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“Trinity?”
Yolanda’s confused, sleep-laden voice carries quietly across the darkened bedroom. Trinity pushes the door open further, allowing the dim light from the hallway to spill inside. The thin line on the floor widens, illuminating the room enough for her to catch sight of Yolanda bundled up under the duvet on the side of the bed Trinity has, somewhere along the way, started to think of as hers.
Her hair is out of its usual pulled-back-for-work style, spilling across the pillow in a pile of tangled curls that create a startling contrast between Dr Garcia and Yolanda in Trinity’s thoughts. This is a side of her reserved for outside the hospital walls; no less strong or decisive, but a little less sharp around the edges. Not as abrasive with the lack of life-or-death decisions hanging over her head.
Though soft isn’t a word that often crosses Trinity’s mind when it comes to Yolanda – well-aware that one cutting look would disintegrate her on the spot should she ever say it out loud – it is what jumps to mind at this very moment.
Trinity presses her lips together to keep them from quirking into a smile without her permission. She knows it’s the exhaustion speaking. Whatever the undefined status of their relationship, they don’t do sappy. Even if her treacherous, hopeless mind sometimes still tries to go down that road.
“Yeah, it’s just me,” she finally whispers back. She pads inside, her bare feet quiet against the hardwood floors. Darkness shrouds the bedroom once again when she lets the door fall shut in her wake. “Go back to sleep.”
She hadn’t meant to wake Yolanda, home hours past her shift thanks to an overload of charting to catch up on. Luckily she has the day off tomorrow, but Yolanda has to be up bright and early again. Trinity had hoped to be able to sneak past her unheard, allowing her the rest she needs.
It’s still strange to have Yolanda already here, instead of falling asleep together after hooking up. There’s something awfully domestic about it, despite knowing it’s just the result of convenience. With construction at Yolanda’s apartment it had been the logical solution for her to stay with Trinity for the time being, rather than bother with a hotel.
Yolanda makes an indecipherable noise and turns to her side, the covers rustling with the movement. Within seconds her breathing evens out again. She attributes her ability to fall asleep anywhere and anytime to long nights in college and med school rotations, but Trinity has been through the same ordeal and came out with no such abilities. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t a little jealous.
(A downside to her trauma-induced hyper vigilance, she figures her therapist would tell her if she bothered going back sometime.)
Her feet carry her to the empty side of the bed, navigating effortlessly through her bedroom as her eyes adjust to the dark. She shucks off the sweatpants she had pulled on after her shower in an effort to keep from traumatizing Huckleberry as well as keeping her legs nice and toasty, and crawls under the cool covers. A satisfied sigh falls from her lips when her head hits the pillow. She shimmies a little to get comfortable and expel the remaining restless energy that perpetually lives in her limbs before pulling the covers up to her chin, creating a cozy cocoon for herself.
She blinks up at the ceiling, tired eyes tracing the contours of the fan and waits for the sleep that has been terrorizing her all day to drag her down into sweet oblivion.
And waits.
…and waits.
A yawn creeps up her throat, jaw stretching wide with the escape of air. Next to her, Yolanda shifts in her sleep. Her limbs sprawl out further across the mattress, encroaching on Trinity’s space enough for her to be aware of it, but not enough for them to touch.
It had taken some getting-used-to when they had started hooking up and staying the night—having someone in her bed who doesn’t hesitate to take up space. In a strange way it had been a refreshing match to Trinity’s energy, though maybe she shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, Yolanda’s confidence and presence in the ED had been what had initially drawn Trinity to her. Like a moth to a flame.
Yolanda’s attention is and always has been addicting.
And, well—there is the fact that she’s slightly taller than Trinity. Which, yeah: hot. Trinity isn’t immune to the appeal of a gorgeous woman towering over her. But it also means that her affinity for taking up Trinity’s space comes with long, lithe limbs that like to wrap around Trinity.
Which she doesn’t mind. She might even enjoy it. It certainly gives her less room to obsess about where she stands with Yolanda, about what they are, when their bodies gravitate close together even after or without sex.
But… It might be starting to create a small problem for her.
Trinity sighs and squeezes her eyes shut, ignoring the buzz that settles underneath her skin and her awareness of Yolanda’s body just inches away.
