…

You’re an enigma in the ED.

Cassie prides herself in being able to read others, her coworkers and patients alike. Her father tells her it’s what makes her a good doctor; more than that, a good mother. She can take one look at Harrison and know that he’s caught a bug going around at school. Not you, though. You’re wholly different in the way you carry yourself. Clear and concise, but guarded. There is the you she observes with your coworkers. You’re friendly, but you hold them at arm’s length all the same. There is the you she sees with patients. Caring. Always willing to seek other methods if something isn’t working out. Then there is you with her. You’re fluent in sarcasm. You always have something to say or a means to deflect. But there is something… off about it now.

It doesn’t bother her.

It shouldn’t bother her.

But you’ve not always been this way. There was a time, not too long ago, wherein it wouldn’t have been uncommon to see the two of you deep in conversation—despite the odd remark here and there. That was then and this is now. You’re both professionals in your shared field. You’re both consenting adults. But it’s not lost on her, the way you find her in a crowded room. It’s subtle—she’d miss it if she wasn’t looking for it—but when the ED exists in this temporary lull wherein the storm that is patient intake calms enough, she sees you seeing her. When you stand at the nurse’s station, chatting it up with Princess and Perlah, idling the time away while you wait to get labs back on a patient. When your attention shifts by a slight. 

It’s not frequent, no, but once or twice, she’ll catch it—catch you. It’s a momentary lapse, she’s half-certain, because the moment you realize you’ve been caught staring, your attention is anywhere and everywhere else.

But that doesn’t change the fact that it’s happened.

Doesn’t change the fact that she’s noticed.

That she wishes you wouldn’t look away.

And, like the enigma you are, you let nothing on.

That is, of course, until she finds you in the parking lot with your hands tucked away in your pockets, staring aimlessly at your car. From a brief glance, she can already tell the prognosis is not good. You were off an hour ago. You should be home. Or, at the very least, you shouldn’t still be here. Yet, here you are. She doesn’t envy you—that, she knows for certain.

Despite it all, she still prods: “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you say without looking at her, then—You freeze. It dawns on you in real time just who stands behind you. You give her a glance over your shoulder. She could already see the bone-tiredness in your stance, but now she can see it in your face. You concede, then nod. “It’s alright.”

Your tone is colder. Clear and concise, but guarded.

It bothers her in a way she cannot explain.

“Doesn’t look alright.”

That was, perhaps, unnecessary of her to say, but she’s not wrong. She can tell, because the look you give her is telling enough. There’s no lie you can spin that will better explain why you’re still in the parking garage even though you were off of work an hour ago—so you concede and nod again. This time it feels more like an admission than anything before. You move to lean against the hood of the car so that you're facing her properly. “Shit battery won't jump.”

“I told you you should've replaced it.”

“I know,” you agree.

This might be the most you two have spoken outside of work in weeks. Admittedly, she's missed this more than she should. Regrettably, she's missed you more than she should. “I can give you a ride,” she offers before she can think better of it. Briefly, she wonders if she's overstepped your own self-subscribed arm's length shtick. Briefly only.

You look tired beyond your means. Today has stretched the both of you paper thin and, to add insult to injury, your car has chosen this moment to turn its issues into your own issues. Were it any other day, you'd turn down her offer, but she can see the gears and cogs grinding in your brain. To leave your car here overnight means you'll take the bus home. To take the bus home means you'll wait for it then wait at the station to switch buses. It means, to get home, you're more than likely looking at an hour or longer of travel when you're already dead on your feet. 

“I can't ask that of you.”

“You're not asking. I'm offering.”

“It's out of the way.”

“When has that ever stopped me before?”

It's never stopped her before.

She likes spending time with you 

“Cassie…” There is something careful about the way you say her name. Something guarded. Pleading, almost. At its core, it is you. The you that rests beneath the sarcasm and the quick wit. The you she knows too well. 

“You’re already late getting home.”

It takes great effort for you to concede this time. That, she can tell. She can read it, plain, on your face. The battle of wills. Will you, won’t you? Why should you? Why shouldn’t you? You’ve spent so long building walls around yourself. Can you really allow them to fall so easily?

“Okay.”

“Okay,” she repeats, nodding.

She watches as you collect your belongings from your car. Watches as you give it one final, miserable look before trailing after her. Not long ago, this was habit. Tradition. Perhaps not the final or miserable part, but there was a time where she would give you rides home—to your apartment or her own, it didn’t matter.

There’s something damningly familiar about the way you slide into the passenger seat. An echo of something else. Something which has always been. Something which you must try your hardest to stifle and to strangle or else or else it will come back. You blame your fool heart. The organ that lacks sense and settles into this familiarity like a crutch.

The ride starts in relative silence as you push into the city proper. The weight of today settles over the both of you like a dense fog. You lost a frequent flyer hours into your shift and you fear it set a precedent for the remainder. She was an older woman, but a friend all the same in the years since you began your residency. You’d spent what was probably too long working on her even after you knew she was gone.

You had to try.

Had to keep trying.

It’s in your bones, this thing.

This need.

This is the work you do; the work you will continue to do.

She is one person, but her absence feels monumental.

It doesn’t bother you most days. It does, but it doesn’t. Death. Loss… The works. You’re surrounded by it. You learn to live with it. You must. You’re supposed to be okay with it. Supposed to pack up your baggage and move from one patient to the next with an efficiency you used to have. But it chips away at you, you think. There are pieces of yourself, a handful of which you’re not sure you will ever recover.

And you’re supposed to be okay with that.

You are.

You’ve long since resigned yourself to that fact.

You work in emergency medicine.

Still…

You see the car’s trajectory. It’s not lost on you when Cassie pulls into an empty parking lot that is most certainly not the street in front of your apartment—you would know. You give her a look. You’re not very good at running from your problems, you think. If you were, you wouldn’t have agreed to this car ride. What an astounding observation you’ve made. Quite ground-breaking. What will you observe next?

“Can we talk?”

“It seems I have no choice.” You don’t mean to speak with such a bite. Correction: you do. You don’t mean for it to sound so… unfounded. This time she gives you a look. You’re being mean. You don’t want to be mean, especially to her. So you nod. “Why the sudden distance?”

Why are you icing me out, she means.

Why can’t we talk about this, she means.

Your arrangement was purely casual. On the off chance neither of you worked late or had any other obligations, you’d spend the night together. It was supposed to be casual. But you’re an honest-to-god fool who went and fucked it all up. You enjoyed the lazy mornings a bit too much. The hours in which the two of you laid side-by-side, breathing one another in. You enjoyed the late dinners and the subpar coffee runs. The post-shift debriefs and the long stretches of silence that follow after particularly grating days.

You enjoy her—too much.

It shows, you think.

You could lie. Tell her some fabrication. You’re busy. Or you’ve found someone else. Neither lie holds any merit. She knows you too well. Where does that leave you? To tell the truth?

Perish the thought.

Either way, she expects an answer.

Expects something from you that you’re not so sure you can give.

“I fucked up.”

That is apparently the last thing she expects from you, because her face twists into confusion. “What?”

There’s still time to lie.

Still time to bail. To make a quick exit stage right. But deep down, you know you’re better than that. Or that’s what you tell yourself at the very least. You shake your head—that in itself feels more an admission; a concession, than anything else. “I can’t keep doing it.”

“It,” she repeats, then the recognition dawns. “Us?”

“I woke up one morning and realized I like you more than I should and—I don’t know… it’s just not in the cards.” You don’t look at her when you speak. You don’t think you could if you tried. You’re not made for casual. Casual doesn’t even scratch the surface. You’re made for something deeper. Something you cannot have with Cassie.

She’s staring at you, wide-eyed. You can see it in your peripheral vision. You wonder what she’s thinking. You look at her. Scratch that. You do not want to know what she’s thinking. The silence in the car is stifling. It’s suffocating, actually. You’ve made your peace with this. “I’m gonna walk,” you say with less certainty than you mean.

“What?”

You’re throwing this poor woman through the ringer.

“I’m just a few streets over.” You’re already gathering your belongings. “I think I need a walk.”

“You’re not walking.”

“Cassie—”

“No,” she says, interrupting you. “You don’t just get to say that and run away.”

So you pause. You don’t push out of the seat and out of the car and down the road. You sit still. You cannot recall a time in recent memory you’ve been so aware of your breathing. So aware of everything around you. 

“You’re infuriating sometimes.”

It’s your turn to be confused. “Why?”

“Because you’re you.”

You blink.

“You're a good person.”

You're no longer sure where she's going with this.

“I—What?”

“You make it so easy.”

It.

You’re suddenly very aware of your breathing, but for an entirely different reason.

“Cassie.”

She reaches for your hand and you allow her to take it. The contact feels like a relief after the day you’ve had. She just holds it, but it means so much. It is a statement without words. Perhaps better than your own. You cannot imagine ‘I fucked up’ being very high in the scale of phrasing. This, though, you can.

“How long?” you ask.

At this, she glances away. Momentarily, but you catch it all the same. She shakes her head and looks like she wants to laugh. “The beginning.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“I saw this scrappy resident.”

“Scrappy? Like the dog?”

She gives you a look.

You return it in kind.

“Scrappy is a word.”

“It’s also the name of an—”

“—Can I just kiss you?” she interrupts. Her attention shifts from your lips up to your eyes, then back down to your lips. She has you pinned with just her eyes. You realize now, that this is exactly where you want to be.

“Do I get to finish my Scrappy lecture?”

“No.”

“Well, fortunately for you, I like you well enough to ignore your apparent disinterest in my opinions on Scrappy-Doo.”

She blinks. She just asked to kiss you and you’re talking about a fucking dog from a children’s tv show. What the fuck?

Afterward the room was quiet except for both of you breathing slowly evening out.

The soft yellow light from your bedside lamp cast long shadows across the blankets while rain tapped faintly against the windows outside.

Trinity lay flat on her back beneath you, hair messy against the pillow, skin still warm and flushed. You could see the sweat droplets on her skin.

You shifted carefully on top of her with a small tired sound before settling your head against her chest. Trinity’s hands moved instinctively over your back. Soft and grounding.

“For aftercare,” you mumbled against her skin, voice rough with exhaustion, “can you rub my back?”

“Mmhm.” Her fingers immediately started tracing slow circles on your heated skin. “You okay?”

“My left hip’s hurting.”

Trinity’s hands paused briefly.

“Why didn’t you tell me, baby?”

You let out a sleepy hum.

“Didn’t feel it in the moment.”

Which was true. Adrenaline and pleasure and endorphins. Sometimes your body let you forget itself for a little while before demanding repayment afterward.

Trinity’s touch softened instantly. One hand slid lower, carefully rubbing near your hip while the other continued up your spine. A soft moan coming out of you, not a sexual one, but certainly one of pleasure.

“You push through too much,” she murmured quietly.

You cracked one eye open slightly.

“Says the emergency medicine R2.”

“That’s different.” She tries to counter.

“It literally isn’t.”

Trinity snorted softly. You melted further against her while she kept rubbing your back in slow steady motions. Her fingers working over the knot of muscles by your hip, gripping her a little tighter.

Honestly this part scared you more than the sex sometimes. The softness afterward. The staying. Your ex used to leave bed immediately after intimacy near the end.  Like closeness itself became exhausting, but Trinity always touched you afterward. Absent-mindedly. Naturally. Like she couldn’t help it and honestly she probably couldn’t help it. A long time ago when she was just an intern you had noticed how much she wanted to reach people, but never could.

“You’re thinking too hard,” Trinity murmured suddenly.

You lifted your head slightly to look at her.

“How do you know that?”

“You get this wrinkle right here.” She brushed lightly between your brows. “And then you go all quiet.”

You stared at her for a second.

Then deadpanned “That’s rude and deeply invasive..”

“You gave me apartment access.” She shrugs with a smirk.

“That was clearly my first mistake.” Trinity laughed softly beneath you before her hand returned to your hip again. This time she was more gentle, fingers working over your muscles carefully.

“Tell me if I hit a bad spot,” she murmured.

Something uncomfortable and warm twisted low in your chest at the automatic concern in her voice.

So naturally…you deflected.

“Santos.”

“Yeah?”

“If you keep acting tender after sex I’m gonna have to start charging you by the hour for emotional recovery services.”

Her laugh vibrated beneath your cheek.

“Too late, psych menace.” Her fingers slid slowly through your hair now. “I fear I’m already attached.”

Your stomach flipped unpleasantly hard at that. Dangerous. Very dangerous.

So you hid your face back against her chest before she could see how much those words affected you.

By two in the afternoon, your patience was hanging by a thread. Which honestly wasn’t that unusual for the ED.

Your shoulders ached from hunching over charts all morning, your wrists burned every time you typed, and somewhere around noon your right hip had started throbbing hard enough you’d finally caved and switched from your cane to your chair.

The psych hold rooms were full. A nurse got screamed at by a patient high on meth. Mateo nearly got punched and Robby kept trying to page psych for things that were very obviously not psych consults.

So yes. Your patience was gone.

“You cannot diagnose someone with borderline personality disorder because she cried during an argument with her husband,” you deadpanned, staring at Ogilvie in front of you.

The poor guy blinked.

“Well when you say it like that-”

“Because that’s what happened.”

Behind you, someone snorted. You didn’t even have to turn around to know who it was. Cassie leaned against the counter beside your workstation with entirely too much amusement on her face.

“You’re being mean again.”

“I’m being correct.”

“Mm.” Cassie sipped her coffee. “You know HR usually prefers the first one.”

“HR can fight me.”

That dragged a laugh out of her. You turned back toward your laptop, already rubbing absently at the ache building in your wrist when suddenly, a familiar voice floated down the hallway.

“Excuse me, is psych consult always this terrifying or is today special?”

Your head snapped up immediately and there she was. Trinity stood near the nurses station in jeans and one of your hoodies, sunglasses perched on top of her head, keeping her hair from falling in her face. She had a takeout bag in one hand and a drink tray balanced in the other.

Your stomach did an embarrassing little flip instantly. Cassie noticed immediately.

“Oh my god,” she whispered dramatically. “You got heart eyes.”

“I absolutely do not.”

“You absolutely do.”

Trinity spotted you then and grinned immediately. There it was. That stupid warm expression she only got around you. Your entire body softened before you could stop it.

“Hi baby,” Trinity said casually as she walked over.

Cassie made a choking noise beside you. You ignored her with great dignity.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, trying for calm and failing slightly because Trinity leaned down to kiss your cheek like she belonged there. Which unfortunately, she kind of did.

“It’s my day off,” Trinity said like this explained everything. “And Mateo texted me that you threatened to throw a stapler at someone.”

“He exaggerated.”

“You asked if the stapler would improve their critical thinking skills.” Dana ended up pointing out from the nurses station.

“In my defense, it might.”

Trinity laughed softly and set the food down beside your laptop. The smell hit you immediately. Your favorite sandwich from the deli down the street. The soup you liked on bad pain days, and one of those electrolyte drinks Trinity was constantly trying to force into your system. You stared at it. Then at her.

“You brought me lunch?”

