#ley writes

1. The Coffee

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

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

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

She stopped when she saw you.

“Wow,” she said.

You looked up immediately. “What?”

“Nothing.”

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

Trinity’s mouth twitched. “No.”

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

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

You blinked at her.

Then you looked down at yourself.

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

“I look exhausted,” you said.

“Both can be true.”

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

It didn’t.

So you nodded seriously.

“Thanks. You look tired too.”

Trinity paused with her hand on the coffee pot.

Slowly, she turned her head toward you.

You offered her a polite smile.

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

“You’re killing me,” she muttered.

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

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

Then she laughed.

Not loudly. Not enough for anyone else to notice.

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

“No,” she said. “Coffee’s fine.”

You hummed, already reading again.

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

“You’re really something,” she said.

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

She smiled into her mug.

You still had no idea.

2. The Scrub Cap

The second time, it was during a psych consult.

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

You didn’t.

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

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

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

“That was impressive,” she said.

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

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

“She was scared.”

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

“Do what?”

“Make it sound simple.”

“It was simple.”

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

You glanced up.

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

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

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

Trinity blinked.

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

“You’re complimenting me back?”

“Yes?”

“Like this is peer review?”

You frowned. “Was I not supposed to?”

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

You looked at her fully now.

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

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

You did not have one of those.

You immediately touched the cap yourself.

“Oh. Was it crooked?”

Trinity’s hand dropped.

Her face went blank.

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

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

“Why didn’t you just say that?”

“I did, in my own way.”

You nodded. “Thanks for fixing it.”

Trinity inhaled slowly through her nose.

“Anytime.”

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

Trinity stared at you.

Then she whispered, “Unbelievable.”

You smiled faintly, assuming she meant the patient case.

3. The Ambulance Bay

The third time was in the ambulance bay.

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

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

Trinity found you anyway.

She always did that, somehow.

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

“Gross.”

“You can go back inside.”

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

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

“No. You do.”

You considered that.

“Is that a bad thing?”

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

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

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

“I didn’t ask.”

“You were about to.”

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

That should have done it.

That should have clicked.

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

Instead, you glanced toward the parking lot.

“Are you avoiding someone?”

Trinity’s smile fell open into disbelief.

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

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

Trinity pressed her lips together.

Her eyes dropped to the ground.

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

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

You stared.

“What?”

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

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

“I’m trying to be helpful.”

“That’s the problem.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I know.”

You frowned harder.

Trinity softened.

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

“Come back inside before you freeze.”

“I’m not cold.”

“You’re shivering.”

You looked down at your own arm.

You were, actually.

“Oh.”

Trinity’s smile returned, smaller this time.

“Yeah. Oh.”

She opened the door and held it for you.

You walked in first.

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

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

“Nope.”

4. The Dinner Invite

The fourth time, she brought food.

That was serious.

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

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

A knock sounded at the doorframe.

You looked up.

Trinity stood there holding two takeout bags.

“Are you busy?”

“Yes.”

She lifted the bags.

You paused.

“Less busy than I was.”

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

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

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

“I know.”

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

“No.”

“Did the restaurant mess up?”

“No.”

“Did a patient’s family bring this?”

Trinity stared at you.

“I bought you dinner.”

You looked up.

“Why?”

The question came out genuinely.

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

“Because I like feeding you.”

You absorbed that.

Slowly.

Carefully.

Still incorrectly.

“That’s very kind.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Kind.”

“Yes.”

“I brought you your favorite.”

“You know my favorite?”

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

“That’s pattern recognition.”

“That’s interest.”

You nodded. “Both can be true.”

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

“I swear to God.”

“What?”

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

You thought about it.

“You’re friends with Dennis.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“And Mel.”

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

“I’m not dodging. I’m answering.”

“You’re not answering the right question.”

“What’s the right question?”

Trinity leaned forward, elbows on her knees.

Her voice softened.

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

You opened your mouth.

Closed it.

