Detective Agnes’ Wife

then you came into the picture. you with your foster kittens that were always coming and going, that you allowed baran to come home and meet after your third date when she told you about the pets she grew up with and the pomeranian she had added to the family.

as soon as she walked in, she was taken with them. she crouched down next to one, a shy calico you’d been struggling to bond with, and right off the bat it came up to her and let her scoop it up in her arms. it purred loud enough that you could hear it from across the room, and even though it gave you a rather threatening look when you came over to marvel at how fast the two were bonding, it was at peace in baran’s arms.

“she always tries to bite the shit out of me when I pick her up,” you confessed.

baran shook her head. “oh, I don’t believe that. she’s just a sweet little thing.”

the cat looked at you then and seemed to say, ‘yeah, bitch. I’m a sweet little thing.’

from then on, baran always asked about the kittens when you met up. she would ask for pictures and then tell you she showed them to her son, and that he had been pestering her about getting a kitten because of it. you told her she could bring him over to your place sometime to play with them, that they would like the company and that it would give them the chance to get accustomed to the way kids play before they went to their forever homes.

baran brought her son, kaveh, over to your place one day to see the kittens. she reminded him to be gentle with them even though he already knew and remembered how to care for baby animals from when they got the pomeranian puppy, even though that was a while ago now. she sat down next to him inside the little play pen you placed the kittens in and she watched him gasp and smile when they would come curl up in his lap.

“I think he likes you,” she murmured when a fluffy black kitten came over and made itself right at home, rolling over in his lap and batting at a feather toy kaveh held in his little hand.

kaveh nodded, smiling at his mom in agreement before turning and looking up at you. “does he have a name?”

you told him the name you’d been calling the kitten by, and then added that once the kitten was adopted, its new family would have the freedom of naming it whatever they wanted.

“that’s sad,” he frowned. “what if he likes the name he has now?”

the little black kitten apparently did a number on the family, because that same night you got a text from baran at nearly midnight asking you about what the adoption process was like for your kittens. she asked what they would need, who she would need to contact, what the timeline would be. she inquired about the process extensively, to the point that it was one in the morning by the time she finally told you she was going to bed and that she would call you the next morning to continue the conversation.

by the end of the call the next morning, you knew who that little black kitten would be going home with. and once it was ready to be put up for adoption you gave a referral to the agency you worked with and almost immediately the deals were made, the papers were signed, and you were helping load bags of kitten food and litter into baran’s car.

she made it a surprise for kaveh. she picked him up from a day at her sister’s and brought him home to find you waiting with the little black kitten. he started crying and then baran cried because he was crying and the kitten was confused and you were there like 👍 .

the pomeranian did not approve of the kitten at first. he ran and hid whenever it came near him and he avoided baran and kaveh because he felt SO betrayed. but he was lying in his bed one morning and the kitten came and snuggled up into his long (and perfectly groomed) fur anddddd just like that they became friends. partners in crime even.

while baran originally got the cat because kaveh wanted it, she bonded with it the most. she let it curl up in her lap on the couch and would give you a very disappointed look whenever you sat down and accidentally woke it up. sometimes you felt like she loved the cat more than she loved you, but you allowed it. the cat was cute.

the whole thing sparked the progression of your relationship, too. you wouldn’t vouch for just anyone regarding the adoption of the kittens you fostered, but as time passed and you became closer to baran you learned of her gentleness, her empathy, the care she gave to everyone and everything around her. and after the adoption you would come check on the cat, which was really just an excuse to see her, and she would invite you to stay for dinner and you would always agree. you had your first kiss on the back patio, the kitten snuggled between you on the wicker sofa. eventually you moved in, and your little family was complete.

Cassie looked completely relaxed behind the wheel.

One hand rested at the top of the steering wheel while the other stayed spread across your thigh, fingers warm against your skin. Every so often her thumb moved without her realizing it, small, absentminded strokes while she talked.

“And if they keep playing like they did last week,” she explained, eyes still on the road ahead. “They’ll probably keep this lineup through postseason.”

You looked over at her from where your head rested against the seat. “I know you think I understand what you’re saying.”

She frowned slightly. “But you do understand. I explained this earlier.”

“No,” you said honestly. “I’m just listening because your voice is nice.”

That pulled a soft chuckle out of her. “Well thank you, baby. For putting up with me.”

“Mhm.”

She shook her head in amusement.

The closer you got, the thicker traffic became. Cars packed around you with Dodgers flags hanging from windows, groups of people crossing streets in jerseys and caps.

Cassie kept talking anyway. She just got like this when she was excited about something. She couldn’t exactly help it, but you didn’t mind.

“And Garcia swears they’re gonna fall apart by August, but she says that every season so nobody listens to her anymore.”

You hummed quietly, tracing your fingers along the frays of your shorts. “Who’s the one you said takes baseball weirdly seriously?”

“Langdon.”

“The one with the hair?”

That pulled a snort from her. “Yeah, babe. The one with the hair.”

You nodded like that meant something to you. Truthfully, most of Cassie’s coworkers blurred together after a while. You knew stories more than faces at this point.

“You should’ve heard them arguing,” Cassie said, smiling to herself now. “It went on for like half the shift.”

That argument is precisely how you got here in the first place.

Earlier that week, the emergency department had been unusually calm for once. Someone had the Dodgers game playing near the nurses station while everybody worked, and at some point Garcia made a comment about the team blowing the series.

That should’ve been the end of it.

Instead, Langdon argued back. Then Santos joined in. Then Whitaker started looking up stats on his phone while pretending he didn’t care enough to participate.

Ahmad simply made the entire thing worse—always one to add fuel to the fire.

He’d turned around in his chair and started collecting predictions from everybody like he was hosting some kind of game show instead of working another security guard shift in the Pitt.

Garcia said the Dodgers would lose.

Langdon insisted they’d win in six.

Santos mostly participated to annoy Garcia.

Whitaker claimed everybody was overreacting while continuing to contribute statistics nobody asked for or paid any attention to. And somewhere in the middle of all of it, he mentioned he had two Dodgers tickets he wasn’t going to use because his brother canceled on him at the last minute.

That was when the bet stopped being casual.

Ahmad immediately decided whoever guessed the series outcome closest got the tickets.

Cassie had only joined because everybody else was already involved and in the end, the Dodgers won exactly the way she predicted they would. Which meant she walked out of her shift with two tickets and an ego big enough to be genuinely irritating about it.

You still remembered the way she came through your apartment door that night.

Still in scrubs, bangs messy from a twelve hour shift, exhausted, but smiling so hard the second she saw you that you knew immediately she was about to ask for something.

“What?” you asked from the couch before she could even speak.

Cassie dropped her bag by the door. “I have a surprise.”

“Should I be scared?”

“No, you should be proud of me.”

You laughed skeptically at your girlfriend. “Okay, let me rephrase that. What did you do?”

“I won.”

“You saying that with no context is terrifying.”

Cassie walked over to the couch, already digging into the pocket of her scrub pants before pulling out the tickets.

Your eyebrows lifted immediately. “Those are real?”

“As real as they get.”

You took them from her carefully, looking down at the Dodgers logo printed across the front. “You won baseball tickets?”

“I won the bet.” Cassie explained, sitting down beside you close enough that her knee pressed against yours.

“Cass…”

“I know, I know.” she said quickly, gently pulling the tickets from your hand and setting them down on the coffee table. She took your free hands into hers like she was trying to coax a shy puppy out of its cage.

“I don’t even like baseball.”

“But you like me though, right?”

You looked at her unimpressed.

