#dynamic disability!reader

You'd already been awake a few hours when Trinity woke up in your bed. You were over in the kitchen area of your studio apartment. Typing away on your laptop. Updating some of your documents for work tomorrow. 

"Oh you're awake." Trinity spoke. Normally she'd have slipped out before you were up. 

"I was in a lot of pain. It woke me up so I decided to get some work done." You told her, not really looking up. 

"Oh...well then I guess I'm gonna get dressed and go. I have to meet with someone." She says getting up from the bed. 

"That was fast." You deadpanned. 

"Not like that. Baran asked to meet up to discuss some things about the ED." Your eye physically twitched. You had stopped typing for a moment. 

"Okay." 

"Is it?" Trinity asks, walking over in nothing but one of your old band shirts. 

"I said it is." Her arms wrapped around you from behind. 

"Its okay of its not...or if it makes you jealous." She spoke softly, sending a shiver through you.

"Im not going to repeat myself Trinity." There was a bite to your voice. Your walls are going up and she knew it. 

Trinity’s smile faltered just slightly at the tone.

Not enough that most people would notice it.

But she’d spent enough mornings tangled in your sheets by now to recognize the difference between your sharp edges and your hurt ones.

Her chin rested against your shoulder anyway, stubborn about it.

“You get this wrinkle right here when you’re pissed,” she murmured, brushing her thumb between your brows. “Usually means I should start apologizing.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Mm.” She didn’t sound convinced.

You stared at the spreadsheet on your screen without actually reading it anymore. The cursor blinked accusingly in the middle of a half-finished sentence.

Behind you, Trinity shifted carefully, mindful of your body in that instinctive way she’d gotten lately. One hand stayed light against your waist instead of squeezing. The other rubbed slowly over your shoulder.

“You know,” she said softly, “most people would just say ‘yeah okay have fun.’”

“Most people aren’t me.”

“That’s true.” A tiny grin ghosted across her voice. “You’re meaner.”

That got the barest twitch at the corner of your mouth.

Trinity caught it immediately.

“There she is.”

You sighed through your nose, shoulders tight. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Do what?”

“Manage me.”

Her arms loosened instantly.

Not offended. Not dramatic. Just enough space to show you she heard the boundary.

“You think that’s what I’m doing?”

You swallowed.

Your ex-wife used to talk to you like this too near the end. Gentle voice. Careful hands. Like every emotion you had needed to be diffused before it became inconvenient.

You hated how fast your mind went there.

“I think,” you said slowly, “that this is casual. And casual means I don’t get jealous when the girl I’m sleeping with runs off to see someone else in the morning.”

Trinity went quiet behind you. She stepped away from the chair and started gathering her clothes from around the apartment.

You tried to go back to typing, but you couldn’t focus. Your pain had settled deep into your joints overnight, leaving you exhausted and raw. Usually you were better at keeping the walls up when you felt like this.

Usually people didn’t stay long enough to notice the cracks.

Trinity disappeared into the bathroom for a minute, then came back dressed in yesterday’s clothes. She walked over to the kitchenette quietly, opening cabinets like she already knew where things were.

You frowned. “What are you doing?”

“Making coffee.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know.”

The coffee pot clicked on.

You watched her move around your tiny apartment with annoying familiarity. Pulling down mugs. Finding the coffee grounds. Opening the fridge without asking.

Domestic.

Dangerously domestic.

“You’re staring,” she said without looking back.

“I’m trying to figure out why you’re still here.”

That finally made her turn.

There was something unexpectedly open in her expression now. Softer than her usual smirk.

“Because,” she said simply, “you were hurting before I even said Baran’s name.”

Your throat tightened. Trinity walked back over slowly until she stood beside your chair again.

“You don’t have to date me,” she said. “You don’t have to promise me anything. But I’m not gonna pretend I don’t care about you just because someone else taught you that caring always comes with conditions.”

You looked away first.

“You know Baran’s divorced.”

“I know.”

“You could go for her. I’ve seen how she looks at you and how you light up at her praise.”

“And she’s like fifteen years older than me.”

“And I’m almost ten years older,” you reminded her, finally looking up from your laptop with a raised eyebrow.

Trinity blinked.

Then huffed out a laugh.

“Okay, first of all, you are way hotter than Baran.”

“That wasn’t the point.”

“It was a point.”

You rolled your eyes despite yourself, but Trinity caught the way your mouth threatened to turn upward.

“There,” she said immediately, pointing at you. “That face. I’m winning.”

“You’re annoying.”

“And yet you keep letting me stay over.”

Your lips pressed together again, trying not to react to that one.

Trinity softened a little after a second.

“For real though,” she said more quietly, “you know I don’t care about the age difference, right?”

Something vulnerable flickered across your expression before you could stop it. Because it wasn’t really about the number. It was about history. About being left behind for someone easier. Healthier. Less complicated. Less tired.

“You don’t need someone with so much baggage, Trinity.” 

Trinity seemed to read enough of that off your face that her teasing faded completely.

“You know what I actually think this is?”

"Tell me oh wise one. What do you think this actually is?"

Trinity’s grin came back immediately at the oh wise one.

“There she is,” she murmured. “Mean and sarcastic. My favorite version of you.”

You snorted softly and leaned back in your chair just enough to look at her properly.

“Well? Enlighten me.”

Trinity shifted her weight against the counter, arms folding loosely over her chest. For once, she didn’t immediately go for a joke.

“I think,” she said slowly, “you decided a long time ago that needing people is humiliating.”

The words hit harder than you expected.

Your expression flattened automatically.

Trinity noticed.

“And I think,” she continued carefully, “that every time someone gets close enough to matter, you start looking for proof they’re gonna leave anyway.”

“That’s psychobabble.”

“You literally just got jealous over me getting coffee with my boss and you’re a psychiatrist!”

“She’s not your boss.”

“She signs my evaluations,” Trinity deadpanned.

That dragged a reluctant breath of laughter out of you.

Trinity smiled a little at the sound before stepping closer again, slower this time, giving you plenty of room to shut her out.

“You know what else I think?”

You raised an eyebrow. “You think a lot for someone who just woke up.”

“I’m serious.”

That softened something in your chest despite yourself.

Trinity rested a hand lightly on the back of your chair.

“I think you’re used to people seeing your disability before they see you.” Her voice had gone quieter now. “And when they finally realize pain doesn’t magically go away? When things get hard? They leave.”

You went very still.

Because she wasn’t wrong.

Not completely.

Your ex-wife had loved you when you were still “manageable.” Back when the bad days were occasional instead of constant. Before mobility aids became normal. Before exhaustion started carving pieces out of you.

Trinity’s eyes searched your face carefully.

“So now you keep everything casual because if nobody’s allowed to matter,” she said softly, “then nobody gets the chance to abandon you.”

The apartment suddenly felt too quiet.

You stared at her for a long moment before looking away first.

“You can leave now, Trinity.”

The softness vanished from your voice completely.

Cold.

Sharp enough to cut.

Trinity blinked at the sudden shift. “Hey I didn’t-”

“I mean it.”

She straightened slowly from where she’d crouched beside your chair, confusion flickering across her face before frustration started creeping in around the edges.

“You’re seriously kicking me out because I said something true?”

Your jaw clenched.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act like you know me.”

Trinity scoffed softly, incredulous. “I am getting to know you, that’s literally the problem.”

“I said leave.” Your voice cracked like a whip this time. “Now.”

That finally shut the room up.

Trinity stared at you for a few long seconds.

You could actually watch the moment her expression closed off.

Not completely.

But enough.

She grabbed her jacket off the back of the couch harder than necessary.

“Whatever,” she muttered, anger bleeding into her voice now because hurt and anger always looked a little similar on her. “You’re pissed because I’m right.”

You didn’t answer.

Couldn’t.

Because if you opened your mouth right now, something ugly and vulnerable would probably crawl out of it.

Trinity shoved her arms into the sleeves of her jacket.

“I’m still gonna be around though Y/N,” she said tightly. “I’m not disappearing, so just…” She laughed once without humor. “Text me when you wanna hook up again, I guess.”

The words landed like a punch. Because suddenly she sounded exactly like what you’d been trying to make this. Casual, easy, nothing important.And for some reason hearing her say it made you feel sick. Trinity hesitated at the door for half a second like she was waiting for you to stop her.

You didn’t.

So she left.

The door slammed hard enough to rattle the cheap frames on your wall.

Silence flooded the apartment afterward.

Heavy.

Immediate.

Your breathing felt uneven suddenly.

“Fuck,” you whispered, your hands came up to cover your face as your elbows rested on the desk.

Pain still burned through your body, hot and relentless beneath your skin, but it barely registered now over the ache opening up in your chest.

Because Trinity had been right.That was the worst part, it wasn’t the jealousy or the argument. It’s the fact she’d seen straight through you in a way nobody had in a very long time.

And instead of letting her or letting someone care about you without conditions…you’d shoved her out the second it got real. Your fingers curled against your forehead.

“Good job,” you muttered bitterly to yourself. “Really fucking nailed that one.”

The apartment still smelled like her shampoo.

Her coffee sat untouched on the counter.

And somewhere beneath all the anger and panic and instinctive self-protection was a horrible creeping realization that you might’ve just blown up the only genuinely good thing you’d let yourself have in years.

𐔌 ﹒ ⋆ ꩜ ⋆ 𓂃 ₊ ⊹

It took you a week to text her. A full week of typing messages out and deleting them. A full week of staring at your phone after shifts, wondering if Trinity was angry enough to ignore you now. Wondering if maybe she should.