“You left without having breakfast.”

“I had a monster...”

“That’s not food.”

Cassie looked deeply emotional witnessing this.

“You two are disgusting,” she informed both of you.

“Jealousy is ugly on you,” Trinity shot back immediately.

Cassie pointed at the takeout bag accusingly. “She never brings me soup.”

“You don’t deserve soup.”

“Wow.”

Meanwhile you were still staring at Trinity a little too quietly.

Because this, this still got to you sometimes. The consistency of it. The way she noticed things; remembered things. Not because she had to. Because she wanted to.

Trinity caught your expression immediately.

“What?” she asked softer now.

You shook your head once.

“Nothing.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly like she knew you were lying, but she let you have the escape route.Instead she bumped her hip lightly against your chair.

“You eaten at all today?”

“…Maybe.”

“Y/N.”

You looked away immediately.

Cassie burst out laughing beside you.

“Oh she’s in TROUBLE trouble.”

“I am not.”

Trinity crossed her arms. “Baby.”

That word still hit like a truck every single time. Especially at work. Especially when she said it so naturally. You cleared your throat roughly. 

“I’ve been busy.”

“Mhm.” Trinity slid the sandwich closer to you anyway. “Eat before you get meaner.”

“You like when I’m mean.”

“That’s different.”

Cassie physically gagged this time.

“Okay I’m leaving before one of you starts making out at the nurses station.”

“We’re at work,” you said flatly.

Trinity glanced at you innocently. “Coward.”

You choked on absolutely nothing while Cassie HOWLED laughing and walked away immediately yelling:

“MATEO YOU OWE ME TWENTY BUCKS THEY’RE FLIRTING AGAIN.”

Your face burned, but Trinity looked delighted.

“You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

“I’m never flustered.”

“Baby, you literally stopped functioning because I brought you soup.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it again.

Because unfortunately that was a little true. Trinity’s expression softened after a second. Then quieter, gentler:

“You looked tired this morning.”

Your chest tightened unexpectedly. There it was again. That impossible softness. Not pity or obligation. Care, it was as simple as breathing. You swallowed hard and looked down at the food in front of you before muttering quietly,

“Thank you for lunch.”

Trinity smiled immediately. Warm enough to undo you a little.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “Always.”

You pat your lap. "Come here, I'll wheel us to the breakroom." 

Trinity’s eyebrows lifted immediately.

“In the chair?” she asked, already grinning.

You looked at her flatly. “Don’t make it weird.”

“You literally just invited me onto your lap at work.”

“You brought me soup. This is your reward.”

“That’s the hottest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

You rolled your eyes, but your hand stayed resting against your thigh expectantly.

“C’mere before I change my mind.”

Trinity looked entirely too pleased with herself as she stepped closer. Around you, the ED continued buzzing with noise. Phones ringing. Monitor alarms. Someone yelled for transport down the hallway and somehow Trinity still managed to make it feel like the two of you existed in your own little bubble inside the chaos.

“You know,” she murmured while carefully settling sideways onto your lap, “this is definitely gonna make people talk.”

“They already talk.”

“True.”

You tried very hard not to focus on the warmth of her pressed against you or the fact that she fit there disturbingly well or the way her arm immediately looped loosely around your shoulders like it belonged there. Dangerous. All of it.

Your hands settled automatically at her waist before you pushed the chair into motion toward the breakroom. From somewhere behind you, Mateo immediately shouted

“OH MY GOD TRINITY IS IN HER LAP!.”

You closed your eyes briefly.

“I’m revoking his rights.”

Trinity was shaking with laughter against your shoulder now.

“You can’t say that after giving me princess treatment in the hallway.”

“This is not princess treatment.”

“You’re literally chauffeuring me.”

“You have functioning legs.”

“And yet here I am.”

Unfortunately…she was. You caught sight of several nurses openly grinning as you rolled past.

You heard Princess whisper to Perlah “finally” under her breath.

Your soul briefly left your body.

“This is humiliating.” you said, slightly regretting this decision.

Trinity tilted her head to look at you, still smiling softly.

“No,” she said quietly enough only you could hear. “It’s sweet.”

That hit harder than it should have. Because there was a time not that long ago where something like this would’ve terrified you. Being seen caring openly. Being seen as soft, but Trinity made it feel strangely easy.

Even now, sitting sideways in your lap stealing fries out of the takeout bag before you’d even made it to the breakroom.

“Hey.”

“Those are mine.”

“You can’t prove that.”

“You literally brought this here for me.”

“And yet I’m still unconvinced.”

You snorted softly despite yourself, steering the chair carefully through the breakroom doorway. The second the door swung shut behind you, the noise of the ED dulled significantly. Trinity relaxed further against you immediately.

“This was so worth coming in on my day off,” she murmured.

You looked at her for a second too long. At the softness in her expression. At how naturally she occupied your space now. At how your body had stopped bracing against care every second she offered it.

Then you sighed quietly through your nose and leaned down just enough to press a quick kiss to her temple. Trinity froze slightly in surprise. Because you still didn’t initiate affection first very often. Not like this. When you pulled back, she was staring at you with that same warm look that always made your chest ache.

“What?” you muttered immediately.

“Nothing,” she said softly.

You and Trinity managed exactly five uninterrupted minutes. Five. Which, honestly, might’ve been a hospital record. Trinity was still half curled into your lap in the breakroom chair, stealing your fries despite having her own food sitting untouched beside her.

“You know,” she mused thoughtfully while chewing, “I think you only keep me around because I’m charming.”

“I keep you around because you keep bringing me soup.”

“That’s basically a marriage proposal in healthcare.” You snorted softly and reached for your drink.

For once, your pain had dulled to something manageable beneath the warmth of food and Trinity’s weight against you. The breakroom lights were dimmer than the ED outside. Rain tapped softly against the windows. Comfortable, Dangerously comfortable. Then the breakroom door swung open. Baran stepped inside, already holding a tablet in one hand. Her eyes landed on the two of you immediately. Then dropped to the fact Trinity was fully sitting in your lap. One eyebrow lifted.

“You know,” Baran said calmly, “most people use chairs traditionally.”

Trinity grinned without shame. “Where’s the fun in that?”

You sighed. “Please ignore her.”

“Unfortunately I can’t.” Baran glanced at the tablet again. “Because I need you. Which means she needs to get off you.”

The shift in your posture was immediate. Work mode. Trinity felt it happen beneath her instantly.

“What’ve we got?” you asked.

Baran’s expression flattened slightly in that specific way it always did when she was professionally irritated.

“Twenty-four-year-old male brought in by EMS. Neighbors called after he started screaming that people were inside his walls.” She handed you the tablet. “Possible stimulant use but he’s paranoid, agitated, and tried to climb out of the ambulance.”

You scanned the notes quickly. Heart rate elevated. Sleep deprivation. Visual hallucinations. Combative with EMS.

“Any psych history?”

“Unknown currently.” Baran crossed her arms loosely. “He’s escalating already.” You sighed quietly through your nose.

“Alright.”

The second you shifted like you were going to stand, Trinity was already moving automatically off your lap. Careful. Instinctive. You noticed and so did Baran. Neither of you commented on it.

“You okay to take this?” Baran asked then, quieter now. There it was.Not questioning your competence. Just checking. You appreciated that about her. Your hip was still throbbing. Wrists aching. Exhaustion heavy behind your eyes. But psych patients in crisis didn’t stop existing because your body hurt.

“Yeah,” you answered simply.

Trinity frowned slightly beside you though. She knew that particular tone. The one where you’d already decided to push through no matter what your pain level actually was.

“You sure?” she asked softly.

Your eyes flicked toward her automatically. And for just half a second, your expression softened.

“Yeah baby,” you murmured quietly. “I’m sure.”

That word still visibly affected Trinity every time. Baran absolutely noticed that too judging by the tiny smirk threatening at the corner of her mouth. Then she cleared her throat professionally.

“The patient’s in Hold Three. Security’s nearby in case he escalates further.” You nodded once and reached for the wheels of your chair.

Immediately Trinity grabbed your drink before it could spill. Then your sandwich. Then your phone. Like she’d been doing this forever. The tiny domesticity of it hit you right in the chest.

“You didn’t finish eating,” Trinity pointed out quietly while walking beside your chair toward the door.

“I’ll survive.”

“That’s not what I said.” You glanced up at her.

At the concern she was trying not to make obvious. She still hovered just slightly whenever your pain was bad. Once upon a time that would’ve made you defensive immediately. Now it just made something warm settle low beneath your ribs.

“I’ll eat after the consult,” you promised softly. Trinity narrowed her eyes slightly like she didn’t entirely believe you. Which was fair. Then she leaned down quickly before you reached the hallway and pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. Your entire brain short-circuited for a second. Because she’d done it without thinking. Like caring about you had become instinct now. Baran looked deeply entertained.

“You two are nauseating.”

“You love us,” Trinity shot back immediately.

Baran sighed dramatically. “Unfortunately.”

But as you rolled back into the noise and chaos of the ED, Trinity falling into step beside your chair without hesitation, you caught yourself thinking something dangerous again. Home. Her beside you. That feeling. By the time you reached Psych Hold Three, the hallway already felt tense. Security stood outside the room. One nurse looked two seconds away from quitting and somewhere inside, someone was yelling loud enough to echo down the corridor.

“I KNOW YOU PUT THEM IN THE VENTS!”

Something slammed violently against the wall. Beside your chair, Baran handed you the tablet while walking. You skimmed the notes rapidly again, a double check you always did. Paranoia. Sleep deprivation. Visual hallucinations. Escalating agitation. Your jaw tightened slightly.

“Vitals?”

“Tachycardic. BP’s elevated.” Baran glanced toward the room. 

You nodded once.

“Still nothing for psych history?”

“Nothing confirmed yet.” As you approached the doorway, Cassie appeared carrying meds and immediately slowed beside you.

“You good?” she asked quietly.

There it was again. That careful check-in people at work had learned to do without making it weird. Your hip was throbbing from sitting too long already. Your wrists burned from pushing your chair across the department. Fatigue sat heavy behind your eyes, but the patient came first.

“Yeah,” you answered simply.

Cassie narrowed her eyes slightly like she didn’t fully believe you.

Also fair.

Inside the room, the patient paced frantically near the bed, hospital gown half hanging off one shoulder. Sweat dampened his hairline. His eyes darted wildly toward the ceiling vents before snapping toward the doorway the second security opened it.

“There!” he shouted immediately. “More of them!”

Security stiffened. You lifted a hand calmly without looking away from the patient.

“Easy.”

Your voice shifted automatically into work mode. Grounded. Controlled. Steady. The patient’s gaze locked onto you instantly. You stayed near the doorway at first, chair angled sideways instead of directly facing him. Less confrontational.

“My name’s Y/N,” you said evenly. “I’m psych. What’s your name?”

“They already know my fucking name!” His breathing sped up again. You nodded once.

“That sounds exhausting.”

The patient blinked in surprise because you weren’t arguing with him.

“They won’t stop talking,” he muttered rapidly. “Through the walls. Through the vents. They keep saying my name.”

“Have you slept recently?”

“No because THEY WON’T LET ME.” He shouted the last part loud enough that Cassie visibly tensed near the wall.

You noticed the tremor in his hands. Skin picking along his fingers. Rapid speech. Likely stimulant-induced psychosis layered over severe sleep deprivation.

“You know what I think?” you asked calmly. His eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“What?”

“I think your brain’s overwhelmed right now.”

He laughed once sharply. “You think I’m crazy.”

“No.” Your voice stayed even. “I think you’re scared.”

That landed. The patient’s pacing slowed slightly. Not safe yet, but reachable. The patient scrubbed both hands over his face suddenly.

“They won’t leave me alone.”

“You’ve probably been running on adrenaline for days,” you said gently. “No sleep. No real rest. That can make your brain do some terrifying things.” His eyes flicked toward your chair suddenly. Then lingered.

“You a doctor?”

“Psychiatrist. So yes I am. I just don't deal with physical sickness.”

“You’re in a wheelchair.” Blunt. Not cruel.

You nodded once. “Sometimes.” The patient stared another second.

Then unexpectedly, “And they still let you work here?”

Cassie immediately looked like she wanted to fight someone on your behalf despite the patient clearly not meaning harm. You stayed calm.

“Yep.” A strange quiet settled over the room after that.

Because suddenly the patient looked at you differently.

“You look tired too,” he muttered.

A snort escaped Cassie before she could stop it. You shot her a flat look over your shoulder. Cassie immediately held both hands up. “Sorry.”

The patient actually cracked the faintest confused smile at that. Good, human moments mattered during de-escalation. You leaned forward slightly despite the protest from your spine.

“Can you do me a favor?”

His shoulders tensed warily again. “What?”

“Sit down for thirty seconds while we talk.” Silence. Then finally, slowly, he sat on the edge of the bed. The room visibly relaxed. Security loosened slightly near the door. Cassie exhaled softly. You kept your voice steady.

“Thank you.”

The patient rubbed hard at his eyes again suddenly, exhaustion finally beginning to crack through the paranoia.

“I just want it to stop.”

And there it was underneath everything else. Fear. Your expression softened despite yourself.

“We’re gonna help with that,” you promised quietly. From beside the wall, Cassie glanced toward you briefly. That look people got sometimes after watching you work. Respect. Pride. A little awe. You still never quite knew what to do with it. The patient stared at you hard after that. Like he was trying to decide whether you were lying to him. Paranoia still buzzed visibly beneath his skin. His knee bounced rapidly where he sat on the edge of the bed, fingers picking harshly at the skin around his thumb. You kept your posture relaxed despite the ache beginning to burn hotter through your back.

“I’ve got some medicine that’ll help with feeling scared,” you said gently.

His eyes flicked immediately toward Cassie where she stood quietly near the wall holding the meds. Suspicion flashed across his face.

“You trying to knock me out?”

“No.” Your tone stayed even. “I’m trying to help your brain slow down enough that you can breathe again.” The patient swallowed hard. You softened your voice just slightly more.

“Are you willing to work with me here and try it?” you asked. “See, you’d think medicine would be an exact science, but…” You lifted one shoulder lightly. “Humans are weird.” That got the faintest confused huff out of him. Good.

“So this might help,” you continued carefully, “or maybe it doesn’t help enough and we try something else, okay?” His breathing had slowed some now. Still anxious. Still frightened, but listening.

“Won’t make it worse?” he asked wearily. Something in your chest tightened at that question. Because fear like this always came from somewhere. Bad experiences. Mistrust. People forcing things instead of explaining them.

“No,” you answered immediately, firmly enough that he looked back up at you again. “Definitely not that. I promise.” You held his gaze steadily. “I’m here to help.” Silence settled over the room for a second. Then finally; a tiny nod. Cassie visibly relaxed beside the wall.

“There we go,” you murmured softly. “Thank you.” The patient rubbed at his face again, exhaustion dragging at him harder now that the adrenaline spike was beginning to ebb. Cassie approached slowly after you gave her a small nod. No sudden movements. No crowding. You watched carefully while she explained the medication again in simpler terms, letting him see everything before he took it. Control mattered. Especially when someone felt like they’d lost all of it already. The patient hesitated only briefly before taking the cup with shaky hands.

