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Victoria thinks she has a problem. Like an actual, real problem.
She may be a kleptomaniac.
Ever since she started stealing Trinity’s clothes, she won’t - can’t - stop.
Her entire closet is full of Trinity’s things. The gaming t-shirt is now her favorite pajama shirt.
The worn-out grey hoodie has made its permanent way into her work locker.
The first time she wore it around while making her rounds, Garcia did a double take when they passed each other in the hall. Needless to say, Javadi avoided all cases that could lead to a potential surgical consult.
She wears the sweatpants almost every day off.
The green hoodie has actually become her favorite one.
Filled with the memories of that night.
The one with the tear on the sleeve rotates.
Sometimes, after a rough shift, Trinity will grab her hand and play with the sleeve, letting her know she needs it.
The first time it happened was in late September.
There had been a massive crash - no pun intended - of a school bus against a car. Victoria almost fainted at the first sight of a seven-year-old with his hand severed, but there wasn’t time for her to even faint as the kids kept coming.
So many of them.
It was such chaos she barely saw Trinity all day.
So when the day was finally over, Victoria just wanted to rush out of there, shower herself clean of the horrors of the day, put on Trin’s soft shirt, and sleep.
So imagine her surprise - and slight irritation - when Trinity grabbed her.
Fast.
Hard.
“What the fuck, Santos,” she grumbled as she tried to stabilize herself.
Trinity only tightened her grip on Victoria’s wrist.
She looked… far away. Wherever her mind was, it definitely wasn’t a pretty place. Dark circles carved deep under her eyes. Victoria wondered when the last time she’d had a good night’s sleep was.
“Are you okay?” she murmured softly.
Trinity didn’t answer.
Instead she grabbed Victoria’s sleeve and started playing with it.
Her brown eyes, once clouded with confusion, suddenly widened with recognition.
She wanted the hoodie.
“I don’t have it here,” Victoria winced as Trinity tightened her grip again.
Victoria chewed on her lip, trying to remember if her parents were home.
They were.
They definitely didn’t allow her to bring anyone over.
Her eyes flickered across Trinity’s face.
Fuck it.
She pulled.
Hard.
Fast.
Towards the door.
Got Santos in her car and drove them to her house.
Ignored her mother’s bewildered expression as she rushed past her, Santos right behind her.
Victoria had one mission on her mind.
And only one.
She let go of Trinity’s hand. Pulled her drawer open.
Fast.
Hard.
Grabbed the hoodie.
Victoria would never forget the way Trinity’s whole body just lessened the moment the hoodie was on.
Ever since that day, she always makes sure to carry it everywhere she goes.
Doesn’t matter if Santos isn’t even anywhere close to where she is.
Just in case.
That was also the first time she got to sleep holding Trinity in her arms.
Tobacco and something very Trinity filling her senses in an intoxicating way.
(And if Victoria didn’t change her sheets until the smell faded, well, that’s between her and her mother’s disgusted expression.)
That was also the day Victoria realized she may actually, honest to god, be addicted to Trinity’s smell.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
They’ve fallen into a strange tension since that night.
“The night of the grand theft of the green hoodie” as Victoria has named it in her mind.
It’s not a bad one.
On the contrary - it’s thrilling.
It’s almost as if they’re both waiting to see who will break first.
Victoria has always been competitive. She was forced into it. Always having to demonstrate she deserved to be where she was.
And Trinity - She’s always loved to push Victoria’s buttons.
She knows exactly where to press for the fuel to flood her veins. Press just the right amount for Victoria to actually enjoy it. - It hasn’t always been like this. At the beginning, Trinity would press too hard. Or completely the wrong button, leaving Victoria fuming with rage. But she’s observant. And a very fast learner. Almost as fast as Vic.
Victoria doesn’t know what will actually happen when one of them finally breaks.
She usually hates not knowing what’s coming.
But she’s dying to find out.