In the end, the message you finally sent was painfully simple.

you busy tonight?

Trinity responded four minutes later.

depends. you gonna kick me out again?

You stared at that one for a long time before replying.

No. I promise.

Another pause.

Then:

okay. i’ll come by after shift

And somehow that almost made you throw your phone across the room from nerves alone.

By the time evening rolled around though, your body had other plans. One minute you’d been trying to clean your apartment, the next your joints felt like someone had poured molten glass into them. Nausea rolled through you hard enough you barely made it to the bathroom the first time.

You got yourself set up in bed, barely made it really.

You took your meds, hoping they’d help soon enough to still be able to do things with Trinity. You crawled into bed in one of your oversized sleep shirts, and told yourself you’d rest for twenty minutes before texting Trinity not to come. Instead, you passed out completely.

The knock at the door never woke you, but the sound of it opening did. Your eyes cracked open blearily to the sound of footsteps moving through your apartment. For one disoriented second panic flashed through you before your brain caught up.

Trinity.

“...shit,” you croaked. Your throat felt dry. You pushed yourself up slightly, immediately regretting it as pain flared through your spine, the room spinning a bit.

From the other room, Trinity froze. Then she appeared in the doorway a second later.

The tension that had been sitting between you both all week was obvious immediately. You could see it in the way she stopped short instead of walking in fully.

She looked exhausted from her shift. Backpack still slung over one shoulder. Hair down from the way she’d keep it up at work. Hoodie half unzipped.

But the second she actually saw you, her expression changed.

“Oh.” Not annoyance, concern; real, immediate concern. “You’re not feeling well.”

“I’m fine,” you mumbled automatically.

Trinity’s eyebrows shot up.

“You look like death warmed over.”

“Wow. Charming.”

“You invited me over and then I had to sneak in.”

“How?”

“You gave me the code like three months ago.”

Right.

You closed your eyes briefly. “Forgot.”

Trinity stood there another second, watching you carefully. You hated that she could probably already tell.

The heating pad cord sticking out and keeping your lower back in a pleasant state. The untouched water on the nightstand. The trash can beside the bed just in case the nausea came back.

A flare up, a bad one. Suddenly embarrassment burned hotter than the pain did.

Because this,this was exactly why you kept people at arm’s length. You looked away from her. “You don’t have to stay.” The words came out quieter this time. Your voice almost cracking. Like you were expecting her to leave just like your ex. You were just hurt and tired. You’d been through this song and dance before.

Trinity didn’t answer immediately.

You heard the soft thud of her bag hitting the floor instead. Then her footsteps crossed the apartment toward the bed. When the mattress dipped beside you, you still couldn’t look. You knew she was studying your face with that same frustratingly perceptive expression. Then a hand under your chin, soft, helping guide you to meet her gaze.

“You took meds already?”

You nodded once.

“Nausea?”

Another nod.

“Pain scale.”

You gave her a flat look. “Absolutely not.”

“C’mon, humor me.”

“Trinity.”

She reached over and brushed your hair carefully back from your forehead anyway. The touch was gentle enough it made your chest ache.

“Baby,” she said softly, “what number?”

Your breath caught a little at the word. Not because she seemed to notice she’d said it, but because she didn’t. Like it had just slipped out naturally.

“…Eight,” you admitted finally.

Trinity exhaled quietly through her nose.

“Okay.” She glanced around the room once before looking back at you. “Did you eat anything?”

You hesitated too long.

“Oh my god.”

“I was gonna…”

“You invited me over while actively dying.”

“I wasn’t dying when I invited you.”

“Debatable.”

Despite yourself, a weak laugh escaped you.

Trinity’s face softened instantly at the sound, like she’d been waiting for proof you were still in there underneath the pain and pride and shame.

“I’m gonna make you toast,” she said, already standing again.

“You don’t have to take care of me.” She paused halfway to the kitchenette. Then looked back at you.

“I know.” Her voice was very quiet now. “I’m doing it anyway.”

You watched Trinity move around your tiny kitchenette in a strange sort of silence. Opening cabinets, finding the bread, filling a glass with fresh water like she already knew your routines.

It felt…weird…not bad. Just unfamiliar in a way that made your skin feel too tight.

Your ex-wife used to sigh when your flares got bad. Not always intentionally cruel about it. Sometimes just tired. Frustrated. Burnt out from the repetition of it all.

Another appointment. Another medication. Another ruined plan. Eventually she’d stopped asking what you needed altogether.

But Trinity had already asked three times in under ten minutes.

You swallowed hard and looked away when she glanced back toward the bed.

“You don’t have to hover.”

“I’m literally making toast.”

“You’re hovering emotionally.” You point out, tilting your head slightly.

That snorted a laugh out of her.

“God, you are impossible when you feel like shit.”

“I’m impossible all of the time.” You pulled the blanket higher over your stomach. “You worked all day.”

“So?”

“So now you’re here stuck playing doctor with me.”

The words came out sharper than you intended. Trinity slowed and took in your expression.

“My ex used to hate this part,” you admitted quietly before you could stop yourself. “The flares. The meds. Me cancelling things.” Your jaw tightened. “Said she already spent enough time taking care of people at work. She didn’t wanna come home and do it too.”

The apartment went still. Trinity set the butter knife down carefully. Then turned toward you fully. For once, there wasn’t a trace of teasing in her face.

“That’s what you think this is?” she asked softly.

You immediately regretted saying anything at all.

“Forget it.”

“No.”

You looked away stubbornly, but Trinity crossed the room anyway, carrying the plate over before sitting carefully on the edge of the bed again.

“You think I’m here because I have to be.”

“I think you’ve already spent twelve hours getting puked on and yelled at by patients,” you muttered. “I don’t exactly make a great after-work activity.” You mumbled out, looking down and playing with the edge of the blanket.

Something flickered across Trinity’s expression then.

Hurt.

Not offended hurt. The kind that came from hearing someone talk about themselves like they were fundamentally difficult to love.

She handed you the plate.

Your hands shook a little while taking it.

“Look at me for a second.”

You didn’t want to.

Which was exactly why she waited instead of pushing.

Eventually your eyes lifted to hers.

“I am here,” Trinity said carefully, “because I wanted to come here.”

Your throat tightened.

“I answered your text in four minutes,” she continued. “I spent the whole week wondering if you were gonna talk to me again.” A tiny huff of laughter escaped her. “I almost didn’t come tonight because I thought maybe you changed your mind.”

Guilt twisted low in your stomach.

Trinity leaned back slightly, giving you room to breathe.

“You know what I see right now?” she asked quietly.

You stared down at the toast in your lap. “A disaster?”

“I see someone who’s hurting.” Her voice softened. “And who’s so used to handling it alone that being cared for feels embarrassing.”

Your eyes burned suddenly. You looked away before she could notice. Except of course she noticed.

“You don’t have to perform being okay around me,” she said. “You don’t have to earn softness.”

A shaky breath left you.

“That’s easy for you to say.”

“No,” she said gently. “It’s easy for you to believe you’re only worth loving when you’re easy.”

Silence settled between you after that.

Trinity reached over eventually and tugged the blanket a little higher around your legs when she noticed you shiver.

The movement was so absentmindedly caring it almost hurt worse than the flare itself.

And for the first time in a very long time, you let someone take care of you without immediately pushing them away.

You managed a few bites before your hands started betraying you.

Tiny tremors.

The kind that got worse when your pain spiked or when you had forgotten to eat all day. You tried to hide it at first by adjusting your grip on the plate, but Trinity noticed immediately because apparently nothing escaped her attention when it came to you.

“Here,” she murmured softly. Her hand settled against your back, rubbing slow circles between your shoulder blades. It was so soft, so gentle. It was as if she wanted to do something, anything to make it better.

You swallowed hard around the strange tightness in your throat and kept eating while she sat beside you, warm and steady against the mattress. Every so often she’d help in small ways without making a thing out of it. Moving the water closer when your reach faltered. Taking the plate before it became too heavy for your wrists. Adjusting the heating pad on your back.

Tiny acts of care so casual they almost undid you. The meds were finally taking the sharpest edge off the pain by the time you spoke again.

“We can’t do our usual, so…” Your eyes stayed fixed on the blanket in your lap. “You don’t have to stay late.”

The room went silent for half a second. Then Trinity turned toward you fully.

“You trying to get rid of me just because we can’t have sex?” she asked incredulously. “You think that’s why I stay around?”

Your face heated immediately. “I didn’t mean…I just…”

She paused suddenly, considering.

“Well,” she admitted, “that thing you do with your tongue is incredible.”

You let out a horrified noise while she burst into laughter.

“Oh my god, your face right now.”

“Trinity.”

“I’m being honest!”

“You’re the worst.”

“Mm. And yet you invited me back.”

Despite yourself, your mouth twitched. Trinity’s expression softened almost immediately at the sight of it. Then she leaned over and bumped her shoulder gently against yours.

“But seriously,” she said quieter now, “I love spending time with you. I like being here.” Her fingers brushed lightly against your arm. “We can just lay here and veg out. I don’t care.”

Something warm and dangerous unfurled low in your chest at the words. Because she sounded sincere. Not trapped or obligated. Like she genuinely wanted this. Wanted you.

“H…” You cleared your throat softly. “How about a movie?”

Trinity brightened instantly.

“Okay. But it has to be your all-time favorite.”

You groaned. “Absolutely not.”

“Absolutely yes.”

“You’ll judge me.” You whined out.

“I already sleep with you. The judgment stage has passed.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no real heat behind it anymore. Trinity shifted closer while you reached shakily for the remote, until her thigh pressed warm against yours beneath the blankets.

