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Victoria Javadi approached everything in life with meticulous precision.
Her overwhelming ambition meant that every task handed to her, every assignment in school, and now, every patient, was dissected and completed with the steadiest hand she had. Her mother drilled this into her from a young age — carelessness got people killed. The path forwards was carved by your own careful choices, and you had to be in utter and complete control.
Getting rushed to the ER at 12 in a state of diabetic ketoacidosis was, decidedly, not in her plans. Even more so, the diagnosis of type one diabetic was even further down that list of plans.
It came as the biggest shock imaginable to her child self. Her well-known world was thrown off-kilter, jumbled around by this huge revelation that was utterly unforeseen. She had no control over it, and that scared her more than the conclusion that she could've died, as the insulin from an IV dripped steadily into her veins.
Her mother, strangely enough, was thrown in an even more dire state of panic. Her only daughter, her prodigy, thrown headfirst into the ER. Not through being chosen in some sort of elite program, allowing star pupils to have first-hand experience in the medical field. Not through her pure curiosity and intelligence acting as an invisible string, tugging her towards the hospital. But through illness, chronic illness, that she herself had missed. Top surgeon Dr. Shamsi, had missed the key signs of diabetes in her own daughter. Falling asleep into her homework? She's awake too late, working even harder. Just her ambition, stemming from having doctors for parents. Always hungry even after eating? She's just growing, it's normal. Always thirsty? She just wants to ensure she's properly hydrated.
It took that frantic awakening one morning, Victoria barely responding to her mother's panicked calling, until she caught that distinct pear-drop smell of ketones lingering on her breath. Only then did she realise, heart sinking to her stomach, internally berating herself for not seeing what was now so clear.
Since that day, after the initial shock, everything had shifted. Not by much. It was as if all the furniture in the room had been tilted slightly to the left after returning home, and you were driving yourself insane trying to figure out why you couldn't stop tripping over. Big changes had suddenly become little ones.
She was given boxes of insulin pumps and glucose monitors. Her arms and legs were covered with small scars from cannulas. Hospital appointments became frequent, rather than yearly. She got strange looks from other students in her grade as their eyes lingered on the sensor on her arm. Her once unreasonable fear of passing out in front of her classmates and embarrassing herself became a potential reality.
She spent extra time scrubbing adhesive off her arms in the shower from her monitor. Orange juice was now on the shopping list. Airport security was even more of a nightmare than usual. Her pockets were always stuffed with an old granola bar and dextrose tablets. She finally had a good excuse to sit out of gym class. There was a distinct whiff of insulin anytime someone opened the fridge.
Still, she learned to get on. It didn't deter her from entering university just less than a year after her diagnosis. It never stopped her from achieving her parents' dreams. She never allowed it to interfere with her studies and, more importantly, her job.
~
Entering the ER, or The Pitt, felt like a fever dream. The room that she once stayed in 8 years ago loomed ominously beyond the double doors, the fluorescent lights winking at her. She shivered, before taking a deep breath, shifting on her spot in the waiting room with the other two interns. They had all briefly introduced themselves already. The boy, short, slim and with a strangely mousy countenance to him, was Dennis Whitaker, an MS4. He seemed kind, if slightly shy and twitchy.
The other intern was Trinity Santos. She was the sort of person that everyone in the room was immediately drawn to, like moths to a burning, bright flame. Confidence rolled off her in waves. She never failed to drop eye contact with Victoria, and the corners of her mouth twitched into a smirk as she offered out her hand. Victoria almost fumbled the handshake completely, hesitating for just a beat too long before grasping onto Trinity's palm. Her handshake was strong, not the slightest bit sweaty, palms slightly calloused unlike Victoria's own clammy hands.
After following Cassie McKay through those intimidating double doors, and greeting one of her patients, they were called to the front desk. The strange trio pattered behind McKay, like stray ducklings desperately trying to not get knocked over by a sudden rush of water. Michael (Everyone calls me Robby) Robinavitch greeted them, introducing himself and an enthusiastic-looking second year resident Mel.
A familiar ball of anxiety began to grow low in her stomach throughout introductions of the senior residents and basic information, static buzzing loudly in her ears. Interns and residents alike swarmed together to introduce themselves more personally, but instead, she nervously approached Robby, wringing her hands.