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

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

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

Your face warmed.

“I don’t know,” you said quietly.

Trinity’s gaze flicked across your face.

For once, she didn’t make a joke.

“Think about it,” she said.

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

You did think about it.

For the entire meal.

For the rest of your charting.

For the drive home.

For two days after.

+1. The Time You Did

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

That was the ridiculous part.

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

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

For once, she looked truly tired.

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

Just tired.

You stepped inside quietly.

“Hey.”

Her eyes opened.

The second she saw you, her face changed.

Not dramatically. Not enough for anyone else to catch.

But you did.

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

“Oh,” she said, voice rough. “Hey.”

Your stomach flipped.

Small.

Dangerous.

Warm.

You stood there with one hand still on the door.

And suddenly, all of it came back.

You look good in the morning.

You’re just good.

Maybe I just wanted to stand next to you.

I like feeding you.

Think about it.

You had thought about it.

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

Trinity rubbed at one eye. “You okay?”

You walked farther into the room.

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

Trinity went very still.

Then she sat up.

Slowly.

“Sorry?”

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

Her expression cracked.

A smile crept in at one corner of her mouth.

“Have I?”

You gave her a look. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Pretend you haven’t.”

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

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

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

“You did.”

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

“Still worked for me.”

Your face heated.

Trinity noticed.

Of course she noticed.

Her smile softened into something less smug and more careful.

“You finally caught up,” she said.

“I’m sorry it took me so long.”

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

“I thought you were just being nice.”

“I am nice.”

You stared at her.

She sighed. “Fine. Nice adjacent.”

You laughed before you could stop yourself.

Trinity’s face changed again.

That was when you really knew.

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

Because when you laughed, Trinity looked relieved.

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

Maybe longer.

You stepped closer.

Her eyes followed you.

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

“No,” she said.

You raised an eyebrow.

Trinity smiled.

“Now I’m waiting.”

“For what?”

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

The room went quiet.

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

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

You took another step.

Then another.

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

You stopped in front of her.

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

Trinity’s eyes darkened with amusement.

“Yeah?”

You nodded.

“But more directly this time.”

She tilted her head back to look up at you.

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

Your breath caught.

There it was.

No room for misinterpretation.

No clinical loophole.

No colleague-shaped excuse to hide behind.

Just Trinity.

Just wanting.

Just you, finally understanding.

You swallowed.

“I noticed that one.”

Her smile returned.

“Good.”

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

You didn’t.

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

Trinity leaned in.

Paused.

Still giving you a way out.

You closed the distance yourself.

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

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

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

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

Trinity paused.

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

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

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

Her grin came back slowly.

“There it is.”

“What?”

“You flirting back.”

Your face warmed. “Was that flirting?”

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

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling.

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

“I understand that now.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

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

You smiled.

Trinity’s thumb swept once over your waist.

This time, you noticed.

This time, you leaned closer.

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

Trinity’s grin turned slow.

Dangerous.

Delighted.

“Oh, I can provide evidence.”

The ED was somehow both too loud and too quiet all at once. Monitors beeped in uneven rhythms, somebody was yelling for respiratory down the hall, and the scent of burnt coffee mixed with antiseptic hung heavy in the air. You were standing beside the trauma station trying to finish charting and sipping slowly on your energy drink while pretending not to listen to Trinity and Baran bicker three feet away.

“You cannot keep stealing my pens,” Trinity said, arms folded.

Baran didn’t even look up from the tablet in her hand. “I didn’t steal it. I borrowed it Doctor Santos. Stealing would imply I wouldn’t return it.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re being dramatic.”

You hid your smile behind your computer screen.This, this was normal, comfortable, familiar.Too familiar, apparently.

Because Baran finally sighed and held her hand out, handing over the pen, but her hand lingered there and outside the hospital, that gesture only meant one thing.

Your brain never even caught up. Instinct hit first. You stepped forward immediately, ducking your head and pressing your face right into Baran’s waiting palm with a soft exhale before you even realized where you were.