“There you go,” Cassie said gently. You caught the way her voice softened during psych holds sometimes despite how guarded she usually acted in the ED. People underestimated how deeply she cared. The patient swallowed the meds and leaned back against the bed afterward looking utterly exhausted. The fight was draining out of him now. Good. You stayed where you were for another minute instead of immediately pushing further. No interrogation. No overwhelming questions. Just presence. Eventually the patient looked back toward you again.

“You really think this’ll stop?” You tilted your head slightly.

“I think you haven’t slept properly in days,” you answered honestly. “And I think your brain deserves a chance to rest before we decide anything else.” He looked at you for a long moment. Then quietly:

“You talk different than the other doctors.” Before you could answer, Cassie snorted softly.

“That’s because she’s terrifyingly good at this.”

You shot her a flat look immediately. Cassie only shrugged innocently. The patient looked between the two of you, confusion slowly giving way to something calmer now that the panic wasn’t swallowing him whole anymore.

Then unexpectedly: “You guys friends?” The question caught both of you slightly off guard. Cassie recovered first.

“Unfortunately.”

You sighed. “I’m surrounded by comedians.” That finally pulled a weak tired laugh from the patient, and just like that, The room softened completely. The patient sat there breathing hard through his nose, the medication not fully kicking in yet but enough that the frantic edge had started dulling around the corners. His shoulders weren’t up around his ears anymore. His eyes tracked the room less frantically. Still scared. But reachable now. You shifted slightly in your chair, ignoring the sharp protest from your hip.

“Okay,” you said gently. “I have two options for you.” The patient blinked at that.

“You have to pick one though, okay?” After a second, he nodded once.

“Okay good.” Your voice stayed warm and even. “Option one: I stay here for a bit and we talk.” His expression tightened slightly. You shook your head immediately.

“Doesn’t have to be about this,” you reassured him. “Could be literally anything. Favorite movie. Music. Worst fast food experiences. Whatever.” That got the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Beside the wall, Cassie looked deeply entertained watching you casually therapize someone with Taco Bell conversations.

“Option two,” you continued, “we leave you alone and let you try to sleep for a little while.” The patient looked down at his hands for a long moment. You didn’t rush him. That was the thing most people got wrong during psych crises. They rushed. Filled silence. Demanded regulation from someone whose brain physically couldn’t do it yet. Eventually he looked back up.

“You’d stay?”

“Yep.”

“You don’t got other patients?” Cassie snorted softly under her breath.

You ignored her.

“I do,” you admitted honestly. “But right now I’m with you.” The patient stared at you again with that same strange almost suspicious confusion people sometimes got when they weren’t expecting kindness.

“You don’t gotta babysit me.”

“There’s that word again,” you said softly. His eyebrows furrowed slightly.

“Babysit.”

You leaned back slightly in your chair.

“I’m not here because I have to keep you under control,” you explained gently. “I’m here because you’re having a rough time and people deserve help when they’re scared.” The room went very quiet after that. Even Cassie’s expression softened slightly near the wall. The patient scrubbed a hand hard over his face.

“I’m tired,” he admitted finally. There it was. Not paranoia. Not yelling. Just exhaustion. Your expression softened instinctively.

“Then I think maybe your brain’s telling us what it needs.” He looked at the bed uncertainly.

“You really think I can sleep?”

“I think your body’s been running a marathon for days.” You gave him a small shrug. “Might not be perfect sleep. But I think rest would help.” The patient nodded slowly.

“Okay,” he mumbled.

“Okay which one?” A tiny pause.

“Nap.”

“Excellent choice,” you said immediately, like he’d won something. That earned another weak almost-laugh out of him. You nodded toward the bed gently.

“Why don’t you get comfortable for me then?” He hesitated only briefly before pulling his legs up onto the bed fully this time. Not curled defensively anymore. Just tired. Cassie quietly stepped forward to dim the lights slightly while security relaxed near the doorway. You noticed the patient watching all of it carefully. Watching how nobody grabbed him. Nobody barked orders. Nobody treated him like a threat now that he’d calmed. Control returned in tiny pieces. Important pieces. You rolled your chair back slightly toward the door once he settled against the pillow.

“I’m gonna check back in a little bit, okay?” The patient looked toward you again.

Then quieter now:

“...Thanks.”

You nodded once.

“You’re welcome.”

And as the door shut quietly behind you, Cassie looked over at you with that same expression people always got after watching you work.

“You know,” she muttered while the two of you headed back toward the nurses station, “it’s actually really annoying how good you are at that.” You snorted softly.

“Jealous?”

“Deeply.” Cassie glanced sideways at you. “Your girlfriend’s gonna hear about this by the way.” Your stomach did an embarrassing little flip immediately.

“She already thinks I hung the moon.”

Cassie grinned. “And you’re pretending you don’t love it?” You rolled your eyes at Cassie’s comment automatically.

“She already thinks I hung the moon.”

Cassie grinned immediately. “And you’re pretending you don’t love it?”

“Goodbye, Cass.”

“Oh my god you do love it.” You pushed your chair forward before she could say anything else. Cassie’s laughter followed you halfway down the hallway. Normally you would’ve let it roll off you. Normally you were better at compartmentalizing. But the word stuck. Girlfriend. Your hands tightened slightly against the wheels of your chair as you turned back toward the breakroom. Girlfriend.

The fluorescent hallway lights buzzed overhead while nurses moved around you in organized chaos. Somewhere nearby someone called for respiratory. Phones rang endlessly at the nurses station, but your brain snagged hard on that one stupid word. Because technically, technically Trinity wasn’t your girlfriend. Neither of you had actually said that. There’d been no conversation. No defining things. No moment. This had started casual. Just sex. Then staying over. Then movie nights. Then Trinity memorizing your favorite energy drinks and bringing you soup on bad pain days and somehow leaving hoodies all over your apartment like she belonged there. Somewhere along the line, the lines blurred completely and apparently everyone else noticed before you did. You slowed near the hallway corner. Then stopped entirely. A nurse squeezed past you with a muttered apology you barely registered. Girlfriend. The thought should’ve made you panic. Honestly, a few months ago it probably would have. You remembered the beginning too clearly still.

Trinity showing up cocky and exhausted after brutal shifts. Too pretty. Too loud. Too young. An R2 with a chip on her shoulder and something to prove. You’d pegged her immediately as dangerous. Not because she was reckless. Because she cared too easily.

You remembered how sharp you’d been with her in those early mornings after hookups. How quickly you’d shoved distance back between you every time she softened. No coffee. No staying too long. No accidental intimacy. You’d thought if you controlled the pace carefully enough, you could keep this from becoming something capable of hurting you. Then Trinity ruined everything by staying. Not dramatically. Just consistently. Showing up after shifts. Remembering your flare patterns. Learning how to hand you things without making you feel helpless. Texting you dumb memes at 2 a.m. Curling around you in bed like your body wasn’t something difficult to navigate.

And worst of all…she never treated care like debt accumulating. Your ex-wife used to sigh eventually. Withdraw eventually. Keep score eventually.

Trinity just…loved loudly, openly, without strategy. The realization settled heavily in your chest as you sat there in the middle of the ED hallway. Because somewhere along the way, you’d stopped bracing for her to leave every second. Your apartment smelled like her shampoo half the week now. She knew the code to your door. You automatically looked for her after rough consults and apparently your coworkers casually referred to her as your girlfriend because to everyone else this was obvious. Your throat tightened unexpectedly. You looked down at your hands resting against the wheels of your chair. At the slight tremor in your fingers from pain and exhaustion. Then quietly muttered to yourself:

“Jesus Christ.” Because somehow without meaning to you’d let someone all the way in. And terrifyingly enough? You didn’t want her back out. By the time you made it back to the breakroom, your brain still hadn’t shut up. Girlfriend. The word echoed around your skull obnoxiously while you pushed through the door. Inside, Trinity sat sideways in one of the chairs scrolling on her phone with your untouched soup beside her. The second she looked up and saw you, her entire face lit up. Instantly. Like seeing you again after twenty minutes apart genuinely improved her day.

Your chest tightened so hard it almost hurt.

“There she is,” Trinity said warmly, locking her phone immediately. “How’d it go?” You rolled further into the room slowly.

“Stimulant-induced psychosis most likely,” you answered, parking beside the table. “Severe sleep deprivation. Paranoia. Hallucinations.” Trinity’s expression softened into immediate focus while you talked. Listening. Actually listening.

“He ended up agreeing to meds,” you continued, reaching automatically for your drink. “Finally got him to sit down long enough to breathe.”

“That’s good.” Trinity leaned her chin into her hand while watching you carefully. “You de-escalated him?” You snorted softly.

“No, I challenged him to a fistfight.”

“That’s my girl.” The words slipped out casually. Unthinking. Your stomach flipped stupidly fast. Trinity didn’t seem to notice she’d said it or maybe she did. Hard to tell with her sometimes.

“He just needed someone to stop treating him like a threat for five minutes,” you muttered after a second quieter now. “Guy was terrified.” Trinity’s expression changed again then. That look. The one she always got after hearing you talk about psych patients. Soft. Proud. A little wrecked by you.

“You’re really good at this,” she said quietly. Your eyes dropped immediately to the table.

Deflection rose automatically to your tongue, then stalled. Because suddenly you were too aware of everything. Her sitting here on her day off waiting for you. The soup she brought. Cassie’s stupid comment. The fact that Trinity’s face still brightened every time you walked into a room. Dangerous. You cleared your throat roughly instead.

“Cassie laughed at me.”

“That’s because Cassie’s in love with workplace drama.”

“No, she laughed because the patient told me I looked tired.”

Trinity burst into immediate laughter.

“Oh my god.”

“You’re both awful.”

“You do look tired.”

“I’m leaving you here.”

“You’d miss me.” Unfortunately… Yeah. You would. The realization hit again sharp and unavoidable. Trinity tilted her head slightly while studying your face.

“You okay?” Too perceptive. Always too perceptive.

“Fine.”

“Hm.” She didn’t sound convinced. Before she could push further though, the breakroom door opened again and Cassie McKay wandered in carrying a chart.

“There you are,” Cassie said casually before looking between the two of you with entirely too much amusement. “Your girlfriend’s been hoarding your soup.” Your stomach dropped instantly. You went still and beside the table Trinity laughed softly and shook her head.

“She’s not my girlfriend.” The words landed like a slap you absolutely did not expect. Not because they were wrong. Technically they weren’t, but something in your chest still twisted painfully hard anyway. You looked down immediately before your face could give anything away. Across the room, Cassie visibly froze too like she realized she’d accidentally stepped into something awkward.

“Oh,” Cassie muttered. “I just assumed…”

“We’re keeping it casual,” Trinity said easily, completely unaware of the sudden roaring in your ears. Casual. That’s what this was supposed to be. You were the one who wanted that. The one who built those boundaries. The one who shoved her away every time things got too soft too real too dangerous. So why did hearing Trinity say it now make you feel vaguely sick? You forced your expression flat before either of them could notice anything.

“Well,” you muttered lightly, reaching for your soup finally, “glad we cleared up the workplace rumors.” Trinity grinned at you easily from across the table. Somehow that almost made it worse. You forced yourself to smile anyway. You were the one who insisted on this. The one who kept shoving labels away every time they got too close.

So you swallowed the weird ache in your throat and leaned forward just enough to press a quick kiss against Trinity’s cheek. Soft. Brief. Professional enough for work.

“You should probably get out of here before Robby sees you and ropes you into a surgery,” you joked lightly.

Trinity laughed immediately.

“Oh my god, don’t even manifest that.”

“I’m serious. He can smell free labor.”

“Rude.”

“Am I wrong?”

“No,” Trinity admitted while standing. “That man cornered me in an elevator once.”

You snorted softly despite yourself.

Trinity grabbed her bag off the floor then looked back toward you again automatically.

That same warm look.

Like leaving you behind for the rest of her day genuinely sucked a little.

“I’ll text you later?” she asked.

Not assuming. Still asking.

Something about that made the tightness in your chest worse.

“Yeah,” you answered quietly.

Trinity smiled softly.

Then without hesitation she leaned down and kissed the top of your head quickly before heading toward the door.

Your entire brain short-circuited for half a second.

“Bye baby.”

“Bye, Trin.”

And then she was gone.

The breakroom door swung shut behind her.

Silence lasted approximately two seconds.

Then suddenly—

Hands slammed dramatically onto the armrests of your chair from behind.

“WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?”

You physically jumped.

“Jesus Christ!”

Cassie McKay looked personally betrayed standing behind your chair.

“You’re IN LOVE.”

You stared at her flatly.

“I’m actually calling security.”

Cassie ignored you completely and spun your chair slightly toward her with scandalized energy.

“You let her kiss your forehead at work.”

“It was the top of my head.”

“THAT’S WORSE.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose immediately.

“Cassie—”

“No no no.” She pointed aggressively at you now. “Do you know how emotionally intimate that is?”

“She brought me soup.”

“She called you baby like six times.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

Cassie looked at you like she’d just witnessed a car accident.

“You looked devastated when she said you weren’t dating.”

Your stomach dropped instantly.

Because apparently your face had betrayed you more than you thought.

You looked away immediately.

Cassie’s expression shifted almost comically fast from chaos to realization.

“Oh my god.”

“Don’t.”

“You want her to be your girlfriend.”

You rubbed hard at your forehead.

“Cassie.”

“You absolute disaster.”

“She literally just said we’re casual.”

Cassie stared at you for a long moment.

Then very slowly:

“Did you ever ask for anything else?”

Silence.

Annoying. Awful. Insightful silence.

Because no.

You hadn’t.

You were the one who drew the lines originally. The one who insisted on casual. The one who panicked every time Trinity got too soft, too close, too caring.

Cassie watched the realization hit you in real time.

Then sighed dramatically.

“Oh this is painful.”

“Why are you still here?”

“Because unfortunately I care about you.” Cassie leaned against the table now, crossing her arms. “Also because watching emotionally unavailable people realize they accidentally developed feelings is my favorite hobby.”

You glared at her weakly.

Cassie only grinned wider.

“You know what the funniest part is?”

“I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”

“She definitely loves you too.”

Your chest tightened violently.

You scoffed immediately on instinct.

“She literally just said-”

“She said she’s not your girlfriend.” Cassie cut you off. “That’s not the same thing.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it again.

Because suddenly your brain was replaying every moment from the last few months: Trinity bringing you lunch on her day off. Learning your medication schedule. Sleeping curled around you carefully during flares. Showing up. Staying. Caring without hesitation.

Casual people didn’t do that.

Did they?

Cassie watched your expression carefully before softening slightly.

“You know,” she said quieter now, “you’re allowed to want something real.”

The words hit harder than you expected. Because somewhere deep down, part of you still believed wanting things from people was dangerous. That eventually they’d resent you for it. You looked toward the closed breakroom door where Trinity disappeared a few minutes ago. Then quietly muttered:

“Well that’s deeply unfortunate timing.”