"Um, I know it's in my records, but I just wanted to mention that I'm type one diabetic," she said, only stumbling slightly over her words. "I control it well, but I might need to sit out every so often to treat a high or low blood sugar, which I know is inconvenient but I know I am still capable and I don't want you to think otherwi-"
He interrupted her with a shake of his head and a smile, tired but genuine, warm brown eyes creasing at the corner.
"Hey, it's not a problem. It's good to know. You don't need to make it super public, but with your permission I will alert the night shift attendings, our charge nurse and the senior residents so they can be aware in case of emergency," he said kindly, before turning around at the charge nurse, Dana, who had called out incoming trauma. He offered her another smile, and faced the gaggle of doctors and students alike, before inclining his head at them in an invitation to follow.
The subsequent degloving trauma was how she earned the nickname Crash. If only Santos knew how scarily accurate it could be, unrelated to embarrassing fainting.
Still, she settled in across the day. Thankfully, she got through with no frustrating vibrations from her phone that indicated misbehaving blood sugars. Her focus could be entirely swallowed by the hundreds of incoming traumas after the horrors of PittFest. She barely had time to breathe and think, let alone babysit her incompetent pancreas. Her nightmare of a first day ended, and she left the park where a few of her colleagues were de-stressing to collapse in her bed, scrubs still on, streaks of remaining makeup left caked on her face.
Of course, her tight, perfect control did not always extend to her diabetes. There were days where she had to sit down for twenty minutes, cramming dextrose tablets and a sandwich from the lunch cart down her throat as quickly as she could. Days where the insulin just didn't seem to work, until, of course, it did and suddenly she couldn't eat fast enough to compensate. Bad days, hard days, long days. But they were all something she could actually cope with. She was good at it, for the most part.
Not many at the ER knew. Robby knew, and he had informed the two night shift attendings, Abbot and Shen, Dana, and the two senior residents, Langdon and Collins. Langdon, however, had disappeared swiftly after her first day. She was barely aware of any sort of staff drama with the rest of the insanity that occurred that day, but she had heard whispers of it afterwards. Mostly from Princess and Perlah, but also snippets from Santos. They had become, well, friends, in the weeks after their first shift.
She had initially intended to tell more people. But it simply never came up, and no one noticed themselves. She had taken to wearing her monitor on her stomach, inconspicuous and hidden from the prying eyes of mostly patients, and accidentally, her peers. It seemed strange to bring it up at this point, after so long. So she kept quiet.
She knew it was going to bite her in the ass at some point.
~
Victoria Javadi entered The Pitt, 2 months, 2 weeks and 3 days after her first shift, finally feeling settled into her rotation. Bright, early, 7am. A spring in her step. She cheerfully greeted Robby, who was staring into his coffee like it offered all of life's answers, and Abbot, one of the night shift attendings, who was standing shoulder to shoulder with Robby, muttering lowly under his breath. They both startled at her greeting, before she bounded off to examine the board carefully. A 3rd degree burn on the hand, alcohol poisoning, concussion. Nothing particularly insane nor intense, and as she stood there, pondering her options and who needed her help, she felt a warm presence of another body stroll up behind her, lingering at her shoulder. She shivered, catching a subtle scent of a musky perfume, coffee and a sharp hint of mint gum.
Trinity.
Victoria felt the standard blush trickle onto her cheeks that arose whenever she was in the vicinity of Santos. Sure, maybe she had a small crush on her, but it was nothing major. And definitely not reciprocated. She may try to stay out of work gossip, but even she knew about the notorious rumours about Santos and Garcia, the cold-hearted, sharp-tongued surgeon. And sure, when she found out, she maybe purchased a large tub of ice cream and spent her evening sniffling into it, watching every rom-com she could find. But she could be professional. She took and deep breath and swivelled to greet her, only to find her face inches from her own, wide grin plastered on firmly. Victoria swallowed a shriek and flinched backwards, heart pounding.
"Don't sneak up on me!" she whined, holding back a smile, forcing it into a grimace. Trinity snickered and shoved her shoulder into Victoria's.
"Why would I stop when it's just so fun, Crash?" she teased, before looking upwards to study the board, shoulder still warm against Victoria. She bit back a giggle that threatened to rise and burst in her chest, face still flushed warm, skin tingling where their bodies made contact. Stupid, she berated herself. You're being stupid. She's just Utah. Her internal panic was interrupted by Santos again.
