Archive of Our Own

It’s been a little over three and a half months since Trinity and Dennis started living together, and the vibe in the apartment had finally shifted.

The awkward 'stay out of each other's way' phase had melted into something more comfortable. They were getting along better, way better than he’d expected back on day one.

If you asked him, Dennis would even say they’re friends now. He wasn't exactly sure what Trinity thought about that though. She wasn't exactly the type to hand out friendship bracelets or talk about her feelings over coffee.

To be honest, he liked her. A lot. As a friend, of course. He just really valued having her around. But he had a problem, he could never actually show his appreciation for everything she did for him.

Trinity hated sappy things. Anything even remotely emotional made her recoil, and he was pretty sure if he tried to say thanks or show his appreciation, she’d probably beat him up or at least roast him until he wanted to disappear.

So instead, he made food. It was his way of talking without having to use words that might get him killed.

There was that one time when she bought him some new clothes. She didn’t make a deal out of it, she just left the bags on his bed and walked away like it was nothing.

He knew the rules, he couldn't say thank you. If he made it a 'moment', she’d hate it. So, he just went to the kitchen. He made her favorite food for a week straight, every single night, just so she’d know he noticed.

Basically, every time she did something that indicated they were actually friends, even if it was just a small gesture or a look, he’d find himself back at the stove making her favorite meal.

It was like a trade. She’d be a decent human being, and he’d make sure she was well-fed.

The brownies were his secret weapon, though. Whenever she came home in a terrible mood, or when she looked like she’d had a day where she just didn't feel like eating healthy, Dennis would get to work.

He’d make her brownies without question. He wouldn't ask what was wrong or try to make her talk, that never worked.

Trinity never said it out loud, she never sat him down to confirm that they were close or that she liked having him around. But when Dennis watched her grab a brownie and finally relax a little, he knew.

They were friends. They had to be. In their own weird, quiet way, it worked.

Today, Dennis was extra busy in the kitchen.

He’d found a recipe online for a Filipino dish that Trinity had mentioned once, just a passing comment weeks ago, but he’d tucked it away in his head.

He had never even attempted to make it before, and his nerves were a bit frayed trying to get the flavors exactly right. He wanted it to be perfect. Not because he was trying to be nice, he told himself, but because he liked a challenge. (He also did want to be nice.)

While he was focused on the stove, the smell of chocolate started to fill the air. He had a batch of brownies in the oven too. It was a double-down kind of night.

Trinity was parked on the couch, looking like she’d been through a blender.  She was scrolling through her phone with her vape in one hand, occasionally blowing out a cloud of smoke that disappeared into the ceiling fan.

They’d been talking for the last twenty minutes, mostly just venting. It was the usual pitt gossip, who was annoying them, which resident messed up a simple chart, and basically just complaining about how draining today's shift had been.

“I’m telling you, if I have to see that patient ever again, I’m quitting.“ Trinity muttered, her thumb aggressively swiping on her screen.

“At least we have the day off tomorrow,“ Dennis muttered back, his attention split between her and stirring the pan on the stove. He was trying to make sure the sauce didn't burn.

“Thank god,“ Trinity exhaled. She let out a long sigh and finally just laid down flat on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. “I think I might sleep for sixteen hours straight.“

“I'll wake you up when the breakfast is ready, or you can just hibernate.“ Dennis joked, though he was secretly checking the timer on the brownies.

He felt that familiar hum of content, the house was warm, the food smelled good, and they were just fine.

As they kept talking about some ridiculous thing a nurse had said earlier, the mood was actually relaxed. But then, the sound of a vibrating buzz cut through the conversation. Dennis' phone, which he’d left on the coffee table right next to the couch, started ringing loudly.

Trinity glanced at it, her head still resting on the arm of the sofa. Dennis paused his stirring, his hand hovering over the pan as he waited to see who it was.

“Who is it?“ He asked. He looked over his shoulder toward the couch for a split second before his eyes went right back to the stove.

“Your mom,“ Trinity said. She didn’t even hesitate. She reached over, grabbed the phone, and started to swipe the screen like she was actually going to pick it up and start a conversation.

Dennis dropped the spoon and froze for a second before his brain went into total panic mode.

He couldn't let her talk to his mom. It wasn't even a question.

He scrambled away from the stove and bolted into the living room. Before she could even get a word out, he basically pounced her, landing right on top of her on the couch to grab the phone out of her hand.

It was messy and he definitely hit the armrest on the way down, but he managed to snag the phone before the call connected.

He quickly declined it, the screen going black, and he let out a huge sigh of relief. His heart was hammering in his chest because that was way too close.

Then, it finally clicked. He realized he was literally laying on top of her, pinning her to the couch cushions.