Cassie was sitting up straight, watching you carefully now. She looked excited, but quieter about it suddenly, like she truly cared what your answer would be.

“We don’t have to stay the whole game,” she assured. “I just thought it’d be nice.”

“You want to spend your Friday night explaining baseball to me?”

“I want to spend my Friday night with you.”

That was the problem with her sometimes. She said things like that so simply that it made it hard to argue back.

“And,” she added after a second. “I’ll make it feel just like a date. Promise.”

You narrowed your eyes at her slightly. “A baseball game.” you said bluntly.

“A date at a baseball game.”

“I bet that sounded different in your head than it did out loud.”

Cassie laughed then, leaning closer until her shoulder bumped yours. “Come on,” she said softly. “Please?”

And honestly, it wasn’t really the tickets that convinced you.

It was her.

The way she looked genuinely excited at the idea of bringing you somewhere she loved. So eventually, after enough convincing, a kiss to your cheek, and Cassie promising multiple times that she wouldn’t spend the whole game neglecting you for baseball—you agreed.

Now, sitting in the passenger seat while stadium lights glowed ahead of you, you were starting to think maybe it had been worth saying yes after all.

Cassie pulled into the parking lot slowly, rows of cars stretching around you. “You look beautiful by the way.” she said suddenly.

Her eyes flicked briefly toward your outfit before she parked expertly between two cars.

You’d spent longer getting ready than you originally planned to. Jean shorts, white top, the oversized Dodgers jersey Cassie insisted you borrow hanging open over it all.

A little more makeup than you usually wore on a daily basis, mostly because she kept calling this a date all week and somewhere along the way, you began treating it like one too.

“You already said that before we left,” you reminded her.

“I know.” Cassie shut the car off, looking over at you fully now. “Just felt like telling you again.”

Warmth crept up your face before you looked away toward the windshield. She reached over, brushing her fingers briefly against your thigh again before opening her door. She fell into step beside you, immediately reaching for your hand as the two of you started toward the entrance.

The stadium felt different once you were actually inside it. The music, the announcers, the buzz of thousands of voices blending together—everything echoed. People moved with trays of food and drinks through the crowded walkways while the smell of popcorn and hot dogs hung in the air.

Cassie walked slightly ahead of you, turning back every few seconds to make sure you were still there despite her firm grip on your hand.

You let her pull you toward concessions first, mostly because she looked so confident weaving through the stadium like she’d done this a hundred times before.

Popcorn. Nachos. Two drinks.

You watched her while she waited for everything, the way she shifted her weight impatiently from foot to foot, already glancing around toward the field every few seconds like she was trying not to miss anything before the game had even officially started.

It was kind of adorable.

She balanced the food carefully while leading you toward your section, occasionally stopping to look at signs overhead before continuing down another set of stairs.

“You really know where you’re going,” you said.

Cassie glanced back over her shoulder. “I studied the map.”

“You studied the map?”

“So I knew where to go. I didn’t want to have you just walking around.”

The way she said it made your heart skip a beat in your chest again—because of how hard she was trying to make this enjoyable for you.

Cassie let you slide into your seat first before sitting beside you, setting the popcorn between your legs and drinks in the cupholders.

You looked around, and it was actually kind of nice. The sky had gone fully dark now, the lights shining against it while people settled into their seats all around you.

Cassie watched your face carefully for a second. “Well?” she asked.

You looked over at her. “Okay. I kind of get why people like this.”

A grin spread across her face immediately. “Yeah?”

“Don’t get too excited.”

“Too late.”

Cassie relaxed back into her seat beside you and when you shifted closer, she adjusted. Her arm stretched around the back of your seat so you could tuck yourself against her side comfortably.

“There you are,” Cassie murmured quietly.

You peered up slightly. “What?”

“You finally stopped acting like I kidnapped you.”

“I’m still deciding, thank you.”

Cassie chuckled, looking down at you for a second before smiling to herself. A few minutes later, she reached into the popcorn bucket and held a piece near your mouth without saying anything.

You stared at her and she just lifted her eyebrows slightly.

You laughed under your breath before leaning forward enough to take it from her fingers.

“See?” she said. “You’re already getting into the baseball experience.”

“It’s just popcorn.”

“It’s stadium popcorn. Different thing entirely.”

You rolled your eyes a little, but you were smiling.

At one point, while you were simply watching the field more than actually paying attention to it, she turned your head slightly and kissed you quick enough that it almost caught you off guard. Just one soft press of her lips against yours before she leaned back again like nothing happened.

You looked at her.

Cassie fought back her grin as if she was trying to seem oblivious, eyes already drifting back toward the field again. “What?”

“Nothing.”

But warmth lingered in your chest afterward anyway—and for a while, you really did think the night was going to be fun.

Then the game started.

The crowd got louder, thousands of people focused in the same direction all at once, and beside you, Cassie changed with it.

The second the players ran onto the field, she was on her feet with everybody else around you, clapping loudly, yelling toward the field with a grin wider than you’d seen all night.

The sudden noise and movement from her startled you enough that you jerked slightly where you sat—previously cuddled up to her side.

At first, you tried following along.

Every few minutes the crowd exploded over something happening on the field you didn’t understand quickly enough to follow. And every time it happened, Cassie got pulled into it instantly.

Even though you didn’t understand most of what was going on, you had to admit the concentrated look on her face was cute. She’d lean closer to you between plays so you could hear, explaining things quickly while still watching the game.

“That guy’s been struggling all season, so if he gets on base right now—”

The entire crowd roared before she could finish explaining and Cassie stood right back up with them, eyes fixed on the field while people around you shouted and clapped.

You looked out at the game, trying to figure out what everyone was reacting to, but by the time you understood where to even look, the moment was already over.

For a while, you didn’t really mind.

You mostly watched her.

The way she hunched forward during close plays. The way she reacted half a second before the crowd sometimes, like she already knew what was about to happen.

She looked happy, and honestly, that was enough.

But eventually, you started feeling the distance between you grow anyway.

“Cass, look at that guy on the screen—”

“Wait, hold on, baby.” Cassie said, her hand falling to our arm briefly as if to stop you while her eyes stayed fixed ahead. “I think they’re reviewing the play.”

You nodded along, but it quickly started happening more. Every time you tried getting her attention, the game interrupted first.

“Cass—”

“Hold on.”

“Wait, look—”

“One second, baby.”

And after a while, you mostly stopped trying.

You just huffed, slouching back into your seat while the game pulled more and more of her attention away from you a little at a time.

It almost seemed like she acknowledged strangers more than she did you, as she talked with the people sitting beside you over bad calls made by the umpires.

The worst part was she didn’t even realize she was doing it.

Then the home run happened.

One second everybody was tense and focused—the next, the entire stadium exploded into screaming.

“Holy shit!”

Cassie sprung up suddenly and her knee slammed into the seat hard enough to jolt the drink from the cupholder. You barely even had time to react before freezing cold soda spilled down the front of your shirt and straight into your lap.

The shock of the icy drink made you suck in a breath immediately, and Cassie froze immediately. Her face fell and her eyes dropped to your soaked clothes before widening.

“Oh shit—baby.” she dropped back into her seat, grabbing the few napkins from beside the popcorn bucket so fast they nearly tore in her hands.

“I’m sorry,” she rambled. “I’m so sorry.”

She started trying to blot the soda from your shirt frantically, despite clearly realizing that there was way too much for a few napkins to fix.

“I didn’t even—fuck.” Cassie looked up at you again, guilt written all over her face.