"What do you fancy from night shift before the morning rush? Wanna see if we can get at least two of these treated and streeted before the first old person gets tossed our way?" she said, eyebrows raised in challenge. Victoria huffed, shaking her head.
"Don't be crass," she chastised, small smile dancing on her lips. Trinity looked unimpressed. "Fine! I concede! See what Collins needs. We can try and get the concussion discharged at the very least." Trinity's face exploded into a grin, and she winked.
"Bet."
~
On reflection, Victoria can guess that their easy competitiveness may have cursed their day into one of the busiest shifts she'd seen since PittFest. She was severely regretting not eating breakfast before she came in, now realising that her plan of grabbing something quickly before the day started was ambitious. The chaos seemed to occur from sheer coincidence — an unlucky car crash involving three people, a stroke victim, and a cooking knife stuck in someone's foot all before 9am. Trinity was by her side for most of them, but mysteriously vanished for the last case, muttering something about charting and helping out Mel.
The day only continued onwards, growing busier and busier by the second. An unfortunate bike crash with a young child, who had sobbed all throughout McKay's careful and steady stitches. A severe allergic reaction that led to a fiddly and nearly impossible intubation that even had Mohan's steady hands trembling. An overdose by a teenager that led to two frantic parents weeping on the floor of the room, clutching their child's hands as they slept, oblivious to the world. Victoria fought back tears as she hurried away, closing the door behind her gently, shutting away their grief.
Her precious, diabetes-mandated lunchbreak saw an immediate interruption by newly occupied trauma rooms, and a frantic yell of I need a little help here! from Whitaker in Central 9. Victoria bit back a swear as she cancelled her pre-bolus insulin, 7 units already dripping into her body. She dashed from the staffroom, sandwich and KitKat abandoned as her stomach growled loudly in complaint, and burst into Trauma 1, suddenly greeted by a body covered head-to-toe in burns. She flinched.
"Gas explosion," Collins told her quickly. "We've got it covered. Go help Robby in Trauma 2 or see what Whitaker needs." She hastily obeyed, dashing from the room, nearly stumbling as a wave of dizziness blurred her vision briefly. She peered quickly into Trauma 2 as she passed only to see a room full of busy hands and concentrated faces. She made brief eye contact with Robby who waved her away, mask and surgical gown already on. Victoria diverted fast, sharply turning the corner and bustling into Central 9, which contained .a panicked Whitaker doing CPR, alongside an oddly uncomposed Santos, unsteady hands gripping a chart.
"Code STEMI," she tells Victoria, eyes flicking from Whitaker's CPR to the patient's face, still, quiet, unsuspecting. Young. One could almost call him peaceful, as silent as his failing heart. "History of minor heart problems, came in for sudden mild chest pain. Everything seemed fine."
"Until it wasn't," Victoria finished sadly. Trinity nodded, before letting her eyes fall on Whitaker again, face dripping with sweat as he pumped desperately at the patient's chest. It felt like years before Robby pushed into the room, fresh gloves snapped on immediately.
"Whitaker, swap out with Santos," he commanded. "Javadi, charge to 200." She stood tall, to attention. She could do this. She could help save him.
~
"Call it. Time of death, 13:53," Robby said, subdued. "Make preparations for him to be moved to the viewing room. Know anything about the family?"
"His parents live out of state. He was here to study. He was only 21," mumbled Whitaker, dredging a hand through his hair, looking more exhausted than usual. Victoria felt every inch of his exhaustion in the wake of his startling announcement, her legs as stable as jelly. Barely a year older than her. She knew he looked young, but assumed it was her mind tricking her. Forcing herself into the position of these patients, letting their fear seep into her own bones. This time, it was justified.
"Shit," Santos swore, burying her head into her hands.
"Shit is right," Robby agreed. "All of you, take five. Take a breath. Then direct your focus on who you can now help." At his words, the trio trudged into the break room, where Victoria's abandoned lunch still sat. She didn't think she could even attempt to eat it. Not without it making a dramatic reappearance all over the shiny floors.
"You okay, Huckleberry?" Santos probed, tilting her head in a rare, public show of genuine empathy. He nodded, eyes barely shiny.
"Yeah. Losing a patient never gets easier, right?" he joked weakly. Victoria huffed, before feeling a strange sensation tingle up her spine, warmth darting into her bones, bringing a flush to her cheeks. The AC must be broken again.