He scrambled off of her as fast as he could, nearly tripping over his own feet as he stood up.

“Oh my god, I'm so sorry,“ Dennis said. He felt his entire face go hot and he couldn't even look at her. He shoved the phone into his pocket as deep as it would go, trying to act like his heart wasn't still racing. “I didn't mean to—I just—the phone—“

“What the fuck was that all about?“ Trinity asked. She didn't look mad, she just looked confused and a little bit like she wanted to laugh at how much he was freaking out right now.

He could lie. He could totally make up a lie on the spot and say that his mom just talks a lot or that she was calling to nag him about something stupid.

That would be the easy way out. He could just laugh it off, make a joke about how annoying she was, and the conversation would be over.

He didn’t know why he decided to tell the truth, but the words just slipped out before he could stop them.

“We aren't exactly on speaking terms right now.“ He muttered, not looking at her. He didn't wait for her to respond before he quickly went back to the kitchen to stir the pan again, acting like the food was the most important thing in the world. He kept his back turned, hoping she’d just drop it.

Trinity's smile faltered a little. The teasing look on her face shifted into something else, but she didn't get all sappy or serious about it, which he was grateful for. She just shrugged and leaned against the back of the couch so she could see him better in the kitchen.

“Is that why you were homeless before I let you move in with me?“ She joked, her voice light, trying to keep the vibe from getting too heavy.

“I mean, kind of.“ Dennis said back. He was so focused on the food and his own nerves that he didn't even realize she was joking. He said it so matter-of-factly that it hung in the air for a second.

“Oh.“ She said, going quiet for a moment. The joke clearly hadn't landed the way she’d planned.

She took another puff from her vape, blowing the smoke out slowly as she watched him work. She seemed like she was debating whether to ask more.  “What about your dad?“

Dennis' hands were slightly shaking as he held the wooden spoon. He gripped it tighter, trying to keep it steady.

Thankfully, Trinity was still on the couch and couldn't see that from her point of view. He felt that familiar tightness in his chest, the same one he usually tried to cook away.

“I don't talk with either of them.“ Dennis said. He tried to chuckle a little to lighten up the mood, wanting to show her it wasn't a big deal, but it just came out awkward and forced. The sound was flat and didn't help at all. He just kept stirring, even though the food was probably done, because he didn't know what else to do with his hands.

Trinity sighed and looked around the apartment, her eyes drifting from the TV to the pile of Dennis' clothes on the floor.

She looked like she was having a mental battle with herself, weighing whether or not to actually go through with what she was about to say. She knew she was going to most likely regret this later, she hated being the one to open the door to 'feelings', but whatever. It felt weird to just leave it hanging there.

“Do you want to talk about it?“ She asked finally. It sounded like she had to practically force the words out of her throat.

It was unnatural for her, they never had these kinds of talks with anyone, let alone with each other. They usually just stuck to complaining about work, gossiping or eating in silence.

“Uhh, it's a long story. I think I'd probably have to be drunk,“ Dennis muttered. He turned his head slightly but didn't fully look at her, trying to play it off like it wasn't a big deal.

He chuckled a little again, forcing it out just like before, hoping it would make the atmosphere less heavy.

It didn't really work.

He turned off the stove and went to get the brownies out of the oven at the same time, using the movement to avoid having to say anything else. The heat from the oven hit his face, but it didn't do anything to stop the chill he felt from the conversation.

“I have wine,“ Trinity said, her voice flat but certain.

Dennis gulped. He carefully set the hot brownies on the counter to cool off a little, trying not to let the metal clatter against the surface.

His hands were still shaking a little, so he took a deep breath, wiped his palms on his pants, and finally looked at Trinity. She was still sitting there, watching him with that unreadable expression.

“Are you sure? I mean—we never usually talk about stuff like that.“ He stood there by the counter, fidgeting with his fingers and feeling way too exposed. He was waiting for her to take it back or make a joke to kill the tension, but she didn't.

Trinity rolled her eyes and let out a loud groan, making it clear that she was annoyed at having to be nice. “I'm not an asshole, Huckleberry. If it's bothering you, we can talk about it,“ she said, pushing herself up from the couch. She stretched for a second, then started walking toward him.

“Might as well have an excuse to drink,“ she added, brushing past him to get to the fridge.

🏥

They were out on the balcony now, sitting on the two chairs that were squeezed into the small space. It was a bit cramped, but it felt safer out here in the cool air than in the kitchen.

On the small table in front of them, the brownies were cut up into pieces on a plate, the steam still faintly rising from them. The bottle of wine sat right next to it, along with the two glasses they’d filled to the brim.

Dennis was already fumbling with the pack of cigarettes he had in his pocket.

