital intern by night. An aspiring med student, and a brilliant one at that. He started as a true prodigy, even the majority of his faculty (although saying simply the majority would be simply derogatory) –perhaps even unanimously, predicted that he would end his studies as a genius with an award winning paper. A true scholar; he remarkably transferred from his hometown in Okayama with a recommendation from the head neurosurgeon of one of the most prestigious hospitals of the country -St. Anderson's Hospital. Being the only Japanese med student as of now, to intern in one of the prestigious hospitals in the country, if one should argue, was only further proof of his excellence.
Beggars can't be choosy, but Asano Gakushuu was the prime example of being chosen instead. He was special.
Meanwhile, the mischief that tried to interrupt his suicide attempt, or that what the other young lad had assumed, was Akabane Karma. His official, legal surname was Crveno. A Croatian born of a ginger haired father and a Japanese mother, who inherited his father's name instead. He hadn't disclosed that he was of Asian descent, more that he does not need to –his figures were rather ambiguous to even speculate he came from the Eastern regions of the hemisphere. Furthermore, his given name was odd as it is, the accent of his voice was blank-slated perfect, instead of heavily-dotted. Otherwise, he was equally brilliant as he was a devil's advocate, with a dash of mischief. He would sometimes ditch what he thought as the unnecessary rigors of academia, but does enough to pass in satisfaction, and impress simply at the court of papers. And blunt nonchalance for the rest of all matters.
The two represented the promising future graduates of the current faculty, their aptitude was comparably reputable to their antagonistic nature of each other. A model scholar and a rebellious prodigy was truly a recipe for disaster; of heightened rivalry, of even sharper arguments, of pointing out fallacies, of dispelling medical conundrums, and most succinctly described derogations of each other. In short, their rivalry wasn't strictly professional.
"Hey." the ginger haired med student called out.
"What?" Gakushuu snorted ungratefully, though the chocolate was surprisingly good.
"Remember last Saturday's poker bet?" the exact question the roan haired model student was avoiding. He narrowed his brow in great exasperation.
"Yes… Yes I remember, Karma…"
"You lost." the ginger smirked deviously, his feet on the table with all his nonchalance to etiquette.
"Yes, yes.." Gakushuu nodded it off, sipping the chocolate in further annoyance.
"And remember what I will get If I win, right?" those mercury eyes glazed at him.
"No I don't think I remember." the role student had seemingly lost his memory.
"You agreed that you would let me do whatever I want with you." the ginger reminded him, he gulped his chocolate. "Or are you just some incompetent academia snob who can't remember anything other than books...?" the ginger was as smug as the other would like to punch him, digging the miserable expression on the other's face. Gakushuu gave a long sigh, then gave a big smile - one that 'usually' sane people would give before mutilating babies and stepping on kittens.
"Or someone not manly enough to remember the weight of his words..?"
Burn. And the other tilted his head, still retaining his smiling creases.
"What do you want, Karma...?"
That victorious smirk in his face made the usually well tempered lad, wanting to introduce the waiting room stool to that particular red head head, very, very badly. But he folded his hands, keeping his manner intact. He knew he was beauty and grace, but he would really want to punch him in the face.
"I want to test a new type of strain on you."
His heart skipped a beat.
"A new strain of bacteria caught my eye... Hm, that seems to grow resistance to our current antibiotics. I was sharing it with a friend back in Croatia, remember Manami?" the ginger smirked at him. His face stated it, pure horror.
"Yes. I recollect that she had an alarming amount of strain samples that would perish humanity should there be biological warfare. Yes, I dully remember." he glanced to the nearest exit.
"Great. I was thinking of testing it on you." the ginger flashed his pearly whites.
The roan haired boy's expression was as blank an empty as soulless as the many horrifying things he wanted to do to his colleague as of now. Like killing him with a very, very blunt spoon.
"Let me guess… Influenza virus?" his tone was pre-murderous.
"Nope. That's child's play, guess again." the ginger was throbbing with excitement.
Suddenly, the roan haired student paused in realization; his expression was that of sheer horror at his remembrance of a certain pile of papers on the ginger's table, that of a particular Monday evening. He remembered the fact that it has several misnomers, that it was cited as carnivorous bacteria, when the true catalyst of the condition was that of virulence factors of exoto-
The latter wasn't exactly better than the first.