Comfortable. Easy. The kind of intimacy that had nothing to do with sex at all and somehow that scared you more than anything else. The movie had barely been on ten minutes before you realized Trinity had slowly migrated closer. At first it was small things. Her knee brushing yours beneath the blankets. Her shoulder bumping against your arm whenever she laughed quietly at something onscreen. Then somewhere along the way she’d ended up fully pressed against your side like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You became acutely aware of it all at once. The warmth of her. The steady rise and fall of her breathing. The way one of her hands rested lazily against your stomach beneath the blanket, absentmindedly tracing tiny patterns through the fabric of your shirt.

Your chest tightened strangely. Not panic…not exactly. Just…awareness.

You shifted slightly against the pillows and immediately regretted it when pain tugged through your hips.

Trinity noticed instantly.

“Sorry,” she murmured, already trying to pull away. “Am I squishing you?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

You hesitated a second too long.

Trinity started moving anyway, but before she could fully pull back, your arm was around her, tugging her back against you. It hurt a little, but it didn’t matter to you. The movement surprised both of you.

You swallowed hard.

“I just…” Your voice came out quieter than intended. “You’re okay. I promise”

Trinity went very still beside you.

Then softer than before, “Yeah?”

You nodded once, eyes fixed stubbornly on the TV instead of her face.

Because admitting you liked this felt weirdly intimate. More intimate than sex had ever been between you two. Trinity settled back carefully after a second, slower this time, making sure not to put weight on the parts of you that hurt. Her head ended up tucked near your shoulder.

You could feel the faint brush of her hair against your jaw.

Neither of you spoke for a little while after that.

The movie played quietly in the background while the rain tapped softly against your apartment windows.

And somewhere in the middle of all that warmth and exhaustion and lingering ache, you realized something deeply unsettling: you couldn’t remember the last time another person’s presence made you feel better instead of trapped.

Trinity’s thumb brushed once across your stomach absentmindedly.

“You know,” she murmured sleepily, “for someone supposedly doing casual, you’re kinda cuddly.”

You snorted softly.

“You literally attached yourself to me like a barnacle.”

“Mm.” You could hear the grin in her voice without looking. “And yet you pulled me back in.” Your fingers tightened slightly around the blanket. Because she was right.

Again.

Instead of answering, you let your head tilt carefully until it rested against hers. The smile Trinity gave at that was small.

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…

Rare nights out took planning now.

Not impossible. Just planned.

Pain meds timed carefully. Mobility aids charged. Extra braces packed in your bag just in case.

And honestly?

For a long time after the divorce, you’d stopped trying entirely.

It hurts too much emotionally to prepare for enjoyment only for your body to betray you halfway through or even worse right before the night begins.

But Trinity never treated accommodations like burdens.

So now here you are.

At some aggressively neon karaoke bar downtown because apparently Trinity and Mel together became impossible to say no to. You sat near the front in your chair, drink balanced carefully on the table beside you while Trinity butchered an early 2000s pop song onstage with absolute confidence. She looked beautiful. Black jeans, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly messy already from dancing.

Every few seconds she’d glance toward you automatically while singing like she physically couldn’t help checking where you were and every single time your chest still squeezed painfully soft in response.

“You’re staring again,” Mel called from the stage between lyrics.

Trinity whipped around immediately to look at you.

You raised your middle finger calmly.

The entire table burst into laughter.

“See?” Trinity pointed dramatically at you into the microphone. “She’s mean because she loves me.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop smiling. God. You really were happy. The realization still startled you sometimes.

You reached for your drink and then froze.

Because suddenly a voice beside you said quietly:

“Oh.”

Your stomach dropped instantly.

You knew that voice.

You turned slowly.

And there she was.

Your ex-wife stood beside the table looking genuinely stunned.

For a second all the noise of the karaoke bar seemed to dull around the edges.

You hadn’t seen her in months no...years.

She looked mostly the same. Professional clothes. Perfect hair. Controlled posture.

But her eyes immediately dropped toward your chair before lifting back to your face again.

Then, softly bewildered:

“Oh… are you going out these days?”

The words hit like a slap.

Not cruel exactly, but instinctively diminishing in that old familiar way. Like your life had quietly shrunk after her. Like joy and movement and being wanted belonged to your past self instead of the person you became. For one horrible heartbeat, old shame flared hot through your chest automatically.

Then,

“Baby!”

Trinity’s voice cut clean through it. You looked up immediately. She was already hopping off the stage, microphone abandoned completely while Mel yelled after her dramatically. Trinity crossed the room fast, smile fading the second she noticed your expression.

“What’s wrong?” she asked instantly before her eyes flicked toward the woman beside you.

Then understanding hit. You felt it happen beside you almost physically. Trinity went very still.

Your ex-wife’s expression shifted too while taking Trinity in properly for the first time.

The protectiveness already written all over her posture. The way she instinctively moved closer to your chair. The familiarity.

“Oh,” your ex said quietly.

Something complicated twisted through your chest. Because suddenly you could see it from the outside too. Trinity’s hand settled automatically against your shoulder. Grounding, protective.

“Hey,” she murmured softly to you first. “You okay?”

Just concerned about you. Your ex noticed that too. You swallowed hard.

“Yeah,” you answered quietly.

It wasn’t entirely true, but it also wasn’t entirely false. Because the old panic wasn’t swallowing you whole this time. Not with Trinity standing beside you.

Your ex looked between the two of you slowly. Then at Trinity’s hand resting against your shoulder.

“You’re together,” she realized.

Before you could answer, Trinity spoke calmly.

“Yeah.” Her thumb brushed lightly once against your shoulder. “That’s my girlfriend.”

The word hit your chest warm this time instead of painful.

Your girlfriend.

No hesitation. No distancing.

Just certainty.

Something flickered across your ex-wife’s face then.

Not anger. Something quieter. Harder to look at.

Regret.

And suddenly you remembered sitting alone in your apartment after the divorce convinced no one would ever willingly love this version of you again. Meanwhile Trinity had spent the last hour singing badly into microphones and dragging your chair onto the dance floor between songs because she wanted you included in everything.

Your ex looked at you again more carefully this time. Really looked. At the way you softened toward Trinity automatically. At how relaxed your body sat around her. At the happiness you apparently weren’t hiding well enough.

“You seem…” She stopped herself.

“Happier?” Trinity supplied sweetly.

You shot her a look immediately. Trinity looked completely unrepentant of course she did. Your ex actually gave a small surprised laugh at that.

Then quieter, toward you,

“You do.”

The ache in your chest surprised you suddenly. Not grief this time. Closure maybe. Because for years part of you wanted her to see what she did to you. Wanted her to understand how deeply she broke your trust in love, but standing here now with Trinity warm beside you, You realized something else too.

Your ex-wife didn’t destroy your ability to be loved. She just wasn’t capable of loving you the way you deserved. Your ex’s eyes lingered on the two of you for one second too long.

On Trinity’s hand resting possessively against your shoulder. On the easy intimacy between you both. On the fact that you looked happy.

You could practically watch the realization settling uncomfortably across her face.

Then quietly, almost defensive:

“I just didn’t expect…” She glanced toward your chair again before looking back at you. “You used to hate going out once your pain got worse.”

The comment landed badly immediately.

Not openly cruel, but enough.

Enough to make shame flicker instinctively through your chest anyway. Like your life had once been reduced to limitations in her mind.

Beside you, Trinity stiffened instantly. You felt it happen beneath her hand. Your ex either didn’t notice or chose not to stop.

“I mean you used to cancel almost everything near the end.”

There it was. The old resentment hidden beneath concern. Your stomach twisted sharply, but before you could answer Trinity stepped forward; fast.

“What exactly is your point?” she snapped.

Your ex blinked in surprise.

“Excuse me?”

“My point,” Trinity said sharply, “is that maybe she stopped wanting to go places because she spent years feeling like a burden every time her body hurt.”

“Trin-”

“No.” Trinity shook her head, anger flashing hot across her face now. “Actually no, because that’s insane.” She laughed once disbelievingly. “You realize she still apologizes for pain flares? For needing help? For existing while sick?”

“Trinity,” you warned quietly.

But she was fully angry now.

“She pushes herself until she’s shaking because she’s terrified people will think she’s difficult.” Trinity took another step closer. “Do you have any idea what that does to somebody?”

Your ex’s face tightened immediately.

“I loved her.”

Trinity’s expression flashed furious.

“Then you should’ve acted like it.”

Okay! That was enough.

Because Trinity absolutely looked ready to fistfight your ex-wife in the middle of a karaoke bar.

You moved before your body could properly object. One arm wrapped firmly around Trinity’s waist from behind, pulling her backward against you and down onto your lap with surprising strength. Pain flared viciously through your shoulder immediately. You ignored it. Trinity let out a startled noise as you hauled her fully into your chair.

“Baby…”

You tightened your arm around her middle before she could launch herself back up again.

“Kalmado, mahal ko,” you murmured low against her shoulder. “Hindi siya katumbas ng halaga.”

Calm down, my love. She isn’t worth it.

Trinity froze instantly in your lap. Not because of the restraint. Because of the words. Your ex-wife went completely silent too. You had only recently picked up the language so you could talk to Trinity and use cute pet names for her. 

And mahal ko.

My love.

Trinity turned her head slightly toward you, anger visibly faltering beneath sudden softness. Your chest tightened painfully at the look on her face. You rested your forehead briefly against the back of her shoulder, breathing carefully through the spike of pain now shooting through your arm from pulling her back so hard. Worth it. Probably not. Future-you was definitely going to suffer. Present-you though? Present-you knew Trinity would’ve verbally eviscerated your ex if you hadn’t stopped her.