(Mostly, she wants to find out how good Trinity’s lips will feel on hers.)
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Pittsburgh is already getting cold as the beginning of October settles into the air.
Victoria turns slowly into the hospital parking lot, kills the engine, and grabs the flannel she carelessly threw on the passenger seat that morning.
She pulls it tight around her small frame as the morning air hits her.
She’s so distracted - and tired - she doesn’t notice the presence approaching quickly from behind.
And just as she prepares to face the horrors of the day, someone grabs the flannel and pulls.
Victoria stumbles backward.
Falls.
Crashes into a soft body.
A comfortable body.
A somewhat familiar body.
Before the sound of the owner’s voice even reaches her ears, she already knows who it is.
Victoria has always hated smokers. Ever since she was a kid.
But as the smell of smoke and something citrusy - slightly sweet - fills her lungs, she thinks maybe she doesn’t really hate smokers that much anymore.
“You know that’s still mine, right, Crash?”
Victoria shrugs, turning so they’re eye to eye.
“Possession is nine-tenths of the law.”
Trinity steps closer.
Too close.
Victoria can smell the coffee she drank.
“Then I guess I’ll just have to take it back.”
But instead of actually taking it off her -
She just leaves her hands there a moment too long. Squeezes.
Then lets go.
Victoria watches Trinity walk into the ER.
The tension lingers.
Pulls.
No cracks yet visible.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
It’s late enough that the hospital has gone quiet in that eerie, fluorescent way. Not actually calm - just holding its breath between disasters.
Victoria is halfway through charting the longest trauma note of her life.
Her fingers move fast across the keyboard, the screen glowing harsh and white in the darkened workroom. The smell of sanitizer lingers on her hands. Her back aches. Her eyes burn.
She’s almost done.
Almost.
A chair scrapes beside her.
Victoria keeps typing.
“Go away.”
The chair rolls closer.
Of course it does.
Trinity drops into it like she owns the place, one leg stretched out under the desk. Their knees bump immediately.
Victoria’s fingers pause for half a second.
Then resume.
“You’re in my space.”
Trinity glances at the screen instead of answering. Her shoulder nudges Victoria’s as she leans closer.
“You forgot the neuro exam.”
Victoria doesn’t look at her.
“I didn’t forget it.”
“You definitely forgot it.”
“I’m getting to it.”
Trinity hums, unconvinced.
Victoria keeps typing, jaw tight.
She can feel Trinity’s presence like heat.
Close enough that their arms brush every few seconds when she moves the mouse.
“You could use another computer,” Victoria mutters.
“There aren’t any.”
Victoria flicks her eyes towards the now empty workstations across the room.
Trinity doesn’t even look.
Instead she reaches past Victoria to grab the mouse.
Her arm ends up braced against the desk behind Vic’s back, effectively boxing her in.
Victoria stops typing.
Slowly.
Measured.
Controlled.
“Santos.”
“Crash.” A shiver runs down her spine.
The stupid nickname.
Once hated, now travels, low on her belly, and settles.
Trinity scrolls through the chart like she has every right to be there.
Victoria can feel the warmth of her through the thin sleeve of the hoodie under her scrubs. Tobacco and laundry detergent drift faintly into the air between them.
She hates that she notices.
She hates it even more that she doesn’t move away.
“You’re hovering,” Victoria says finally.
Trinity leans closer.
Like she’s reading the screen.
Except she’s close enough now that Victoria can feel her breath near her ear.
“You’re writing sloppy notes.”
Victoria’s shoulders tense.
“Then go read someone else’s chart.”
Trinity doesn’t move.
Victoria turns her head just enough to glare at her - and realizes, too late, how close Trinity actually is.
Their faces are suddenly inches apart.
Green eyes.
Too amused.
Victoria clears her throat and turns back to the computer immediately.
“Add the reflexes,” Trinity murmurs.
Her voice comes out lower than before.