"You can say that again. God, it's warm in here, isn't it?" she remarked, wrestling her lilac hoodie off before tossing it onto the back of a chair. Trinity and Whitaker gave her twin looks of confusion.
"No?" Trinity said, brows creasing. "You must be losing it, Crash."
"I'm actually sorta cold," muttered Whitaker, hunching his shoulders further into his fleece. Victoria looked at them both, her bafflement clear on her face.
"Huh, because, like, I'm really warm," she reiterated, a bead of sweat bubbling onto her forehead which she wiped away. The pair looked at her closely again, Trinity shooting a look at Whitaker that Victoria couldn't interpret in the midst of the warmth encasing her body.
"Victoria?" Whitaker said gently, a rare use of her first name. "You all okay? You coming down with something?" She shook her head quickly, fanning herself with a hand that she suddenly noticed was trembling.
"No, I'm good! Don't even worry about it, I'm sure it's just all the dashing about. I'm just gonna go check in with McKay, I think she mentioned the head CT came back for the bike crash kid-"
Her words were interrupted by a hand landing onto her arm, tugging her backwards, warm palm encasing her wrist. She looked up, vision slightly cloudy. Trinity's face was there, beautiful, concerned eyes burning into her own. Victoria flinched away from the contact, Santos' hand freezing against her rapidly warming skin, but the grip on her wrist only tightened.
"Sure you don't wanna sit down?" she asked, brow raised, tone clearly implying you should sit down. Victoria shook her head rapidly, movement fogging her vision even further.
"Honestly, I'm good!" she chirped, weakly attempting to wiggle out of Trinity's iron grip, which steadfastly remained.
"Maybe you should just sit down for a bit," offered Whitaker, pulling out a chair for her, which Santos gently pushed her into. She hit the chair with a hard thump and sagged into it, grateful despite her protesting. Her legs were really feeling wobbly now. Adrenaline from the heart attack patient, she was sure. Whitaker popped out of her direct view, before handing her something. Her phone.
"It was in your hoodie pocket. It's been going crazy with vibrations," he said, sheepish smile on his face. She reached out to grab it, but her arm failed to lift, suddenly made from lead. It flopped miserably down. Whitaker awkwardly placed it on the table near her, and she managed to lift her arm high enough to slowly tap the home screen. Bright red notifications littered the screen.
Critical alert — 39.6 mg/Dl ↓ (2 minutes ago.)
Critical alert — urgent low blood sugar. (7 minutes ago.)
Critical alert — urgent low blood sugar. (15 minutes ago.)
Blood sugar low — treat soon to prevent urgent low. (25 minutes ago.)
"Oh," she mumbled. She let her head flop down. Not good. She knew getting ahead of her insulin, being prepared for once, would come back to bite her.
She heard Santos swear loudly, who had obviously peered over her shoulder to snoop her at phone. At any other time, she'd complain. Now, she could be somewhat grateful.
Distantly, she recognised some sort of conversation. It was like she was underwater, not thrashing for survival but simply succumbing to the violent grasp of the waves. She couldn't cling to a life-ring if she had no arms to grab with. Ants began to crawl into her vision. Slowly, she tried to open her mouth, chart her own symptoms, make her own diagnosis. Severe hypoglycemic. Risk of passing out and seizure. Needed glucose urgently. Ideally through Glucagel injected into the corner of her cheek, especially if she vomited. Maybe dextrose through a drip if it got really bad. She wanted to say all of this outloud, warn the two in the room that she knew what was going on, that this wasn't a random occurrence. But it was as if her mouth was suddenly full of cotton wool that she was choking on. Her arm was tugged at, and Trinity's face suddenly took up her view. She was crouching in front of her, face pale and worried. A smile drifted onto Victoria's face, automatic.
"…diabetic…low…bed…Robby…need…"
They were taking care of her. Trinity was her life-ring. Her saviour. She would swim for her when Victoria couldn't. That was okay. She could sleep. Trinity would save her. She felt herself fall forwards into Trinity's arms. She briefly registered a door slam. A muffled curse. A hand gently brushing away the hair on her forehead. And then all was dark.
~
The quiet, rhythmic beeping of distant heart monitors was what registered first. Then, the soft bustling of nurses around her, a squeaky shoe against the tile. A warm hand in hers.
The strange peace that she was basking in was suddenly interrupted by a wave of exhaustion crashing over her body. She groaned, letting her eyes gently flutter open.