Trinity finally relaxed slightly against you after a second, one hand covering where your arm still wrapped around her waist.

Your ex-wife stared at the two of you quietly.

Then at the way Trinity immediately softened once you touched her. The way she melted back against you instead of pulling away. Like being held by you was instinct now.

Something unreadable crossed your ex’s face. Loss maybe or realization.

You looked at her steadily this time without shrinking under it.

And for the first time since the divorce, you didn’t feel small in front of her anymore.

“I did love you,” your ex said quietly after a long silence.

You nodded once.

“I know.”

Because you did know. That had never really been the problem. The problem was that love without gentleness eventually became something painful to survive. Trinity’s fingers tightened lightly over your arm.

Your girlfriend.

Warm in your lap. Still angry on your behalf. Still choosing you publicly and loudly without hesitation.

You looked back at your ex-wife calmly.

“But she loves me better.”

The words settled between the three of you heavily.

Your ex-wife looked away first.

Not angry. Not defensive.

Just…tired somehow.

And standing there in the middle of the neon-lit karaoke bar with Trinity warm in your lap and old grief sitting quietly beneath your ribs, you realized something that would’ve been impossible for you to admit a few years ago.

Your ex-wife had loved you once. Really loved you. That was the complicated part. It would’ve almost been easier if she’d been cruel from the beginning, but she wasn’t.

She loved the high school version of you. The version that ran around football fields with a knee brace hidden under jeans. The version who stayed up all night studying during med school and still had energy afterward. The version who could dance in kitchens and walk city blocks and exist without calculating pain first.

She married that version of you.

And then slowly…

That person disappeared.

Not all at once. Not dramatically.

Bit by bit.

The cane. The fatigue. The missed plans. The chair. The exhaustion that started carving pieces out of your personality alongside your body.

You grieved that version of yourself constantly. Quietly. Daily.

Sometimes it hit you in tiny moments: seeing stairs and remembering when you used to sprint up them two at a time. Watching Trinity dance and remembering when you used to do it without pain. Realizing your body had become something you negotiated with instead of lived comfortably inside.

That old version of you had died slowly.

The difference was…

You didn’t get to walk away from the grief. You had to survive inside it. Every day. Your ex-wife got to leave. That realization didn’t make you hate her anymore. Not really. It just made you sad. Because somewhere along the line she stopped seeing the person still alive underneath the loss.

Meanwhile Trinity met you after.

After the mobility aids. After the fear. After the walls. After the damage. She never knew the easier version of you.

Only this one and she loved you anyway.

No…not anyway. Specifically, fully.

The realization hit so hard your eyes stung unexpectedly.

Beside you, Trinity must’ve felt something shift because she tilted her head slightly toward you.

“Hey,” she murmured softly. “Where’d you go?”

You blinked back into the room slowly.

At the karaoke music. The neon lights. The warmth of Trinity against your chest.

Then quietly, honestly:

“I think I finally stopped being angry at her.”

Your ex-wife’s expression flickered in surprise.

You looked at her steadily.

“I know you loved me,” you said softly. “At least I think you did. A version of me”

Her eyes immediately glossed slightly.

“But I think…” Your throat tightened briefly. “I think you fell in love with someone who stopped existing.”

Silence. Painful. Truthful silence.

Your ex-wife looked down at the floor for a second before nodding once. Tiny. Barely there.

Like maybe she’d been carrying that truth too and suddenly the grief between you both looked different. Not villain and victim anymore. Just two people who lost the same person in completely different ways.

The difference was that you had to become someone new afterward.

And somehow, impossibly, Trinity loved that version more than anyone ever had before. Trinity shifted carefully in your lap then, one hand sliding gently against your cheek to pull your attention fully back to her.

“I’m really glad you lived though,” she whispered.

Your breath caught painfully. Because she didn’t mean physically. She meant this version of you. The guarded, hurting, sarcastic, disabled version you once believed nobody could truly love long term.

And looking at Trinity now at the certainty in her eyes. The fierceness of her love. The warmth of her hand against your face,

You realized something quietly devastating maybe the person you became deserved love too.

“Babe!”

A cheerful voice cut through the tension before anyone could say anything else.

You looked up just in time to see a woman weaving through the crowd toward your ex-wife with a bright easy smile already on her face.

She slipped naturally against your ex’s side, wrapping herself around her arm before noticing the rest of you standing there.

Then she paused. Not awkward exactly. Just surprised.

Meanwhile somewhere behind the two of you, Mel had absolutely clocked the emotional landmine unfolding and immediately decided she wanted no part of it.

“Wow look at that,” Mel announced loudly from near the stage. “I suddenly need another drink.”

Coward.

Your ex pinched the bridge of her nose briefly.

“Hannah,” she said carefully, “this is-”

But Hannah’s attention had already shifted fully toward you.

Or more specifically, toward your chair.

Not in the pitying way you’d gotten used to over the years. Not uncomfortable. Not overly careful. Just curious.

“Oh wow,” Hannah said immediately, crouching slightly beside your chair without hesitation. “What kind is this?”

You blinked at her.

“I-”

“Is it custom fitted?” she asked brightly. “It looks lightweight.”

You stared for another second.

Because honestly?

You were so used to awkwardness around your mobility aids that genuine casual curiosity caught you completely off guard. Beside you, Trinity looked equally startled.

“It’s a Quickie Nitrum,” you answered slowly.

Hannah’s face lit up immediately.

“Oh my god I knew it.” She pointed excitedly. “The frame shape gave it away.”

Okay now you were fully confused.

Your ex looked deeply resigned already.

“Hannah works with mobility aids,” she explained quietly.

That immediately reframed the entire interaction. Hannah nodded enthusiastically.

“I help people learn how to properly use them when they need them and what suits them best,” she explained. “Oh! and budget planning for when insurance is being a complete nightmare.”

That dragged a startled laugh out of you before you could stop it.

“Oh so you’ve seen horrors.”

“You have no idea.” Hannah looked personally offended by the concept of insurance companies. “The things I’ve had to argue over.”

Trinity snorted softly beside you.

“You’re talking to someone who once spent four hours on hold trying to get a shower chair approved.”

Hannah gasped dramatically.

“A shower chair? Those bastards.”

Your ex-wife actually laughed quietly under her breath watching the interaction and suddenly the entire situation felt surreal. Because somehow instead of emotional devastation you were talking wheelchair specs with your ex-wife’s new girlfriend in the middle of a karaoke bar.

Hannah tilted her head slightly toward your chair again.

“You like the push handles?” she asked thoughtfully. “Some people hate them aesthetically but honestly they make life easier.”

You nodded automatically.

“My girlfriend likes them.” The word came naturally now. Warm instead of painful. Trinity’s entire face softened instantly beside you. Hannah looked delighted.

“Oh cute.”

Your ex-wife visibly noticed the change in you at that. How easy the word sounded now. How naturally you included Trinity in conversations about your chair and your body. Like shame no longer lived there quite so heavily.

“You’ve got a really good setup though,” Hannah continued. “The positioning looks comfortable. Did you have a good seating specialist?”

You blinked again slightly. Because almost nobody ever asked questions like this.  Usually people either ignored the chair entirely or treated it like tragedy on wheels. Not equipment. Not adaptation. Just part of your life.

“Yeah,” you answered softly. “Actually…yeah. I did.”

Hannah smiled immediately.

“I can tell.” Silence settled briefly after that. Not awkward or anything…just strangely peaceful. Then Hannah looked between you and Trinity and grinned slightly.

“You two are disgustingly cute by the way.”

Trinity looked deeply pleased by this information.

“Thank you.”

“You threatened to fistfight my ex-wife ten minutes ago,” you reminded her flatly.

“And I’d do it again.”

Hannah burst out laughing. Your ex-wife sighed tiredly.

“Oh my god.”

But there was no bitterness in it anymore. Just acceptance and sitting there with Trinity warm against you while another disability professional casually discussed wheelchairs like normal life instead of tragedy, you realized something quietly profound.

Your world had gotten bigger again. Not smaller. Hannah was alarmingly easy to talk to. Like within five minutes she’d somehow dragged you into a full conversation about insurance appeals, custom cushions, and the bizarre emotional stages people went through after getting prescribed mobility aids.

“And then,” Hannah said dramatically, gesturing with her drink, “you have the people who insist they absolutely do not need anti-tip bars right before almost launching themselves backwards.”

A startled laugh escaped you.

“Oh my god.”

“It’s always the overly confident men too.”

“Always.”

Beside you, Trinity Santos looked deeply amused watching how quickly you relaxed into the conversation. Your ex-wife, meanwhile, looked like she’d accidentally walked into an alternate universe. Because instead of awkward tension or unresolved bitterness, You were happily discussing wheelchair frame geometry with her girlfriend in the middle of a karaoke bar.

Hannah leaned forward excitedly.

“Wait wait okay, smart drive or no smart drive?”

You gasped softly.

“Absolutely yes, smart drive.”

“THANK YOU.”

Your ex pinched the bridge of her nose again.

“You two are speaking another language.”

“You wouldn’t survive the disabled community,” you informed her solemnly.

Hannah nodded seriously. “The group chats alone would take her out.”

That earned another laugh from you. A real one this time. Loose. Easy and across from you, your ex-wife noticed it immediately. The difference. You used to laugh less near the end of your marriage. Smiled less too. Pain and exhaustion had slowly hollowed pieces out of you back then.