His fingers were clumsy and he kept tapping the pack against his palm, looking everywhere except at Trinity. He didn't even want a cigarette that badly, but he needed something to do with his hands so he wouldn't look as nervous as he felt.

Trinity sat back, one leg crossed over the other, and took a long puff of her vape. She watched the smoke curl away into the night sky, her expression totally blank.

It was really, really awkward for a few moments. The silence felt heavy, like it was pressing down on them.

Dennis didn't know what to say or even how to start. He kept opening his mouth to speak and then closing it again, feeling like any word he chose would be the wrong one. He just stared at the plate of brownies, wondering if he should have just taken a double shift. It would have been better than dealing with this.

Trinity finally shifted in her chair, the metal creaking under her. She took another hit from the vape and then set it down on the table with a soft clack. She looked at him, then at the wine, and finally let out a long, frustrated breath.

“Look, you don't have to act like you're in an interrogation room,“ she said, her voice cutting through the quiet. She reached for her wine glass and took a decent sized gulp before looking back at him. “I know I'm not the best at the whole emotional support thing, and I usually don't give a shit about people's backstories, but you're vibrating like a freak, Dennis. Just say it.“

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees.

“Your parents are dicks, right? That’s why you’re ignoring the phone?“ She asked, her tone blunt as usual. It wasn't soft or comforting, but it was her way of finally breaking the silence.

She was giving him the opening, even if she looked like she’d rather be doing literally anything else.

“I—I mean yeah, I guess so,“ Dennis mumbled, finally pulling a cigarette from the pack and sticking it between his lips. He fumbled with his lighter for a second, his thumb slipping twice before he got a flame.

He actually did want to tell her. Part of him had been wanting to tell someone for years, but he seriously couldn't get the words out.

Every time he tried to think of how to start, it just felt like the words got stuck in his throat. He didn't know how to make it sound like a normal conversation.

“Okay, fine,“ Trinity said, reaching over to the plate. She picked up a brownie and took a bite, chewing slowly while she watched him. “Don't give me the whole life story then. Just tell me one thing. Something they did.“

Dennis sighed and reached for his wine glass, taking a big gulp of it. He needed the liquid courage to stop his heart from thumping so hard against his ribs. He took a long puff, letting the smoke out slowly as he stared at the city lights in front of them.

“I remember when I was twelve, I think. It was the first time I ever tried a cigarette,“ Dennis started. He kept his eyes fixed on a distant streetlight so he didn't have to look at her.

“My oldest brother was the one who gave it to me, but our dad caught us in the barn. My brother didn't really get in trouble since he was already eighteen and could do whatever he wanted, I guess. But my dad made me sit there and smoke two whole packs back to back to 'teach me a lesson'.“ He finally said, forcing out a little chuckle, trying to make it sound like just another dumb childhood story. “I was so sick, I could barely breathe for the rest of the day. I thought my lungs were gonna give out.“

He finally turned his head to look at Trinity. He was waiting for her to roll her eyes or make a joke about how he was a light weight, or maybe tell him he was being dramatic. He was basically begging for her to make fun of him so the air wouldn't feel so heavy.

But she didn't laugh, she didn't even make a sarcastic comment. She just sat there, her vape forgotten, looking at him like she was genuinely worried. It was a look he hadn't seen on her face before, and it made him want to look away.

“That's not a lesson, Dennis,“ Trinity said, her voice sounding lower than usual. “That's just messed up. Like, actually insane.“

Dennis shifted in his chair, his face heating up. “I mean, it's just how he was. He was always big on tough love.“ He said, trying to shrug it off, but the way she was looking at him made it hard to pretend it was okay.

He took another quick hit of his cigarette, wishing he hadn't said anything at all.

Trinity sat up straighter in her chair, finishing the last bite of her brownie. Her eyes were sharper than they had been all night. “Okay, so your dad was a psychopath, we established that. But what about your mom? Did she just stand there and watch all of it happen?“

Dennis' stomach did a slow, sick roll. He felt that familiar tightness in his throat. He wanted to go back inside and lock himself in his room.

He took a long, desperate gulp from his glass, the liquid burning a bit as it went down.

“I mean, I guess. She was always busy in the kitchen, and my dad basically ran the farm. So we just did whatever he said,“ he almost whispered.

He couldn't bring himself to look at her, so he just stared down at the cigarette gripped between his trembling fingers. The smoke curled up into the night air, disappearing just like he wished he could right now.

“I remember when I was ten, I accidentally left the gate to the north pasture open, and a couple of the horses got out. They didn't even go that far, just a little bit outside the fence to eat some grass in the ditch, but my dad was really mad,“ Dennis started. He took another hit of his cigarette, his chest feeling heavy as the memory started to play back in his head.