It seemed half of the staff in The Pitt had gathered to stare at her. Robby, front of her bed, peering at her over his glasses perched low on his nose. Mohan, looking up from the chart in her arms. Whitaker, turning around from the computer he was typing at. Jesse, concentration diverted from the IV he was fiddling with. Collins, eyes gentle, smile warm. Then, a presence next to her. The owner of the hand squeezing her own. Slowly, she craned her next to look at who it was.
It was Trinity.
The bags under her eyes were even more pronounced, like bruises — loud, prominent. Her ponytail had come loose and her hair looked bedraggled as if she had run her hands through it repeatedly. Her lips were chapped and her teeth were worrying at the loose skin, anxiety pulsing through her hunched shoulders and tired eyes. Victoria offered a worn smile, which Trinity did not return. Robby cleared his throat.
"Can you remember what happened?" he asked softly, a show of uncharacteristic gentleness. A reminder of the man she had looked up to on her first day, who had become hardened and brittle in the difficult weeks after Pittfest. Embarrassed, she felt her eyes prickle.
"I passed out," she got out, before pausing. Everything began to flicker back. Her forgotten breakfast. Her pre-bolus. Her abandoned lunch. The mad dash of the shift, running from room to room. "Low blood sugar?"
"That's putting it lightly," Mohan said mildly from the corner of the room, directing a comforting smile in her direction, her soft patient voice clear in her tone. "You had a severe low blood sugar, and it reached 34.2 at lowest. We had some Glucagel on hand, but you had to get put on a dextrose drip." She stopped, before inhaling deeply. "I didn't even know you were diabetic, Victoria." The hand in hers tightened imperceptibly. Victoria lowered her head.
"I know. I'm sorry. The attendings know and so does Collins and Dana, but I just never got round to telling everyone. Then I just sorta… forgot?" she admitted sheepishly. To her left, Trinity scoffed.
"Forgot," she muttered under her breath. Robby coughed again, louder.
"You need to rest, and then go home. Monitored by someone, but I know both of your parents are still working. Is there anyone who can look after you while they work?" Robby asked, shooting an undecipherable look at Trinity, before redirecting his attention towards Victoria. His eyes were still kind, gentle. His voice was lower, quieter than usual and his lips were upticked with a small, calming smile. It made Victoria feel small again, young. Reminded of her when she was first diagnosed, when she was still young enough to allow herself to cuddle up to her dad. Horrified, she felt the tears that had teased her eyes before release, running down her cheeks. She ducked her head, trying to wipe them away before anyone noticed, but when she dared to make eye contact with Robby again, he was still stood there, understanding etched into every crease in his face. He moved over to squeeze her shoulder, letting his question go unanswered, before tapping Collins. He muttered something into her ear, and quietly slipped out the door, beckoning everyone but Collins and Trinity to follow him. Mohan smiled at her, while Jesse offered a get well soon, and Whitaker awkwardly patted her knee before scurrying away.
Collins approached her bedside, smile warm, movements slow, as if Victoria was a startled lamb. She would usually oppose to be treated like a child, but she was just so tired. She wanted to be held, told comforting words. Wanted someone to just reassure her that everything would be okay. She wanted to linger in this moment of weakness, and let someone else pick up the pieces.
"I'm just gonna check your blood sugars now," she said softly, quietly, holding up the Accu-Chek monitor. Victoria nodded, and Collins bent down at the left side of her bed, where Trinity was sat, still firmly gripping her hand. Her other hand, Victoria suddenly realised, was occupied with a pulse oximeter, bulky and heavy on her index finger.
"I'm gonna need you to let go really quick, just so I can check her sugars," she said to Trinity, who startled.
"Oh, yeah, of course," she muttered, dropping Victoria's hand as if she was burnt. Immediately, she missed the comforting presence of the girl by her side, who was uncharacteristically quiet. No teasing remarks, no silly nicknames, no punches nor smirks. Just spookily silent. The coolness of an alcohol wipe followed by a sharp fingerprick burst her bubble of thought, before Collins breathed a sigh of relief.
"You're at 183.6, which is a bit out of range but expected after all the glucose we dosed you with. I imagine you're feeling exhausted, so I'll let you rest," she explained, smile audible in her voice. She squeezed the same shoulder that Robby had not 3 minutes ago, before her face grew more serious.