Victoria types harder than necessary.
The keyboard clacks loudly in the quiet room.
Behind her, Trinity shifts.
Instead of sitting back down properly, she stands.
Now she’s right behind Victoria’s chair.
Reading over her shoulder.
Victoria feels the air change before she even hears her.
Then Trinity’s voice, right next to her ear.
“You also forgot to document the laceration length.”
Victoria jumps slightly.
“Jesus - do you have to breathe down my neck?”
Trinity leans closer. Smirk painted on her lips.
Victoria can feel the heat of her arm resting on the back of the chair.
“You’re the one writing like an undergrad.”
Victoria tilts her head back to glare up at her.
Big mistake.
Because now Trinity’s leaning forward and their faces are- again- far too close for coworkers standing in a hospital.
A beat passes.
Neither of them says anything.
Trinity’s gaze flicks down for half a second.
Then back up.
Victoria feels it everywhere.
“Done staring?” she mutters.
Trinity straightens slowly.
“Add the reflexes, Crash.”
Victoria turns back to the screen.
Ignores the heat on her belly.
Types.
Hard.
Behind her, Trinity doesn’t leave.
Instead she reaches past again, fingers brushing Victoria’s hand as she grabs the mouse.
Victoria freezes.
Their hands stay there a second longer than necessary.
“Let go,” Victoria says quietly.
Trinity’s thumb taps once against the side of her hand.
Slow.
“You’re the one holding it.”
Victoria drops the mouse like it burned her.
Trinity huffs out a quiet laugh.
Victoria refuses to look back.
She finishes the note in silence.
Thirty seconds later Trinity speaks again.
“Also,” she says casually, “you’re wearing my hoodie.”
Victoria keeps typing.
“It’s cold.”
“Uh-huh.”
Victoria hits sign note and finally turns.
Trinity is leaning against the desk now, arms crossed, watching her with that same infuriating half-smile. Wants to kiss it off her face. But not yet. She’s not a loser.
She will win this - whatever this is they are playing.
Victoria stands, grabbing her tablet.
“You’re unbelievable.”
Trinity shrugs.
“Your charting got better.”
Victoria brushes past her.
Their shoulders bump.
Neither apologizes.
Halfway down the hallway, Victoria realizes three things at once.
One-
She forgot to add the reflexes.
two-
She can still feel exactly where Trinity was standing behind her.
three-
She may actually be planning to break first.
Fuck.
**
Victoria walks fast down the hallway.
Too fast.
Her tablet tucked under her arm. The ER hums around her - monitors beeping, a nurse calling for labs, someone laughing too loudly near the nurses’ station.
Victoria hears none of it.
Her brain is stuck on three things.
The reflexes she forgot.
The heat of Trinity standing behind her.
And the slow, deliberate tap of Trinity’s thumb against her hand.
She exhales sharply.
Fuck.
Victoria slows near the supply closet and leans briefly against the wall.
Just for a second.
Just to reset.
Her fingers tug unconsciously at the sleeve of the hoodie under her coat.
Trinity’s hoodie.
Another one.
She stole it two days ago.
Technically it had been draped over a chair in Trinity’s apartment while she was showering. Which, in Victoria’s opinion, is practically an invitation.
Her phone buzzes.
A message.
Santos
Victoria stares at the screen for a long moment before opening it.
You forgot the reflexes.
Victoria scoffs quietly.
Of course she noticed.
Of course she waited exactly thirty seconds before saying something.
Victoria types back.
Mind your business.
Three dots appear immediately.
Disappear.
Reappear.
My business is making sure you don’t embarrass yourself in the trauma chart.
Victoria pushes off the wall and starts walking again.
You hovering like a creep didn’t help.
Another pause.
Then:
You didn’t seem that bothered.
Victoria stops walking.
Just for a second.
The hallway suddenly feels warmer.
Her thumb hovers over the screen.
Then she types.