“It’s okay,” you said, even though your voice came out tighter than you meant it to.

She kept trying anyway, dabbing uselessly at your clothes while apologizing under her breath. You looked down at yourself for a second before exhaling quietly through your nose.

And suddenly the whole night hit you all at once.

The noise.

The crowdedness.

The constant feeling that you’d come here to spend time with Cassie, while she came here to watch baseball.

You caught her wrist gently, stopping her movements. “Cass,” you said, and her eyes found yours immediately. “I’m just gonna go to the bathroom.”

Her expression fell even further, like she knew there wasn’t really anything she could say right now that would help. “Okay,” she said softly.

You nodded once before stepping past her and disappearing up the row of stairs.

— —

By the time you came back, your shirt was still damp. Not soaked anymore, but enough that you could still feel it clinging uncomfortably against your skin underneath the jersey.

You walked back down your row expecting to find Cassie completely focused on the game again. Instead, her head lifted from the field almost instantly the second she saw you.

Relief crossed her face so fast it made your chest ache a little despite yourself.

“There you are,” she stood to let you pass before holding out a folded blue Dodgers hoodie from the merch stand in one hand, your favorite candy awkwardly tucked into it.

You blinked once.

Cassie rubbed the back of her neck lightly and swallowed. “I didn’t know what else to do,” she admitted quietly.

Some of the irritation in your chest loosened at the embarrassment she obviously felt, and you took the hoodie carefully from her hands. “Thank you.”

“Is your shirt stained?”

“A little.”

“Yeah,” Cassie muttered. “I’m really sorry about that.”

Then, before you could answer, the crowd erupted into angered remarks at something happening on the field again.

Cassie’s gaze flicked to the field on instinct. “Oh—wait wait.”

She sat back down quickly, eyes already returning to the game while you pulled the hoodie over your damp shirt.

A second later she leaned toward you again, pointing towards the players. “Okay, this is what I was trying to explain earlier.”

And the rest of the game passed exactly like that. Cassie zeroed in on the game just as she was before, and you now wanting nothing more than to just go home.

— —

When the game finally ended, the entire stadium was on its feet. The Dodgers won, and Cassie looked thrilled. She laughed, already speaking before the two of you had even fully stepped out of your row.

“I told you they’d pull it off,” she said, looking over at you with flushed cheeks and that same bright excitement she’d had all night. “Did you see that last play?”

You smiled faintly. “Mhm.”

Cassie continued on while the two of you slowly moved with the crowd toward the exits, her hand finally finding yours. Most of it faded together after a while—something about pitching, something about defense, players names you still didn’t know.

You just listened quietly beside her.

The parking lot was chaos afterward, headlights stretching endlessly between rows of cars while people yelled across the lot still riding the energy of the game.

Cassie was still riding the high of the win too. She kept talking as she drove, replaying moments from the game out loud, occasionally shaking her head and laughing to herself when she got to a part she still couldn't believe happened.

You listened with your head resting against the window.

Every now and then you'd hum or nod just enough to acknowledge you were listening, but the conversation never really became a conversation.

When the car came to a stop at a red light, Cassie’s hand settled back onto your thigh, warm and familiar just like it had been earlier.

Only this time, you turned slightly toward the window without really thinking about it.

Cassie noticed anyway, her words trailing off for a second before she glanced over at you briefly. “You okay?”

You kept your eyes on the passing lights outside. “Yep.”

Then the light turned green. She looked at you for another second like she was trying to decide whether she believed that, but decided to drop it, her gaze falling back on the road ahead.

By the time Cassie pulled into your apartment complex, you felt drained.

The second the car stopped, you reached for the door, and the sound of it shutting behind you made Cassie pause.

Not just because it was loud— but also because you moved fast too. You were already halfway up the walkway before she'd even grabbed her keys.

And the moment she'd ignored at the red light returned to her mind immediately. When she finally caught up to you, you had gotten the apartment door unlocked.

"Hey,” she said.

You didn't stop.

The door swung open as you stepped over the threshold, and Cassie barely caught it before it closed on her. Inside, the apartment was quiet. After spending three hours in a packed stadium, the silence felt eerily strange.

Just the faint hum of the refrigerator and the soft click of the door shutting completely. Behind you, Cassie dropped her keys onto the counter, the sound echoing through the room.

For a second she just watched you.

You kicked your shoes off by the door and headed toward the living room. The Dodgers hoodie followed next, pulling it over your head and tossing it onto the couch.

The shirt underneath clung to your skin.

Hours later, the soda had mostly dried, but it left behind a tacky material that stretched across your stomach every time the fabric shifted.

God, you wanted a shower.

“Okay,” Cassie finally spoke up, her voice breaking through the quiet. “What’s going on?”

You shrugged off the button up jersey she insisted on you wearing, discarding that onto the back of the couch as well, leaving you in a white tank top. Cool air finally hit your skin, and it felt refreshing after the long game you’d sat through.

"Nothing's going on."

"Come on, I know that’s not true."

“Everything’s fine, Cassie.”

"Baby,”

You rolled your eyes, huffing in annoyance before finally deciding to look at her. She was still standing by the front door, her hands on her hips as she studied you carefully.

You broke eye contact first. "Next time just take Langdon."

The words slipped out before you could stop them, and Cassie's eyebrows shot up. "What?"

You shrugged. "You would've had more fun."

"With Langdon?"

"Or Santos. Or Garcia. Whoever else."

Cassie looked genuinely baffled. "Where is this coming from?"

"You spent the whole night talking baseball with the people around us anyway."

A small crease appeared between her brows—she still wasn't following. "Okay..."

You laughed quietly to yourself, shaking your head, because somehow she still didn't get it. "You know what? Forget it."

You turned toward the hallway that led to the bedroom, however, Cassie caught your wrist before you could get very far. Not roughly, just enough to stop you.

"Hey."

You glanced down at her hand wrapped around your arm, then back up at her. "What?"

"What are you actually upset about?"

The question irritated you immediately and you pulled your wrist free.

"What am I upset about?" you stared at her for a second in disbelief that she even had to ask. "Cassie, I just sat through two and a half hours of baseball."

At that, a smile immediately threatened to appear on her face.

You pointed a finger at her. "Stop it."

Cassie bit the inside of her cheek, trying and failing to hide it. You shook your head and started pacing toward the couch.

"I don't even like baseball. I spent the entire night pretending to understand what was happening."

"I know, baby. And I appreciate you for that."

"Yet somehow you're still looking at me like I’m a joke."

The amusement faded from her face instantly at your words. Maybe she should be taking this more seriously than she was. "Then tell me what I'm missing."

You stopped pacing now to actually look at her. "I went because you wanted me there." your voice came out quieter this time.

Cassie's expression visibly softened from the change. Like the irritation had faded and a tinge of vulnerability began to emerge even if you didn’t mean for it to.

"I thought I was finally gonna spend a night with my girlfriend after a busy couple weeks." you said, continuing before she could respond. "I got ready, I stood in front of my closet for twenty minutes trying to figure out what you wear to a baseball game."

Her eyes moved over your outfit automatically—or what was left of it, but she remembered exactly how you looked before you’d left the house.

A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. Not teasing, but fond. Which somehow made you more annoyed.

"I was trying to look nice."

"You did look nice."

"That's not the point."

"Then what's the point?"

"The point is that I felt like I was sitting next to the commentator instead of my girlfriend the entire time."

Something shifted in Cassie's face, you saw the way it fell immediately. The realization or at least something close to it.

Good, maybe she was finally listening.

"And then you dumped your soda on me."