Silence. Complete, catastrophic silence.

Your eyes widened against her hand.

Oh no.

Oh no no no…

The nurses’ station had gone dead quiet. Somewhere to your left, somebody choked on some form of a drink. Trinity made a sound that was suspiciously like a wheeze.

Baran froze too.

Not because she was upset; worse. Because you could physically feel her trying not to laugh.

Slowly, very slowly, she looked down at you with one eyebrow raised while your face was still buried in her hand. The realization crashed over you in full force.

You were in the middle of the emergency department. At work. In front of everyone and you had just, without hesitation, walked into Baran’s hand like an overly affectionate house pet.

Heat flooded your entire body.

“Oh my god,” you whispered.

Trinity lost it first.

A sharp bark of laughter escaped her as she doubled over against the counter. “Holy shit,” she wheezed. “Holy shit, that was conditioned behavior.”

“Trinity,” you hissed, horrified.

“No, no, I need a second,” She pointed at you while laughing harder. “You didn’t even THINK about it. You just,” she mimed walking face-first into a hand.

A nearby nurse snorted loudly.

Someone else muttered, “That is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.” you’re pretty sure it was Princess.

You wanted the floor to open up and swallow you whole.

Baran, unfortunately, was not helping. Because instead of moving her hand away, her expression softened into something unbearably fond as her thumb brushed once across your cheek.

“There you are,” she murmured automatically.

Which only made the entire station erupt harder.

“Oh my GOD,” Trinity shouted.

You made a wounded noise and grabbed the front of Baran’s scrub top, trying to hide your face against her shoulder now instead.

“This is your fault.”

“My fault?” Baran sounded deeply amused now. “You’re the one who forgot we were in public.”

“You trained her like that,” Trinity accused.

Baran finally laughed quietly, one arm slipping around your waist to steady you while you actively died of embarrassment.

“I did not train her.”

“You absolutely did.”

Another pause. Then Baran glanced down at you tucked against her chest and said, completely serious:

“I mean… positive reinforcement may have occurred.”

The station exploded again.

“Oh don’t worry puppy I’m sure everyone will forget about this soon enough.” Trinity teased.

7:00 a.m. – 8:00 a.m.

The Pitt was already awake and snarling by the time you arrived.

You’d come in with Baran for her 7:00 a.m. shift, the two of you walking through the sliding doors together. She was in fresh scrubs, you were leaning heavily on her arm as she called out for someone to help her. Another flare. Same unpredictable beast that had lived in your body for years. Baran hadn’t even hesitated when you told her you needed to come in this morning; she’d simply grabbed her keys, helped you into the car, and driven you here herself.

“Hey sweetheart. Another flare?” Cassie came up with that sympathetic look on her face. You nodded in response as you sat at one of the triage chairs. McKay pulled up your file, Baran next to her giving the orders to her senior resident. 

Your head lulled a bit as Cassie had Mateo get your IV in. They took blood and you whined out, “Noooo my blood…Mateo how could you?” You joked, making him laugh.

“Even when you feel like shit you’re here cracking jokes.” He set the vials down on the tray before getting your drip going. 

Baran and Cassie talked quietly about what to do next and about trying to get you a room upstairs,

“Last night was bad. We’re still dealing with the same ones. I’ve still got patients from the past three days waiting for beds in the ICU.” Cassie told her. Baran made a tsk noise and whispered a curse in Farsi under her breath.

You gave a soft smile, reaching for her hand and brushing your thumb over the back of her hand. “It’s okay. We’ll figure it out.”

ﮩـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Now you were tucked into Bay 8, curtain half-pulled, monitors already singing their familiar tune. Baran stood beside your gurney, one hand resting on your leg while she reviewed the intake notes on the computer.

“Labs are still processing,” she murmured, glancing at you. “Pain?”

“Six out of ten and climbing,” you admitted. “The ride over didn’t help.”