Careful, Santos.
Three dots again.
Or what, Crash?
Victoria stares at the name. Crash.
Her stomach does something irritating.
Then she smiles slightly.
Oh.
Oh
This could be fun.
Victoria turns around.
Trinity is exactly where she left her - leaning against the desk, arms crossed, watching the hallway like she knew Victoria would come back.
Of course she did.
Victoria walks.
Slow this time.
Deliberate.
Trinity raises an eyebrow.
“Forget something?”
Victoria places her tablet on the desk beside her.
“I did.”
Trinity tilts her head.
“The reflexes?”
Victoria steps closer.
Not enough to be obvious.
Enough.
“No,” she says calmly.
Trinity’s eyes narrow slightly.
“Then what?”
Victoria reaches out.
For a moment Trinity tenses like she expects Victoria to push her away.
Instead -
Victoria grabs the front of Trinity’s hoodie.
The one she’s wearing underneath her scrubs.
The one with the tear on the sleeve.
Her fingers curl into the fabric at the collar.
And she pulls.
Not hard.
Just enough to bring Trinity down slightly so they’re eye level.
Too close.
Way too close for coworkers in a hospital.
Victoria leans in slightly.
Just enough that Trinity can probably smell the hoodie she’s wearing.
Just enough, so she can smell her perfume, on the hoodie Trinity’s wearing.
Her hoodie.
Their hoodie.
The one Trinity still hasn't washed, since she gave it to her after a rough shift, last week.
“You were right,” Victoria murmurs.
Trinity doesn’t move.
“About what?”
Victoria’s thumb brushes absently over the fabric. It’s soft.
“I forgot something in my chart.”
Trinity’s voice comes out lower.
“And that is?”
Victoria holds her gaze.
Doesn’t blink.
“Reflexes.”
Then she lets go.
Steps back.
Grabs her tablet.
And walks out of the room like nothing happened.
Behind her, Trinity doesn’t follow.
Not immediately.
But Victoria can feel her stare all the way down the hallway.
And for the first time since this ridiculous game started -
She thinks she might actually be winning.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The ER is chaos again.
Not the catastrophic kind. The regular kind. Monitors beeping, stretchers rolling, nurses shouting across the hall.
Victoria is charting at the nurses’ station when someone leans against the counter beside her.
“Rough night?”
She glances up.
Dr. Patel from orthopedics. Nice enough. Talks too much.
“Define rough,” Victoria mutters, typing.
Patel chuckles.
“I’ve got a consult upstairs if you’re looking for an excuse to escape this circus.”
Victoria snorts.
“Tempting.”
He nods toward her hoodie peeking out from under her coat.
“That yours?”
Victoria doesn’t look up.
“Why?”
“Because it’s about three sizes too big.”
Victoria smirks faintly.
“Comfort.”
Patel leans a little closer.
“Well, it works.”
Victoria pauses typing.
“What does that mean?”
He shrugs.
“Just saying. Looks good on you.”
Behind them, a chair rolls across the floor.
Hard.
Victoria doesn’t need to turn around to know who it is.
The smell hits first.
Smoke. Coffee. Citrus.
Trinity.
Patel straightens slightly as Trinity steps up beside Victoria.
Too close.
Her shoulder bumps Victoria’s.
“Crash,” Trinity says casually.
The nickname lands heavier than usual.
Possessiveness drips off the letters.
Victoria glances sideways.
Trinity isn’t looking at her.
She’s looking at Patel.
Slowly.
“Don’t you have a fracture to fix?” Trinity asks.
Patel blinks.
“I - uh - ”
“Orthopedics usually handles bones,” Trinity continues mildly. “Not flirting with my med students”
Victoria’s fingers freeze over the keyboard.
Patel laughs awkwardly.
“I wasn’t - ”
“Good,” Trinity interrupts.
Silence stretches.
Patel clears his throat.