Cassie groaned, throwing her head back. "Oh my God, that was an accident—"

"I was marinating in Coke for hours. I still am."

“Okay,” despite herself, she let out a short, humorless laugh, rubbing a hand over her face. "Okay, yeah. That was pretty bad. You still looked cute in the hoodie, though."

"Cassie."

"I’m sorry."

You stared at her blankly, like you were trying to confirm if she was actually being serious before sighing and shaking your head.

"I should've just stayed home."

"Baby, no—"

"I would've had a better time if I did."

“Come on, don’t say that.”

She watched as you began collecting your clothes from the cushions, and reached for you. Her arms went to wrap around your waist, but you stepped back before she could fully touch you.

Cassie's hands dropped, and so did her expression.

"I'm gonna go take a shower."

"Baby—"

"Not right now." you inhaled through your nose as you turned and headed down the hallway. "I still feel gross."

This time, she didn’t try to stop you. Her mouth opened only to close when she couldn’t find the right thing to say, if there even was such a thing in that moment.

A few seconds later, she heard the bathroom door shut, the sound ringing through the apartment. Cassie stood in the living room for a second longer before slowly sinking onto the couch.

Her eyes landed in the direction of the bedroom you left.

Then on your abandoned shoes by the door.

And finally on the empty spot beside her.

At first she just stared, then squeezed her eyes shut and leaned back into the cushions, mentally cursing herself for how stupid she’d been. The more she replayed the night, the worse she felt.

Because she recounted the amount of instances you'd tried to spend time with her while her focus was somewhere else.

A knot formed in her stomach.

Then the spilled drink.

At the time she'd been focused on cleaning up the mess and getting you something to cover up with. Now all she could picture was you sitting there uncomfortable for hours while she kept talking about the game.

The realization made heat creep up the back of her neck.

Fuck.

Cassie pressed her lips together. You hadn't been asking for much.

Just her attention. Just a date. Just her.

She thought about the drive home and how quiet you'd been. How she'd filled every silence with baseball again. How she'd only asked if you were okay when you physically pulled away from her.

She let out a heavy sigh, because you were right.

— —

The apartment was still buzzing with silence when you stepped out of the bedroom.

The shower had helped—maybe not with your mood, but at least you no longer felt like dried soda was glued to your skin. You’d changed into an oversized t-shirt and a pair of sleep shorts, the clean set of clothes making you feel refreshed.

Cassie looked up the millisecond she heard you coming down the hallway.

She’d remained in her spot on the couch the whole time you were gone. Not watching television, or scrolling on her phone. Just sitting there. And the second she saw you, she straightened slightly.

She watched as you made your way over to the kitchen, mentally debating if now was the time, before deciding to follow. The couch cushions shifted under her weight as she stood up.

“Hey,” she said quietly, her feet brushing against the floor, slow.

As if she were approaching cautiously because she wasn’t sure how you’d react. Her shoulders dropped a little when you ignored her, only opening a cabinet to grab a glass.

“Baby,”

This time a faint hum left you.

Not exactly an answer, and also not completely disregarding her. You filled the glass from the refrigerator water dispenser, and Cassie appeared behind you a few seconds later. She didn’t touch you, but she was close enough that you could feel her presence.

“I’m sorry.”

You took a sip from your cup. “Hm.”

Cassie sighed, the sound carrying a little frustration with it. Because for someone who spent all day talking baseball, she suddenly couldn’t figure out what to say.

You downed the rest of your drink and set the glass beside the sink, turning to leave again. But before you could get more than a step away, Cassie’s hand closed gently around your wrist.

The movement happened so quickly you barely processed it.

One second you were planning to leave, the next you were being spun back around and your feet had left the floor. She lifted you like you weighed absolutely nothing and set you on the countertop.

Immediately, she stepped between your knees and her hands braced themselves on either side of you, effectively trapping within her arms.

Your eyes widened as you blinked at her. “What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to get you to listen to me.”

“I was listening to you.”

Cassie raised an eyebrow, the action alone telling you she didn’t believe that for a second.

“No,” she denied slowly. “You might’ve been listening to my voice but you weren’t hearing what I was saying.”

You scoffed. “Yeah, doesn’t feel too great does it?”

That response shocked her into silence, and her mouth pressed into a thin line. Your arms folded across your chest as you looked past her shoulder toward the living room, toward anything except her stare.

Clearly you were still very upset.

For a moment neither of you said a word.

Cassie eventually inhaled a deep breath before speaking up. “You were right. About everything.” she started softly.

Your jaw tightened immediately.

You hated hearing that because it made it harder to stay angry.

For the last hour you’d been mentally preparing for this exact conversation. Planning what you were going to say and how you were going to say it. Now, she was agreeing with you.

It was annoying.

“I didn’t realize how dismissive I was being, and I hurt you.”

A quiet sigh escaped through your nose that Cassie noticed instantly.

“You weren’t there because you wanted to watch baseball.” she said. “You were there because I asked you to be.”

Your fingers tightened around your folded arms. The words landed harder than you wanted them to because that was exactly it. You hadn’t gone for the Dodgers, you had gone for her.

“I keep thinking about you trying to talk to me.” Cassie’s voice stayed quiet. “I remember now, and I hate that I brushed you off the way I did.”

Your eyes dropped briefly to the counter between you at the memory of how upset you gradually became, how embarrassed you were.

“I was so excited about the game, but that’s not an excuse.” she watched your face carefully when you continued avoiding her gaze.

“I meant it when I said I wanted it to be a date.”

Your gaze flicked back to her at that.

For the first time since you’d come out of the shower, and Cassie’s eyes softened immediately when she realized she’d finally gotten your attention.

“I wasn’t lying.”

You looked at her—really looked at her, and the sincerity in her gaze made all of your built up walls nearly crumble on the spot.

“I just got carried away.” a tiny smile pulled at one corner of her mouth. “And apparently I turned into some crazed Dodgers fan.”

Your lips twitched before you could stop them, and immediately your mouth flattened again.

But it was too late.

“There she is.” a faint warmth appeared in her eyes.

You rolled your eyes and looked away again. “Don’t ruin it.”

The smile that spread across Cassie’s face was soft, relieved. Like she’d been waiting all night to see even the slightest crack in your stubbornness.

Cassie slid her hands to your waist, pulling you closer to the edge of the counter and against her front. This time you let her, and a warm kiss landed against your cheek.

Then another.

“Cassie.” you warned.

And another.

“Yes, baby?”

“You think you can fix everything with kisses?”

“I can try.” she pressed another to your jawline. “Is it working?”

Her hands settled on the top of your thighs, and you became suddenly hyperaware of how close she was standing. The argument had distracted you from it before, but now there was nothing else to focus on other than her.

She pulled back to look at you, and your gaze dropped to her hand placement for a second before meeting hers again.

“You know,” she said softly. “You’re really cute when you’re pretending you’re still mad at me.”

You scoffed immediately. “You’re not completely off the hook yet. You’re still in trouble.”

“Yeah?”

“Very serious trouble.”

She breathed out a sigh. “I guess that just means I’m gonna have to make it up to you.” her hands glided higher as her mouth returned to your neck.

You fought to keep your eyes open at the feeling of her soft lips on you. Your head tilted to give her more room against your better judgement. As much as this is how you wanted your night to go—you were still pissed at her.

“Hm?” she murmured, her mouth trailing further down. “Are you gonna let me make it up to you, babygirl?”

A gasp caught in your throat when her teeth grazed your skin. She paused at your pulse point, focusing on that spot for a moment as she nipped gently before soothing the bite with an opened mouthed kiss.