But tonight, tonight you looked alive.

Hannah shifted toward your ex suddenly with the world’s most dramatic pout.

“Can I sit with them for a little bit?”

Your ex blinked slowly.

“Hannah.”

“What?” Hannah looked entirely unashamed. “I like them.”

The plural nearly made you laugh again. Your ex looked like she wanted to say no purely on principle. Then Hannah widened the pout.

“Oh no,” Trinity muttered softly beside you. “That’s a dangerous face.”

“It works every time,” your ex sighed tiredly.

“Because you love me.”

Your ex muttered something under her breath that absolutely sounded affectionate despite herself.

And suddenly…you understood something else. Maybe your ex-wife wasn’t incapable of love. Maybe she just hadn’t known how to survive grief and caregiving and change all tangled together. Watching her now with Hannah, someone who clearly understood disability differently, someone who met her later in life after everything, you realized maybe she’d changed too.

The bitterness in your chest softened further.

Not forgiveness exactly.

Just…release.

“Yay!” Hannah slid into the booth beside you immediately before your ex could change her mind.

Trinity laughed softly under her breath beside you.

Then her hand slipped gently against your jaw, turning your face toward her slightly.

“You okay if I go rescue Mel?” she asked quietly.

You looked toward the stage where Mel was very obviously pretending not to stare over at the table every thirty seconds.

Coward.

You snorted softly.

“She abandoned me.”

“She’s scared of emotional confrontations.”

“She works in an emergency department.”

“And yet.”

Fair. Trinity smiled softly before leaning down and pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. Warm. Easy. Natural.

“I’ll be back,” she murmured.

Your chest still squeezed every single time she touched you like that.

“Okay.”

Then Trinity disappeared back toward the stage area while Hannah immediately turned toward you again with visible excitement.

“Okay tell me everything,” she whispered dramatically.

You blinked.

“About?”

“How’d you customize your chair setup?”

You burst out laughing immediately.

Across the table, your ex-wife watched the sound hit you with something almost wistful in her expression. Because maybe she remembered too. The version of you that used to laugh easily before pain taught you how to brace for disappointment.

The difference now was that this version of you laughed anyway. 

𐔌 ﹒ ⋆ ꩜ ⋆ 𓂃 ₊ ⊹ 

Somehow, impossibly, the night became…fun again.

Hannah turned out to be one of those people who talked with her whole body, dramatic facial expressions, hands flying everywhere, stories spiraling into other stories halfway through.

At one point she and Trinity somehow ended up debating the worst hospital vending machine snacks while Mel loudly argued that Uncrustables counted as a luxury food item after midnight shifts.

Your ex-wife mostly stayed quiet beside Hannah, occasionally chiming in with dry comments that made Hannah laugh harder, but her focus was on her phone and you sat there watching it all happen with something warm and disbelieving blooming quietly in your chest.

Because years ago, you would’ve never imagined a night like this after the divorce.

Not with your ex-wife. Not in your chair. Not surrounded by people who looked at your disability like adaptation instead of tragedy. Hannah had even asked about your smart drive settings at one point with genuine professional curiosity while Trinity listened intently like she was memorizing everything. It was…nice…easy.

Your body, unfortunately, had limits on nice easy nights.

The first warning sign came as a dull ache settling deeper into your hips beneath the chair cushion.

Then your wrists started burning. Then your lower back.

You shifted slightly in your chair trying to relieve pressure without drawing attention to it.

Didn’t work. Because Trinity noticed immediately. Of course she did. Mid-conversation with Mel, her eyes flicked toward you automatically. One glance. That was all it took.

You watched the exact moment she clocked it: the subtle tension in your shoulders, the way your hand flexed against the armrest, the tiny tightening around your eyes.

Her expression softened instantly. She didn’t interrupt the conversation. Didn’t ask if you were okay in front of everyone. Instead she simply crossed back toward the booth quietly. Your chest tightened a little watching her. Without a word, Trinity crouched beside your chair and reached for your bag hanging off the back.

Hannah stopped talking immediately, watching with curious quiet instead of awkwardness. Trinity unzipped the bag and started sorting carefully through the pill organizer inside with practiced familiarity. No hesitation. Like she’d done this a hundred times already. Your ex-wife noticed that too. You saw it in the way her expression shifted almost imperceptibly. Not jealousy. Just realization. Trinity knew your medications by sight now.

Knew which ones helped breakthrough pain versus nerve pain versus nausea. Knew your routines. Knew your body and she handled it all with such casual tenderness it nearly hurt to witness sometimes.

“Here, baby,” Trinity murmured softly once she found the right pills.

She handed them to you alongside your soda without making it into a scene.

Just care. Easy and instinctive.

Your fingers brushed hers while taking them.

“Thank you baby.”

“Mm.” Trinity’s thumb brushed lightly once against your knee. “You pushed too long tonight.”

Hannah immediately pointed at you dramatically.

“See? This is what I keep telling my clients.” She looked at Trinity approvingly. “Excellent symptom spotting.”

You snorted softly while swallowing the meds.

“Congratulations,” you muttered to Trinity. “You’re being peer reviewed.”

“I always wanted professional validation.” Mel barked out a laugh from across the table.

Your ex-wife stayed quiet though. Watching. You knew that look. You’d known it almost half your life. How she never did these things for you. She was disappointed in herself.

Because Trinity noticed your pain before you even verbalized it. Because she helped without resentment or hesitation. Because she did it so naturally.

Years ago, moments like this used to make you feel ashamed.

Now?

Now they just made your chest ache softly with love.

Trinity leaned against the side of your chair afterward, fingers absentmindedly tracing across your knuckles while the conversation picked back up around you. Grounding you quietly beneath the noise and lights and music.

And for the first time in a very long time you didn’t feel like your body had ruined the night.

You just felt cared for.

𐔌 ﹒ ⋆ ꩜ ⋆ 𓂃 ₊ ⊹ 

By the end of the night, your body was done with you.

Your wrists burned from pushing your chair around the bar for hours. Your hips throbbed dully beneath the cushion. Exhaustion sat heavy behind your eyes in that familiar post-social-event crash.

But somehow—

You still felt lighter than when the night started.

Hannah stood near the exit enthusiastically typing her number into your phone while talking a mile a minute.

“And seriously if you have patients struggling with mobility aid adjustment send them my way,” she insisted. “Especially younger people because insurance companies become actual demons when they see someone under thirty.”

You snorted softly.

“Don’t I know it.”

“And text me your chair specs later because I know you customized something.”

“She absolutely did,” Trinity supplied immediately from beside you.

Traitor.

Hannah grinned brightly before suddenly spotting Mel near the door.

“Oh wait hold on—goodbye hug!”

Then she bounded off immediately toward Mel King and Trinity Santos with all the energy of a golden retriever.

Mel visibly braced herself. You smiled faintly watching them for a second before turning your chair slightly and realizing your ex-wife still sat quietly in the booth. Everyone else had drifted toward the exit already, but she lingered. You hesitated only briefly before wheeling back toward the table slowly.

Your wrists ached sharply when you stopped beside the booth, fingers rubbing absentmindedly at one wrist while you looked at her.

“You good?” you asked quietly.

Your ex looked up at you. Really looked.

The noise of the karaoke bar had dulled significantly now that closing time crept closer. Staff cleaned tables around you while old music hummed softly overhead.

For a second she didn’t answer.

Then finally,

“No.”

The honesty surprised you.

She exhaled shakily through her nose before looking down at her hands.

“I owe you an apology.”

Your chest tightened immediately.

You opened your mouth instinctively,

She shook her head.

“No. Please.” Her voice cracked slightly. “Let me say this.”

Silence settled softly between you. She sat back down, eye level with you. 

Then quietly:

“I treated you badly.”

The words landed harder than you expected. Because part of you had spent years waiting to hear them. Your ex swallowed hard.

“And the worst part is…” She laughed once weakly without humor. “I didn’t fully understand how badly until after.”

You stayed still, just listening.

“Hannah works with disabled patients every day,” she said quietly. “And watching her…” Her throat tightened slightly. “Watching the way she talks about mobility aids and chronic pain and independence…”

Your eyes flicked briefly toward Hannah laughing loudly near the exit with Trinity and Mel.

“She made me realize how much shame I attached to your body without even meaning to.”

That hit like a punch.

Because yeah. That was exactly what it felt like back then. Your ex-wife rubbed hard at her eyes briefly.

“You were grieving,” she whispered. “And instead of grieving with you or just being there for you in any capacity, I kept wanting you to become who you used to be again.”

Your throat tightened painfully.

“I think part of me thought if I ignored how much things changed…” She shook her head weakly. “Maybe I wouldn’t have to admit how scared I was.”

You stared at her quietly.

“I started treating every flare like disappointment,” she admitted shakily. “Every canceled plan. Every mobility aid.” Tears glossed her eyes now. “And you still kept apologizing to me.”

Your chest ached. Because you remembered that too. Apologizing constantly for your body existing. Your ex finally looked back up at you then.

“I need you to know it wasn’t because you became unlovable.” The words hit hard enough you physically stilled. Her voice broke completely this time. “It was because I was weak.”

Silence.

“I loved you,” she whispered. “I just loved you badly near the end.”

Tears burned unexpectedly behind your eyes.

Because somehow that hurt more than anger ever did.

You looked down at your hands resting against your wheels for a long moment before speaking.

“I know.”

Your ex blinked slightly. You swallowed hard.

“For a long time I thought if you couldn’t love this version of me…” Your voice tightened. “Nobody could.”

Her face crumpled instantly.

“I know.”