She nodded once, already typing in an order for IV fluids and pain medication. Her shift hadn’t even officially started yet, but she moved with the quiet authority of someone who knew every inch of this department.

Whitaker poked his head in. “Dr. Al-Hashimi, they’re asking for you at the desk—”

“Thank you Doctor Whitaker, give me five minutes,” she said without looking up, tone leaving no room for argument. The resident vanished.

Baran turned back to you, softening immediately. She brushed her fingers along your cheek, she could feel the flush from the pain, then leaned down and pressed a slow kiss to your forehead.

“I hate that we’re starting the day like this,” she whispered against your skin. “But I’ve got you. Same as always.”

You caught her hand and held it against your chest, right above your heart. “I know. I’m sorry I ruined your morning.”

“You didn’t ruin anything.” Her thumb stroked your skin. “You’re exactly where I want you to be when you’re not feeling well, somewhere I can keep an eye on you. You and I both know if I had left you alone like this you’d try to drive yourself here eventually.”

“I would-” You tried but she cut you off,

“You’re right darling you would.” She smirks, joking with you before kissing your forehead once more. “I’ll be back when I can. If you need something, hit your call button.”

ﮩـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

The morning rush was building outside the curtain, ambulances pulling up, the overhead paging doctors, Trinity Santos’s voice already barking orders somewhere nearby, but inside your space it was just the two of you. Baran adjusted your blanket, checked your vitals herself, and stayed close while the meds started dripping in.

Around 7:40 Princess came by talking with Baran about the situation upstairs and trying to get you a bed, but this is the PTMC and with the conversation you heard earlier a bed could take hours or even days if you’re unlucky. 

“Still no beds,” she said quietly, reading the look on your face. “But I’m already on it. You’re not spending the whole day down here if I can help it.”

You smiled tiredly, squeezing her hand. “I get to watch you work for a while. That’s not the worst thing.”

Baran’s lips curved, tired but fond. She stole a quick, soft kiss making sure to be careful, aware of the open curtain and the growing noise of the department.

“Behave,” she teased gently. “Or at least pretend to while I go sign in and check the board. I’ll be back before 8. Let me or Princess know if the pain gets worse.”

“I will.”

She lingered another moment, forehead resting against yours, then straightened her scrubs and stepped back into attending mode. Before she slipped out, she glanced back at you once more, she was putting on a brave face, but you saw it behind her eyes even if no one else did. She was worried for you, her wife. 

Once you were alone you looked down at your left hand, the thick band made of tungsten, Your wedding ring. Those vows felt like forever ago, but Baran had taken to those vows long before they were official. 

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.

ou’re barely holding it together at the nurse’s station, pretending to focus on your notes, when she leans against the counter beside you, too close, too casual.

“Hey Y/L/N,” she says, voice low, playful.

You already know that tone.

You don’t look at her right away. “Hi, Dr. Santos.”

“Mm,” she hums, clearly unimpressed with the formality. Then, softer just for you,

“Did you still wanna come over my place?”

That gets your attention.

You glance at her, heart skipping despite yourself.

Santos smirks, leaning in just enough that her shoulder brushes yours.

“Huckleberry’s gonna be gone all weekend,” she continues, voice dipping into something sultry, tempting. “Means we get the place to ourselves… spend all our time in bed.”

Your breath catches.

Because with her and it’s easy.

There’s no hiding. No careful distance. No pretending you don’t exist the second someone walks by.

With Santos, you’re not a secret.

You’re wanted. Openly.

“You’re terrible,” you mutter, trying (and failing) to sound unaffected.

She grins. “And yet you’re thinking about it.”

You are.

God, you are.

She doesn’t rush you.

That’s the worst part.

Trinity just stays there, close enough that you can feel the warmth of her through your scrubs, like she knows exactly what she’s doing to you and has all the time in the world to let it sink in.