Her lips then captured yours.

The way she kissed you so deeply honestly caught you off guard. It was different from the quick, brief pecks she’d given you earlier before the game. Like she wanted you to feel how sorry she really was instead of just saying it.

You soon pulled back just enough to get some air, your lips barely brushing hers. “Better get on with it before I change my mind.”

Cassie chuckled and she didn’t give you time to respond before she hauled you off the counter. A startled gasp escaped you and you clung to her instinctively, legs tightening around her middle and arms wrapping around her shoulders as she carried you towards the bedroom.

The door clicked shut with a nudge of her foot, and the mattress dipped under your weight as Cassie laid you down, crawling to hover over you. Your hands tugged at her jersey and she instantly pulled it over her head, tossing it somewhere on the floor. You always loved the feeling of her skin on yours.

Her mouth found yours once more. Cassie’s hands wasted no time in gliding up your sides, the usual coldness of her hands a sharp contrast to the warmth of your freshly washed skin. Your shirt was soon bunched up above your chest, and a shiver ran down your spine when her thumb brushed over your sensitive nipple.

You gasped lightly into the kiss, and Cassie smiled victoriously. She parted from your lips, trailing kisses down your throat until she reached your breasts. She focused on the left one first, her mouth closing around the areola as her tongue swirled around your nipple.

Heat shot straight to your core, soft whimpers falling from your lips at the stimulation. Her hand cupped the right one, giving it a firm squeeze before her fingers began toying with the hardened bud.

She pulled, twisted, rubbed—you could feel your panties getting embarrassingly soaked by the second from the way they were sticking to you.

Cassie switched to the other breast, giving it the same attention. Her tongue circled around your nipple before latching back on. Only when your hips began bucking up into her did she chuckle, taking the hint.

Her hand traveled lower until they reached the waistband of your shorts, slipping beneath the fabric. She was instantly met with dampness, your slick generously coating her fingers. Your breath hitched at the feeling of her touch exactly where you needed it.

She pulled off your breast with a grin. “Jesus, baby.” she teased, her fingers sliding under your panties to run along your slit. “This wet for me already?”

You wanted to roll your eyes at the comment, but a moan was forced out of you at the sudden intrusion of her two fingers. She chuckled at the look of pleasure that settled on your face. Your eyes had fallen shut and your head rested back into the pillows.

“Fuck—Cassie,”

“Yeah, baby? That feel good?” she drew back before pushing in again, curling her fingers once she was knuckle deep. “God, you’re so beautiful.”

The spot she was hitting so accurately made your walls clench around her fingers, eager to keep them inside. A soft moan fell from your lips as she fucked you slowly, and you thought she was finally going to give you what you’d been waiting for, but all of a sudden—she pulled out.

Your eyelids flew open. “Cassie,” you groaned, staring at her in annoyance.

She was walking a fine line from earlier and you still weren’t particularly happy with her, so this was in no way helping her case, but she paid no mind to your scolding.

“Relax, baby.” she said, sitting up to pull your underwear and shorts down your legs. “I’ll take care of you, don’t worry.”

Cassie ran her hands soothingly along your calves as she returned to her position between your thighs. She laid flat on her stomach and let your legs drape over her shoulders, now staring directly at your dripping cunt.

You had expected to be met with more teasing—Cassie loved to make you wait and get you all riled up before giving you what you wanted. You’d anticipated maybe another finger that she would refuse to sink in deep enough to satisfy you, or maybe a stroke of her tongue that she wouldn’t let you feel long enough to actually be pleasurable.

That’s why your breath caught so roughly in your throat when she dove in like a woman starved. You weren’t prepared for the way her tongue glided through your folds with a delicious pressure that made your eyes roll back into your head. When she reached your clit she sucked hard, moaning into you at the taste she never got tired of.

The vibrations made you cry out and your legs tried to involuntarily shut around her head, but her hands wrapped around your thighs to keep them open.

“Oh, fuck—Cass—”

Cassie ate you out desperately, her mouth working wonders on your cunt—like all she wanted was to make you feel good after a night of making you feel like shit.

She traced her tongue around the sensitive bud before closing her lips on it and sucking firmly in a way that had you keening and your hips bucked on their own accord.

Her tongue ran along your slit, probing at your aching hole for a moment before pushing all the way in. Your hands grabbed at her, looking for anything to hold as her tongue fucked deep into you.

You made the mistake of looking down at her at that moment, because her gaze was already locked on you.

The sight of your girlfriend—who you were thoroughly pissed off at not even a half hour ago—lying between your legs with your arousal glistening on her face as she fucked you with her tongue could have made you cum on the spot if you weren’t deliberately holding yourself back.

Her eye contact remained unwavering, and the attention would have been overwhelming if it wasn’t exactly what you had been wishing for all night. You were the first to break it, your eyes closing as keeping them open proved to be impossible with the pure ecstasy running through your body from her ministrations.

Your hand tangled in her hair and she groaned when you tugged, but she didn’t stop you. You were getting close, and she knew it from the way your walls were tightening around her tongue. Her thumb began to rub circles into your clit. Your other hand finally released its grip on the sheets to find her.

“Fuck, please—Cass, please—”

It was too much and not enough all at once, you couldn’t decide whenever to push her away or pull her closer. She used her free hand to lace her fingers with yours, offering a grounding touch as she doubled down on her efforts.

Her tongue curled, finding that angle that made you cry out for her. A few more perfectly timed thrusts and a particularly hard rub at your clit, and you were falling over the edge.

Your back arched as you went silent, and Cassie had to pry your clamped thighs open so she could fuck you through it properly. It washed over you in waves, and when you eventually came down you had to push her away to get her to stop.

She gave in to your protests and sat up, gently guiding your legs back down to the bed. Your chest heaved as you tried to regain your air, and the fucked out expression on your face made her smile.

Cassie probably didn’t look any better.

Her hair was disheveled, and she wiped her face that was most definitely covered in your slick with the back of her hand. She moved to hover over you, her forearms resting on either side of your head. She brushed your hair back from your forehead as she peppered kisses across your cheek.

“My sweet girl,” she murmured. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

You hummed lightly, your eyes still shut as you allowed your body to come down from your high. She connected her lips with yours, and you moaned quietly at the taste of yourself still evident in her mouth.

Cassie pulled away, pecking your lips once before sitting up. She unzipped her pants that were somehow still on and kicked them to the floor before sliding back into bed beside you. She tugged the blanket over your naked body and gathered you into her arms.

The apartment had gone quiet again, but this one was comfortable. Not the tense silence that had followed your earlier argument.

“You okay?” she asked gently.

“Mhm,” you responded. “Can we just stay like this for a bit?”

Cassie pressed her lips to your hairline. “Yeah, of course, baby.”

You laid against Cassie for a while, basking in that post-sex bliss. You traced absentminded circles against the back of her hand where she intertwined your fingers, and neither of you seemed particularly ready to move.

Cassie was the first to break the silence.

“I really am sorry.”

You smiled faintly. “I know, Cass. It’s okay.”

“No.” she gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “No it’s not okay.”

That made you turn your head, and she was already looking at you.

“I don’t ever want to be the reason you have a bad day.” she let out a quiet breath. “You’re supposed to enjoy being with me and I just hate knowing I made you feel alone while you were sitting right next to me.”

You watched her for a moment before reaching up to smooth down her bangs on her forehead.

“You did.” you said, and her eyes visibly saddened. “But…” you smiled a little. “You made up for it and I forgive you.”

