Chapter Text
Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.
As Hinata sat in the waiting room, that simple phrase repeated itself in his mind.
Of course I would fracture my tibia right before the Olympics. I mean why not? I lost my father to cancer. My mother couldn’t raise us on her own and our grandparents didn’t have the money to support us. It makes perfect sense, really.
Despite his past, Hinata had consistently made efforts to brighten his life. And all had gone well for the most part. His professional volleyball career had been highly successful, he had become good friends with all of his teammates, and he was financially well off.
But as the age old adage goes, all good things must come to an end.
The white plaster walls seemed to shrink in on the orange-haired boy, keeping him stuck, much like how having a broken leg bone kept him immobile. The fracture wasn’t bad--a hairline fracture is what they called it. But they wanted to run a few tests since they noticed the slightest amounts of blue in Hinata’s sclera, the white part of the eye.
“It’s probably nothing,” the doctor assured him. “We just want to confirm some things.”
But in Hinata’s world, probably nothing meant definitely something, and that was definitely something that he didn’t want to deal with at the moment. And so, he waited for the inevitably bad news to come. When the doctor came in with two new friends and a grim expression on her face, Hinata sighed. “Of course,” he muttered quietly.
Struggling to look Hinata in the eye, the most assertive looking doctor cleared her throat. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to move you to the University of Tokyo Hospital.” With one hand rubbing the back of her head, she continued. “You have a congenital bone disorder, type I osteogenesis imperfecta. It’s commonly known as brittle bone disease.”
Brittle bones…?
The doctor next to her let out a huff. “At its simplest, it means that your bones don’t form enough collagen, which will cause them to fracture easily.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I can’t believe this hasn’t been caught until now. Most decent pediatricians would’ve noticed the blue in your sclera; that’s usually a pretty sure sign.”
“My sister and I couldn’t afford to see a pediatrician when we were kids,” Hinata admitted embarrassingly. The three doctors offered their best pitying glances. “Is there… anything that can be done…?”
“If you’re asking if it can be cured, I’m afraid the answer is no.” Hinata cringed. “However, there are treatment options: pharmacologic therapy, cellular therapy, and possibly surgery if the need is great enough.”
The head doctor wrote something on her clipboard before detaching a sheet of paper and handing it to Hinata. “We’re recommending the best doctor that UT Hospital’s seen in decades. He’s been called a genius by loads of his seniors, although his coworkers aren’t huge fans of him.” She handed Hinata his crutches before patting him on the back. “I’m truly sorry this happened. My daughter is a huge fan.”
Was, Hinata thought solemnly. Who knows if I’ll ever be able to play again.
“I know I’m probably way out of line for asking this at a time like this--” The female doctor paused before finishing. Slowly, a smile appeared on her face as she extended a hand that held paper and a pen. “--But could I get an autograph?”
Hinata looked up, shocked at the proposition. Equally slowly, he returned the smile. “Definitely! I’m always happy to gratify a fan!”
Whatever hellish sickness this is, I won’t let it tear me away from those that I love--my friends, my family, my fans.
---
Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.
That certainly seemed to be the case today for Sawamura Daichi, who had slept through three alarms, missed the train, and spilled coffee all over his white coat, effectively rendering it a brown coat.
But unfortunately, his woes and troubles were just beginning.
“Sawamura!” barked his head of department, Ukai Keishin. Daichi turned his head to meet the blonde man’s gaze. “I need you to see a patient in 512.”
512? That’s on the psychiatric floor…
“Sir, we both work--”
“In orthopedics, I know.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “For various reasons, they’re a bit understaffed right now, and you would be doing us a great favor by seeing this patient. You have a minor in Psychology, right?”
Daichi nodded. “Then this shouldn’t be a problem. Go see Shimizu-san on the fifth floor. She’ll give you the patient’s information. I’m about to go into the OR, so if you need anything, leave it on my desk.” With that, the orthopedic surgeon walked off.
Psychiatry, huh? I wonder what kind of patient I’ll get.
When Daichi arrived on the fifth floor, he was shocked by how different the air felt. The area was certainly much quieter than any other floor, and overall, it just felt empty.
The silence didn’t last, however. As Daichi walked towards the main desk of the floor, he paid little attention to anything other than the tiles on the floor in front of him. So it wasn’t a surprise when he crashed into someone, causing the person and his tray of food to fall to the floor.
“Oh my god, are you alright?”
The man now on the ground let out a slight giggle. His silvery hair fell haphazardly on his head, yet still retained a feathery quality. A pair large hazel eyes crinkled at the sides, a sign of years of joy and laughter, and below his left eye was an enrapturing beauty mark. The man’s gentle smile seemed to tie all the facial features together, and in that moment Daichi knew he was screwed.
God he’s hot--
Professionalism, Daichi!