Cassie kept staring at you with that deeply irritating expression. Like she’d solved a puzzle. You hated that expression.

“You know,” she mused, leaning against the table beside your chair, “this explains a lot.”

“Oh my god.”

“You were never this weird about anyone else.”

“I’m not weird.”

Cassie barked out a laugh loud enough that someone outside the breakroom glanced in briefly.

“You looked like someone shot your dog when she said you weren’t dating.”

You rubbed both hands over your face tiredly.

Your joints ached. Your shift wasn’t even close to over. And somehow your emotional crisis had become Cassie’s entertainment for the day.

“This conversation is ending now.”

“No it absolutely is not.”

You sighed dramatically toward the ceiling before finally looking back at her.

“You. Me. After work.”

Cassie blinked once.

“I’d say a bar but…”

“It can be a bar.” Cassie shrugged immediately. “I’m sober, not abstinent. I can drink soda.”

You nodded once.

“Okay. Bar after work and I’ll explain it.”

Cassie immediately straightened like she’d just been handed classified government information.

“Oh my god there’s a backstory.”

“But,” you cut in sharply, “you tell no one.”

Cassie opened her mouth.

You pointed directly at her.

“No seriously. If you tell this to anyone in this hospital,” Your voice dropped lower, calmer, more dangerous somehow. “I mean anyone. I will do psychological torture on you in such a subtle and horrifying way you won’t realize it’s happening until it’s far too late.”

Silence. Cassie stared at you. Not joking. Actually staring. Because your tone had changed completely. Still dry.  Still controlled. But serious enough that it clearly caught her off guard.

“Okay,” she said slowly, hands lifting slightly in surrender. “Okay. Jesus.”

You held her gaze another second longer before finally leaning back slightly in your chair.

“I’m serious.”

Cassie studied your face carefully now.

The humor faded from her expression little by little, replaced by something quieter. More understanding.

“You’re really scared about this, huh?”

The question landed harder than you expected.

By the time your shift finally ended, you felt half dead.

Your wrists ached from charting. Your hip was screaming from a twelve-hour day in the chair. And emotionally?

Emotionally you felt like someone had cracked your ribs open and left all your nerves exposed.

𐔌 ﹒ ⋆ ꩜ ⋆ 𓂃 ₊ ⊹  

Which was exactly how you ended up at a bar with Cassie at 9pm drinking soda instead of going home and pretending you weren’t having a crisis about your maybe-girlfriend.

The place was mostly quiet this late.

Dim lighting. Low music. A few exhausted healthcare workers scattered around nursing drinks like they’d all collectively survived battle.

You sat in a booth near the back with your cane leaned against the table now that you were out of the chair. Your joints protested every small movement after long shifts like this.

Cassie slid a basket of fries toward you.

“Eat.”

“I hate that all of you are bossy.”

“You attract bossy women somehow.”

You snorted softly and stole one of the fries anyway.

Cassie watched you over the rim of her soda cup for a second before speaking.

“So.”

You immediately pointed at her.

“If you say ‘your girlfriend’ I’m leaving.”

Cassie grinned.

“Interesting that you didn’t say she isn’t your girlfriend.”

You groaned quietly and leaned your head back against the booth.

“You’re exhausting.”

“And yet here you are voluntarily spending time with me after work.”

“Temporary lapse in judgment.”

“Mhm.”

Silence settled for a minute after that.

Not uncomfortable exactly.

Just…waiting.

Eventually Cassie nudged your foot lightly beneath the table.

“Okay seriously.” Her voice softened slightly. “What’s going on in that giant scary psychiatrist brain?”

You stared down at your drink for a long moment before answering.

“She said it so easily.”

Cassie frowned slightly. “What?”

“That we’re casual.” You laughed once softly without humor. “Like it didn’t even make her hesitate.”

Cassie watched your face carefully.

“You think she doesn’t want more.”

“I think she’s respecting what I asked for.”

That shut Cassie up briefly.

Because there it was.

The actual problem.

You rubbed your thumb slowly against the condensation on your glass.

“When this started…” You exhaled quietly. “I didn’t want serious. I couldn’t.”

Cassie nodded slightly but didn’t interrupt.

“She was just supposed to be…” You gestured vaguely. “Fun. Easy. No expectations.”

“And then she started bringing you soup.”

You shot her a look.

Cassie shrugged unapologetically. “That’s basically emotional foreplay.”

Despite yourself, you laughed softly into your drink.

Then sighed.

“She got under my skin,” you admitted quietly. “And I didn’t even notice it happening until suddenly she had a code to my apartment and knew my medication schedule.”

Cassie’s expression softened.

“She sees me,” you said after another pause. “Like really sees me. And instead of running she just…” Your throat tightened slightly. “Stays.”

The word sat heavy between you.

Cassie leaned back against the booth slowly.

“So what’s the problem?”

You looked at her like she’d asked something ridiculous.

“The problem,” you said flatly, “is that people don’t stay forever.”

There it was.

The thing underneath everything else.

Cassie’s face changed slightly then.

Not teasing anymore.

Just listening.

You stared out toward the dim neon lights behind the bar instead of at her.

“My ex-wife used to look at me like Trinity does.”

The words came quieter now.

Careful.

Cassie didn’t speak.

“At first she was amazing,” you continued softly. “Appointments. Meds. Bad nights. She handled all of it.”

Your jaw tightened slightly.

“Until eventually she didn’t.”

The bar noise faded strangely around the edges while you spoke.

“She got tired,” you admitted. “Not all at once. Slowly.” You laughed once under your breath. “I think that was worse honestly.”

Cassie stayed quiet. Giving you room.

“By the end…” You swallowed hard. “Every flare felt like I was ruining her life.”

Something angry flickered across Cassie’s expression immediately.

“She actually made you feel like that?”

“She didn’t have to say it directly.” Your fingers tightened slightly around your glass. “You can tell when someone starts loving you like an obligation instead of a person.”

Silence.

Then quieter:

“And now Trinity does one nice thing and your brain immediately starts waiting for the expiration date.”

You looked up sharply.

Cassie only shrugged slightly.

“I know addiction,” she said softly. “And I know what it looks like when someone’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Your chest tightened painfully.

Because she wasn’t wrong.

You looked back down at the table.

“She deserves someone easier.”

Cassie immediately looked annoyed again.

“Okay first of all, if you say that one more time I’m throwing this soda at you.”

You snorted quietly.

“I’m serious.” Cassie leaned forward now. “You don’t get to decide what’s too hard for her.”

You opened your mouth.

She pointed at you immediately.

“Nope. Listen.” Her voice softened slightly. “That girl adores you.”

Your throat tightened again.

“And honestly?” Cassie added, leaning back again. “I think it scares the shit out of you that someone finally loves you in a way that feels safe.”

The words hit hard enough you couldn’t immediately answer.

Because sitting there in the dim light of the bar with your soda and aching joints and Trinity still lingering in your chest like warmth, you realized Cassie might be right.

Cassie watched you quietly for a long moment after that.

The noise of the bar hummed softly around you both. Low music. Glasses clinking somewhere near the counter. A tired group of nurses laughing too loudly three booths over.

You kept your eyes fixed on your soda.

“Look,” Cassie said finally, voice quieter now, “I’m not a psychiatrist like you, Y/N… but I know people.”

You huffed softly through your nose. “Debatable.”

Cassie ignored that.

“When you and your ex wife first got together…” She tilted her head slightly. “Your body wasn’t like it is now, was it?”

The question settled heavily in your chest.

You looked down at the table for a second before answering.

“No.”

Your fingers tightened slightly around one of the fries.

“Pain in my knees started when I was a teenager,” you admitted quietly. “Right before high school.”

Cassie listened without interrupting.

“She was there for that part.” You gave a tiny shrug. “But it wasn’t bad back then. Just a brace on my left knee. Physical therapy.” A humorless little laugh escaped you. “It helped for a while.”

Your throat tightened slightly.

“We didn’t know what it was yet.” Your gaze drifted somewhere distant past the bar lights. “Thought it was one thing, then suddenly it became more than my knees.”

Fatigue. Joint instability. Pain spreading slowly through your body year after year.

You still remembered every stage of it.

The cane. The first mobility aid. The first time a doctor mentioned the possibility of needing a chair eventually.

You remembered your ex-wife’s face every single time.

Cassie’s expression softened carefully.

“She married the version of you from high school,” she said quietly. “And when you slowly stopped being able to be that person…” Her jaw tightened slightly. “She left anyway.”

Your chest ached sharply at how simple she made it sound.

Because underneath all the medical terminology and complicated history—

Yeah.

That was what it felt like.

Like you’d failed at remaining someone lovable.

“I know that kills trust faster than almost anything,” Cassie continued. “But you wanna know the difference between her and Trinity?”

You gave a small shrug, poking absentmindedly at one fry with another.

Cassie leaned forward slightly across the table.

“Trinity knows exactly who you are, Y/N.”

Your eyes lifted automatically.

“All of it,” Cassie said firmly. “The good, the bad, the ugly.”

Your throat tightened immediately.

“She’s seen your pain flares. She’s seen you exhausted and mean and emotionally constipated.” Cassie snorted softly. “She’s seen you shut down and push people away and panic every time someone gets too close.”

You rolled your eyes weakly. “You make me sound delightful.”

“You’re missing the point.”

Cassie’s voice softened further.

“She’s seen all of that,” she repeated, “and she still loves you.”

The words hit hard enough you physically stilled.

Love.

Cassie said it so casually. Like it was obvious.

Like maybe everyone could already see it except you.

“She looks at you like you hung the moon,” Cassie murmured. “And not because you’re easy.”

Your eyes burned unexpectedly.

Cassie kept going anyway.

“She doesn’t care that you’re older than her.” A shrug. “She doesn’t care that you use your chair or your cane or your rollator.”

Your grip tightened slightly around the fry in your hand.

“She doesn’t care if she has to help sort your meds one day,” Cassie continued softly. “Or help you shower because your pain’s too bad.”

Your breath caught slightly.

Because your ex-wife used to sigh during those moments near the end. Quietly. Like exhaustion she couldn’t hide anymore.

Cassie’s gaze stayed steady on yours.

“Trinity loves every part of you.”

Silence swallowed the booth afterward. You looked away first because suddenly your eyes stung too much. The neon lights blurred slightly around the edges.

“You don’t know that,” you said quietly.

Cassie snorted immediately.

“Please. That girl would fistfight God for you.”

Despite yourself, a startled laugh escaped you.

Cassie smiled faintly at the sound.

Then softer:

“And honestly? I think you love her too.”

Your chest tightened so painfully it almost stole your breath.

Because sitting there in the dim light with your aching joints and half-finished soda and Trinity still lingering in every soft place inside you…

You realized the terrifying thing wasn’t that Cassie might be wrong. It was that she was probably right. The tears slipped out before you could stop them. Quiet. Hot against your skin. You looked away immediately, scrubbing hard at your face with the heel of your hand before Cassie could say anything about it.

“Don’t,” you muttered roughly.

Cassie, to her credit, didn’t make a joke. She just sat there quietly across from you while the noise of the bar blurred softly around the edges. Your phone buzzed against the table. You almost ignored it.

Almost.

Then the screen lit up.

Trin <3 : you coming home? [Picture]

Your breath caught.

You opened it automatically.

And there she was.

Spread out across your couch in one of her tank tops with a blanket tangled around her legs. Hair messy. Pouting dramatically at the camera like she’d been waiting long enough to become personally offended about it.

Your couch. Your apartment. Home.

Something in your chest folded in on itself painfully soft. Cassie watched your entire expression change in real time.

“Oh my god,” she whispered dramatically. “You are gone.”

You barely heard her. Because suddenly all you could focus on was Trinity laying there in your space like she belonged in it. Like she belonged with you. Another text came through immediately after.

Trin <3 : i stole one of your hoodies btw Trin <3 : and before you ask no im not giving it back

A watery laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

Cassie looked deeply vindicated.

“There she is,” she said softly.

You shook your head weakly, staring down at the photo again.

Your chest hurt.

Not in the frightening way anymore.

In the overwhelming way.

The I don’t know what to do with being loved this gently way.

Cassie nudged your foot lightly beneath the table.

“You should go home.”

Home.

The word hit differently now. Not the apartment. Not the building. Her there waiting for you. You swallowed hard around the emotion climbing your throat.

“She asked if I was coming home,” you murmured quietly, almost to yourself.

Cassie’s expression softened instantly.

“Yeah,” she said gently. “Because that’s what it is to her.”

Your eyes burned again.

You looked back down at the picture.

At Trinity’s sleepy pout. The blanket wrapped around her. The way she looked completely comfortable in your space. No hesitation. No resentment. No exhaustion.Just waiting for you.

And suddenly all you could think was:

Your ex-wife used to stop texting eventually.

The realization hit like grief and healing all at once.

Because Trinity never made you feel like returning to you was a chore.

You grabbed your cane slowly beside the booth.

Cassie watched you carefully while you stood, joints protesting immediately after sitting too long.

“You okay?”

You exhaled shakily through your nose.

“No,” you admitted honestly.

Then after a beat, softer:

“But I think maybe I want to be.”

𐔌 ﹒ ⋆ ꩜ ⋆ 𓂃 ₊ ⊹  

By the time you made it upstairs, your body was screaming.

Every step with the cane sent sharp pain through your hips and knees. Your shoulder ached from compensating. The exhaustion from shift plus the emotional drain from the conversation with Cassie McKay sat heavy behind your eyes.

And somewhere along the way, you forgot your meds. Which your body was now punishing you for aggressively. Your hand shook badly while trying to punch in the code to your apartment.

“Come on,” you muttered under your breath as you missed another number.

Pain fogged your thoughts thick and sluggish now. Your fingertips tingled unpleasantly. Your joints felt hot under your skin. The lock finally beeped. You barely managed to push the door open before warmth crossed the apartment toward you immediately.

“There you are.”

Trinity appeared almost instantly, blanket still wrapped around her shoulders from the couch. The second she reached you, one hand settled automatically at your waist while she pressed a soft kiss to your cheek.

“Welcome home, baby.” Her voice was sleepy and warm. “Late night?”

Your chest tightened painfully at the greeting.

Home.

You leaned heavier against the cane without meaning to.

“I went with Cassie to the bar,” you mumbled tiredly.

Trinity’s eyebrows lifted slightly.

“Oh?”

“Mmm.” Your bag slid awkwardly down your shoulder while you tried kicking the door shut behind you. “She wanted to talk. Needed some guidance.”

Technically not a lie. Trinity hummed softly but you could already feel her attention shifting fully onto you now. Because she noticed things. Always. The shaking. The way your eyes struggled to focus. How heavily you leaned into the cane. The slight delay in your responses.

“Baby,” she said gently, hands coming up to help slide your bag off your shoulder before it fell completely. “Did you take your meds?”

You blinked slowly at her.

Your brain felt thick. Slow.

“Yes?” you answered uncertainly.

Then immediately:

“No…wait…”

You squeezed your eyes shut hard, trying to remember through the fog.