Cassie chuckled lightly. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

You laughed before focusing in on her hand again. After a moment, you spoke up. “You know…I never told you this.”

“What?”

“I still have no idea what an inning is.”

Cassie stared at you in disbelief for exactly one second before she broke out into a grin. “You sat through that whole game,”

“Mhm.”

“And you still don’t know?”

“Nope.”

She shook her head, laughing. “I must be a pretty shit teacher then.”

You smiled to yourself and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I’d do it again, though.”

Cassie looked up in shock. “You would?”

“Yeah.” you said. “It was nice at first. You know, before the game started.”

Her expression softened as she looked at you, and she leaned in to kiss you softly. “You have no clue how much I love you.” she murmured against your lips. “Next time I’ll make sure it’s actually worth it.”

“I know you will, and I love you too.”

She would definitely be calling out of work next weekend to take you on a proper date.

cassie is running low on cash buying you little snacks from the vending machine every shift. she's running out of pickup lines to say every morning when you pass by her car in the parking lot. does she need to touch your arm more? and for fuck's sake, how many more times does she have to butt in into a conversation of you and some random flirty patient?

it's driving her insane.

until trinity points it out.

"hey." trinity nudges you. "i know mckay's down bad for you but man, you gotta give the poor woman a break."

you look at trinity, confused. "what do you mean?"

"the patient flirting with you?"

"what about it? i turned him down."

"yeah, but mckay's obviously jealous."

"why?" you frown. "does she like the patient?"

trinity sighs, burying her face on her palms. "how can someone so smart be this dense?" she looks back at you. "mckay likes you, dummy."

"me?"

"yes, you!"

"what - that's not - how?!" you stutter, face flushed instantly. "you're messing with me."

trinity rolls her eyes. "yeah, right. i totally made up cassie's heart eyes for you." she sighs. "you two better get your shit together before this month ends. i have a bet to win."

a bet?!

You’ll admit it. 

Your flexibility has gotten a lot better over the past two weeks. All thanks to your yoga instructor, Jack Abbot. 

“Feel that?”

“The blood rushing to my head?”

Jack’s playful scoff bounces off the walls, and throughout the humid room. The bold 95° blinking on the thermostat almost made you run back to your car, however, Jack’s voice stopped and forced you to follow his command. 

So you’re here. Half naked in spandex shorts that stop under the curve of your ass. Breathing heavily as Jack guides you into positions that threaten your knees to give out.

“Not that, your hamstrings.”

To solidify his words, Jack’s fingers gently trace over the back of your thighs, starting from the back of your knees to the end of your shorts. His touch makes you suck in a short breath and suddenly the blood that pools in your head is the least of your problems. Now, it’s the throb between your legs. 

“I-Yeah, I feel it.”

Your stutter signals that it’s time to wrap up your private lesson and Jack mumbles the finishing pose, child’s pose. With your sweaty forehead pressed against your mat, you miss the way Jack readjusts himself in his shorts. Instead, you focus on your breathing and pray the throb between your legs goes away. 

“You did amazing.”

The praise immediately feeds the heat that prickles your skin, and has your legs crossing. Your lips lift with a smile,“You think so?”

Jack nods. 

“I’m heading to the sauna, if you want to join me.”

Your brows raise with surprise, like they're trying to touch your hairline. 

“That wasn’t hot enough for you?”

Your genuine question makes Jack laugh as he walks away, his fingers catch the end of his shirt before pulling it off his chest. With a look over his shoulder he playfully says, “I’ll show you how hot it gets.”

Whether he meant them with ill intentions or not, you follow Jack into the sauna. Instantly, your nostrils sting from the hot air. The heat in the studio seems like child’s play compared to the heat in the sauna. A couple minutes in, your shirt clings to your skin, and you’re scared to move an inch because you know there’ll be a sweat stain.

“Focus on your breathing, try not to think of the heat.”

Without trying, your breathing syncs with Jack’s. 

His chest rises at the same time as yours. His lips part and exhale hot air, the same as yours. And his skin glistens with sweat, just like yours. Shamelessly, your eyes trail over every inch of his skin, and your eyes jump from freckle to freckle. Your stare makes Jack’s skin flush with another wave of heat, almost like you sprayed water on the stones next to him. 

“It’s hot in here.”

His words pull you out of your trance, “Thought you said to ignore the heat?”

Hungry eyes meet his, then widen when he stretches his arms behind his head. His fingers lace together and give you the perfect view of his armpits. Without wasting a second, your eyes trail over his bulging biceps and land on his armpits.

His sweaty hair sticks to his skin, and his musk fills the enclosed space straightaway. The breath you take is big enough to make him think your lungs are starving. 

Trinity Santos I just know she’s good with her mouth. Something about ‘you have a lot to say, why not put that mouth to good use?’ Spending the night at her place and she is eating your pussy like a woman starved. She’s so drunk off your pussy and entranced by the sounds you’re making that she starts grinding down onto the bed, desperately trying to get herself off. After all is said and done she kisses you and just says ‘is that a good enough use for you?’

Samira Mohan is definitely a dead center switch. Truly depending on the day, she will either be under you as you fuck her nice and deep with your strap. Maybe even having you eat her pussy till she cries. Or she’ll have you face down ass up, fucking you through multiple orgasms until she is satisfied. She’d reach around and rub your clit too just to overstim you even more. She loves the noises you make but making you cum and you practically scream as it rips through you? That’s something special for her.

Cassie McKay I just know can degrade you and praise you seamlessly. ‘God, you’re such a slut for me baby. Only for me.’ If she gets off of a long shift but still wants to fuck you though, she’s doing it in the most efficient way possible. You will either be riding her or you guys are fucking while spooning. Her body hurts after her long shift and she’ll be damned if she has to stand for a second longer. Rightfully so, but if you want her to she will.

Parker Ellis is definitely a no nonsense type of person. If you have an attitude she will call you out on it. ‘Fix your attitude or I’ll fix it for you.’ And oh god does she. She’s got you folded up in the bed driving her cock into you so deep that you might have to the ER to check if you have a bruised cervix. ‘You were talking all those shit earlier, where is it now hmm?’ You cant say anything, hell you can’t even think! And she’s not stopping until she believes you’ve been dealt with.

Baran Al-Hashimi is gentle until she, well, isn’t. Much like Parker, she too has her limits but doesn’t have as short of a fuse. ‘You’re really testing my patience angel’ and she won’t tell you when she’s finally had enough. Not until you’re both home and she pulls you over her lap and fingers you until you cum over and over again. Until it’s dripping down her leg. Whenever she’s done with you she’ll make you suck on her fingers and then give you a stern talking to so you understand why she did what she did. Even though you both know it’s falling on deaf ears.

Mel King doesn’t have a super high sex drive. Like if you wanted to fuck then she’d fuck you yes, but, she doesn’t need it reciprocated. Though when she is horny, be prepared to be at it for ours. This is all pent up tension that’s been building since the last time y’all had sex. ‘God I’ve been needing this for so long.’ You’ll just be laying there as she rides your face, using you like a toy while you rub your clit. She’d be a fan of a double ended dildo, especially when you guys are opposite each other and she can watch as each thrust she does drives it deeper inside you. Or being able to see your creamy pussy leave a ring around it.

Dana Evans I think would be one to want her pussy ate while she talks about how stressful her day was. She’s going on and on about different incident, rude patients, rude coworkers. Whether you’re in the same field or not you’ll know a lot after this. ‘And then had the fu- shit baby right there- fucking nerve to abandon a baby in the bathroom.’ Once she gets a good 2-3 orgasms she’ll give you a kiss and then go out for a smoke before taking care of you too.