"Was it the newest strain in that scientific journal draft you made…" the mercury eyes widened as he speak, urging him to continue. "With citation to the pathology section in this month's edition of nature-" he looked up to an extreme change of reaction -the look on the ginger's eyes had just confirmed the terrible reality that was about to dawn on him. The mischievous med student was so glad that the other young man was so quick to guess, he didn't even need to explain.
"You don't fucking mean-"
"Streptococcus."
There was a dead silence in the room.
"You already drank it." the ginger added.
Again, a moment of silence.
In the whitewashed halls of the 24th floor of St. Anderson's Hospital, two white coated med students was seen dashing in inhumane speeds across the hallways. One of them was clearly holding a scalpel all the while screaming profanity, the other laughing giddily as he ran for his life. It was an odd sight for patients, but a rather disappointingly usual one for the inhabitants of the hospital. Their rivalry and friendly brawling, seemed to be a normal occurrence in the building. But apparently, this was the worst one yet.
"I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU..!" the roan haired student swung his scalpel as he chased him the ginger ahead of him.
"My lovely strains are faster than you." the ginger daringly teased, only five meters ahead of the other, dwindling down the emergency staircase. His feet gripped steady by every landing. If there was one saving grace for their conflict, they were at the mercy of the emergency stair's blurry security cameras.
"YOU NEED A FUCKING VASECTOMY—" the roan haired lade propelled his hands in the railing to a jump. The ginger believed that he didn't sign up to be sterilized, much less deplete his manhood, as much as he hated children. "I like my fertility, thank you very much—" And a pen flew right past his face.
20th floor.. A scalpel shot through the air, which nearly gave the ginger an exit wound. It was very close as it nearly scathed him, who fortunately had inhumane reflexes. "What the.." when he looked back, another flew past his shoulder. The roan haired med student held five more scalpels in his hand. Not good.
17th floor.. The ginger threw his lab coat over his back and blocked Gakushuu's view, but was quickly torn to the side. "COME BACK HERE, YOU PIECE OF SHIT….!" hollered the other after discarding the coat. Of course that didn't work, the ginger mused. He counted the clatters of falling scalpels, already five in his counting, made the ginger ran even more nonchalantly. He thought that the other had ran out of projectiles –until one flew past his shoulder, again. The ginger looked back only to realize that the white coat for med students had a good dozen of pockets in them for a very good reason. "Ah.." he uttered disappointment as he ran further. It was not going to be easy.
13th floor.. A couple initiating their intimacy in a completely inappropriate space of all places are surprised with the sight of two figures, jumping above their heads, then dashing through the stairs below. "NO KISSING IN THE EMERGENCY STAIRS!" the role student reminded sharply at the couple, however still managed to spit out hospital policies as he chased down his soon-to-be-dissection victim, was only further proof of his commendable competence. The couple gasped in shock and horror at the scalpel landing just inches from their face. "Uptight!" a voice cat-called and echoed from below.
8th floor.. There was an elderly person just a few dashes ahead of the ginger, causing him to make a very sharp turn to the exit door. The unfortunate scalpel thrower was nearly thrown off by the sudden change of route and nearly plunged to the stairs below. Unfortunately for the ginger, he quickly regained his balance. "YOU PIECE OF ABOMINATION!" Soon enough their game of cops and robbers continued in the hallways.
The two kept running and running, luckily the model student decided not to throw his scalpels mid-air in a hall full of innocent colleagues and patients. The smile of the ginger was triumphant, his smug expression was sheer confidence in the power of his marvelous running limbs -until the ginger caught sight of St. Anderson's Hospitals very own chief surgeon by the end of the hall. To his terror, to his perhaps impending doom, his dash abruptly stopped with an unsightly screech.
"Karma..?" the chief surgeon blinked in surprise at the sudden gust of wind.
"Hello, chief." he greeted as If a chase never happened.
The other young lad, who quickly sheathed back his scalpels out of sight, also stopped abruptly with a very loud screech. Unfortunately noticeable to the chief surgeon.
"No running in the hallways." the chief scolded sternly. The two students looked at each other. "Why were you two dashing through the halls like the devil was trying to catch you..?" The redhead glanced to the other, well, it was hardly from the truth.
"I left some diagnosis papers in the X-Ray room, sorry professor." the ginger haired boy lied through his teeth. The role student laid his eyes on the piece of mischief. "I have the same business as him." The chief eyed in suspicion.
