Chapter Text
Before stepping out of the elevator, Yolanda Garcia falls into the same habit she has developed since she started working in this place: glancing at her reflection, adjusting a stray curl threatening to escape at the nape of her neck, and finally moving forward as the doors slide open.
As always, she follows her routine with quiet detachment, walking through the hallways while her brown eyes scan every corner. Her pace is steady and deliberate, unwilling to miss a single detail.
However, tonight she doesn’t find even the slightest sign of her favorite… Trinity Santos, who under normal circumstances would be filling out charts and lifting her head to meet her gaze, recognizing Yolanda’s footsteps instantly.
This time, all she sees is an empty chair. There isn’t a single trace left behind, no energy drink can, no cereal bar wrapper to suggest she stepped away and would be back soon.
There is nothing.
Disoriented, Yolanda turns around, hoping to find her standing there. Instead, she finds Princess leaning against the desk, watching her with a mix of amusement and curiosity.
“Lose something… or someone?” Princess asks, resting her palm against her chin.
Yolanda lets out a scoff, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a response. Still, that doesn’t stop the nurse.
“She went on a date… left early to get ready,” Princess informs, clearly enjoying the situation.
“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” Yolanda shoots back, roughly adjusting the strap of her bag over her shoulder. “And I don’t see why I’d care.”
“I heard her talking about it with… Whitaker. Told him not to wait for dinner,” Princess adds, looking her up and down, judgment clear in her eyes.
Even if Yolanda Garcia would rather ignore it, pretend it doesn’t matter, her body betrays her. She doesn’t walk away. Instead, she steps closer, leaning over the desk, both elbows planted against it.
“Spit it out. Whatever you know, make it quick,” Yolanda demands, exhaling sharply through her nose, her brow already furrowed.
An important detail slipped her mind while searching for Trinity Santos at the end of her shift. Maybe it hadn’t seemed important at the time, but the previous week they had… a conflict. Not a fight, couples fight, and they were not a couple. Something Santos liked to remind her of, emphasizing their casual agreement every time Garcia tried to get closer.
This time, the distance had been caused by something Yolanda had said before going to sleep. She had noticed Trinity was stressed, spiraling into a distorted perception where everyone at work seemed to… dislike her.
Yolanda wasn’t the best person to talk about feelings, but she tried. She suggested seeing a therapist… then Trinity simply left, she didn’t call and she didn’t reach out.
Santos withdrew more and more, which resulted in this; ignoring her at work and, apparently, going on a date with someone else.
“I don’t talk for free,” Princess states, sending a chill down Yolanda’s spine. It feels like she’s stepping into something she shouldn’t.
Even so, she digs into her wallet and hands over a few bills. The smirk she gets in return tells her it’s enough.
“Before I take this, you should know… either you’re all in, or you walk away and let her be happy.”
“…what?” Yolanda mutters under her breath. “She won’t even talk to me, and from what you’re saying, she’s already seeing someone else.”
“That’s your fault,” Princess throws back bluntly, leaving Yolanda momentarily speechless. “And if you want to do something about it, do it fast… if you actually care,” she adds in a whisper that lingers in Yolanda’s mind.
Of course she cares. Even if she tries to deny it, her chest tightens painfully at the thought of Trinity being with someone else. Not in a possessive way… not exactly. She still hasn’t figured out what it is.
“Do you care about her?” Princess presses.
Yolanda rolls her eyes, pushing herself away from the desk.
“Ligaw,” Princess says, catching her attention. “Courtship, Dr. Garcia.”
A nasal laugh escapes Yolanda at the suggestion. “You want me to court her? Princess, do I look like one of those men from Bridgerton that turn you on? Really?”
But when she sees Princess isn’t joking, she leans back against the surface, glancing at her from the corner of her eye. “Right… I’m listening.”
“No comments. Just listen,” Princess replies before continuing. “It’s about getting to know someone beyond surface-level attraction… not something purely physical.”
“Great, yeah,” Yolanda mutters sarcastically, biting her tongue to stop herself from adding more.
“I said no comments,” Princess reminds her. “Step out of your comfort zone. Make visible efforts. Paninilbihan.”
Yolanda stays quiet this time, paying attention. “No flowers, no chocolate, doctor. Something that shows dedication. That proves you’re not… lazy.”
“Excuse me? I’m not,” Yolanda snaps quickly, then shuts her mouth and gestures for her to continue.
“Harana. Serenades… acoustic, heartfelt lyrics,” Princess begins, then rephrases at Yolanda’s expression. “Or a handwritten letter. A poem…”
“Look, Princess, I appreciate your… attempt to help,” Yolanda interrupts. “But I’m not someone who can… talk about feelings.”
“I can be your bridge,” Princess offers. “I can speak well of you to Trinity.”
Before Yolanda can answer, Princess raises a finger. “But only if you’re serious. This can’t just be about getting laid.”
“I’m not discussing my sex life with you,” Yolanda shoots back immediately. Still, she tilts her head back with a sigh. “…fine. Okay? I’ll do it.”
And maybe that’s exactly why, the next day, Yolanda Garcia steps out of the elevator again, cornering Whitaker in the hallway. He widens his eyes and instinctively steps back.
“I’m not supposed to talk to you, you know?” Whitaker says, already retreating toward the stairs. “Friendship code.”
“What are you? Fifteen?” Yolanda asks, stepping up after him. “I just want to know—”
“You’re not getting any info about the date from me,” Whitaker blurts, immediately squeezing his eyes shut. “I shouldn’t have said that either.”
Yolanda suppresses a laugh, stopping him by grabbing the railing in front of him.