Your meds were supposed to be…before the bar? After shift? Before…?

“Oh,” you whispered tiredly. “No no I didn’t.” Your face twisted slightly. “Forgot cause of bar.”

Trinity’s expression shifted instantly. Not annoyance or frustration. Concern. Real immediate concern. Because she could tell how bad it was already.

The tremor in your hands had worsened noticeably. Your breathing was shallow in that specific way it got when pain climbed too high. Even standing upright looked like effort now.

“Oh honey,” she murmured softly.

The sympathy in her voice nearly undid you right there in the doorway. Because your ex-wife used to sigh when things got like this. Tired. Frustrated.Trinity just moved closer.

“Okay.” Her hands settled carefully on your arms, grounding. “Can you stand for another minute if I help?”

You nodded weakly.

“Yeah.”

“You sure?”

“Mhm.”

Trinity immediately shifted herself under your arm slightly, taking some of your weight without making a production out of it. Like helping you was the most natural thing in the world.

“Couch first,” she said gently. “Then meds.”

You hated how much relief flooded your body at someone else taking over for a second. Your pride still flinched instinctively at needing help like this, but the pain was too loud now to fight her much. By the time she got you to the couch, your hands were shaking hard enough the cane nearly slipped from your grip. Trinity caught it before it hit the floor.

“There we go,” she murmured softly while helping lower you carefully onto the cushions.

The second you sat down, you let out a quiet involuntary sound of relief mixed with pain.

Trinity’s face tightened slightly at the sound.

“You’re hurting bad.”

You leaned your head back against the couch and closed your eyes.

“M’sorry.”

The apology slipped out automatically. Years of conditioning. Trinity immediately crouched in front of you.

“Hey.” Her voice softened further. “No apologizing.”

You swallowed hard.

Brain fog made it harder to keep your walls standing properly. Everything felt too raw emotionally after the conversation with Cassie already.

“I forgot,” you muttered weakly. “I usually don’t forget.”

“I know.”

No irritation. No blame.

Just understanding.

God.

Trinity brushed her thumb gently beneath your eye before standing again.

“I’m getting your meds and water,” she said softly. “Stay put for me.”

You snorted faintly without opening your eyes.

“Where exactly would I go?”

That earned a quiet laugh from her somewhere near the kitchen.

As you listened to Trinity moving around your apartment like she belonged there, getting your meds without needing to ask where they were, filling your water bottle, coming back to you immediately

You realized something terrifying.

This didn’t feel temporary anymore.

When Trinity came back, she had your meds already sorted in one hand and your water bottle in the other.

No hesitation.No asking where things were. Like she’d learned your routines by heart somewhere along the way. You sat slumped against the couch cushions watching her through heavy-lidded eyes while pain fogged everything soft around the edges.

“There we go,” Trinity murmured gently as she knelt in front of you again. “Can you sit up a little for me?”

You tried.

Your body protested immediately.

A quiet hiss escaped you before you could stop it.

Trinity’s face tightened slightly.

“Easy, baby.”

God.

That word felt dangerous tonight.

You leaned forward enough for her to press the pills carefully into your palm. Your fingers shook so badly she hesitated for half a second before steadying your hand lightly beneath hers.

No judgment. No pity. Just help.

“You with me?” she asked softly.

“Mhm.”

“You sure?”

“Trin,” you mumbled tiredly. “If you ask me that again I’m legally allowed to bite you.”

A quiet laugh escaped her.

“You say that like it’s a threat and not something I actively want.”

You swallowed the meds with shaking hands while Trinity rubbed slow circles against your back the entire time.

Warm. Grounding. Easy.

The second you finished the water bottle, exhaustion crashed over you even harder. The adrenaline from the shift was gone now. Leaving only pain behind.

Trinity noticed immediately.

“Okay,” she said softly. “Bedroom.”

You closed your eyes briefly.

“Think my joints are filing complaints.”

“I’ll tell them HR is unavailable.”

A weak laugh escaped you.

Trinity smiled softly at the sound before standing and holding her hands out toward you.

“C’mon.”

Normally you would’ve fought harder against this much help. Normally the vulnerability of it all would’ve made you defensive, but tonight your body hurt too badly and your heart felt too cracked open already from everything Cassie said at the bar.

So you let Trinity help.

Slowly. Carefully.

One arm wrapped around her shoulders while she helped you stand with your cane in the other hand. Your knees nearly buckled immediately from stiffness after sitting too long.

Trinity tightened her grip instinctively.

“I got you.”

Three simple words.

Your chest ached harder than your joints suddenly.

The walk to the bedroom was painfully slow. By the time you reached the bed, sweat dampened the back of your neck from pain alone.

“Okay,” Trinity murmured. “Sit.”

You obeyed, too exhausted to argue anymore.

The mattress dipped beside you immediately while Trinity crouched down in front of your legs.

“Can I help get these off?” she asked softly, fingers brushing lightly against your scrub pants.

The fact she still asked permission every single time nearly undid you.

You nodded once.

“Please.”

Something warm flickered across her expression at the word please.

Then carefully…so carefully. She helped you out of your scrubs. Like your body wasn’t inconvenient. Like your pain didn’t frustrate her. Like taking care of you was something tender instead of burdensome. You watched her through the haze of exhaustion while she folded your scrubs absentmindedly onto the chair instead of leaving them crumpled on the floor.

Domestic.

The thought hit you again sharp and terrifying.

Trinity grabbed one of your oversized sleep shirts from the dresser before coming back over.

“Arms up for me, baby.”

You obeyed sluggishly while she helped pull the soft fabric over your head.

Her hands skimmed gently over your sides while adjusting the shirt down properly afterward. No rushing. No irritation. Just patience. By the time you were finally settled in bed, your entire body felt heavy and overheated from the flare.

Trinity moved around the room quietly afterward in the kind of rhythm that told you she’d already memorized this routine too.

Heating pad plugged in. Extra pillows positioned beneath your knees and lower back. Fan switched on immediately because both of you ran too warm once the heating pad got going. Then an electrolyte drink appeared in your hands before you even asked.

“You’re magic,” you mumbled weakly.

Trinity snorted softly while climbing into bed beside you.

“No, you’re just terrible at taking care of yourself.”

“Rude.”

“Mhm.”

The mattress shifted while she settled carefully beside you, already instinctively avoiding the worst pain points without needing direction anymore.

You watched her quietly for a long moment.

At the softness in her face. The familiarity in the way she moved around your room. How naturally she occupied your life now.

Then quietly, before you could stop yourself:

“You make this feel less scary.”

Trinity froze slightly beside you.

Your chest tightened immediately afterward because shit…that had been honest.

Really honest.

You almost tried taking it back.

Then Trinity turned toward you fully in the dim bedroom light, expression impossibly soft now.

“Oh baby.”

Her hand slid gently into your hair.

And for the first time in years being cared for didn’t feel humiliating. It felt safe. You melted into her touch before you could stop yourself.

The heating pad hummed warmly beneath your back while the fan pushed cool air softly through the dark room. Your pain had dulled from unbearable to manageable now that the meds were finally kicking in, leaving you exhausted and emotionally raw instead.

Trinity’s fingers moved slowly through your hair.

Gentle and patient. The kind of softness you still weren’t entirely sure what to do with and maybe because you were tired. Maybe because the walls in your chest felt thinner tonight after everything Cassie said.

You finally spoke.

“It hurt earlier.”

Trinity hummed softly beside you.

“I’m sure it’s hurt all day,” she teased lightly, thumb brushing along your temple.

A weak breath of laughter escaped you.

“No,” you whispered. “I mean…”

Your throat tightened suddenly.

God.

Why was this harder than psych consults?

You swallowed hard and forced yourself to keep going.

“Earlier in the breakroom,” you said quietly. “When you said…”

The words stopped there.

Because suddenly tears burned hot behind your eyes again and you hated it. Hated how vulnerable this felt. Hated how badly you wanted this woman.

Trinity went very still beside you.

Then softer:

“Oh.”

You stared down at the blanket between you both.

“Baby,” she murmured carefully, “I said that because…that’s what this has been.” Her hand slid gently against your cheek, guiding your eyes back toward hers. “It’s what you wanted originally.”

“I know.”

Your voice cracked embarrassingly hard.

You laughed once weakly and scrubbed at your face.

“And I feel so stupid for how much it hurt anyway.”

Immediately Trinity’s expression softened into something almost achingly tender.

“Hey.” Her thumb brushed beneath your eye carefully. “It’s okay that you have feelings.”

The words hit harder than they should have.

Because somewhere deep down, part of you still treated your emotions like liabilities. Things to suppress before they ruined everything.

You looked at her quietly in the dim room.

At the woman who learned your medication schedule. Who brought you soup at work. Who held you through pain flares without making you feel difficult.

“I’ve just…” Your throat tightened again. “I’ve been hurt a lot.”

Trinity’s face crumpled slightly at that.

“I know.”

“No I mean…” You took a shaky breath. “I know you’re different though.”

And god you meant it. That was the terrifying part. You trusted her now in ways you hadn’t trusted anyone in years. Enough that losing her suddenly felt catastrophic. Your fingers twisted weakly in the blanket before you forced yourself to keep going.

“So…” You inhaled shakily. “I’d like to ask officially…”

Your heart hammered painfully hard in your chest.

Trinity stared at you so intently now it almost made you lose your nerve.

Then quietly:

“Would you be my girlfriend?”

Silence.

For one horrible heartbeat your brain immediately prepared for rejection anyway. Old instincts. Old fears. Then Trinity made the softest strangled sound you’d ever heard in your life.

“Oh my god.”

Your stomach flipped violently.

“I know this is probably the least smooth way anyone’s ever-”

Before you could finish, Trinity grabbed your face with both hands and kissed you.

Hard. Not rushed.  Not casual. Overwhelmed. You made a startled noise against her mouth immediately while she laughed softly through the kiss.

“Yes,” she breathed against your lips. “Jesus Christ yes.”

Relief hit you so hard it almost hurt. Your eyes burned instantly again. Trinity noticed immediately because of course she did.

“Oh baby,” she whispered softly, forehead pressing against yours now. “C’mere.”

You let her pull you closer carefully despite the heating pad and pillows and aching joints.

And for once…you didn’t feel afraid while doing it. Trinity kissed you again slower this time, hands gentle against your face.

“My girlfriend,” she murmured afterward like she was trying the words out.

Your chest tightened painfully soft.

“That sounds fake,” you muttered weakly.

Trinity laughed immediately.

“Nope. Too late.” Another kiss against your mouth. “You’re stuck with me now. I’ve already eaten the receipt.”

Something warm cracked open completely in your chest then.

Not panic this time.

Not fear.

Just love finally being allowed somewhere safe to land.

Trinity’s smile softened immediately at the shift in your voice.

One second she was glowing—still a little breathless from kissing you, forehead pressed against yours beneath the soft whir of the fan.

The next she could feel it.

The fear underneath your ribs. The vulnerability.

You took a shaky breath, fingers twisting weakly in the blanket between you both.

“I want to tell you what happened to me,” you whispered.

Trinity’s hands stayed gentle against your face.

“Before you.”

Your throat tightened painfully.

“So everything’s on the table.” You swallowed hard. “So you know why I am the way I am.”

For a moment, Trinity didn’t speak.

Didn’t rush to reassure you. Didn’t interrupt.

She just looked at you with that same impossible softness that always made your chest ache.

Then quietly:

“Okay.”

That was it.

No pressure. No fear. No hesitation.

Just okay.

Your eyes burned immediately again.

“You don’t have to tell me tonight,” Trinity added gently. “Especially not when you’re exhausted and hurting.”

“I know.” Your voice came out rougher than intended. “But I want to.”

Because suddenly the thought of loving her while still hiding parts of yourself felt unbearable.

Trinity brushed her thumb slowly beneath your eye.

“Alright,” she murmured. “Then I’m listening.”

God.

The way she said it.

Not waiting for her turn to respond. Not preparing to fix you.

Listening.

You looked away first because the tenderness of it physically hurt to sit inside for too long.

The room stayed quiet except for the fan and the faint hum of the heating pad beneath you.

Then slowly you started talking.

“My ex-wife and I met in high school,” you said quietly.

Trinity’s fingers threaded carefully through yours while you spoke.

“At first…” You laughed softly without humor. “At first it was good. Really good.”

You could still remember it clearly if you let yourself.

Being sixteen. Your knee brace hidden beneath jeans. Her helping tape notes into your locker after PT appointments. The way she used to look at you like your whole future was obvious and bright.

“She was there before things got bad,” you admitted. “Before we understood what was happening to my body.”

Trinity stayed quiet beside you.

Encouraging without pushing.

“The pain started in my knees first.” Your gaze drifted unfocused toward the ceiling. “Doctors kept thinking it was sports injuries or overuse or growing pains.” A tiny shrug. “Then it spread.”

Wrists. Hips. Spine. Fatigue that never fully left.

You felt Trinity’s hand tighten slightly around yours.

“She stayed through med school,” you continued softly. “Through diagnoses. Specialists. Mobility aids.”

Your throat tightened harder now.

“And every time things got worse, she kept saying it was okay.”

Trinity’s expression shifted subtly at that.

You noticed.

“See that’s the thing,” you whispered. “She wasn’t cruel at first.”

That part mattered. Maybe more than anything.

Because if your ex had been awful immediately, maybe you wouldn’t have spent years questioning yourself afterward.

“She loved me,” you said quietly. “I really think she did.”

Tears burned at your eyes again.

“But eventually…” Your voice cracked. “Eventually my body became the center of everything.”

Cancelled plans. Missed trips. Bad flare days. Exhaustion.

You looked down at your intertwined hands.

“She stopped touching me as much first.”

Trinity’s breath caught softly beside you.

“Then she stopped asking how I felt.” A humorless little laugh escaped you. “Then one day she told me she missed when things were easier.”

The silence afterward felt enormous.

You stared at the blanket because suddenly you couldn’t look at Trinity while saying the next part.

“I spent years trying to become easier to love after that.”

The confession hit the room hard.

You could feel it.

“I stopped asking for help unless I absolutely needed it. I pushed through pain constantly. I apologized for everything.” Your throat tightened painfully. “And when she finally left…”

You shook your head once weakly.

“It felt like proof.”

Trinity’s fingers tightened around yours immediately.

“Baby…”

“No, let me finish.” Your voice trembled slightly. “Because I need you to understand this part.”

You finally looked at her then. Eyes stinging. Walls completely gone now.

“When you take care of me,” you whispered shakily, “part of me is always waiting for the moment you realize it’s too much.”

The pain on Trinity’s face was immediate. Like the thought alone hurt her. You laughed weakly through tears.

“Which is unfair because you’ve never made me feel like that. Not once.”

Trinity moved closer instantly, one hand sliding carefully against your cheek.

“You know what I see when I take care of you?” she asked softly.

You shook your head once.

“My person.”

Your breath caught sharply.

Not a burden. Not an obligation. A person.

Trinity brushed her forehead gently against yours again.