1. The Coffee

The first time Trinity Santos flirted with you, she did it over a burnt cup of hospital coffee.

You were standing in the break room at 6:43 in the morning, half-awake, one hand wrapped around a mug, the other scrolling through patient notes on your tablet. The ED was already loud beyond the door. Monitors beeping, residents calling for labs, nurses moving with the sort of speed that made the whole place feel like a hive someone had shaken.

Trinity came in still tying her hair back, black scrubs wrinkled in that very specific I slept for three hours and woke up angry about it kind of way.

She stopped when she saw you.

“Wow,” she said.

You looked up immediately. “What?”

“Nothing.”

Your brow furrowed. “Is there something on my face?”

Trinity’s mouth twitched. “No.”

You lifted a hand to your cheek anyway, because people always said “nothing” when there was, in fact, something. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” She moved past you toward the coffee machine. “You just look good in the morning.”

You blinked at her.

Then you looked down at yourself.

Your scrub top was slightly untucked. Your badge was twisted backward. Your hair had been put up in the dark and had mostly surrendered. There was a pen tucked behind your ear that you didn’t remember putting there.

“I look exhausted,” you said.

“Both can be true.”

You stared at her for another second, waiting for the joke to finish forming.

It didn’t.

So you nodded seriously.

“Thanks. You look tired too.”

Trinity paused with her hand on the coffee pot.

Slowly, she turned her head toward you.

You offered her a polite smile.

Her lips parted like she was going to say something, then closed again. She poured her coffee with the expression of someone deciding whether or not to walk into traffic.

“You’re killing me,” she muttered.

You looked back down at your tablet. “I can switch the coffee out if it tastes bad.”

Trinity stared at the back of your head for a full three seconds.

Then she laughed.

Not loudly. Not enough for anyone else to notice.

Just this small, helpless thing that made her shoulders dip.

“No,” she said. “Coffee’s fine.”

You hummed, already reading again.

Behind you, Trinity leaned against the counter, watching you like you were a puzzle box with no visible seams.

“You’re really something,” she said.

“Thanks,” you answered automatically. “You too.”

She smiled into her mug.

You still had no idea.

2. The Scrub Cap

The second time, it was during a psych consult.

You’d been called down for a patient who was refusing treatment, paranoid and overstimulated from the chaos of the ED. Trinity was the resident assigned to the case, standing outside the room with her arms crossed, explaining the situation fast enough that most people would’ve missed half of it.

You didn’t.

You listened, nodded, asked two questions, and then went in.

Twenty minutes later, the patient was calmer, sitting on the bed with a blanket around her shoulders and a cup of water in her hands. Trinity watched you through the glass with something unreadable on her face.

When you came back out, she stepped aside to let you through.

“That was impressive,” she said.

You tapped something into the chart. “She needed less stimulation, not six people talking over each other.”

“Yeah, but you got her to trust you in, like, two minutes.”

“She was scared.”

Trinity tilted her head. “You always do that.”

“Do what?”

“Make it sound simple.”

“It was simple.”

“No, it wasn’t.” Trinity moved closer, voice lowering. “You’re just good.”

You glanced up.

There it was again. That look. Warm. Sharp. Like she’d found something she wanted to touch but knew better than to reach for in the hallway.

Your brain politely sorted it into professional compliment and moved on.

“Thank you,” you said. “You handled the clinical side well.”

Trinity blinked.

Then her eyes narrowed slightly, amused and offended all at once.

“You’re complimenting me back?”

“Yes?”

“Like this is peer review?”

You frowned. “Was I not supposed to?”

She huffed a laugh and leaned one shoulder against the wall. “Okay. Let me make this easier.”

You looked at her fully now.

Trinity reached up and tugged at the edge of your scrub cap. It had slipped slightly, probably from you running your hand over your hair too many times.

“There,” she said, smoothing it into place. Her fingers lingered just long enough to be noticeable to anyone with a functioning sense of romance.

You did not have one of those.

You immediately touched the cap yourself.

“Oh. Was it crooked?”

Trinity’s hand dropped.

Her face went blank.

Then she looked away, biting the inside of her cheek.

“Yeah,” she said. “Terribly crooked. Medical emergency.”

“Why didn’t you just say that?”

“I did, in my own way.”

You nodded. “Thanks for fixing it.”

Trinity inhaled slowly through her nose.

“Anytime.”

And because you were you, you added, “It’s good to know you’re observant.”

Trinity stared at you.

Then she whispered, “Unbelievable.”

You smiled faintly, assuming she meant the patient case.

3. The Ambulance Bay

The third time was in the ambulance bay.

It was raining hard enough to turn the pavement silver. You’d gone outside for air after a difficult consult, the kind that left something heavy sitting behind your ribs. You weren’t crying. You weren’t even close.

You just needed the world to be quieter for two minutes.

Trinity found you anyway.

She always did that, somehow.

The door opened behind you and she stepped out, immediately making a face at the weather.

“Gross.”

“You can go back inside.”

“And leave you out here looking tragic and beautiful?” she asked. “No thanks.”

You glanced at her. “I don’t look tragic.”

“No. You do.”

You considered that.

“Is that a bad thing?”

Trinity looked at you like you’d just handed her a scalpel blade-first.

“No,” she said slowly. “That was not the part I expected you to question.”

You tucked your hands into your scrub pockets. “I’m fine.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“You were about to.”

She smiled then, soft and lopsided. “Maybe I just wanted to stand next to you.”

That should have done it.

That should have clicked.

The rain. The quiet. The way Trinity had stepped close enough that your shoulders nearly touched. The way her voice gentled only when she spoke to you.

Instead, you glanced toward the parking lot.

“Are you avoiding someone?”

Trinity’s smile fell open into disbelief.

You kept going, because unfortunately, once you found a possible explanation, your brain liked to trot after it like a little hound.

“Because if you are, I can stand here longer. Make it seem like we’re discussing a patient.”

Trinity pressed her lips together.

Her eyes dropped to the ground.

For one strange second, you thought she might be upset.

Then she laughed so hard she had to cover her mouth.

You stared.

“What?”

She shook her head, rain catching in the loose pieces of hair near her face.

“Nothing. Nothing. You’re just…” She looked at you again, eyes bright. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m trying to be helpful.”

“That’s the problem.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I know.”

You frowned harder.

Trinity softened.

She reached out, carefully brushing a raindrop from the shoulder of your scrub top.

“Come back inside before you freeze.”

“I’m not cold.”

“You’re shivering.”

You looked down at your own arm.

You were, actually.

“Oh.”

Trinity’s smile returned, smaller this time.

“Yeah. Oh.”

She opened the door and held it for you.

You walked in first.

Behind you, Trinity murmured, “One day, I’m going to flirt with you so directly you’ll have no choice.”

You half-turned. “Did you say something?”

“Nope.”

4. The Dinner Invite

The fourth time, she brought food.

That was serious.

You were in your office with the lights dimmed, your shoes kicked off beneath the desk, and a stack of notes glaring at you from the screen. It was past the end of your shift. Technically, you could leave.

Realistically, the charting goblin had its claws in your ankle.

A knock sounded at the doorframe.

You looked up.

Trinity stood there holding two takeout bags.

“Are you busy?”

“Yes.”

She lifted the bags.

You paused.

“Less busy than I was.”

She grinned and came in like she’d won something.