"I see, then run along you two." the chief turned his back and exited through the lift. The two heaved a breath of relief when the professor was out of sight. The hallways' temperature seemed to drop several degrees from what it was. Karma turned his head to a murderous glare. The joint of his limbs turned 15 degrees of swiftness, however…
"You fu–"
There was a sound of a loud clash in the fortunately, empty hallways, right before their bodies slammed to the nearest hospital door. And so, accidentally launching their bodies inside a dusty room, partially occupied with a dozen of unused electroencephalograph machines. Their bodies fell with a thud on the floor, on top of each other. They were wrestling against each other in an unsightly battle of death with a scalpel. Someone had to go to the mortuary tonight.
"WHAT STRAIN WAS IT..?!" the voice was a mixture of frantic and murder.
"CALM DOWN." on the contrary, the ginger had a very sharp scalpel just inches from his face.
"HOW CAN I CALM DOWN. YOU INBREED SON OF A-" the model student was trying to jam the scalpel down the other's face. This is bad, the ginger haired student thought. The other med student, though same in height, had only a slightly larger build. Karma Akabane, an existence that might as well qualify as the century's very own Casanova, was very happy with the face that the heavens had gave him. And it would do without a very large dissection scar on his forehead. Or plastic surgery.
"WHAT. STRAIN. YOU FUCKING DIPSHIT..!" the blade seemed to tilt further by his every breath, nearer and nearer. The ginger's body was practically weighed down in a perfect lock, causing him to curse at the other's prevailing mastery of martial arts. Karma pushed and writhed, but he couldn't throw him off.
He wanted to be a med student, but he didn't remember asking for a skull lobotomy.
"Look—" the voice tried to stay calm, amidst the peril. Unfortunately, those violet eyes seemed just happily ready to give his face some accidental beautification.
"Wait a minute." he tried to push the other off.
"You're the next fucking mortuary cadaver—"
4 inches. The new scalpel set is so shiny though, the redhead thought in the most unfitting situations. While, the other rampaging medstudent was completely deaf.
"Wait, Gakushuu—"
2 inches and counting. And there was no reasoning with the other.
"What fucking strain did you put in my—"
"It was.. A JOKE…!"
The room was restored back to its silence, complemented with the vibrations from the buzzing encephalograph machine. The roan haired boy was still at his position, but his grip relaxed as he put down the scalpel on the floor. Karma saw a brief glint of relief in those violet eyes.
"Oh… Sorry." the other relaxed his grip.
The ginger head was a bit annoyed at the ridiculously mild apology, before all the terror that could have happened to his face. But he took it that he might as well deserved it, after all -like all his other pranks. The murderous intent seemingly calmed as he heaved a breath of relief.
"You know, you don't have to be so—"
"Cling" cold metal kissing the skin above his jugular.
The model student unsheathed another scalpel, but this time was up to the ginger's neck, catching him off guard. The mentioned med student blinked at the sudden offense. The other looked very, very enraged.
"Do you really think I will fall for that…?" the murderous aura never died off in the first place. The ginger was in a shit ton of trouble, perhaps sincerely regretting the only joke he would ever regret. Perhaps now was the time to acquiesce, he thought. But like politics, he learnt that diplomacy can bring you places and save some asses.
"Let's talk about this in a gentlemanly manner… No need for unnecessary bloodshed." the ginger held his hand in an oddly calm surrender. He might as well try.
"I can calmly give you a cadaver style Y-incision so you won't have blood left to shed, you fucking scum of the Earth." the scalpel was edging to the surface of the ginger's neck. It does not help that the role student was also a diener (helper in autopsy) in training. Those violet eyes was cold-stone and merciless, cold like the blade threatening his neck. Karma really saw no way out of this, but deceiving resistance was of course, the most natural way for him.
"A. Streptococci." the ginger answered vaguely, writhing slightly. The blade edged further to his skin.
"Don't play retard with me. Be specific or I will give you a fucking lobotomy." the voice was hostile. The ginger didn't doubt the role model student's ability to do one, that's one, for sure. Though wasn't it a quite forbidden practice? The ginger contemplated on why it was forbidden, and realized he might not survive through that procedure. Ah, that's why…
"Well as long as you don't get in contact with some unusual bacteria and keep your mysophobia, I think you won't get necrotizing fasciitis." the ginger nudged him.
The blade stopped inching for a second.
"Methicillin resistance was described in your citation on page 134.." the other muttered, the edge of the blade directly kissing the redhead's skin. "The species in Appendix B… Oh fucking hell, was it Staphylococcus aurea—"
The gingerhead just spat at his face.