“Right. Well. I should - ”
“Yes. You should leave.” Trinity, so helpfully finishes for him.
He disappears down the hall.
Victoria slowly turns her head.
Trinity is still watching the hallway.
Victoria raises an eyebrow.
“That was subtle.”
Trinity shrugs.
“He was annoying.”
Victoria smirks.
“Jealous, much?”
Trinity finally looks at her.
Green eyes sharp.
“No.”
A beat.
Then she tugs once at the sleeve of Victoria’s hoodie.
Slow.
Hard.
“That’s still mine.”
And walks away.
Victoria stares at her screen for a full ten seconds before realizing she’s typed the word Trinity three times in the chart.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It’s three in the morning when the ER finally quiets down.
Victoria is dead on her feet.
Her shift technically ended an hour ago, but trauma had other plans.
She pushes open the break room door.
Stops.
Trinity is already there.
Shoes kicked off. Leaning against the wall with a half-empty coffee.
Victoria sighs.
“Of course you are here.”
Trinity glances over.
“You look terrible, Crash”
“You say the prettiest things, Santos.”
Victoria drops onto the couch.
The room is small. Too small.
One couch. One chair. One dim lamp buzzing softly.
Trinity watches her for a moment.
Then tosses something at her.
It lands on Victoria’s face.
Soft.
Fabric.
Victoria pulls it down.
A hoodie.
Another one.
“Go to sleep,” Trinity says.
Victoria narrows her eyes.
“You just want it back in the morning.”
Trinity smirks.
“You’re predictable, Crash.”
Victoria pulls it on anyway.
It smells like Trinity.
Of course it does.
She leans back against the couch and closes her eyes.
Five minutes later -
She feels the cushion shift.
Her eyes open.
Trinity has moved to the couch.
Sitting beside her.
Their thighs press together.
Victoria exhales slowly.
“You had a chair.”
Trinity shrugs.
“More comfortable here.”
Neither moves.
The room hums softly.
Victoria feels Trinity’s shoulder brush hers.
Then again.
Then stay.
Victoria doesn’t pull away.
After a long moment Trinity murmurs quietly -
“Crash.”
Victoria opens one eye.
“What.”
Trinity is looking at the hoodie.
The one Victoria is wearing.
Her hoodie.
“You’re impossible.”
Victoria smiles faintly.
“And yet you keep giving me your clothes.”
Trinity doesn’t answer.
But she doesn’t move away either.
Eventually Victoria falls asleep with her head tipped against Trinity’s shoulder.
Trinity stays there.
Wide awake.
**
The next morning Victoria wakes up in Trinity’s apartment.
Which is not surprising.
What is surprising -
Is that she’s cold.
Victoria frowns.
She sits up.
Looks down.
The hoodie is gone.
“What the hell - ”
A voice from the kitchen -
“Morning.”
Victoria turns.
Trinity is leaning against the counter.
Drinking coffee.
Wearing the hoodie.
Victoria squints.
“That’s mine.”
Trinity raises an eyebrow.
“Is it?”
Victoria stands slowly.
“You gave it to me.”
“Did I?”
Victoria walks closer.
“You absolutely did.”
Trinity takes another sip of coffee.
Unbothered.
Victoria stops in front of her.
Close.
“You stole it back.”
Trinity shrugs.
“Consider it evidence.”
“Of what?”
Trinity sets the mug down.
Steps closer.
Now they’re standing almost chest to chest.
Her fingers reach out.
Lightly tug the sleeve of Victoria’s shirt.
The sleeve of the torn hoodie underneath.
Her expression softens slightly.
“You steal a lot of my clothes, Crash.”
Victoria’s voice drops.
“You don’t stop me.”
Trinity’s eyes flick down.
Then back up.
“No.”
A beat.
Then she leans closer.
Close enough that Victoria’s breath catches.
“You gonna steal this one back too?”
Victoria doesn’t answer.
She grabs the front of the hoodie.