From his place on the ground, the silver-haired man waved his hand. “I’m fine, no worries!” Sighing with relief, Daichi extended a hand to help him up. The other man took it gladly. “Such a firm grip!” he teased.
Blushing, Daichi bent down to clean up the food that fell off the tray, of which there wasn’t much. “I’m really sorry... I’m not normally on this floor, and I wasn’t paying attention to where I was walking.”
“I told you, I’m alright!” After Daichi threw away the dirtied food, the man held out his hand. “Sugawara Koushi. Call me Suga!”
Daichi hesitated before shaking it. “Sawamura Daichi.”
Suga hummed contentedly before remarking, “Even your name sounds strong…”
A red tinge returned to Daichi’s cheeks, and he had to turn away to avoid being ridiculed by this highly attractive man. “A-Anyways, I should get going. I really am sorry!”
“How many times do I have to tell you? I’m fine!” Suga assured Daichi. The ash blond personage flashed him a bright smile before turning around and heading off to his room.
Daichi couldn’t help that his eyes drifted downward to the man’s slender behind. Shaking his head, he continued his walk toward the main desk.
When he finally reached his destination, he was taken aback by the lack of doctors. The only people that sat inside the large circular area were a timid looking woman with blond hair and a side ponytail as well as a more assertive looking doctor with dark hair, glasses, and a distinctive mole on the left side of her chin.
Clearing his throat, Daichi began, “Excuse me, my name is Sawamura Daichi, I’m from orthopedics. I’m here to see Shimizu-san concerning the patient in 512?”
“That would be me,” the dark-haired woman replied, not looking up from the paperwork sprawled out in front of her. Daichi gulped, slightly intimidated by her focus. Shimizu slid a manila folder containing his patient’s information over to Daichi. Looking up, she smiled. “But please, call me Kiyoko.”
Daichi figured he must’ve looked entirely abashed, because both Kiyoko and the blond girl next to her began to laugh. “We’re not completely antisocial here on the psychiatric floor, Sawamura-kun.”
The woman next to her giggled. “I’m Yachi Hitoka. We may be understaffed, but we still make do!”
Daichi smiled at the pair, who he noticed were holding hands under the desk. He decided not to bring it up, as he didn’t mind himself. For that matter, he wasn’t even sure of his own sexuality. In high school, he always assumed he was straight. He dated his good friend Michimiya Yui for a long time.
Yet it was at moments like when he bumped into Suga that he questioned it. In either case, he didn’t mind. Love was love, and if he loved someone then that was what mattered.
Picking up the folder, he opened it to find out more about his patient. Immediately, one thing popped out to him.
Sugawara Koushi, anorexia nervosa.
Daichi’s heart stopped. He had just knocked an anorexic’s meal onto the floor.
---
Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.
Nishinoya had learned to accept his blood disease early on in his lifetime. It was, for reasons unknown to him, something that had just always been, something he had learned to deal with.
As a child, his physician consistently noted pallor and malaise as recurring symptoms during checkups. Simply put, this meant that he was pale and in pain.
When Nishinoya’s biopsy came back showing that most of his blood-producing bone marrow cells had been replaced with fat, the doctors were certain that something was wrong. He always found it odd that people were pitying him when they discovered what he had been diagnosed with. Personally, he found it relieving that they could slap a name on the thing that had been plaguing him since birth.
What he had was known as aplastic anemia, a disease in which the bone marrow is unable to produce enough of each type of blood cell: red, white, and platelets.
So, for a few months now, he’d been stuck on the hematology floor at UT Hospital. His condition had unfortunately worsened and he now required frequent blood transfusions in order to cope with the disease. He had recently been put on a waiting list for a bone marrow transplant, but he was constantly reminded that it was unlikely he’d find a match.
But Nishinoya was alright with that, especially since he got to see that nurse most every time he got a transfusion.
He looked forward to seeing his terribly cute hair bun, the wideness in his deep brown eyes when he thinks he’s done something wrong, the toned muscles throughout his whole body, the strong yet delicate touch of his hands when he’s preparing to draw his blood.
Yes, Nishinoya certainly was alright with not having a match.
A soft knock at the door let him know that his favorite time of the day had arrived--and favorite person for that matter.
“Come in!” Nishinoya chimed gleefully.
As the door creaked open, Nishinoya heard the familiar voice of his nurse, Asahi. “You know, most people aren’t as excited as you are when it’s time to have a transfusion,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.
Yeah, but those people are too focused on the transfusion and not on the gorgeous nurse in front of them.
Wait, but that’s alright. They aren’t allowed to focus on Asahi, anyway.
“Yeah, well, I’m holding out hope for a donor!” Nishinoya mused in reply. It was a half-truth; to finally get the bone marrow he needed, to not have to deal with the tiredness and the pain anymore would be a boon that he had waited 24 years for. But getting the transplant would also mean not being able to see Asahi anymore.