You moved a pile of papers so she could put the food down. The smell hit first. Warm rice, grilled meat, garlic, something spicy enough to make your stomach wake up and file a formal request.

“You didn’t have to get me dinner,” you said.

“I know.”

You looked into one of the bags. “Did someone order too much?”

“No.”

“Did the restaurant mess up?”

“No.”

“Did a patient’s family bring this?”

Trinity stared at you.

“I bought you dinner.”

You looked up.

“Why?”

The question came out genuinely.

Trinity’s expression did something complicated. Amusement first. Then fondness. Then a little flicker of exasperation.

“Because I like feeding you.”

You absorbed that.

Slowly.

Carefully.

Still incorrectly.

“That’s very kind.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Kind.”

“Yes.”

“I brought you your favorite.”

“You know my favorite?”

“You get the same thing every time we order from there.”

“That’s pattern recognition.”

“That’s interest.”

You nodded. “Both can be true.”

Trinity dropped into the chair across from your desk and rubbed a hand over her face.

“I swear to God.”

“What?”

She looked at you through her fingers. “Do you think I bring dinner to everyone?”

You thought about it.

“You’re friends with Dennis.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“And Mel.”

She lowered her hand. “You are dodging the point so hard it’s becoming athletic.”

“I’m not dodging. I’m answering.”

“You’re not answering the right question.”

“What’s the right question?”

Trinity leaned forward, elbows on her knees.

Her voice softened.

“Why do you think I know your favorite order?”

You opened your mouth.

Closed it.

The answer that came first was practical. Because you worked together. Because she noticed things. Because doctors noticed patterns. Because residents learned people’s habits when they were sleep-deprived and trapped in the same building for too many hours.

But Trinity wasn’t looking at you like this was about sesame chicken.

She was looking at you like she had been standing at a door for weeks, knocking with flowers, fireworks, a brass band, and a handwritten sign, and you had kept asking if the noise was maintenance.

Your face warmed.

“I don’t know,” you said quietly.

Trinity’s gaze flicked across your face.

For once, she didn’t make a joke.

“Think about it,” she said.

Then she pushed one container toward you and picked up her chopsticks like she hadn’t just rewired half the room.

You did think about it.

For the entire meal.

For the rest of your charting.

For the drive home.

For two days after.

+1. The Time You Did

The time you finally noticed, Trinity wasn’t even trying.

That was the ridiculous part.

It was late again. Of course it was. The ED had been brutal all day, one long unraveling thread of chest pain, psych holds, trauma alerts, and family members crying into vending machine coffee.

You found Trinity sitting alone in the nearly empty break room, head tipped back against the cabinet, eyes closed.

For once, she looked truly tired.

Not cute-tired. Not Trinity-tired, with sarcasm sharpened and ready.

Just tired.

You stepped inside quietly.

“Hey.”

Her eyes opened.

The second she saw you, her face changed.

Not dramatically. Not enough for anyone else to catch.

But you did.

Her shoulders eased. Her mouth softened. Something guarded in her expression loosened, like her body had recognized you before she decided whether to allow it.

“Oh,” she said, voice rough. “Hey.”

Your stomach flipped.

Small.

Dangerous.

Warm.

You stood there with one hand still on the door.

And suddenly, all of it came back.

You look good in the morning.

You’re just good.

Maybe I just wanted to stand next to you.

I like feeding you.

Think about it.

You had thought about it.

Apparently your brain had needed to receive the evidence, organize it, mislabel it, archive it, retrieve it, then finally set it on fire.

Trinity rubbed at one eye. “You okay?”

You walked farther into the room.

“I think you’ve been flirting with me.”

Trinity went very still.

Then she sat up.

Slowly.

“Sorry?”

“You’ve been flirting with me,” you said again, more certain this time.

Her expression cracked.

A smile crept in at one corner of her mouth.

“Have I?”

You gave her a look. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Pretend you haven’t.”

Trinity leaned back in her chair, now far too pleased for someone who had been half-dead thirty seconds ago.

“I don’t know. This is a pretty serious accusation.”

“You told me I looked good in the morning.”

“You did.”

“I looked like I’d been dragged through a supply closet.”

“Still worked for me.”

Your face heated.

Trinity noticed.

Of course she noticed.

Her smile softened into something less smug and more careful.

“You finally caught up,” she said.

“I’m sorry it took me so long.”

“Don’t be.” She shrugged, but the movement wasn’t casual enough to fool you. “It was kind of cute.”

“I thought you were just being nice.”

“I am nice.”

You stared at her.

She sighed. “Fine. Nice adjacent.”

You laughed before you could stop yourself.

Trinity’s face changed again.

That was when you really knew.

Not because she flirted. Not because she teased. Not because she brought you dinner or stood too close in the rain or looked at you like you were the only steady thing in a collapsing hospital.

Because when you laughed, Trinity looked relieved.

Like she’d been waiting to hear that sound all day.

Maybe longer.

You stepped closer.

Her eyes followed you.

“Are you flirting with me right now?” you asked.

“No,” she said.

You raised an eyebrow.

Trinity smiled.

“Now I’m waiting.”

“For what?”

“For you to decide what you want to do about it.”

The room went quiet.

Beyond the door, the ED kept roaring. Phones ringing. Wheels squeaking. Someone calling for an attending. Life continuing in all its fluorescent chaos.

But inside the break room, everything narrowed down to Trinity Santos sitting in front of you, watching you with that impossible mix of patience and nerve.

You took another step.

Then another.

Her smile faded, but only because her lips parted slightly.

You stopped in front of her.

“I want you to flirt with me again,” you said.

Trinity’s eyes darkened with amusement.

“Yeah?”

You nodded.

“But more directly this time.”

She tilted her head back to look up at you.

“Okay,” she said softly. “I want to kiss you.”

Your breath caught.

There it was.

No room for misinterpretation.

No clinical loophole.

No colleague-shaped excuse to hide behind.

Just Trinity.

Just wanting.

Just you, finally understanding.

You swallowed.

“I noticed that one.”

Her smile returned.

“Good.”

Then she stood, slow enough for you to move away if you wanted.

You didn’t.

Her hand touched your waist first, careful and warm through the fabric of your scrubs. Your fingers curled lightly into the front of her scrub top, exactly where you’d wanted them for longer than you had allowed yourself to admit.

Trinity leaned in.

Paused.

Still giving you a way out.

You closed the distance yourself.

The kiss was soft at first. Almost questioning. Then Trinity made this small sound against your mouth, half relief and half finally, and you forgot every clever thing you had ever almost said.

When you pulled back, she stayed close, forehead nearly touching yours.

“You know,” she murmured, “for a psychiatrist, you are impressively bad at reading romantic cues.”

You breathed out a laugh. “In my defense, you’re very sarcastic and I’m very autistic.”

Trinity paused.

Then her expression softened so quickly it almost stole the air from the room.

“Okay,” she said, thumb brushing once over your waist. “Fair defense.”

“In my other defense, you’re very pretty and that makes your sarcasm harder to decode.”

Her grin came back slowly.

“There it is.”

“What?”

“You flirting back.”

Your face warmed. “Was that flirting?”

“Baby,” Trinity said, delighted now, “that was practically a love letter.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling.

“In my defense,” she added, “I bought you dinner.”

“I understand that now.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“Because I can do it again. For clarity.”

You smiled.

Trinity’s thumb swept once over your waist.

This time, you noticed.

This time, you leaned closer.

“Dinner sounds good,” you said. “But I think I need more evidence.”

Trinity’s grin turned slow.

Dangerous.

Delighted.

“Oh, I can provide evidence.”