Pulls Trinity toward her -
And stops.
Right before their mouths touch.
They stare at each other.
Breathing the same air.
Then Victoria lets go.
Steps back.
Grabs her bag.
“Keep it,” she says.
And walks out the door.
Leaving Trinity standing there.
Heart racing.
For the first time since this ridiculous game started -
She’s not sure who’s winning anymore.
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The rain starts sometime after midnight.
Not a dramatic storm. Just a steady Pittsburgh drizzle tapping softly against Trinity’s apartment windows.
Victoria is sprawled on the couch, one leg hooked over the armrest, chart open on her laptop that she absolutely should be finishing.
She isn’t.
Instead, she’s wearing the hoodie
Trinity’s green hoodie.
The one Victoria found in the drawer weeks ago. The one Trinity only wears when she’s quiet, softer somehow.
The one Victoria definitely shouldn’t have taken.
It hangs big on her frame. The sleeves almost swallow her hands.
It smells like Trinity.
Which is probably why Victoria hasn’t taken it off since she got here.
From the kitchen, Trinity watches her.
She’s pretending to make tea.
She’s been “making tea” for ten minutes.
Her eyes keep drifting back to the couch.
To the hoodie.
To Victoria.
“You’re staring,” Victoria says without looking up from the laptop.
Trinity scoffs softly.
“You’re wearing my hoodie again.”
Victoria shrugs, still typing.
“It’s cold.”
Trinity leans against the counter.
“It’s seventy degrees in here.”
Victoria closes the laptop with a soft click.
Slowly, she lifts her eyes.
“Then why are you staring at it?”
Trinity’s jaw tightens.
“Because,” she says slowly, “that one’s different.”
Victoria tilts her head.
“How?”
Trinity doesn’t answer right away.
Her gaze drops to the sleeve. To where the fabric bunches around Victoria’s wrist.
“That one’s mine,” she says quietly.
Victoria snorts.
“They’re all yours.”
Trinity pushes off the counter.
Walks toward the couch.
Each step measured.
Slow.
Victoria doesn’t move.
Trinity stops in front of her.
Close.
Close enough that Victoria can smell the faint mix of smoke and citrus on her skin.
Trinity’s eyes linger on the hoodie.
Then travel up.
“Take it off.”
Victoria raises an eyebrow.
“Make me.”
A beat.
Neither of them moves.
The rain taps softly against the window.
Then Trinity reaches forward.
Her fingers catch the hem of the hoodie.
Victoria’s breath stutters just slightly.
Trinity doesn’t pull it off.
Instead she tugs once.
Gentle.
Testing.
“You stole the one thing I actually care about,” Trinity murmurs.
Victoria’s voice comes out quieter than she intends.
“You said I could keep it.”
Trinity shakes her head faintly.
“I said you could wear it.”
Another small tug.
Victoria stands.
Now they’re almost chest to chest.
The hoodie bunches where Trinity’s hand still grips it.
“Difference?” Victoria asks softly.
Trinity looks up.
Green eyes darker now.
“Yeah.”
Her other hand lifts slowly.
Resting lightly at the edge of Victoria’s sleeve.
Her thumb traces the edge of it.
Absent.
Familiar.
Victoria feels the touch everywhere.
“You know why I kept that one?” Trinity says quietly.
Victoria swallows.
“No.”
Trinity’s voice drops.
“Because it reminds me to slow down.”
Her eyes flick up again.
Right to Victoria’s mouth.
Victoria’s heart kicks hard once in her chest.
“That thing you do,” Trinity continues softly. “Where you steal my clothes like you think I don’t notice?”
Victoria huffs faintly.
“You don’t stop me.”
“No.”
A small pause.
Then -
“I never wanted to.”
The words hang between them.
Victoria feels the weight of them settle somewhere deep under her ribs.
Her hands lift before she even fully decides to move.