"Look after yourself, kid. In future, you need to prioritise your own health over a patient. If your blood sugars are dropping, you need to fix them because otherwise a patient could be put at jeopardy. Alright?" she informed her, voice softening at the end. Victoria nodded again, face warm, suitably chastised. Collins nodded, seemingly satisfied.
"We need you here for at least 2 hours to ensure your bloods are stable. Is there anyone who can watch you until your parents get off?" she asked. Victoria sighed.
"They won't be leaving until around 7 at the earliest," she said. "I'm not sure if there's anyone who can-"
"She can come round to my apartment," interrupted Trinity. Victoria's head snapped around so fast she practically got whiplash. Her face was stoic, betraying no emotion. Collins raised an eyebrow.
"You sure?"
"Yep," Trinity said casually, popping the p in emphasis. "By the time she can even leave, my shift will be nearly over. It's already 2:30, I finish at 5 today. I'll just take my charting home while I babysit Crash." She steadfastly kept eye contact with Collins as she spoke, and Victoria just couldn't stop staring at her as the words left her mouth. Her lips, still red and bitten, moving with confidence, speed. Loud and direct despite her earlier silence. Distracting.
"Victoria?" Collins called, clearly not the first time. Victoria just mumbled something in the affirmative, still staring, allowing her body to flop further down the hospital bed. It was surprisingly comfy. Her eyes began to slip shut, and the last thing she registered before dozing off was the small, tired smile flickering at Trinity's lips, and the solid, warm hand once again encasing hers.
~
The car ride to Trinity's apartment was conducted in the sort of silence that everyone can hear.
It wasn't a comfortable silence — the sort that blankets the room, settled amongst people who knew everything the other wanted to say, and therefore nothing had to be spoken. It was an awkward, strained silence. One that was tense, filled with unsaid words that needed to be said.
Neither of them even attempted to fill it.
They arrived at her apartment after about ten minutes of individual brooding. Santos jumped out of the car first, snatching her jacket from the backseat and gesturing for Victoria to follow her. She unbuckled her seatbelt, slowly opening the car door, getting up on unsteady feet. Thankfully, Trinity's apartment was on the ground floor — she didn't think she could hack the stairs, and the Out of Order sign was staring at her, plastered unceremoniously on the lift door. She stumbled after Trinity, who had already unlocked the front door, Converse discarded by the mat.
"Shoes off," she commanded as Victoria ambled through the doorway.
"I know," she muttered, toeing off her sneakers and neatly lining them up with the Converse. "Where do you want me to put my bag?" Trinity just huffed, waving a hand.
"Anywhere. Next to mine, in the living room, wherever." Victoria nodded awkwardly, shrugging her backpack off her shoulders, letting it thump to the ground. Trinity had already vacated the hallway into the kitchen, so she gently pattered after her. The other girl was bustling around the kitchen, kettle boiling, two mugs sat patiently on the countertop. The flat looked lived in. Comfortable. A noticeboard was hung up next to a countertop, and was full of photos. Ones of Trinity and Whitaker, posing with silly hats and sunglasses in a club. A selfie of herself and Santos they'd taken last weekend at brunch. Some old childhood photos, family photos, more selfies of members of The Pitt. A photostrip here, a Polaroid there. The counters were littered with coffee cups, a cereal bowl, a pile of unopened mail. A worn, dog-eared book — half open, face down. A large window was thrown open, letting the sweet air of autumn drift in, the long green curtains fluttering with the breeze. A sense of calm washed over her, and she took a breath. Let her shoulders relax. Plopped herself on a bar stool, chin in hands. Watched as Trinity busied herself making two cups of tea, adding oat milk to both of them. It was strangely domestic, and filled her stomach with odd, fluttering sensations.
"Here," she mumbled as she slid a full, steaming mug towards her. Victoria nodded, grateful and clasped her hands around the cup. Trinity sat next to her with her own cup on the counter. There was brief silence as the two sat there, slowly sipping at the hot drink, before Trinity put her mug down again, clearing her throat.
"You scared me today," she said quietly, staring into the depths of her tea. A pang of guilt shot down Victoria's spine, and she gulped.
"I'm sorry," she offered, just as quiet. Not wanting to burst the delicate bubble growing between them. Trinity snorted, shaking her head.
"Why didn't you tell me? I thought we were, well, friends, Crash."