Then softer:

“And I’m so sorry for that.”

The apology settled deep.

You exhaled slowly through your nose.

And somewhere deep in your chest, something unclenched for the first time in years.

“Before I met Trinity I didn’t let people in close after you. I truly thought no one would want to deal with me like this. Casual hook ups, one night stands. I’d hide all my meds away, mobility aids out of sight. I’d practice walking down the hall without a limp. Anything so I’d just be normal enough for a night.” You explained. “And then there was Trinity who I tried so hard to keep at an arms length and she just…wouldn’t allow that.”

Near the exit, Trinity glanced back toward you instinctively.

Always checking where you were. When your eyes met hers, her entire expression softened immediately. Home. Your ex noticed that too. A small sad smile crossed her face.

“She really loves you.”

Your chest tightened warmly this time instead of painfully.

“Yeah,” you whispered softly.

She nodded once.

Then quietly,

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.

Your phone buzzed at 1:17 a.m.

You almost ignored it.

Almost.

You were half asleep on your couch already, heating pad across your stomach, bad reality TV playing quietly in the background while patient notes sat unfinished on your laptop.

The ED had been hell all week. Your joints hurt. Your head hurt.Everything hurt.

So when Trinity’s name lit up your screen, you frowned automatically.

Your stomach tightened stupidly fast.

You and Trinity had settled into something over the last couple months. Something easy. Physical. Fun. No expectations. Exactly the kind of thing you could survive. Most of the time she texted first. Most of the time she came over after brutal shifts looking exhausted and restless and wanting to forget the hospital for a few hours. And most of the time you let her. Because Trinity was easy to want. Dangerously easy. You stared at the messages too long before replying.

You rolled your eyes despite yourself.

Twenty minutes later there was a knock at your door.

When you opened it, Trinity looked wrecked. Hair falling out of her braid. Dark circles beneath her eyes. Hoodie sleeves shoved up messily. The lingering sharpness of adrenaline still clinging to her posture.

But the second she saw you, something in her expression loosened.

“There’s my favorite bad decision,” she sighed dramatically.

“You say that to all your hookups?”

“Only the emotionally unavailable ones.”

You snorted softly and stepped aside to let her in. Trinity immediately kicked her shoes off by the door like she lived there. You tried not to notice.

“Shift that bad?” you asked casually.

Trinity groaned loudly and dropped face first onto your couch.

“We had a six-car pileup, a psych hold trying to bite Mateo, and Robby drank my coffee.”

“Thoughts and prayers.”

“Thank you. I’m very brave.”

You watched her for a second longer than necessary. She looked exhausted. Warm even and comfortable in your apartment already.

“So,” you said lightly, leaning against the kitchen counter, “you surviving or spiraling?”

Trinity turned her head enough to look at you upside down from the couch cushions.

“Little bit of both.”

Something softer threatened to surface in your chest. You buried it immediately.

“Good thing I’m not charging for therapy.”

“Mm.” Trinity’s eyes dragged slowly over you. “What are you charging for then?”

There it was. Easier territory. You huffed a laugh through your nose and crossed the apartment toward her. Trinity looked up at you from the couch with that same lazy expression she always got around you. Tired but playful. Like she already knew you’d say yes before she even texted. You hated how much you liked that confidence.

“You know,” she murmured as your hand slid into her hair lightly, “you could pretend to miss me a little.”

“You were gone for twelve hours.”

“And yet absence made your heart grow fonder.”

“My heart actually got quieter.”

“Cold.”

“You texted me for sex after a traumatic shift.”

“Correction.” Trinity sat up enough to crowd into your space. “I texted you because you’re hot and mean to me. Important distinction.”

Your mouth twitched despite yourself. Trinity noticed instantly.

“There she is.”

God. That stupid phrase shouldn’t affect you as much as it did. You kissed her before she could say anything else. Mostly to shut her up. That was what you told yourself anyway.

Trinity kissed back immediately, warm hands settling against your waist while tension slowly melted from her shoulders. The hospital still clung to her around the edges. Exhaustion. Stress. That constant sharp awareness everyone carried after bad shifts.

You understood it intimately and maybe that was part of the problem. You pulled away first before the moment could soften too much.

“Bedroom. Now.” you muttered.

Trinity grinned lazily. “Bossy.”

“You came here for a reason.”

“True.”

You led the way down the short hall to your bedroom, Trinity’s hand warm and loose in yours. The apartment was dim, just the glow from the living room TV bleeding in and the low salt lamp on your nightstand. Your joints protested the walk—hips tight, lower back already flaring from the long shift—but you ignored it. You’d learned how to compartmentalize pain long ago.

Trinity closed the door behind you with her foot, then tugged you back against her. Her mouth found the side of your neck immediately, open and lazy, teeth grazing just enough to make your breath hitch.

“Still bossy even when you’re hurting?” she murmured against your skin, like she could read the subtle stiffness in your posture.

“Especially then,” you answered, voice low. You turned in her arms and pushed her hoodie up and off in one motion. She helped, laughing under her breath when it caught on her messy braid. Her scrub top followed, revealing warm skin and the faint red lines where her sports bra had dug in after hours of chaos.

You kissed her harder this time, walking her backward until her knees hit the edge of your bed. Trinity let herself fall, pulling you down on top of her with a grin that quickly melted into something hungrier when your thigh pressed between hers.

“Careful,” she said suddenly, hands steadying your hips. “I know that look. You’re pushing through it tonight.”

You paused, forehead resting against hers. The honesty in her voice made your chest tighten in a way you didn’t want to examine.

“It’s manageable,” you told her. “I want this. I want you here.”

Trinity searched your face for a second, then nodded. Her hands slid under your shirt, thumbs stroking the tense muscles along your spine like she was trying to soothe them before they could knot further. “Then tell me what feels good. No heroics. I’m not here to add to the pain.”

You kissed her in answer, slower this time. She tasted like hospital coffee and the mint gum she always chewed on the way over. You peeled her scrub pants down her legs while she worked your sweats off, careful when your hip twinged. The heating pad from the couch had helped, but your body was still a map of aches.

Once you were both in just underwear, Trinity rolled you onto your back with gentle insistence. She hovered over you, hair falling around her face like a dark curtain.

“Better?” she asked.

“Yeah.” You exhaled as the pressure eased off your lower back. “Stay like this for a bit.”

She did. Mouth mapping your collarbone, then lower, slow, deliberate kisses across your chest, tongue circling a nipple until your back arched despite the protest in your joints. Her hand slipped between your legs, cupping you over your underwear first, then sliding beneath the fabric when you lifted your hips in silent permission.

“Fuck, you’re already wet,” she breathed, voice rough with want. Two fingers traced you, teasing, before pressing in smooth and deep. You gasped, one hand fisting the sheets, the other gripping her shoulder.

Trinity moved with you;patient, attentive, adjusting when your breath caught for the wrong reasons. She curled her fingers just right, thumb finding your clit in steady circles while her mouth stayed busy on your neck, your breasts, anywhere she could reach without shifting too much weight onto you.

You rocked against her hand, chasing the pleasure that cut through the constant static of pain. When your thigh started to tremble from the angle, Trinity noticed instantly. She eased your leg higher, hooking it over her hip so you didn’t have to hold the tension.

“Like that?” she whispered.

“Yes…fuck…don’t stop.”

She didn’t. She fucked you with her fingers like she had all night, like the hospital and the pileups and the biting psych holds didn’t exist anymore. Just the wet sound of her hand between your legs, your shaky moans, and the way she kept murmuring against your skin filthy little praises mixed with soft encouragement.

When you came it hit hard, hips jerking, a broken sound ripping from your throat. Trinity worked you through it, slowing but not stopping until you were trembling and oversensitive, pushing weakly at her wrist.

She kissed you deeply as you came down, fingers slipping out only when your breathing evened. Then she rested her forehead on your shoulder, letting you feel her smile against your skin.

“Your turn,” you said after a minute, voice husky. You reached for her waistband.

Trinity caught your hand, lacing your fingers together instead. “Not yet. I’m good right here for a second.” She shifted carefully to lie beside you, one leg thrown over yours, careful not to put pressure on the worst spots. Her hand settled low on your stomach, warm and grounding, right where the heating pad had been earlier.

“You don’t have to hold back with me,” she said quietly, the playful edge gone for a moment. “Not the pain part. Not the good part either.”

You turned your head to look at her. Exhaustion and want and something dangerously softer sat between you on the sheets.

“I know,” you whispered.

You kissed her again, slower, tasting the promise of round two when your body allowed it. For now, the quiet hum of afterglow and Trinity’s steady breathing beside you was enough.

Trinity’s eyes darkened with heat at your words, but she still hesitated for half a second, scanning your face like she was checking you weren’t just saying it to be fair.

“You sure?” she asked, voice low and a little rough. “You’re still shaking.”

You answered by sliding your hand down her stomach and into her underwear, finding her soaked. Trinity’s breath caught sharply, hips twitching forward into your touch.

“Yeah,” you murmured, “I’m sure. I want to feel you.”

That was all it took.

She kicked her underwear the rest of the way off and let you guide her up, settling her thighs on either side of your head as she braced one hand on the headboard. You looked up at her;flushed, breathing hard, hair messy around her shoulders—and felt a fresh pulse of want low in your belly despite how spent you still were.

You didn’t tease her. You were both too tired and too keyed up for games tonight. You licked a slow, firm stripe up through her folds, savoring the way she shuddered and swore under her breath. Then you did it again, deeper, tongue pressing inside her before sliding back up to circle her clit.