They grab lightly at the front of Trinity’s shirt.
The same way she did in the hospital.
But this time she doesn’t stop.
She pulls Trinity closer.
The green hoodie bunches between them.
For a second they just stand there.
Breathing the same air.
Trinity’s forehead almost brushes hers.
“Crash,” Trinity murmurs.
The nickname lands softer this time.
Not teasing.
Not smug.
Something warmer.
Victoria exhales.
“You’re the one who started this.”
Trinity’s mouth curves slightly.
“Pretty sure you started it when you stole my hoodie.”
Victoria tilts her head.
Their noses almost touch.
“Then take it back.”
Trinity’s hand slides from the fabric of the hoodie up to the side of Victoria’s neck.
Warm.
Steady.
She studies Victoria’s face for half a second longer.
Like she’s making sure.
Victoria doesn’t pull away.
Doesn’t even breathe.
So Trinity closes the distance.
The kiss isn’t rushed.
It’s not messy.
It’s slow.
Careful.
Like they’ve both been standing at the edge of this moment for weeks and finally stepped forward at the same time.
Victoria feels it all the way down to her toes.
The way Trinity’s hand tightens slightly at the back of her neck.
The way the green hoodie bunches between them when Victoria instinctively grabs her closer.
The way Trinity exhales softly against her mouth like something she’s been holding finally let go.
When they pull apart, neither of them moves very far.
Victoria’s forehead rests against Trinity’s.
Both of them breathing a little heavier.
Trinity’s fingers brush the sleeve of the green hoodie again.
Soft.
“You’re still not keeping it,” she murmurs.
Victoria smiles.
Slow.
Dangerous.
“We’ll see.”
Trinity huffs a quiet laugh.
Then kisses her again
Victoria pulls back just enough to look Trinity in the eye, heart hammering. Her fingers linger along the collar of the green hoodie, brushing against Trinity’s hand still resting on her neck.
“You’re lucky I’m not doing a full inventory of stolen clothes right now,” Trinity murmurs, voice low, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.
Victoria chuckles softly, breath shaky. “Lucky? I’d say I’m cursed if you ever took this one back.”
Trinity leans in, forehead pressing lightly against Victoria’s. The heat radiates between them. Victoria feels it through the hoodie - the soft fabric clinging to her skin, the smell of Trinity mixing with the faint lingering scent of coffee and smoke.
“Crash…” Trinity’s voice drops lower, rougher now, “you’re making it really hard to be responsible.”
Victoria tilts her head, daring, teasing, her lips hovering just inches from Trinity’s. “And you like it.”
Trinity swallows. Her hand slides from Victoria’s neck to the side of her waist, fingers splaying under the hoodie, feeling the warmth beneath. Victoria shivers, not pulling away.
“You’re impossible," Trinity whispers, the word laced with both amusement and something deeper. She shifts closer, pressing her body against Victoria’s. Their chests brush, the hoodie bunching slightly between them, and Victoria can feel the pulse of Trinity’s heartbeat through the fabric.
Victoria’s hands find Trinity’s shoulders, gripping lightly, fingers sliding under the edge of Trinity’s shirt. The heat of the contact sends a shiver down her spine. She tilts her head, lips brushing Trinity’s jaw - teasing, daring.
Trinity’s eyes flutter closed briefly, then snap open. “Vic… we shouldn’t - ”
“Shouldn’t what?” Victoria murmurs, pressing closer. “You’re trying to steal my hoodie now, and you’re still trying to tell me what I shouldn’t do?”
Trinity huffs a soft laugh, breath hitching as Victoria’s fingers brush against the small of her back. “God, you really are something else.”
Victoria smiles against her skin, soft and dangerous. “You love it.”
Trinity doesn’t argue. She leans in again, this time letting her lips hover over Victoria’s. The green hoodie shifts, trapping them in the warmth and scent of each other. Victoria closes her eyes and leans forward, letting the tension snap just enough for Trinity to capture her mouth in a kiss that’s hotter, deeper than before.