“C’mon,” she murmurs, nudging your arm lightly with hers. “Don’t overthink it.”

You huff out a quiet breath, eyes dropping back to your notes even though you’re not reading a single word.

“I have an early shift tomorrow,” you try, weakly.

“Yeah,” she says easily. “So do I.”

You finally look at her again.

She’s watching you, like, really watching you now. Not the teasing, surface-level smirk she gives everyone else. This is different. Softer. Intent.

It makes your stomach flip.

“You’re dangerous,” you mutter.

Her grin comes back, slower this time. “Only if you want me to be.”

Your pulse jumps.

God.

She straightens just a little, but her hand lingers on the counter right next to yours close enough that your fingers almost brush if either of you moved an inch.

“You could say no,” she adds, voice quieter now. “I’d let you.”

There’s something honest in that. No pressure. No games.

Just… an open door.

And that might be what undoes you.

Because she’s right, you could say no.

You should.

But instead, your hand shifts, just slightly, until your pinky barely grazes hers.

You feel the exact moment she notices.

Her breath catches. Just for a second.

“…That a yes?” she asks, softer than you’ve ever heard her.

You swallow, heart pounding, and finally, finally, let yourself meet her eyes fully.

“Yeah,” you say, barely above a whisper. “It’s a yes.”

For once, Trinity Santos doesn’t have a comeback.

Just that look, like she’s already thinking three steps ahead, already picturing it.

Then she pushes off the counter, all confidence snapping back into place.

“Good,” she says, casual again, but her hand brushes yours on purpose this time. “Don’t make me wait, doc.”

And just like that, she walks off.

Leaving you standing there, completely wrecked… and counting down the hours until your shift ends.

⋆｡˚☤🩺✧˖°.

Her left arm wraps around the curve of your back as you arch under her touch. Her right hand slowly works you up because of course Trinity loves to tease you, pushing you right up against the edge and then pulling back. She'll do it again and again until youre begging and pleading for her to fuck you. 

You barely open your eyes, pupils blown and tears streaming down your cheeks as small noises make their way out of you. 

“Youre so fucking beautiful like this. Look at you falling apart so easily for me baby.” Her voice is smooth and sultry as she brings you to the edge again. 

“Fuck! Trin! Please please fuck can I cum? Please Trinity fuck…ive been so good please please!” You beg as you gripped at her soft sheets that you've thoroughly soaked from how wet she's made you. She's been working you over for hours now you're sure of it.

“Awwww look at my pathetic fuck doll.” She smirks, her fingers working faster, hitting all your spots just right. “Go on, baby doll. Cum for me.” 

When she gives you the permission to you're squeezing around her finger, your juices soaking her fingers and hand, more so than before. 

She's made you a panting, sweaty, fucked out mess beneath her, but truly you wouldnt want it any other way. 

She moves herself slightly, slowly letting you rest on the bed as you breathe heavily.

You close your eyes, trying to catch your breath as she goes to grab a cloth real quick. The routine was simple and the same everytime; you liked that with Trinity. It was safe and secure. You knew underneath her rough exterior she just wants someone to want her. 

She starts cleaning you up, your body twitching involuntarily from being sensitive. 

“Shhhh its okay baby ive got you. You did so well for me tonight.” Her voice was soft in a way you knew no one at work would ever get to hear. 

Soon enough she's helping you drink water as you curl up into her side. 

“Okay what does my baby want? Chinese or Pizza for dinner tonight?” She asks with a small smirk. 

“Mmmmm Chinese. The one we got from last time,” you roll a little bit, more on top of her now, “I liked how they made the rice last time. It was perfect with that spice and the flavor was amazing.” 

She chuckles and rubs your back as she grabs her phone. 

“Okay, okay and why dont you pick what we watch?” She asks, raising a brow. 

“ER!” You excitedly call out.

“We work in an ED all day…” 

“Yeah but its fun to make fun of the things they get wrong!” You roll over again, onto your back, but across her lap.