“I don’t love some imaginary easier version of you,” she whispered. “I love you.”

The tears finally slipped free completely after that.

And for the first time in years…you let someone hold you while you cried instead of hiding it. Your tears slowed little by little beneath Trinity’s hands. Not because the hurt disappeared. Because she stayed through it.

Just Trinity curled carefully beside you in the dim light of your bedroom, thumb stroking softly beneath your eye while the heating pad warmed your aching back.

Then quietly,

“I love you.”

Your breath caught instantly.

Trinity’s voice trembled slightly around the edges now too.

“I love every part of you.”

The room went painfully still.

“On the good days and the bad,” she whispered. “I love you through all your flares.”

Your chest tightened so hard it almost hurt worse than the pain still lingering in your joints.

Trinity swallowed hard before continuing.

“Since we started this…” A weak little laugh escaped her. “I was hyper aware of your pain in every situation.”

Your eyes flicked toward hers immediately.

“I never wanted to push you,” she admitted softly. “Truthfully there were nights I came over and I could see it all over your face.”

God.

You thought you hid it better than that.

Trinity’s hand slid gently into your hair again.

“I knew you were pushing through it,” she murmured. “So I did everything I could to ease it.” Her mouth twitched sadly. “To make you feel good instead.”

Your throat closed painfully.

Because suddenly memories rearranged themselves in your head differently.

Trinity slowing kisses whenever your breathing changed. The nights she redirected things toward you instead of asking for anything herself. The way she’d settle for tracing fingers against your skin for hours afterward without complaint.

You thought she didn’t notice.

Of course she noticed.

“You know…” Trinity’s voice softened even further. “If this hadn’t started as casual…”

She laughed quietly at herself.

“There were nights I wanted to come over and just lay with you.”

Your chest ached.

“Just watch movies,” she continued softly. “Or scroll on my phone while you slept if you were hurting too bad.”

Tears stung at your eyes all over again.

“I just wanted to be here with you.”

The confession shattered something inside you completely.

Because your ex-wife used to leave when things got hard. Leave emotionally long before physically, but Trinity wanted to stay even when you had nothing to offer except your exhausted hurting self.

You made a small broken sound before covering your face with your hands briefly.

“Hey,” Trinity whispered immediately, gently pulling your hands back down. “No no no. Don’t hide from me.”

Your eyes burned violently now.

“Nobody’s ever said things like this to me before,” you admitted shakily.

Trinity’s entire face crumpled.

“Oh baby.”

You laughed weakly through tears.

“That’s probably really concerning psychologically.”

“I’m gonna fight everyone who ever made you think love was conditional.”

Despite everything, a startled wet laugh escaped you.

Trinity smiled softly at the sound before leaning forward carefully and kissing you.

Slow. Warm. Intentional.

Not lust. Not distraction.

Love.

When she pulled back, her forehead rested against yours again.

“You know what the craziest part is?” she whispered.

You shook your head weakly.

“You still think taking care of you is some huge sacrifice.” Her thumb brushed your cheek gently. “But loving you is easy.”

Your breath caught painfully.

Because she sounded so sincere.

Like she genuinely couldn’t understand why you struggled believing that.

“I like taking care of you,” Trinity admitted softly. “I like helping when your body hurts.” A tiny smile tugged at her mouth. “I like getting your heating pad ready and reminding you about meds and bringing you soup.”

You stared at her.

Completely undone.

“And honestly?” Trinity murmured. “I think you’ve spent so long trying not to be difficult that you forgot people who love you want to show up for you.”

The tears slipped free again immediately. This time you didn’t apologize for them and Trinity held you through every single one. Sometime in the middle of the night, the pain finally loosened its grip enough for sleep to take you. Not the restless half-sleep you usually got during bad flares either. Real sleep.

The kind your body only allowed when it finally felt safe.

The heating pad had long since clicked off automatically beneath your back. The fan still hummed softly across the room, stirring cool air through the dark apartment while rain tapped quietly against the windows outside.

And tangled around you was Trinity.

One of her legs carefully hooked between yours beneath the blankets. Her arm draped warm and possessive across your waist like even asleep she wanted to stay connected to you somehow.

You’d drifted closer to her little by little throughout the night unconsciously.

Years of sleeping curled inward around pain and loneliness slowly giving way beneath the simple steady comfort of another person wanting to hold you.

At some point your cane had ended up forgotten against the wall. Your meds sat on the nightstand beside matching water glasses. One of Trinity’s hoodies was tossed over your desk chair like it belonged there permanently now.

Domestic.

But for the first time, the thought didn’t make panic climb your throat.

It made your chest ache softly instead.

Because the walls were finally gone.

Not all at once. Not dramatically.

They’d cracked slowly over months: through soup deliveries and bad movie nights and careful hands helping during flares and Trinity staying every single time you expected her to leave.

And now here she was.

Curled around you in the middle of the night after hearing every ugly frightened part of your past.

Still here.

Still loving you.

Half asleep, you shifted slightly against the pillows, face pressing instinctively into Trinity’s neck.

Immediately her arm tightened around your waist.

A sleepy sound escaped her before she kissed the top of your head without even waking fully.

Your chest tightened painfully soft.

Because no one had ever loved you like this before.

Not cautiously. Not conditionally. Not while waiting for things to become easier.

Just fully.

As you were.

The realization settled deep beneath your ribs while sleep tugged at you again.

And for the first time in years…

Mornings like this weren’t exactly your favorite. You were facing a 12-hour holiday shift at PTMC just after completing one the day before. You were beat and wanted nothing more than to snooze your alarm just one more time. But your girlfriend, Cassie, was good about getting you out of bed on the difficult mornings. On days when you both worked the same shift, you had a deal: she’d make breakfast and coffee and you’d drive. 

You pulled your car into a spot in the PTMC parking garage, turning off the ignition as you looked at your girlfriend, holding your hand out to her. She smiled and put her hand in yours.

“Ready?” She asked. You nodded your head. After getting out of the car, she stopped you after you’d grabbed your bag out of the trunk, giving you a long, languid kiss. You arched your eyebrow at the redhead.

“What was that for?”

Cassie shrugged. “I dunno, probably won’t get to do that for another 12 hours, so.”

You laughed, pulling her close to you. “We got this.”

------

The Pitt, as always, was a flurry of chaos. You and Cassie were barely even able to put your things away in the locker room before Ellis grabbed you both for hand offs. The first few hours of the shift flew by with all of the traffic coming in and out of the ER, and you knew it would only get more chaotic as the day went on.

Cassie had spent the majority of her morning with some lighter, easier cases. She was circling back to the east side of the ER to check on a patient who’d come in with what ended up being a sprained ankle. 

“How’s it going over here, Mr Hancock?” Cassie asked, rubbing sanitizer into her hands. The patient looked at Cassie and smiled.

“Better now,” Brian replied.

Cassie laughed softly as she pulled the scans out of the folder she brought. “The x-ray is back on your foot, and it’s your lucky day, no fracture.” She held the film up to the light so Brian could see. “So, ACE wrap, ice, rest, elevate, and you can take ibuprofen if you need it.” Cassie put the scans back in the folder and handed them over to the patient.

“…So that’s it?” He asked.

Cassie looked at him, a little confused. “Well, if it’s too painful to bear weight, we can give you crutches to use for a day or two.”

“So I won’t be seeing you again?” Brian said, giving Cassie a look. 

Cassie smiled and looked down, fully understanding now that he was hitting on her. 

“Uh…no but…it was nice meeting you Brian. My colleague Princess here will give you those crutches and some extra ACE wrap.” As Cassie turned to walk away, Brian tried one last time.

“You know, I was planning to go down to the pier tonight, to watch the fireworks. Maybe around…9:00? Not sure what time your shift ends but I thought maybe we could…?”

Cassie stopped and gave Princess a look, who smiled and shrugged her shoulders. She let out a small chuckle as she turned back to him. “I’m flattered Brian, really, but I’m uh, I’m actually in a relationship.”

It was Brian’s turn to laugh now. “Fair enough, Dr McKay, I just figured I’d shoot my shot. For what it’s worth, he’s a lucky guy.”

“Actually uh, she’s a lucky lady,” Cassie said. “She’s actually, right over there.” She motioned to you standing at the central desks, filling out your charts from the morning.

Brian nodded his head and held out his fist to Cassie. “Nice work, Dr McKay.” Cassie laughed and fist bumped Brian.

------

It was around 11:00 am now. You sat in the break room alone eating the yogurt you’d brought from home. It was the first time you were off your feet since your shift had begun at 6:00 am. Cassie walked into the room and plopped down in the chair next to you, sighing, grabbing the bag of trail mix you were planning on digging into next.

“Hi, love,” she said, leaning over and giving you a quick kiss on the head. 

“Hi,” you replied giving her a sly smile. Cassie raised her brow.

“What?” She said through a mouthful of peanuts and raisins.

“Little birdie told me you got asked on a date tonight,” you said, finishing your yogurt.

Cassie rolled her eyes. “Oh my god, I’m gonna kill Princess.”

“Can’t keep anything a secret in the Pitt babe,” you joked, getting up to toss your yogurt container in the trash. “Look I think it’s cute! You should be flattered. And how lucky am I that I get to be dating the hot doctor in the ER?”

“Listen when I told him that I was with you, he fist bumped me and told me ‘nice work,’ so if anything you should be flattered,” Cassie retorted. She also stood to throw away the empty bag of trail mix. You gave her a look.

“I was gonna eat that, by the way,” you said, crossing your arms and stepping closer to her. You brushed her bangs out of her face.

“Yeah well, I guess I’ll just have to make it up to you tonight,” she said. “After my date, obviously.” 

“Oh yeah, obviously,” you said, laughing. At that moment, Dana came into the break room, eyeing the two of you.

“Hey, lovebirds, if you’re not too busy, we could use a little extra help out here. Kid with a major trauma from messing with fireworks and hospice patient with a broken femur both en route.”

Word count: 6k

Warnings: Yelling, arguing, the reader feels really upset about everything, Cassie being really sweet, the reader having a bit of attitude with Cassie, swearing, a brief talk about parents, and I believe that is all :)

a/n: hi guys!!! It feels like it's been FOREVER since I've uploaded anything, Cassie, so here we go! Anon, I hope you like it. Sorry it took me so long to write, I've been going through some stuff, but that's neither here nor there. Anyway, I hope you guys like this! Cassie smut is probably coming sometime soon, as well as a cute Victoria Javadi fanfic I'm working on per a request :) Also, yes, I moved Samira to the night shift because fuck that she's leaving. Not in my book she ain't.

🎵- A Lack of Understanding

You and Cassie had been married for two years before you guys had a big fight.

Normally, the two of you would just have small quarrels over something stupid. From you leaving dirty dishes in the sink to her leaving her socks all around the house, which you had to keep picking up.

You and Cassie didn’t even fight while purchasing your first house. It was a nice house with a big backyard, but even the moving process didn’t kill the romance between you. Until it came to a single, stupid birthday party.

Cassie’s birthday was today, and you wanted to make it as amazing as possible. You made calls earlier in the week to florists and snack catering businesses, as well as a small band to perform.

You had made yourself look all cute, wearing a nice dress, and Cassie, of course, was wearing some black pants and a flowy t-shirt. You had done your makeup, hair, and matched your eye shadow to your dress; you had really put a lot of effort into looking good.

By the end of the night, however, your mascara was running down your cheeks, and you wanted to be as far away from her as possible. You didn’t know why you were being so emotional about everything; maybe you had woken up on the wrong side of the bed.

But you had been perfectly fine all day, so you don’t know what had changed between then and now.

It started halfway through when you put your own snacks out that the catering business had not brought. Your phone buzzed on the table as you set down the veggie platter. It was a sunny day, so nothing seemed like it was about to go amiss.

However, you frowned, looking down at the message that had popped up on your lock screen. Appearing over the picture of you and Cassie was a small message alert from Facebook Messenger, from the band that was supposed to be setting up right about now.

Hey! I’m so sorry, but we have to cancel. The weather says it’s going to rain, and we can’t get our equipment wet, unfortunately, so we will not be showing up. We’ve completely refunded you, but again, we’re sorry

“Shit.” You exhale, knocking your head back and looking at the ceiling in frustration. You sigh before texting a nice reply back telling them thanks for the refund, and it’s no problem. You look towards the windows, seeing the sun shining through, so the rain must be later on in the day because right now, it looks like nice and clear skies.

No worries, you still have good food, you still have nice flower arrangements outside, and soon enough, everyone will be arriving and helping you set up all the tables in the yard and whatnot. A band can be rescheduled for another birthday, after all.

Dana was currently distracting Cassie, taking her out to god knows where, as well as Harrison and Kamyar, so you could get everything in place and make everything perfect.

Mel is the first to arrive, ever early to things like these.

“It looks great already!” Are her greeting words to you as she hugs you. She’s brought her gift, and you are sure to place it in the bedroom before the two of you get to work on the outside. Mel helps you with a few chairs, placing them in what she tells you are the best spots before Baran arrives next.

You add another present to the bedroom, and Baran places the dessert she brought in the freezer

“Bastani sonnati.” She told you. A saffron-infused ice cream. “It’s my mom’s recipe, so you know it’s going to be good.”

You laughed before asking her to help Mel haul some of the tables into the backyard while you grabbed the sheets. You hated those plastic covers people would put on tables for birthdays and parties because they all ended up being ripped somehow, someway. And they ended up looking just…bad in your eyes.

Granted, it all happened at the hands of children, poking their fingers through the table cover plastic, and while there wouldn’t be any kids here besides maybe Cassie’s son, Harrison, and Baran’s son, Kamyar, you decided to wander down to the closest Goodwill you could find on Google maps. You scrounged around for old flat sheets anyway.

You had made cute flower crowns for everyone from the flowers of your nearby garden, as well as made your own beeswax candles in cute thrifted glass pillar candle holders that are now being placed on every table by Baran.

Soon enough, more people begin to turn up; Robby, Princess, and Perlah, they’re always together, those two, and you’re pretty sure they have never had a day apart. Then there’s Jesse, Dennis too, along with Trinity and Victoria, Mateo, Frank Langdon and his wife Abby, Mel, Yolanda, Donnie, Kiara, Ahmad, etc.

You’re actually so incredibly happy that even some of the night shift people could come too.

John Shen and his wife, Jack, Samira, Emery Walsh, and Parker Ellis. You honestly don’t know how they all got the same day off, but you’re not complaining. Jack probably pulled some bullshit about having some important event to attend, which isn’t completely wrong; Cassie’s turning 44 after all.

Everyone helped bring out the snacks and desserts, and home-cooked meals, some of them brought. They all chatted amongst themselves while Dennis, Trinity, and Victoria helped you make drinks. You had just bought a new Margarita mixer, and you were all too enthusiastic to use it. You and Trinity.

“How many of these things can we make in one sitting?” Trinity asked while turning the thing on.

You had to shout over the loud noise of ice, alcohol, and Margarita mix blending into one another. Once everything was all said and done, that’s when everything began to go wrong.

One of your neighbor’s dogs had gotten loose from their front yard.