Hands grip tighter. Thighs press together. The world outside Trinity’s apartment ceases to exist.
Victoria pulls back slightly, just enough to whisper, breath warm against Trinity’s lips: “Don’t even think about taking it off me.”
Trinity’s hand drifts under the hoodie again, tracing the curve of Victoria’s side, teasing but not rushing. “I’m… tempted,” she admits, voice low, thick.
Victoria laughs softly, a shiver running through her as the hoodie bunches around her wrists. “Good. You should be.”
Trinity leans in, forehead to forehead again, smirk teasing through the intensity of their kiss. “We’re going to regret this.”
Victoria smirks back, chest pressing to Trinity’s. “Nah. We’ll just keep stealing from each other until someone breaks first.”
And both of them know - the green hoodie isn’t just fabric.
It’s the weapon, the shield, the excuse, and the invitation all at once.
Trinity groans softly, caught between exasperation and something dangerously close to surrender. Victoria knows exactly the effect it has on both of them - and she isn’t stopping.
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Victoria digs frantically through her bag, teeth gritted, fingers tangling in notebooks and pens.
“Where the fuck - ” she mutters, heart racing. She’s positive she put it here this morning.
Her purple jacket. Her favorite one. The one that’s perfect for the ER, soft enough to feel like it’s been molded to her body, with just enough worn edges to be comforting. She’d packed it to work, she’s sure of it.
And yet… it’s gone.
Her nerves tighten. She’s late. She’s about to have to explain this to everyone. She curses herself for being careless, for being stupid.
Then she hears it.
The soft hum of someone behind her.
Victoria freezes.
“You looking for this?”
Her head snaps up. Trinity’s standing there, leaning casually against the counter, purple jacket draped over her shoulders.
Victoria’s heart stops. “Trin! That’s - mine!”
Trinity smirks, letting the jacket hang just right, sleeves brushing her wrists. “Yeah. I can see that. But I think it looks better on me.”
Victoria’s hands fly out, but Trinity sidesteps just enough to stay out of reach. The jacket’s fabric brushes against Trinity’s side, soft and warm, and Victoria swears she can feel it vibrating with the memory of her own touch.
“You can’t just take it - ” Victoria huffs, cheeks heating.
Trinity tilts her head, green eyes glinting with mischief. “Oh, I can. You’ve been stealing my hoodies for weeks. Consider this - even.”
Victoria glares, frustrated and strangely aware of the way Trinity’s body presses into the jacket, how the sleeves hang loose, the smell faintly of coffee and soap and something that’s just Trinity.
Trinity steps closer. Just a little. Enough that Victoria can feel the heat through the jacket. “You know,” she murmurs, voice low, teasing, “this one’s really yours, isn’t it? But it suits me.”
Victoria swallows. “Trin - ”
“Shh,” Trinity interrupts, letting her fingers trail along Victoria's side.
Light.
Teasing.
Claiming.
Victoria shivers.
The purple fabric is hers, and yet it feels like Trinity has taken a part of her with it - her scent, her warmth, her body memory pressed into the cloth.
“You’re cruel,” Victoria breathes.
“Maybe,” Trinity says softly, leaning so their shoulders touch. The jacket bunches slightly under the press of Trinity’s chest. “Or maybe, I just wanted something of yours for once.”
Victoria’s knees weaken slightly. She shouldn’t, but she leans into Trinity, letting herself feel the weight of it, the intimacy of it.
Trinity smirks against her hair. “Don’t even think about taking it back just yet. Just enjoy it. Crash.”
Victoria bites her lip, caught somewhere between anger, amusement, and the undeniable flutter of desire.
The jacket, her jacket, feels completely claimed.
She feels completely claimed.
And for the first time, she realizes that Trinity stealing from her isn’t something to fight - it’s something she’s been waiting for.