“Fuck…yes,” Trinity groaned, rolling her hips carefully. She kept most of her weight on her knees and the hand gripping the headboard, clearly mindful of you even while she was falling apart.

You gripped her ass with both hands and pulled her closer, sucking gently on her clit before flattening your tongue and letting her ride your face at her own pace. The sounds she made were addictive—low, broken moans and breathless curses every time you changed rhythm. Her thighs started trembling on either side of your head.

One of her hands dropped to your hair, not pulling, just holding on as her hips stuttered.

“Shit, right there…don’t stop, baby—”

You didn’t. You worked her harder, two fingers sliding into her easily while your mouth stayed focused on her clit. Trinity’s moans pitched higher, her rhythm getting messier as she chased it. You curled your fingers, stroking that spot inside her that always made her lose it, and she came with a choked cry, thighs clamping around your head as she pulsed around your fingers.

You kept going through it, gentler now, until she was whimpering and oversensitive. Only then did you ease your fingers out and press a soft kiss to her inner thigh.

Trinity carefully swung her leg back over and collapsed beside you, chest heaving. She immediately pulled you into her, mindful of your joints, tucking you against her side so your head rested on her shoulder.

She flopped onto the mattress with a satisfied groan, chest still heaving. A lazy, crooked grin spread across her face as she looked over at you.

“Fuck… I needed that,” she laughed breathlessly, dragging a hand through her messy hair. “You’re dangerous with that mouth.”

You smirked, wiping your chin with the back of your wrist before settling beside her. “You say that like it’s new information.”

Trinity snorted and stretched, then rolled halfway onto her side, one leg slung casually over yours. Her hand rested low on your stomach, warm and absentminded, thumb brushing lightly just above where the worst of your pain usually sat.

For a few minutes you just breathed together, bodies cooling, the distant glow of the TV still flickering from the living room. No heavy words. No expectations.

Eventually Trinity turned her head toward you, that familiar playful glint back in her eyes.

“Still alive over there?” she teased, voice husky. “Or did I finally break your ‘emotionally unavailable’ streak?”

You huffed a quiet laugh and shoved lightly at her shoulder. “Don’t flatter yourself. You’re just a really good distraction.”

“Mm. That’s what I like to hear.” She leaned in and kissed you lazily, tasting herself on your lips, before pulling back with a satisfied smirk. “Round two in ten minutes if your body cooperates?”

“Bold of you to assume you’ll last ten minutes before you’re begging again.”

Trinity grinned wide, nipping at your bottom lip. “We’ll see who’s begging, babe.”

She didn’t move away. Just stayed tangled up with you in the sheets—warm skin, quiet breathing, and the comfortable silence of two people who knew exactly what this was: a good, filthy way to forget the hospital for a while.

A few beats of comfortable silence passed before Trinity shifted, pressing closer. Her hand slid between your legs, fingertips brushing teasingly over your clit.

“C’mon…” she murmured against your mouth, voice dropping into that needy register you secretly loved. “Just one more. I’ll be good. I’ll even let you be in charge the whole time.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused. Trinity wasn’t usually one to beg this quickly.

She noticed your expression and doubled down, hips rolling subtly against your thigh. “Please? I’m still soaked from your mouth and I can’t stop thinking about you fucking me again. I need it.”

The desperate little edge in her voice hit you right in the gut. You smirked, slow and satisfied, then grabbed her by the hips and flipped her onto her back in one smooth motion careful with your own body, but firm enough to make her gasp.

Trinity’s eyes widened, a breathless laugh escaping her as she looked up at you.

“That’s more like it,” you said, voice low, hovering over her with that smirk still playing on your lips. Your hand slid down her body possessively, fingers pressing between her thighs again, feeling how worked up she still was.

She arched into your touch with a soft whine, lips parted, clearly ready for you to take exactly what she was begging for.

𐔌 ﹒ ⋆ ꩜ ⋆ 𓂃 ₊ ⊹ 

When you woke up the next morning, the other side of the bed was cold.

Your apartment was quiet.

No footsteps.

No teasing.

No Trinity rummaging through your kitchen.

Just silence.

For a second you stared blearily at the empty space beside you.

Then your eyes caught the sticky note on your nightstand.

got called back in try not to emotionally repress too hard today <3

-trin

You stared at it for a long moment.

Your chest tightened strangely.

Because this…

This was better.

This was safer.

No soft mornings. No domesticity.  No blurred lines.

Exactly what you wanted.

You'd been home maybe twenty minutes. Twenty blessed, quiet minutes.

Your scrubs were in a pile somewhere between the bedroom and bathroom. Your hair was still damp from a quick shower and because nobody was supposed to be here, you were dressed for comfort rather than company. An old black tank top clung to your frame. One of those shirts that had been washed so many times it felt more like a second skin than actual clothing. A pair of underwear. Nothing else. You were standing in front of the fridge trying to decide whether eating shredded cheese counted as dinner when your front door unlocked.

You froze.

Immediately.

The refrigerator door still hung open.

"...what the fuck." You mumbled to yourself.

The front door opened. Closed. Shoes hit the floor.

Then:

"Please tell me you have food."

You shut your eyes. Of course. Of course it was Santos.

"You know," you called toward the entryway, "most people text before entering another person's home."

"You gave me the code." She countered.

Trinity rounded the corner. Then stopped. Immediately. Her brain visibly buffering. Because she'd clearly expected scrubs. Maybe pajamas. Not this.

Your eyes narrowed. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Trinity blinked. Once. Twice. Then very deliberately looked at the ceiling.

"You're not wearing pants."

You glanced down.

Then back at her.

"No." A pause. "You have eyes. Good observation."

That finally snapped her out of it. A laugh escaped her.

"Jesus Christ."

"You came into my apartment." 

"You could've warned me."

"You didn’t text me.”

You stared at each other.

Then simultaneously:

"Fair."

Trinity dropped her bag onto the counter before collapsing dramatically onto your couch. The kind of collapse only possible after twelve hours in emergency medicine. You watched her for a second. The exhaustion was obvious. Her eyes were tired. Shoulders slumped. The usual energy missing around the edges. You closed the fridge and wandered into the living room.

"What happened?" You asked raising a brow.

"Patients." She said as if you didn’t know that information.

"Insightful." You rolled your eyes.

"Thank you."

You sat in your armchair. Trinity groaned and rubbed both hands over her face. The room settled into silence. Eventually she looked over at you.

"You busy?"

You immediately narrowed your eyes.

"Dangerous question."

"I mean right now."

"Currently I’m debating on if giving you my code was a good idea."

You pointed at her.

Trinity sighed. Then looked away. Suddenly less confident.

"It was a long day."

You waited.

"And?"

She shrugged it was small. Almost embarrassed.

"I could use a distraction."

The admission caught you off guard. Because Trinity usually barged through life at full speed. Didn't ask for things. Didn't admit when she needed people. Yet here she was. Looking exhausted. Sitting on your couch. Asking if she could stay without actually asking. Your chest tightened unpleasantly. Dangerous. Very dangerous. You looked away first. Toward the TV. Toward literally anything else. Then grabbed the remote from the coffee table and tossed it at her. Trinity caught it automatically.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" You settled deeper into your chair.

"Pick a movie." She blinked. A smile slowly appearing.

"That's your way of saying yes?"

"Don't make me say it twice."

The smile widened.

And for some reason that felt entirely too rewarding.

𐔌 ﹒ ⋆ ꩜ ⋆ 𓂃 ₊ ⊹ 

The Chinese food arrived forty minutes later. Enough food for at least four people.

"Why did you order three appetizers?" You set the bags on the coffee table.

Trinity didn't even look guilty.

"I had a hard day."

"You ordered crab rangoons, dumplings, and spring rolls."

"I said what I said." You stared at her. She stared back. Then immediately stole one of the rangoons before you'd even sat down.

"Animal."

"Psychiatrists don't get opinions."

You rolled your eyes and settled onto the couch. This time Trinity didn't take the opposite end. Didn't leave a polite cushion's worth of space. She dropped down beside you. Close enough your shoulders brushed occasionally. Neither of you acknowledged it. The movie started. Some horror movie neither of you had heard of. Rated 2.3 stars. The cover art featured a poorly rendered ghost and a woman screaming. Immediately promising.

Ten minutes in the acting was terrible. Twenty minutes in the monster had already changed appearance three times. Thirty minutes in the boom mic was visible. Twice. Trinity was crying laughing.

"This cost someone money."

You pointed at the TV.

"The ghost is wearing jeans."

"Oh my god."

The ghost was absolutely wearing jeans. The scene was clearly supposed to be terrifying. Instead the ghost looked like a divorced dad haunting a Home Depot. Trinity nearly choked on her soda.

"This is the worst thing I've ever seen."

"No."

You grabbed another dumpling.

"We're watching the sequel after this."

She stared. Horrified. Then immediately started laughing again. Somewhere around movie number two, Trinity stopped sitting upright. You didn't notice at first. Not consciously. Just a gradual shift. Her leg ended up pressed against yours. Then her shoulder.

Then at some point she stretched out across the couch.

One socked foot dangling over the armrest. Her head resting against the cushion beside you. Comfortable. You noticed. Unfortunately. The third movie featured a possessed refrigerator. You were not joking. A refrigerator. It killed three people. Trinity couldn't breathe. She was laughing so hard tears were running down her face.

"You made me watch this."

"You had free will."

"I clearly didn't."

You smiled despite yourself.

And for a second, you forgot to be careful. Forgot to keep things casual. Forgot about all the reasons this was a bad idea. Because Trinity looked happy. Really happy. Not stressed. Not overthinking. Not chasing approval. Just laughing at a haunted appliance. Then she caught you looking. Immediately. The smile on her face softened. Dangerous.