It is a lot harder to fall asleep without that touch and comfort, these days. This past week especially. It’s like her body is overly aware of who is close by. Of who she could so easily reach out to for the kind of non-sexual intimacy she has refused herself for years and years, because it is safer to do without altogether.
Trinity craves her independence. It allows her the kind of security that is hard to find elsewhere. She doesn’t ever need to lean on anyone or anything. She doesn’t have to give anyone or anything the chance to let her down.
Except…
That has shifted recently. When she’d started at PTMC, and without notice people had started to slip past her defences.
She had brought Dennis home with her in a moment of spontaneous weakness, and he in turn had burrowed himself stupidly into her life. Sure, she can still go about life by herself, but it’s more convenient to share meals rather than cook separately; and their laundry somehow always finds itself into one big pile. They save new episodes of their favourite reality TV shows to hate-watch together, on their days off. And Trinity might be self-sufficient and have access to YouTube, but when it comes to home repairs it’s a relief to have someone with more experience around to do them instead. Even if she’d never admit to it under any threat.
And Yolanda…
Well, it had certainly started as a fun, forbidden fling. A convenient arrangement Trinity never intended to move past that. She had figured it would eventually fizzle out like her casual relationships had in the past, but now neither of them goes home at the end of the night. Now they sometimes come over for dinner and fall sleep before the evening progresses to sex. Now they have toothbrushes at each other’s places, now Trinity was Yolanda’s first thought to ask to stay while her apartment is under construction, now Trinity has gotten used to the feeling of falling asleep in Yolanda’s arms.
She knows how Yolanda likes to be touched just as well as she knows that she usually sleeps like the dead, but wakes up at the first sound of her alarm. Just as well as she knows she likes her eggs scrambled, her toast practically burnt and her coffee with a splash of creamer. Just as well as she knows she calculates her commute to work down to the minute; just as well as she knows which brand of scrubs she favours; just as well as she knows she dislikes the taste of granola bars but eats them anyway because they’re convenient.
Trinity rolls onto her side to face Yolanda, wrapping her arms around her stomach. In the dark, it’s harder to make out her features, but Trinity has spent enough time subconsciously studying them in the daylight that she can picture them perfectly, set within the vague contours she sees right now. It is strange to realise she knows Yolanda this well. Scary, if she thinks about it for too long, so she doesn’t. She just… watches and wills her mind to go blank, ignoring the impulse to reach out and ask for more.
“I can feel you staring.”
Trinity startles, though Yolanda barely speaks louder than a whisper. “I’m not,” she argues uselessly, heat climbing to her cheeks. She closes her eyes and turns to her back so she’s no longer lying.
Yolanda sluggishly bridges the distance between them. The mattress dips with her weight and her fingers brush against Trinity’s arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. “Is everything okay?”
Trinity clears her throat. “Yeah. Yeah, everything is fine.”
“What’s on your mind?”
“Nothing.”
“Trinity.” Exasperation pierces through the sleepiness of Yolanda’s voice and movements, reminding Trinity of a conversation they had not long ago. An attempt at communication, where Yolanda had stressed her preference for honesty above all.
Something Trinity had realised she found harder than she thought she would, because her usual strategy for anything non-work related tends to lean towards avoidance instead.
It might be the exhaustion or the reminder that have a half-formed sentence tumbling from her mouth before she even knows the shape it’ll take. “Could you…”
“What?”
It’s the impatience that drives Trinity to finally move, shifting until she can press her body to Yolanda’s.
“Just… this,” Trinity finishes, clamping her jaw shut after, teeth clicking together. She presses her lips together tightly as she bites at the inside of her cheek, her shoulders rising to her ears as embarrassment floods her body. Why is she so incapable of communicating; why is this what she craves; why does she have to be so pathetic, so soft, so needy—
Yolanda hums and wraps her arms around Trinity, pulling her close. “You could’ve just asked,” she murmurs. Her face is warm with sleep as she tucks it Trinity’s collarbone, their bare legs tangling together under the covers.
Trinity exhales and melts, her body sinking boneless into the mattress. Her hand slides up Yolanda’s back, settling between her sharp shoulder blades, rising and falling with every slow breath. Her eyelids finally grow heavy, the pressure from Yolanda’s body against hers the final ingredient she needs to fall asleep.
Maybe…
Maybe she’ll have the courage to ask, next time.