thinking about that first night trinity brings dennis back to her apartment. the uber or bus or car ride where she tells him if he thanks her again, or asks if she’s sure one more time, she’ll leave him on the side of the road. when he doesn’t say anything, she finds herself softening, just slightly, in a way she wouldn’t be able to name if asked. she blames it on the food she had at dinner, the way it settled something in her, and not on him.
when they arrive she tells him the lock is sticky, that it hasn’t been replaced in a while, so he’s going to have to jiggle the key just so. she demonstrates without ceremony and tells him she’ll wrestle up the spare the next day, turning serious when she explains that it’s the only one and he better not lose it. he realizes then that while he might have to be careful with what he says out loud, he can show it in other ways, and has already decided to fix the door the first chance he has.
the apartment is, of course, very her; dennis makes note of everything. when she flicks on the hall light she tells him shoes off at the door, always—no outside shoes past this point—and if he wants to wear something on his feet in the house, it has to be a pair that never goes outside. then she tells him about her cat, who is wary of men and will probably stay hidden, and not to take it personally. except when they walk into the living room, the cat is perched on the back of the couch and immediately pads over to dennis.
trinity disguises her discomposure by gesturing around and telling him she doesn’t have very many rules, except that he cannot come into her room without knocking, and if the door is closed he is to assume she wants to be left alone. he’s welcome to whatever’s in the fridge, but he’s not to touch her things without asking. she shows him his room, tells him he can decorate it however he wants, then brings him to the crown jewel of the apartment—the in-unit washer dryer—and tells him to throw all his shit in there immediately. then she whirls around and announces she’s getting in the shower, and he should do the same, her nose wrinkling slightly.
they take their showers and settle in their respective rooms, but after the day they’ve had, neither of them can fully relax.
trinity gets up to make tea and startles when dennis follows the sound of her clanking into the kitchen—says jesus fuck, you scared me—and he files that away, resolves to make more noise next time so he doesn’t scare her. she makes him a cup without asking. they both know what’s keeping them up and they do not talk about it, just sit together, the little black ball of fur that is trinity’s cat—who will, ultimately, end up sleeping in dennis’ bed most nights because, as trinity will say, she’s a backstabber—fast asleep on the carpet between them.
at some point dennis finally says i couldn’t fall asleep and trinity says no shit, me neither. dennis deflates a little, but then trinity asks if he’s ever seen the show love island, and dennis thinks she might be having him on but finds it in himself to joke and asks her what a “show” is. a genuine, bright laugh is startled out of her. you’re such a fucking huckleberry, she says, oh my god, i can’t wait to corrupt you in every way.
they migrate to the couch and she navigates to netflix. he manages to go a record-breaking few minutes without asking questions before they all burst out of him, and when she doesn’t respond, he looks over to find she’s fallen asleep. he feels something in his chest come loose looking at her. her cat has since claimed his lap so he’s trapped, and he doesn’t remember deciding to stay, but one minute he’s debating the merits of somehow getting back to his room without waking her, and the next he’s opening his eyes with a crick in his neck, disoriented, heart lurching for a moment before the warm, insistent weight of the cat knocks sense back into him. he gets up carefully, repositions the blanket over trinity, and goes to see what’s in the fridge to make her breakfast: the first of what will become many small ways of saying what he can’t.
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