Karma used the momentum of the situation, landed disgrace on the roan haired lad's face before proceeding to deliver a slap to the scholar's tenth cranial nerve. Gakushuu was thrown off from the nearly paralyzing impact, his body painfully hurled to the side. Those violet eyes darted as a scalpel landed on the carpet, inches beside his neck, and now the ginger's body was looming over him.
"FUCK." the ginger's stomach received an impact from the other lad's kneeing. And soon enough they were rolling around the place, wrestling in the carpet.
"ANSWER ME, DIPSHIT!" a blow landed on the ginger's crotch, causing him to involuntarily scream for his family jewels.
"NO IT'S NOT-"the ginger yanked the scholar's hair, while his own face was being slapped away by Gakushuu's paw. "MOTHERFUCKER, LISTEN—"They were in a completely even dead lock. "Fucking tell me you piece of shit." the other was strangling the gingerhead.
"It was a Streptococcus pyogenes mutation—"
Gakushuu reached for another scalpel..
"BUT I DIDN'T FUCKING PUT IT…!"
Once again, the awkward, distrusting silence. The smell of spite and disbelief was strong in the air. "You damn charlatan—"
Bzztttttttttt…..!
A buzzing sound from a cellphone, sprawled just an arm's reach on the floor beside the ginger. It was Karma's. The screen stated a name-
-Okuda Manami.
"Look, I can't inject something that hasn't been shipped yet." the ginger tried to reason with the scalpel-holding scholar. Gakushuu's eyes narrowed in great suspicion, pointing his scalpel to the ginger as he stood and reached for the cell.
"I don't believe in cunning liars from hell." scoffed the other.
So the roan haired medstudent picked it up, blinked twice at the text: "I think I can deliver the Streptococcus and hyaluronic acid by next week."
The ginger eyed at the very fortunate message he had received. Thank you, Okuda. Karma was sure that with all that, his partner in crime would make a fine mad scientist at that. He swore to never make stupid jokes like that again, though he wasn't a really good at keeping promises, anyways.
"See? You'll probably only get blisters or rashes.." the ginger shoved the scalpel, away from his beautiful face. Gakushuu gave him a glare that could summon the six inhabitants of hell. He yanked Karma's collar, their faces was just inches, separated by a murderous glare.
"At most, I could get a fucking amputation, gangrene complications, and necrotizing fasciitis, you piece of shit." his vast knowledge in pathology was not to be trifled with.
"But I don't remember you having a weak immune system, or filthy enough to get polymicrobial infections…?" the ginger discounted the probability, though he knew of it the most. Although a quarter of the infected would not survive the necrosis, but he firmly believed that idiots would not die. Maybe?
Thud.
The ginger's back was slammed back to the floor, both his wrists locked in Gakushuu's arm. Those intense, violet orbs boring into him, giving him an anxiety he rarely felt. There was no scalpel between them, just the ginger locked below the other, under his mercy and an utmost distrusting stare.
"Then if it was a lie, you will go to hell with me."
His lips came crashing down his. The ginger writhed, his tongue, resisting against the sudden invasion. There was warmth, fervent moist, and among many other thing –his body jolted when he felt a sudden, painful nip on his lips. Their bodies swept against each other in a struggling war of pulling and pulling away, their leaps unceasing in intensity. The sharp pain as something trickled from the edge of his lips, caused Karma to resist the further exploration from the other's tongue. The taste of iron was forcefully diluted in his orifice, he was bleeding. And Gakushuu pulled away from the kiss.
"That tiny wound is enough for a viral infection."
The ginger blinked. And the victorious look on the lad above him was even more confusing. But Karma, lips bleeding, broke out to free laughter, instead.
"What's so funny?" it successfully narrowed the other boy's brows from the victorious expression. Well at least if he did get a fatal infection, the ginger piece of mischief would receive an eye for an eye, an infection for an infection, the other thought.
"You're just… So amusing." the ginger tried to break free his wrists, though in futility.
"Ah." the roan haired student cannot help but held back a grin to that cute struggle.
"Gakushuu." the ginger called his first name, for the very first time. And it caught the other young man's attention.
"Hurt me."
Hands off his wrists, Karma freely explored the other's surface, untying the Winsor knot of the other. While the other young man edged his knees to the other's questionable parts, teasing him. The ginger's eyes flew open, an electric sensation when the certain part of his anatomy was roughly handled. There was only cotton, stretched from the bulging, barring him from exposing arousal.