The startling honesty, gentle and raw, shocked her. She had never heard Trinity sound so broken. Shattered. Tired. She approached everything in life with nothing but brutal confidence, skin thick and strong. Every rude word went in one ear and out the other. She was unshakeable. Her sudden vulnerability was not the Trinity Santos she knew.
"I know," she said pathetically, eyes welling up with tears that she harshly blinked away, frustrated with all of the emotions piling up inside of her. "It genuinely wasn't intentional — I did just forget. It never came up in conversation, never seemed relevant. It got to a point where it seemed strange to bring it up after so many months, so I didn't." She paused for a breath, psyching herself up before tentatively gripping Trinity's hand. She looked up from her tea, green eyes meeting brown, wide and startled. Victoria squeezed. Trinity squeezed back, after a moment.
"We are friends. I promise. You're probably the best friend I've ever had," Victoria admitted, blushing. Trinity's lips ticked up in a small smile, and leaned further into the counter, looking up at Victoria through her lashes.
"And I've had so many friends," she joked lightly, letting her voice slip into teasing. Victoria felt the tension evaporate from the room, replaced by a warmth as the autumn sun slipped lower and lower, bathing Trinity in a golden glow. She knew she was beautiful — that was just an obvious fact of life. But here, in this moment, she was ethereal. The thousands of thoughts that were always swirling in her brain just vanished. Her mind emptied. She couldn't hold herself back from springing forward, narrowly missing the cup of tea, to plant a kiss onto Trinity's lips.
Everything faded away. All she could feel, smell, taste, was Trinity. The scent of her perfume that had faded through the day into something lighter, subtle. The tacky feeling of her plush lips, sweet with fading lipgloss. How soft her skin was, no matter how hard the exterior she pulled up was. Her senses were so overwhelmed, consumed, that it took a moment for her brain to catch up and realise that Trinity wasn't kissing her back. Her heart sank like a stone and she pulled back in horror, only to see Santos' face, eyes wide and mouth hanging open.
"Oh, oh my God," she babbled, hot embarrassment consuming every crevice of her flailing body. "I'm so sorry, I- I'll get out of your hair right now, let me just get my shoes-"
She scrambled to her feet, clumsily scrabbling out of the kitchen, desperate to escape through the door, to the other side, to the real world where she could run around the park in circles until this moment was lost forever, but she was stopped. Again, Trinity's hand encircled her wrist, halting her. Victoria dared to look up.
She was… smirking?
"You call that a kiss, Crash?" she said, a laugh carved into her words, eyes creasing with joy. An ugly bubble of laughter burst out of Victoria's throat and she clamped a hand over her mouth to repress it. Trinity's eyes softened for a brief moment, before she tugged Victoria towards her, into her arms. Heat blossomed onto Victoria's cheeks at the lack of distance between them, before Trinity lifted her chin with a delicate finger, tilting her face so their eyes could meet. Fireworks exploded between them.
"Let me show you."
As their lips met for the second time that evening, Victoria let herself be swallowed by the fire in her belly and pushed her lips firmly against Santos', desperate for more, her hands scrabbling at the hem of the other girl's shirt, pressing against her even closer. Trinity laughed into her mouth and soon their lips were stretched too widely with grins to keep contact. They broke apart, snickering.
"What about Garcia?" Victoria asked, tentatively, after a beat. Trinity snorted.
"It was a one-time thing. Said we had to keep it casual." Victoria nodded, buried her fears for a moment. Breathed.
"And if I didn't want this to be casual?" she asked. Trinity's smirk melted into a genuine grin, and Victoria's heart nearly beat out of her chest.
"I never wanted anything casual."
And when Trinity pulled her in again, she let herself fall.
~
"That's insane," Victoria sleepily mumbled into Trinity's chest as the TV quietly buzzed in the background. "She's definitely not the asshole."
Trinity huffed laughter into her hair, pressing a gentle kiss to Victoria's temple that she leaned into, refusing to feel embarrassed. Their hands hung off the edge of the sofa, entwined, warm. Whitaker, from the other armchair, snorted.
"They're not even asking if she's the asshole though, this episode is r/Confessions," he corrected. Trinity let go of Victoria's hand just to flip him off.
"I never should have introduced you to this, Huckleberry," she groaned. Victoria let out a soft giggle, and she was rewarded by another kiss to the forehead. She let her eyes flutter shut, warm and safe, as Whitaker and Trinity began bickering quietly with each other.
She could get used to this.