“Your apartment… is it having any issues?”she asks, gesturing awkwardly, already feeling ridiculous saying it out loud.
Dennis blinks slowly. “…what?”
“It’s an old place. Something must be wrong, so tell me,” Yolanda insists.
He narrows his eyes, uncertain. “Why?” he asks, but after hearing her tired sigh, he gives in. “…the hot water comes and goes… heating’s been acting up…”
“Perfect,” Garcia cuts him off abruptly, turning on her heel.
She doesn’t even bother saying goodbye, leaving him alone on the stairs.
Trinity immediately senses something is off the moment she steps into the apartment. As she slips off her shoes, the floor feels… warm beneath her socks. Even more suspiciously, when she takes off her coat and leaves it on the rack, there is no cold draft brushing against her, only a steady warmth wrapping around her.
Still, she decides to ignore it and heads to her room to grab her pajamas before making her way to the bathroom, deliberately avoiding Yolanda’s toothbrush still sitting next to hers.
Her suspicion deepens when she turns on the shower and the water almost instantly runs hot, steam rising as it touches her skin.
“…what the fuck?” she mutters under her breath, not having to fight for the right temperature or brace herself against freezing water.
Even so, she finishes her shower, drying off the lingering warmth on her skin before sitting on the toilet lid with the towel wrapped around her, brushing through her damp hair. If her best friend had finally taken care of fixing the apartment, she should probably thank him, right?
So Trinity doesn’t hesitate to lean out of the bathroom door, looking for Whitaker.
“Dude… did you finally call the landlord? I can’t believe you actually got over your fear of that guy just so we could have hot water,” she starts, only to stop when she sees him staring back at her, confused.
“… that wasn’t you?” she adds, her voice dropping, her brow furrowing.
Whitaker takes a bigger bite of his avocado and egg toast before answering, clearly hiding something.
“Fuck off…” Trinity exhales under her breath, already knowing exactly what this is about.
She stomps back to her room, digging through her bag for her phone, dialing a number she knows by heart and not even waiting for the other person to speak once they pick up.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Trinity demands, raising her voice, bringing the phone closer to her mouth. “I don’t need you fixing anything in my life.”
“…hello to you too, baby.”
That alone is almost enough to make Trinity hang up.
“Can you explain what you think you’re doing?” she presses, trying to keep herself in check.
“What am I doing? You can’t stay cold, you’ll get sick,” Yolanda replies as if it’s obvious.
“Oh, I see. This is your heroic gesture so I owe you something and you get to fuck me?” Trinity shoots back with an incredulous laugh. “Seriously?”
“No one said that,” Yolanda answers from the other end of the line. “It was just a small gesture,” she adds, defensive.
“You want it to look that way,” Trinity fires back immediately.
“It didn’t cost me anything. I wanted to do it,” Garcia insists. “I don’t want you to owe me.”
“Of course you don’t,” Trinity mutters, already ready to hang up.
But Yolanda’s next words stop her. “Is it really that hard for you to believe that someone cares about you and wants to make your life easier?”
That does it and before she realizes, Trinity is already raising her voice again. “Stay out of my life!”
She hangs up, throwing herself onto her bed with a strange feeling twisting in her stomach, strong enough to make her skip dinner with Whitaker that night.
Yolanda does her best to ignore the laughter echoing down the hallway. She recognizes it instantly as Trinity’s, and it only gets worse when she hears Dennis’ voice too.
Leaning against the wall near the break area, she pretends to text on her phone to avoid drawing attention.
Karma hits immediately for snooping when the word date reaches her clearly. Her brown eyes lift toward the door as she takes a subtle step closer, trying to listen without being obvious.
“And she’s like… really sweet with me, you know?” Trinity’s voice carries, sounding unusually… bright. “…but I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?” Whitaker responds.
“I don’t know how to accept it,” Trinity admits, her tone shifting completely. “It doesn’t feel right and…”
Yolanda pulls away quickly, guilt settling heavily in her chest. Hearing Trinity sound that vulnerable makes everything worse.
Without hesitation, she walks off, choosing the stairs over the elevator, as if it might somehow ease the weight of what she just did.
Still, the next time Garcia runs into Santos in the parking lot, she stops, leaning against her car. For a moment, she wishes she had brought the guitar sitting unused in the corner of her room since her teenage years, just to play her a stupid serenade like Princess suggested.
The thought fades quickly when she notices someone else arriving, clearly the person Santos had been waiting for. And when she sees the smile forming on Trinity’s lips, something tightens painfully in her chest.
Has she ever smiled like that at me? Yolanda can’t help but wonder.
She grips her keys tightly in her hand as the stranger presses a kiss to Trinity’s cheek, bile rising in Yolanda’s throat.
Swallowing it down, she presses a hand to her neck, feeling ridiculous, overreacting. Even worse is the fleeting thought of what that woman has that she doesn’t.
For a second, something irrational crosses her mind. She wants to kiss the stranger, just to know if she kisses better. To compare.
When Yolanda sees them sharing a soft kiss and feels like a complete creep, she takes refuge inside her car, resting her forehead against the steering wheel with a sigh. It matters more than she would like.
And even if Trinity would have liked to keep her eyes fixed on her date, she can’t help but look around, searching for the license plate of Yolanda’s car.
She can’t put a name to what is happening to her, or to why it didn’t feel right to kiss this other woman. Comparing her soft lips to Yolanda’s, and even worse, becoming aware that her touch doesn’t have the same firmness or roughness shaped by so much disinfectant.
Santos closes her eyes for a few seconds, taking a deep breath before continuing.