"What?"

You looked away first.

Back to the television.

"Nothing."

"Liar."

The accusation lacked any real heat. You grabbed another spring roll.

"Watch your movie, Santos."

"The refrigerator just exploded."

"Then pay attention." You could hear the smile in her voice.

Somehow that was worse than seeing it. By the time the fourth terrible movie started, the Chinese food was mostly gone.

The apartment was dark except for the television.

And without either of you really noticing when it happened Trinity had fallen asleep. Her head resting against your shoulder. One hand curled loosely against your arm. You stayed very still. Not wanting to wake her. Which was stupid. Exactly the kind of thing that blurred lines.

But as the worst horror movie you'd ever seen played quietly in the background you couldn't quite bring yourself to move away.

You stayed frozen for what felt like an eternity, the glow of the TV flickering across the dark living room. Trinity’s breathing had evened out into something deep and steady, her body fully relaxed against yours. The weight of her head on your shoulder was warm, grounding in a way that made your chest ache. Her hand had slipped a little lower on your arm, fingers loosely curled near the inside of your elbow. Every small shift of her body sent a spark through you.

This was dangerous territory. You knew it. But the apartment was quiet except for the low hum of another terrible movie, and the scent of her, shampoo, faint hospital antiseptic, and something uniquely Trinity filled your lungs with every inhale.

Carefully, you turned your head just enough to look at her. Lashes dark against her cheeks. Lips slightly parted. The exhaustion from her shift had melted off her face in sleep, leaving her softer than you’d ever seen her at work. Your free hand twitched in your lap. You wanted to touch her. Trace the line of her jaw. Slide your fingers into her hair. Instead, you forced yourself to breathe through it.

A few minutes later, Trinity stirred.

Not fully awake, but enough that she nuzzled closer, cheek pressing more firmly into your shoulder. A soft, sleepy sound escaped her—half sigh, half hum. Her hand slid further down your arm until her fingers brushed the bare skin of your thigh just below the hem of your tank top.

Your breath caught.

Her eyes fluttered open slowly. For a second she looked confused, then the corner of her mouth curved up in a lazy, half-awake smile when she realized where she was.

“…Shit. I passed out on you,” she murmured, voice rough with sleep. She didn’t pull away. If anything, she settled heavier against you.

“You did,” you answered, keeping your tone light even as heat pooled low in your belly. “Snored through the refrigerator’s dramatic death scene.”

“Liar. I don’t snore.” She tilted her head up to look at you. Her eyes were still heavy-lidded, but something sharper flickered behind them now. Awareness. The way her gaze dropped to your mouth for a beat too long before returning to your eyes.

The air between you thickened.

You swallowed. “You gonna move?”

“Do you want me to?”

The question hung there. Simple. Loaded.

Instead of answering with words, you shifted your leg so your thigh pressed more deliberately against hers. The old tank top had ridden up slightly; the cool air of the apartment kissed your skin, but Trinity’s body heat was right there, burning.

Trinity’s breath hitched. Her hand, still resting on your thigh, flexed once. Testing. Then her fingers slipped higher, slow and deliberate, tracing the edge of your underwear. Her touch was light, almost reverent, but the intent behind it wasn’t.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” she whispered against your neck, lips brushing the sensitive skin just below your ear.

You didn’t tell her to stop.

Instead, you turned your head and caught her mouth in a kiss that started slow, sleepy and warm, but quickly deepened when Trinity made a quiet, needy sound and pressed closer. Her body shifted until she was half-straddling your lap, careful of your legs, mindful in that way she always was even when her hands were growing bolder.

Your disability meant some positions were trickier, but Trinity had always been intuitive about it. She braced one knee beside you on the couch, the other foot still on the floor, giving you control over how much weight and pressure you took. Her hands slid under the hem of your tank top, palms warm against your ribs as she mapped your skin like she’d been waiting to do exactly this.

“Been thinking about this,” she admitted between kisses, voice low and rough. “You. Like this. Fuck…way too much.”

You tugged at the front of her shirt in answer, pulling her closer until her chest pressed against yours. The kiss turned hungry. Tongues sliding, teeth grazing. Her hips rolled once, slow and experimental, grinding down against your thigh. The friction pulled a sharp gasp from you.

Trinity broke the kiss just enough to rest her forehead against yours, breathing hard. One of her hands drifted lower, slipping fully beneath the waistband of your underwear. Her fingers teased along your folds, already slick, before circling your clit with devastating patience.

“Trinity-” Your voice cracked.

She kissed you again, swallowing the sound, and pushed two fingers inside you in one smooth stroke. The stretch was perfect. The heel of her palm ground against your clit with every shallow thrust. She set a rhythm that had your hips jerking up to meet her hand, chasing the heat building fast and sharp in your core.

You reached between you, palming her through her scrub pants. She was soaked already. The little broken moan she let out when you pressed against her was addictive.

“Off,” you muttered against her mouth, tugging at the drawstring.

She helped you shove her pants and underwear down just enough. Then she was back on you, grinding her bare cunt against your thigh while her fingers curled deep inside you, stroking that spot that made your vision spark white at the edges.

The movie was still playing in the background with some ridiculous jump scare but neither of you cared. The only sounds that mattered were the wet slide of her fingers, your ragged breathing, and the soft, filthy praises she kept murmuring against your neck.

“That’s it… fuck, you feel so good. Let me hear you.”

You came hard, thighs trembling, back arching as pleasure crashed through you. Trinity worked you through it, gentling her touch but not stopping until you were panting and oversensitive against her.

Before you could fully catch your breath, she pulled her hand free and brought her fingers to her own mouth, licking them clean with a look that was pure sin.

Your turn.

You guided her higher up your body until she was straddling your face properly, one hand braced on the back of the couch. The first swipe of your tongue through her folds had her cursing, hips stuttering forward. She tasted incredibly hot, slick, and desperate. You sucked on her clit, then fucked her with your tongue while your hands gripped her ass, encouraging her to ride your face.

Trinity came fast and loud, thighs shaking around your head, one hand fisted in your hair as she moaned your name like a prayer.

She collapsed beside you afterward, both of you sweaty and breathing hard. For a long moment the only sound was the terrible movie still playing on low volume.

Then Trinity laughed soft, breathless, delighted.

“Jesus Christ,” she said, echoing her earlier words from the doorway. She turned her head to look at you, eyes dark and warm. “We are so doing that again. After I get feeling back in my legs.”

You smirked, pulling her in for another lazy kiss.

Trinity was still catching her breath, sprawled half on top of you with her chest heaving and a lazy, satisfied grin tugging at her lips. But you weren’t done. Not even close.

You nudged her gently, guiding her onto her back along the length of the couch. She went willingly, stretching out with a low hum of anticipation, one arm draped above her head, the other reaching down to brush her fingers through your hair as you shifted.

“Careful,” she murmured, voice husky, when you moved between her legs. She helped adjust the angle propping one of the throw pillows under her hips slightly so you could settle more comfortably on your stomach between her thighs without straining. Always attentive, even when she was flushed and needy again.

You hooked your arms under her thighs, palms sliding along the soft skin, and pulled her closer. Trinity’s breath hitched as you lowered your head. You started slow, just like you wanted lazy, indulgent. Your tongue dragged through her folds in one long, unhurried stripe, savoring the slick heat of her, the taste that was still so unmistakably Trinity.

“Fuck…” she breathed, hips twitching.

You did it again. And again. Broad, slow licks that explored every inch of her—teasing around her entrance, circling her clit without giving it full pressure, then dipping lower once more. There was no rush. Just wet, deliberate strokes of your tongue while you listened to every little gasp and curse she let out.

Trinity’s hand tightened in your hair, not pushing, just holding on. Her other hand fisted the cushion beside her. “You’re gonna kill me like this,” she groaned, but the way her thighs parted wider for you said she loved every second of the teasing.

You hummed against her, the vibration pulling a sharp moan from her throat. Your tongue flattened and dragged up again, then swirled lazily around her swollen clit before sucking it gently between your lips. Trinity’s back arched, a broken sound escaping her as her heels dug into your back.

“Shit…right there… just like that…”

You kept the pace torturously slow, licking and sucking in lazy patterns that had her rolling her hips in shallow little thrusts, chasing your mouth. Every time she tried to speed up, you pulled back just enough to keep her on that delicious edge, tongue tracing her folds again until she was whimpering.

Your free hand slid up her body, pushing her tank top higher so you could palm her breast, thumb brushing over her nipple. Trinity cursed again, louder this time, her body trembling under your touch.

You could feel her getting close thighs starting to shake, breathing ragged. You finally gave in, sealing your mouth around her clit and sucking with steady pressure while your tongue flicked fast and perfect against her.

“Fuck… I’m-” Trinity’s voice broke as she came hard, hips jerking against your face, a low, throaty moan spilling out of her. You didn’t stop, licking her through every pulse and aftershock until she was gasping, oversensitive, gently tugging your hair to pull you up.

You crawled up her body, careful with your positioning, and she immediately wrapped her arms around you, pulling you down into a deep, messy kiss. She could taste herself on your tongue and moaned softly into your mouth.

“Goddamn,” she whispered against your lips, still breathless, forehead pressed to yours. “You’re dangerous when you get lazy like that.”

You smirked, nipping at her bottom lip. “We’ve still got the rest of the night.”

Trinity’s eyes darkened with fresh heat as she rolled you both slightly, mindful of your body, her hand already sliding down between you again.