"Get off—" but the complaint was shut with a forceful tongue, Karma felt his hair being tugged gently, following the motions of their body clashing unto each other, and it was sending unwanted stimulations all over his skin. The captor, used the glory of his hovering position to unbutton his clothing. Mercury eyes darted to his exposed abdomen, but quickly turned away with lips that crash against his, yet again.
"Moron." Karma pushed him away, causing those violet eyes to look slightly betrayed, then alarmed when the ginger picked a scalpel. The edge of the blade landed gently on the student's left chest.
"Right above the heart." the ginger muttered, the blade kissing the skin in a swift graze, drawing an index-long trail of red, causing the other to squint in unison.
"You won't say something cheesy like –-'can I have your heart?'" the young lifted his brow.
"No, of course not. But I just wonder what a beating heart looks like." the ginger glided the blade in the air, just right above the skin, making precise trails of a y-incision pattern across his abdomen –a playful threat.
"That heart is not for you." those violet eyes on the scalpel that stilled above his left chest. His hand gripped Karma's wrist, planting a light kiss on them.
"But you can make me bleed, if you want to."
And that's what he gave him, among many other things.
The night outside the window was cold, the weather was chaotic from the blizzard. A young man, his back leaning to the pale colored walls, inhaled the smell of the robust coffee in his hand, thankful that it was still warm inside the whitewashed walls of St. Anderson's. The roan haired student sipped the serving in bitter enjoyment, a token item for his two days and three nights without sleep, and still headstrong for his academic papers. On the floor, lay a ginger haired young man curled, soundly sleeping, messily dressed with a crumpled shirt, and covered with two lab coats on top of each other. The sound of the gusting wind seeping through the window, like a whisper in the encephalograph room. In the floor, a pair of shoe, and several articles of clothing sprawled messily.
"You fall asleep so fast, moron." he smiled as he ruffled the ginger's hair without waking him. His eyes darted to the clock nailed to the wall, that told him it was two in the morning. The young man gulped down his coffee and stood up, looking at the curling ball of warmth beside his legs. He gave a heavy sigh, left the room, and locked it behind. His steps darted to the hospital lift. And the numbers trailed slowly at it ascended floor by floor. 8..9..10..
"Eleven." he muttered. The elevator made a clattering sound as it opened.
The halls were empty, but of several night nurses that was appointed to monitor the patients. He exchanged friendly greetings with the nurse, and a handful of doctors in the long hallway. And finally he stopped his pace at a room at the very end of the hall. He stopped in front of the door, nailed with a board that spelled "Room 199." The young man gripped the knob, squinted as he turned the doorknob very, very discreetly.
Inside the room was a female patient, laying down on the lone bed of the small room, beside a counter with a vase full of fresh flowers. The young man closed the door behind him, causing nearly no sound, and stepped towards the patient; a seemingly frail woman, in deep slumber. The gentle gaze from the violet hue caressed the woman with great love and melancholy, as the young man kneeled beside the bed and rested his hand on the cover.
"I'm sorry." his voice morose.
He gently laid his hands on top of the woman's hand. He squeezed the woman's hand fairly gently, then placed his forehead on the hand's back. He stilled in a few seconds of silence, the tiny jumps of pulses beeped faintly on the electrocardiogram. A concoction of emotion flowed through him as he felt every pulse, the warm, living pulsations through the arteries of the thin wrist he held on to. Suddenly, he recalled a conversation he had with his benefactor. It was but a short three months ago.
"She won't have long unless she gets a donor. But with her blood type and rhesus, this would prove to be very difficult, Asano-kun." he remembered the chief's regretful assessment of the situation, who was also the chief surgeon for cardio surgery.
"How long till the critical stage..?" the young man asked, trying to remain calm. His mind told him it was April, but his heart rejects it wholeheartedly.
"I predict around the end of March or the start of April." the man shook his head as he said the heartbreaking statement. The young lad gritted his teeth as he clenched his fists as he wished. Wished for this once, he could be wrong. But he wasn't.
And today was the first of April.
He lifted his forehead from the warmth of the hand, his eyes darted to the relatively stable spikes on the electrocardiograph, then to the sleeping figure. Both his hand laid on the woman's left palm, gripping it tightly. His eyesight was blurry as he felt moist accumulating at the edge of his eyelids.
"Should it fail.." he held the hand, gripped it so tightly as his tears streamed down his cheeks. The young man wept soundlessly beside her, gritting his teeth.
"I don't know what to do, mother."
And the electrocardiogram beeped a glaring red.
Critical.