Asahi chuckled while setting up Nishinoya’s IV. “A lot of people would have lost hope by now. I’m glad you’re still in such high spirits.”
With his free arm--that is, the one that wasn’t being strangled by miles of tubing--he slapped Asahi on the back. Nishinoya let out a hearty laugh at the larger man’s flinch, remarking “Come on, who’d be around to torment you all the time if I were gone?”
Asahi blushed at that comment before shaking his head and focusing on the task at hand. With a beep from the infusion device, the man stepped backward, allowing the machine to do its work.
Nishinoya sighed before settling into his bed. “Can you stay for a bit?” he inquired in an unusually gentle manner.
The bearded man hesitated for a moment before making his decision. “I suppose I can wait a few minutes.” His face turned stern before finishing, remembering the last time Nishinoya had kept him there longer than he should’ve been. “But only a few!”
“As-a-hiii, when have I ever kept you here too long?” Nishinoya said in a coquettish voice. Asahi gulped, afraid to answer with one of the numerous examples of times that such a thing happened. Sighing, he took a seat near Nishinoya’s cot and sank into it.
Careful not to move the arm with the IV in it, Nishinoya turned his body so that he could face the gentle giant. He smiled at the sight before him, which caused the nurse to blush once again.
Yeah, having aplastic anemia sucked. But with Asahi as his nurse, Nishinoya didn’t think it was that bad.
---
Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.
The first time you work triage, you quickly learn that there are many more people than a hospital can hold, and that there are many people that aren’t quite as unhealthy as they might themselves believe.
As a senior resident, Ennoshita was well acquainted with working triage for the ER. He could always expect to see minor injuries, as well as major; external injuries, as well as internal. What he didn’t expect to see on this day, however, was an influx of over 100 people that had been injured in a train crash.
“Ennoshita! I need you to get them grouped, now!” yelled the emergency room head, Takeda Ittetsu.
As a doctor, Takeda-sensei was unrivalled. Though he was young, he had years of experience, and he finished medical school at the top of his class. Ennoshita felt honored, even indebted, to be taken under his wing.
But he knew well that Takeda was quick to drop residents if they weren’t able to keep up.
And so, Ennoshita began to survey the crowd, separating those with minor cuts and bruises from those with major lacerations and contusions. He paid specific attention to those in which it appeared blood vessels had ruptured; they would be cared for sooner rather than later.
As he traversed the packed area, all had seemed to be going quite well. That is, until he came across a particularly injured man with a shaved head and a deep grimace set on his face.
At first glance, there seems to be major artery damage in his right forearm, possible contusions on the other arm as well. There’s also a rather large blood stain around his lower left stomach… That should probably be looked at more closely.
Clearing his throat, Ennoshita began standard procedure. “Hello sir, my name is Ennoshita Chikara, I’m an ER doctor here at UT Hospital. May I ask you your name?”
“Tanaka Ryuunosuke,” he grumbled, rubbing his palms on his pants. “Look, I’m just a little bit cut. Can I just get some Neosporin and some band-aids and get out of here?”
Ennoshita sighed. “Sir, I’d like to take a look at your stomach,” he started, pointing to the crimson patch on his shirt, “just to make sure it’s nothing too serious.”
The man named Tanaka obliged begrudgingly, moving forward slightly in his seat to allow Ennoshita to lift up his shirt.
From his own experience, Ennoshita assumed that what he’d find under the shirt would just be a slight laceration, one that could be fixed with simple stitching. What he didn’t expect to find was a silvery piece of metal jutting from the man’s torso, with congealed blood coating the sides of it.
He involuntarily let out a soft gasp before reaching a hand to his mouth to block the sound. “That bad, huh?” Tanaka muttered quietly. Afraid to answer, Ennoshita quickly called over his senior, Takeda, to take a look at the patient.
It barely took Takeda more than second before he proclaimed, “He needs to be prepped for surgery immediately. Get ready to take him to the OR.” Turning around, he shouted into the crowd, “I need an anesthesiologist as soon as possible!”
Takeda took Ennoshita to the side before speaking to him quietly. “I’m going to need you in that OR today. There are too many other patients today and I can’t afford to leave.” Ennoshita swallowed hard, surprised by the sudden task and anxious to do the job right.
Finally, he nodded to his senior.
“Thank you, Ennoshita.”
---
Murphy’s law. An epigram stating that anything that can go wrong, will go wrong. An adage that lends itself to the perceived perversity of what we call our world.
Whether it’s taken as a cautionary aphorism (consider all the outcomes) or as unavoidable fate (everything is created to fail) is irrelevant.
The law is a universal one, and as such we are subject to its absolute governance.
But perhaps, there is some way to get around it.