You could all hear the incoming barking from a few blocks away. He must’ve smelled the hot dogs cooking and the burgers that Robby was flipping on the grill. The dog, Molasses, came running, tongue lolling out of his mouth, as he entered the yard.

Immediately, people panicked.

The dog wasn’t vicious at all, but no one wants dog slobber on their nice(r) clothes, do they? Of course, Molasses went after the food first. Tipping over bowls and almost snagging the cake before you picked it up by the cake stand into your hands.

Everyone’s voices piled over each other, shouting at the dog ‘No!” and “Stop!” and “Not the fucking snacks, dude! Come on!”

The owners, an older couple who owned a nearby, small Italian dessert shop down the road, came after their Australian Shepherd, but the damage had already been done. The sheets had been ripped off the tables in Molasses’s attempt to get at more food, most of it scattered around the lawn.

Drinks had been spilled, both alcoholic and non-alcoholic alike. Hey Ya! from Outkast was playing on the radio you had brought outside, and that was about the only thing that hadn’t been destroyed.

What made it even worse is that right in that moment, Cassie came through the door with Harrison, Kamyar, and Dana in tow. Balloons had been popped and lay in the grass looking utterly sad, and you could feel the tears bubbling up already.

Everyone shouted a glum ‘Surprise’ when Cassie’s eyes roamed over the dismal affair, with you standing in the middle of it.

“What the hell happened here?” Cassie says, and Donnie is the first one to speak up.

“A dog.”

They all laugh and giggle, but you’re far from doing either of those. People begin to help clean up, trying to salvage what they can from snacks, balloons, and drinks; meanwhile, all you can do is stand there and just stare.

Harrison comes up to you with a pout on his face. “What happened?”

“Uh, um,” you have to suck in a deep breath to stop yourself from crying. “Molasses got into the party.” You gave him a sad smile. “I’m sorry, bud. I know we really tried. Next year, I guess.”

He just shrugs and begins to help the other’s clean up.

However, it gets undeniably more atrocious when it begins to absolutely pour.

“Shit!” Robby says as the rain begins to drench his food. Everyone else begins to say the same things as their clothes begin to get soaked. You’re all grabbing something to run inside before anything else is submerged in rain.

The group leaves the tables but brings in the snacks, cooked food, the last of the balloons, etc. You had already brought in the salvaged cake, so there’s that at least. But you’re stuck standing against the sliding doors, watching as your once great party gets torrentially down-poured on.

Everyone who’s inside is laughing and talking, grabbing drinks, and whatnot, and slices of cake, but all of this makes you feel defeated.

This was supposed to be a good day. It was supposed to be Cassie’s greatest party yet. But now, it’s dulled down to another shitty day. And yeah, everyone is still having a good time behind you, but you wanted them to be having a good time outside.

“Come on, baby,” Cassie said with a smile on her face, like she couldn’t tell how upset you were. It made you mad, actually. She ushered you back to sit in her lap with everyone else sitting around in the living room or standing in the nearby kitchen.

But you just feel completely overwhelmed.

Eventually, when they all leave, and it’s just you, Cassie, and Harrison, that’s when you begin to pull away.

Cassie cooks dinner for the three of you that night, and when she puts the plates in front of each of you, she places her hand on your thigh. Usually, you’d put your hand over hers, squeezing a little, and she would squeeze your thigh in response.

However, you don’t. Not this time. And it doesn’t seem to you like she notices anyway, because she simply keeps her hand there until the end of dinner, and she collects the plates. Harrison races to his room to hop on some sort of game with a few of his friends, so you’re left with just you and Cassie in the living room.

It’s still raining, and you haven’t even had the time to bring in any of the tables. A few of the guys, after the party, offered to help, but you just wanted everyone to go home. It could wait until tomorrow, you told them.

Cassie sat next to you on the couch, some stupid TV show was playing in the background as you sat on your phone instead. She was eating some sort of dessert, possibly a slice of cake, but you didn’t look, mostly because you really didn’t care.

Since she got home, she hadn’t even noticed that you were sad about this whole thing. You had spent so much time making everything look perfect, just for the band not to come, for a dog to ruin all the food and drinks, and then the rain to sour your mood even more.

And that made you so angry because a lot of the time, Cassie would understand what was wrong, she would see how depleted you looked, and would sit you down, asking you what she could do to help you feel better. But obviously, she had done none of that.

“You want some?” She asked you, motioning to whatever was in her hands.

You instantly shook your head. “Nope.” Just a simple one-word answer. Technically, you should be an adult about this. You should turn towards her and tell her what’s on your mind, how you’re feeling. But you want to be a little petty. After all, you do deserve it.

“You sure?” Her voice is so soft when she says it that you almost give in, but you can’t. You can, you absolutely can, but you don’t. Won’t.

“Yup.” You sigh, exhaling through your mouth as you edge yourself further away from her a little bit, engrossed in your phone for the time being.

“Okay. More for me.” She shrugs before digging into the food.

You’ve had enough now, and you let out another sigh as you stand up, telling her a quick, “I’m going to bed,” before walking out of the living room. Her gifts are still in your shared bedroom, a mountain of presents piled into one corner.

You roll your eyes and just flop onto the bed. You hadn’t realized you were wearing one of Cassie’s shirts, so you’re quick to take it off and slip underneath the covers, closing your eyes. Trinity, Dennis, Victoria, Parker, Emery, and Dana had all tried reassuring you that it was still a great party, and they all still had a great time, even Jack said something along those lines, because everyone could tell you were gloomy about what had happened, except your fucking girlfriend, apparently.

————

The next morning, you wake alone, with a note on the side table scribbled in Cassie’s handwriting.

Went out :) Will be back soon! I love you

You crumpled it and threw it in the nearby trash.

Harrison is assuredly still sleeping as you pull on one of your own t-shirts over your head and shuffle to the kitchen. You begin to make eggs and some French toast for breakfast, and that’s when Harrison decides to show his face.

“Hey, sleepy head.” You kissed him on the top of his head as he looked at what you were making.

“Eggs?” He asks, like it’s not obvious.

“And French toast.”

He smiled at that before walking to the doors that slid open to the backyard. You watch as he makes a frown. “The tables are still out there.”

“Yeah,” You sigh. “I was too tired to bring them in.”

“I could’ve helped.” He raised his arms, trying to show his muscles, and it made you laugh.

“I know you could’ve, bud.” You put some eggs on a plate for him, and he grabs it to go sit down on the couch. The TV is already playing Saturday morning cartoons, and it helps as background noise as you play some nice music for yourself in the kitchen.

A few minutes later, you walk over to slide some French toast onto Harrison’s now bare plate. You fix yourself a good amount of breakfast and sit down beside him on the couch to lose yourself in early morning kids’ TV.

The two of you are about halfway through the second plate of French Toast when the door opens, and Cassie walks in, shaking rain from her coat onto the front door mat.

“There’s my favorites!” She says, a little too joyously for your liking, but Cassie still doesn’t get the idea that you’re mad, and so all you do is sit there as she kisses the top of your head.

“Hi, Mom,” Harrison responds, bringing his plate to the sink.

You stay seated on the couch, however.

You hear Harrison ramble on about going to a friend’s house later that day, and Cassie is all for it, possibly due to the fact that the two of you haven’t had any time together for a while now. Not that you wanted any time alone with her right now.

Harrison cleans his plate and goes to get dressed. Meanwhile, Cassie sits down next to you with French toast and eggs.

“These are good, baby.” She murmurs, swallowing.

“Thanks.” You weren’t so petty as to give her the silent treatment.

That’s when Cassie finally raises an eyebrow at your quick, dismissive answers. “You okay?” She lifts a finger to gently place a strand of hair behind the shell of your ear. You just nod, keeping your eyes on the screen in front of you.

“Yup.” You answer.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” You quip.

She doesn’t seem to believe you at all, but she can’t say anything further besides, ‘We’ll talk when I come back, alright?’ as Harrison is now dressed and ready to go. You simply nod again, and you listen as she grabs her keys and goes to drive Harrison to his friend’s house.

While she’s gone, you clean up a bit, bringing in the plastic tables from outside and throwing the flat sheets into the washing machine. You pick up the discarded snacks lying in the grass and the flowers. You pick up the discarded cups, plates, and napkins, throw away the remaining snacks in the house as well as the cake, and once everything is said and done, you’re sprawled out on the couch, scrolling on your phone.

But you’re so upset with Cassie and the horrible party that you can’t stay still. So you get up to take a shower, change the bedsheets on both Harrison’s and your shared bed with Cassie, you clean the dining room a little bit as well as the living room, and then that’s when you hear the front door open.

“Baby?” She calls out as you place new dirty clothes into the washer.

“Here.” You call back, grumbling curses under your breath as you turn on the dryer. You hear her footsteps get closer until she’s leaning against the doorframe of the laundry room.

“What’re you doing?” She asks, and that’s when you give her a little more attitude.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” You ask with an eyebrow raise and a shake of your head. You gesture down to the warm laundry in the laundry basket.

“Okay, okay, baby. I got it.” She raises her hands in mock defense. “Are you okay? What’s bothering you, hm?”

“You are.” You fight back, grabbing the laundry basket and walking into the bedroom.

“Hey, hey-” She goes to grab your arm, but you shake her off, dropping the basket onto the bed before whipping around to face her.

“Are you only noticing that I’m mad at you because I’m not laying kisses on your face as soon as you get through the door?” You ask her.

“Woah, that is not-”

“I did so much for you yesterday. I had everyone show up to surprise you. I made drinks, and I got snacks from a very nice catering place, as well as the cake. I got balloons, and I paid for a band that didn’t even show up. I got flowers and other snacks, people brought food, I don’t even know how everyone got the day off, but they did, and you didn’t say anything!”

“Baby, where-”

“Where is this coming from? It’s coming from the fact that when you showed up, everything was demolished by a dog, and all you did was laugh while I stood there in the middle of all my hard work, now destroyed.”

Her eyes are scanning your face as tears run down your cheeks. You wipe them away with a quickness that can only be because you don’t want her to comment on them or try to console you right now.

“And everything sucked! Harrison knew it; he was so disappointed because we had planned it for weeks. He even texted Dana asking if she could drive you guys around to aid in the distraction while I set everything up.” You were full-on sobbing now. “And you didn’t even notice how sad I was when you arrived at your surprise party, and everything was ruined.”

Her eyebrows are pinched together, her mouth pulled into a frown. She’s standing before you, her hands at her side, but you can tell she wants to touch you. To pull you into a hug and rubs your back as she apologizes.

But you don’t want that, you want her to listen.

“Trinity, Dennis, and Victoria have been trying to convince me that it was still a fun party, but I just know they’re lying because it went from 100 to 0 in a matter of seconds. No snacks, no drinks, the flower arrangements were gone to shit, all the pretty candles I made for you were cracked, and on the ground, all 20 of us were packed in a house with nothing to eat or drink. Yeah, the cake was there, but even that went to shit as much as I tried to save it from the dog.”

You were whining and sniffling and wiping your face as she just looked at you.

“What? What’re you looking at?” You ask defensively, done with your rant now.

“I’m looking at my girlfriend, that’s what I’m doing.”

“Oh fuck off.” You shake your head, trying to push past her. Her hands go to your arms, pulling you back.

“Let’s sit down, okay?” She asks softly, taking the laundry basket off the bed, and then she urges you to take a seat. She sits facing you, her blue eyes roaming your face before she speaks. “I’m sorry I ignored your feelings.”

Which would be a great start to an apology if it didn’t sound like she was about to say ‘but’.

“But,” ah, you were right. “I’ve also been stressed with things. Work, Harrison, you sometimes.” She pokes your knee, making you roll your eyes.

“This is the worst apology-”

“I’m not done.” She’s getting off the bed and squatting down between your legs, making you look down at her. Her hands run up and down the tops of your thighs, soothing you. Or, at least trying to. “I think the surprise party was a great idea, and I’m sorry your plan got ruined by a dog. I wish I had gotten there earlier to see it.”

You just sniffle, trying to breathe through your clogged nose. Her hands come up to your face, wiping the stray tears away. “However, like I said, I’ve been stressed. Sometimes you can’t pick up on how I’m feeling either. It’s frustrating, isn’t it?”

“I always-”

She cuts you off with a shake of her head. “No, you don’t baby.”

“Whatever.” You roll your eyes again.

“See? There you go. You brush things like this off when it comes to me.”

“Oh don’t even start with that!” You stand, raising your voice again. You’re now pushing past her successfully this time, grabbing for your keys.

“Are you serious right now? You’ve been giving me attitude all day and now when I finally give it back you run!” She shouts, her voice stern. You’ve never heard this side of her. You’ve never gotten into this big of a fight until now.

Trinity said that honeymoon phase would end, and honestly you didn’t believe her because you and Cassie had never even so much as gave one another a mean look when angry. But this was something else. It was a mess of both her feelings and yours, both of you feeling as though the other is in the wrong, etc.

“I need air.” You tell her. “I’ll pick up Harrison later.” You mumble before sticking your feet in your shoes and walking out the door, slamming it behind you. You jump at the own noise you created.

You should go back and apologize. You hated slamming things and leaving things unsaid. But you needed a break from the sour mood you have been in from the night before, and so you’re driving away from the house, leaving Cassie behind without another word.

You tried to keep the tears at bay because she was right. Sometimes you don’t consider her feelings as you should. She works a hard job; a job you can’t even imagine what it’s like actually working in it.

However, your feelings were also still hurt.

You drove to Dana’s house, the first place that popped into your mind. You expected her to be out or something, but she was there as you rang the bell a few times.

“Hey, kid!” Her voice is all excitement, but it quickly turns around when she actually sees your face. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong, hun?”

She seems as though she’s been gardening. She’s got on thick gloves and some cargo pants, a thin shirt, and a broad hat to keep away the sun’s rays. She’s got a smudge of dirt on her face and clippers in one of her hands, a cigarette in her mouth.

“Um, C-Cassie and I got into a really bad fight and-” You can barely get the words out before you start crying again.

“Oh boy.” She replies, pulling off her gloves while cocking her head for you to come inside. She stubs her cigarette out before she hugs you, letting you cry onto her shoulder. You’re a blubbering mess, trying to explain what happened as she just listens.

She takes you to the living room, having you sit down on the couch as she gets the two of you some tea. Meanwhile, you’re trying to calm yourself so you can actually tell her what had transpired between the birthday party and this morning.

She settles back into the couch as you recount everything. The urge to cry has faded away now, and you’re somewhat hiccuping through the explanation. When you’re done, Dana takes a long time to answer. Her eyebrow is raised, a ‘come on, now, really’ sort of smirk on her lips, and her eyes seem very amused.

“That’s it?” She says, and you’re left speechless. “Well, if she’s right about the feelings thing, you just dismissed her feelings from running away here, hun.” She tells you.

“I know, but-”

“Uh, uh. No buts, kid. You know I’m right, so listen to me.” You do as you’re told, sipping on your tea as she gives you some advice. “You can’t expect her to gauge how you feel when you can’t see when she’s upset or stressed. How is that fair, huh?”

“I don’t know.” You answer, shrugging.

“Exactly. Because it’s not fair. To her or you. I’m sorry the party didn’t go as planned for you, but that’s just how it goes sometimes. Next year, we’ll plan it here, okay? My yard is, fortunately, fenced in.” That makes you laugh a little. She places her hand on your arm. “But Cassie is also going through things and has experienced things that you don’t take into consideration a lot of the time.”

You sigh, nodding your head. “Yeah, I know.”

“Do you?” She asks. “I really don’t think you do, kid.”

“What do you mean? She tells me what happens in the ER all the time.”

“Right, but does she tell you what it does to her?”

That question hits you like a slap to the face because when you really think about it, no, no, she doesn’t. She will tell you stories all night long if you let her, but never once would you catch her saying ‘And I felt…’ or ‘It hurt so bad’ or ‘Fuck, it made me angry’. No, there was none of that in those types of conversations.

And you’re struck with the reality that when you talk about your stories from the day, you usually tell Cassie what your emotions were throughout the retelling. Furthermore, you remembered that Cassie can tell when you’re feeling off, when you’re happier than usual, which usually means you have something planned, she can tell when you’re angry and will usually pick up your favorite candies at whatever Family Dollar or gas station is close to the house, as well as a few flowers to cheer you up.

Yes, you would also get her things when she was in a mood. You knew what candy she liked (sour patch kids), her favorite flower (Hydrangeas), her favorite food (Grilled cheese), and her favorite animal (bunnies). But you sometimes can’t tell when she’s in a mood. You can’t tell when she’s sad, you can’t tell when she’s annoyed about something. You can, however, definitely tell when she’s angry. Especially now.

“No. No, I guess not.” You finally admit out loud to both yourself and Dana.

“Has she apologized to you yet?”

“Yeah, she did.”

“Then go and apologize to her. She deserves it, too.” Her hand leaves your arm, and she takes your empty cup of tea so you can’t hide behind it anymore. “Get her some flowers, maybe some nice tea or coffee, whatever that woman loves, and apologize.”

“Okay, okay.” You sigh, standing from the couch and following her into the kitchen.

“Don’t say that like it’s an issue for ya, hun.”

“I’m not, I just…” You shrug, feeling defeated. “What if it happens again?” Your chin begins to tremble. “I hate this. I hate her being mad at me and me being mad at her. I slammed the door when I left. I’ve never done that before, Dana. But I was just so mad. And she raised her voice at me, which she’s never done, ever.”

“So that’s when you waltz in, one hand sporting chocolate, the other with a big ‘I’m sorry’ card, and you tell her how wrong you were, and you say how you’ll be more conscious about her feelings next time, kid.” She’s smiling at you, a sort of sympathy smile. “But, you also explain your feelings too.”

“But what if it doesn’t work?” You press on.

She sighs, her shoulders dropping. “Hun, fights like these are always going to happen. You two were never going to stay in the honeymoon phase. Staying in the honeymoon phase the entirety of your relationship just gets across the idea that you’ve never known each other fully. You two are passive people in a passive relationship.”

“Okay.” You nod, believing her. But it reminded you of your parents a lot. How they would just fight and never make up. Never apologize to one another.

“And you two are not in a passive relationship.”

“How do you know that?” You lift your head up from staring at her floor.

“Hun, the way she looks at you when she thinks no one else is watching. And the way you look at her is the same. That ain’t passive in the slightest.”

You smile for the first time all day. “I guess, yeah.” You begin to get a little bashful at her observations.

“All I’m saying is that you two love each other a lot. It’s not going to stop after one fight, okay?” She gives you another hug before sending you out the door and back home.

You remember you had told Cass you’d pick Harrison up from his friend’s house, so before your trip to the grocery store, you’d pick up your son so he could help. The two of you went to pick up some of her favorite flowers, Harrison picked out Cassie’s favorite candy, meanwhile, you tried to find a nice ‘I’m sorry’ card that really got the point across.

Of course, you would also say the two words verbally. You are never going to be like your parents in that regard. You actually love your partner. And you also don’t want to subject Harrison to anything like that either; that wouldn’t be fair to him.

“I think she’ll really like these,” Harrison told you, referring to the flowers he held in the nice vase.

“Yeah? I hope so. We did pick out the best ones anyway.” You smile, looking at him for a moment.

The lights are on in the house when your car pulls into the driveway. Harrison carries the flowers while you carry the sweets and the card. You had picked up a small stuffy too, a cute bear holding a little heart. Yeah, it was cheap, but you know she’ll keep it forever. Because that’s Cassie.

You’re, truth be told, a little nervous to set foot in the house. What if she doesn’t like it? Dana assured you for sure, but there’s still that doubt in the back of your mind.

“Alright, let’s go.” You sigh, getting out of the car. Harrison follows, and he’s the first to the door. The living room is empty, as is the kitchen. You tell Harrison to place the flower vase on the kitchen counter and to go find his mom while you set everything else up.

The surprise goes better this time, as there’s no dog to barge in and ruin it. However, you weren’t expecting Cassie to barge in from the front door.

“I can’t find her!” Harrison yells from you and Cassie’s bedroom, coming out into the hall.

“I did.” You respond, your eyes on Cassie’s.

“You did? How-” He cuts himself off as he walks into the kitchen and sees the two of you just staring at each other, and quickly decides to back out of the situation. “Okay….well, I’m going to go to my room now.” Wow, this kid has impeccable ‘reading of the room’ skills.

“Hi.” You say.

“Hey.” She responds. Her eyes look behind you, at the Hydrangeas, candy, card, and the small, stupid stuffy. “What’s that?”

“Oh, yeah, um…” You slide sideways for her to see. “An apology?”

“An apology?” She walks closer to the items.

“Yes. Because I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” She questions. God, she really knows how to pull everything out of you, prompted or not.

“I’m sorry for yelling.”

“And?”

“I’m sorry for slamming the door.” She nods, taking the card from the white envelope and opening it, and that’s the moment everything comes pouring out of you. “I’m sorry for not listening to you when you talk, and I’m sorry for not taking your feelings into consideration, too.”

Her eyes read over the words both on the cover of the card and the inside. “I really am sorry, Cassie. I know you’ve been going through things at work, and I haven’t been there for you. It’s my fault.”

She hasn’t said anything yet. Not that you’re against that, because it’s just mainly been you talking. She just nods and sets the card down by the candy.

“Can you say something?” You beg.

“I’m sorry too.” She sighs.

“You don’t have to be sorry.” You shake your head. “You already apologized to me.”

“Yeah, I know, but I’m sorry.”

The two of you embrace each other. Your arms go around her waist, and the left side of your face rests on her shoulder, while Cassie’s arms go around your shoulders. You raise your head, and she kisses you.

“I’m sorry. I don’t want to be like my parents. I want to know when you’re upset and how I can fix it. So I’m sorry. I got your favorite flowers and candy, I picked up that card, and that small stuffy so maybe it would get across the idea that I do love you, and I’m sorry about the fact that I don’t listen to you all the time when you’re trying to tell me what you’re going through.”

She kisses you again. “I’m sorry for downplaying the birthday party you threw me. I’m sure it was amazing. Thank you for throwing me a party in the first place, baby.”

“You’re welcome.”

“And thank you for apologizing.”

“You’re welcome.”

“But I think I have you beat on the apology gifts.”

“You got me an apology gift? You didn’t have to.” You tell her, frowning as she pulls away from you and goes outside to her truck. You stand there in the kitchen, debating what she could’ve possibly gotten as an apology gift that could beat flowers, a card, sweets, and a small stuffy.

She comes back inside, holding something underneath her jacket. You raise an eyebrow as she walks closer, a small smile on her face. “I may…have gone a little crazy.” She tells you, before bringing out her hand and holding a small kitten.

“Oh, my god.” You’re breathless. “You bought a cat?”

“…yeah…” She says, wincing. She transferred the small animal to your hands, and you brought it up close to your face. “I named her in the car, but you could name her something else, of course. She’s yours.”

“She’s so little, oh my god.” She’s definitely the runt of the litter. She meowed, and that’s when Harrison heard it and came out of his room.

“Is that a cat?” He exclaimed, running up beside you to look.

“Your mom decided flowers weren’t enough, I guess.” You say, letting him hold her.

The woman who steps out is in scrubs, red-haired, a hospital lanyard swinging from her neck. You're tripley horrifed to realize you know this woman: you and your friends have long had this woman nicknamed "Doctor Hottie." She doesn't work in your department but you see her often enough, usually with a blonde woman her same age, and she's always smiled at you when you crossed paths. To call her your hallway crush feels upsettingly high school, but. That is how you know her.

She comes around to the back of her car, and you are already opening your mouth to begin the apology that you will be giving for the rest of your natural life... except she walks past the bumper, and straight to you.

"Hey," she's looking at your face, not the car, a worried frown pulling at her lips. "You okay?"

"I'm so sorry," you say, and it comes out a little like a squeak. "Oh my god, I am so insanely sorry, I looked away for one second —"

"Woah, it's okay," she holds up her hands. "It's just a car and I'm not hot-headed, I promise. Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm fine, I had my seatbelt on." you shake your head in near disbelief. Who checks in on the idiot who hit their car while said car is three feet away??

The woman tilts her head warmly, though you can tell by how her eyes dart around that she's checking you over to make sure you aren't lying. "Okay, good. Let's... uh. Let's see what happened."

You bite your lip nervously but nod, following her around to the back of the car.

Up close it's even nicer than it looked from inside yours. It sees to have been custom-painted, the chrome is actually polished, there are small careful details everywhere that make your heart beat faster in your chest with fear. She's probably customized all of this. On the back windshield is one of those stick-figure family stickers, a mom and a little boy, and you feel like an even bigger asshole. You hit a single mother's car. God, you suck.

The woman crouches down, her hand coming out to touch the dent with two fingers, careful. She doesn't say anything. Something private and quiet moves through her expression and she lets it pass without making a thing of it. Then she straightens up and turns back to you and her face is just open and easy again.

You blink, realizing now for the third time that you're a dick. You forgot to ask if she had been hurt.

"Are you okay?"

She smiles, warm and a little surprised, eyes sparkling "Yeah, I'm totally fine," she says. "Thanks for asking."

The quality of her voice is never one you've ever heard anyone ever have naturally, if that makes sense. It’s airy and gentle in a way you’ve only ever heard people try to forge, but you can tell its genuine from her. Her tone is soft and a little breathy, every work exhaled, but it's calming to hear andmakes her reassurance sound like she means both parts equally, the yeah and the thanks for asking. Your shoulders drop in relief.

"She'll be okay," she adds, tapping the car. "

"I'll pay for everything," you say. "Truly. All of it."

She waves a hand, easy and unbothered. "Oh, don't worry about it. I could fix this in my sleep."

You stare at her.

"I—what?"

"Takes maybe an hour," she shrugs happily, pushing her hands into the back of her slacks. You force your eyes not to drift down to the edge of her tank-top falling near her belt, the slice of stomach exposed...

Public parking lot, you remind yourself.

"Are you... serious?"

"Totally," she smiles. "I do this all the time. I've got everything at home."

"You—" You look at the fucked-up car. "You know how to fix this?"

"I do. This one isn't even interesting, you should've seen the fender bender Santos got in the other day, do you know Santos? Well, she drove it onto my driveway after before breakfast about two weeks ago and that was a pain to fix but... well.."

She trails off, heat rising adorably at the back of her neck and into her cheeks, charmingly embarassed by her own rambling.

Be still your beating heart. Doctor Hottie, your hallway crush, the most put-together person you have regularly seen in a hospital corridor, fixes vintage cars on weekends. In her driveway. Apparently before breakfast.

"I still insist on paying for something," you hear yourself say. "I can't just let you have to deal with this all on your own.”

She shrugs, "You really can,"

"At least let me cover the tools. Or the... materials?" You point at the dent. "I'm not really sure what you even use for that but I can get you whatever you need. Paint? Do you need paint?"

"I have paint," she says, and she's starting to look amused.

"Okay, what else. There must be other stuff involved. Do you need a—"

Your knowledge of automotive repair is, it turns out, essentially nonexistent, and your brain is no help, "—A kettle?"

She blinks, trying to understand. "A kettle?"

"I don't know, I've seen it online where you, like, pour really hot water on the dent and then... grab... a plunger…"

You cut yourself as she starts to laugh, biting your lip to stop yourself from grinning too wide. "Okay well pardon me, Doctor, sorry I'm not Tony Stark like you."

"I prefer Ray Stantz."

Huh? “Who?”

"Reference too old?" she frowns. "Too old. Wow, you really haven't seen Ghostbusters?'

"Sure I have, but I can't name them," you defend. "Besides the marshmallow thing."

The grin spreads wider across her face as you feel an embarrased grimace take over yours.

"Marshmallow thing?" she repeats gleefully.

"Can we focus on your car? I'm trying to repent for fucking up your car."

She laughs with her head tilted back and it does something genuinely unfair to her face. She's really, really pretty.

"So, no plunger?" you try.

She looks at you somewhere between charmed and delighted for several long seconds, then holds out her hand.

"Give me your phone," she says.

"My—why?"

"So I can put my number in it." She holds out her hand. "That way, if I run out of plungers, I'll know who to call."

You hand her your phone and she types quickly, hair blowing gently in the early-morning breeze. She finishes tapping and hands it back.

The contact name reads: Cassie (no plungers needed)

Hm. Cassie. You're not sure you would've clocked her as a Cassie, but as your eyes drift back up and see her watching you warmly, maybe you can understand.

"I'm—" you start, about to offer your hand.

"I know your name," she says. "You kinda have a badge."

She nods at your lanyard, and you look down at it, and yes. There it is. You've been wearing your own name this whole time.

She picks up her bag and her completely empty travel mug and she looks at you one more time. "Go inside and get some coffee. You'll feel better."

"I will," you smile, but then sober up. "Jokes aside, though, I am really sorry about your car."

"Don't be." She starts walking, waving bye. "It was the most interesting thing that's happened to me all week."

"A slow week, then?"

"You'll have to infer, I don't want to jinx it," she grins, and she's smiling when the automatic doors to the emergency department open and she's still smiling when the doors close.

You look at her car. You look at the stick figure sticker, the little mom, the little boy, then down at your phone.

Cassie. What a trip.

—

Later that night, you get a text from your new favorite redhead.

Looked at it after my shift. Took 20 minutes. Told my son a distracted driver got me.

Then:

He said "sick" and asked if you were okay. Obviously super concerned about me. 🙄

You bite your grinning lip and immediately reply.

Omg please tell him I’m really sorry I almost took out his mom!!

Her response comes back fast.

He says "cool" and wants to know if you drive a cool car.

You peer down your second-floor apartment window at your shitty little car.

Tell him no, you write back.

He says "That's okay some people can't help it." He also says you should come see the car when it's fixed

I told him that was up to you.

You put your phone face-down on the table. You pick it up again. You put it down. You pick it up.

You type: Tell him I'd really like that actually.

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