“He told me that if I wanted to act like a mindless animal, I could live like one. So he locked me in one of the barns with the horses for two days.“ He said, his voice shaking a little. He tapped the ash off his cigarette with a jerky motion, still not even wanting to look at Trinity’s face.

He knew if he saw pity there, he’d probably lose it. “It was pitch black in there at night. Just me and the horses. I was terrified one of them would step on me while I was trying to sleep on the hay.“

He took a shaky breath and kept going, the words falling out faster now that he’d started. “My mom would bring me food and water when my dad wasn't looking, sneaking out to the barn like she was a criminal or something. She never let me out, though. She just told me to listen to him so he wouldn't get more mad. Like it was my fault for making him lose his temper.“

Dennis finally looked up at Trinity, his face pale in the dim light of the balcony.

Her mouth was wide open. She looked like she was barely able to believe what she was hearing, and for the first time, her cool attitude was completely gone. “Are you fucking kidding me?“ she said, her own hands shaking a little as she gripped her wine glass.

“That’s fucking torture, Dennis. You were ten.“ She snapped, her voice rising in a way that made him flinch. She looked genuinely angry, not at him, but for him.

Dennis just sighed and frowned. He looked away, focusing on the plate on the table instead of the look in her eyes. He reached out and took a brownie from the plate.

“I don't know. It’s just how it was,“ he muttered, his voice cracking slightly. He stared at the brownie in his hand like it was the most interesting thing in the world. “I used to think I deserved it for being so forgetful. I didn't really think it was that bad until I actually said it out loud just now.“

He shoved the piece of brownie into his mouth, the sweetness feeling heavy and thick as he tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. He felt completely exposed, feeling unsure if he would regret telling her this later on.

Trinity didn’t say anything for a long time.

She just sat there, staring at him with a look that made him want to crawl under the balcony floorboards. She was glaring, her eyes hard and fixed on him like he’d just said the stupidest thing she’d ever heard.

The silence was even worse than the talking. It felt like she was actually pissed off at him for even thinking it was his fault, for thinking a ten year old deserved to be locked in a barn for two days.

Dennis shifted in his seat, his skin crawling under the weight of her stare. He hated when things got this heavy, he needed to fix the vibe, to make it seem like he wasn't some tragic case she had to pity.

“I mean, it’s not like he was a monster every single day.“ Dennis started, trying to lighten the mood. He forced a small, weak smile that felt like it was scraping his face. “He didn't really do anything worse than that, honestly. I mean, sometimes when he was drunk, he’d get a little loud and he’d hit me or my mom, but it wasn't a big deal. Most of the families back home had dads like that. It was just what happened.“

He took another big gulp of wine, but it didn't help the way his chest felt like it was being squeezed in a vice.

He looked at Trinity, but she hadn't moved an inch. She was still just glaring, her jaw clenched so tight he thought her teeth might actually crack.

“That’s why I started doing this,“ Dennis said, his voice dropping to a whisper.

He set his wine glass down on the table with a shaky hand and slowly pulled up the sleeve of his hoodie. He exposed his left arm, which was littered with thin, jagged lines, self-harm scars that trailed up toward his shoulder.

Trinity didn't look surprised. She’d seen them before, plenty of times, when they were at the pitt or when his sleeve would slip up at home. She’d never commented on them, and he’d never offered an explanation.

They had this unspoken agreement to just mind their own business, but that agreement was officially dead now.

„It was the only thing I could control,“ Dennis said, looking down at the scarred skin. „In that house, everything was up to him. Every second of my day belonged to him. This was the only thing that was actually mine.“

He looked back up at her, waiting for the roast or the eye roll, anything to go back to being just roommates who complained about their shifts. But Trinity just looked at his arm, her eyes trailing over the marks before she finally looked him dead in the face.

“You’re a dumbass, Huckleberry,“ she said, her voice sounding thick and way more emotional than he was ready for. She reached out and grabbed his wrist, her grip surprisingly firm. “You really think being hit is ‘no big deal’ because everyone else’s dad was a prick too? That’s not how it works.“

She let out a sharp, angry breath and shook her head, still holding onto his arm like she was afraid he’d bolt. “I’ve seen those scars since the first week we worked together. I just figured you’d tell me when you stopped being so damn scared of me.“

Dennis just sat there, his mouth slightly open, not knowing what to do with the fact that she was actually being sincere.

“Is there anything else?“ She asked quietly. “I mean, since we're apparently doing this now. Being all open and shit.“

He started feeling like the air on the balcony had suddenly gotten way too thin. He didn't know what to say, and the silence was eating him alive, so he just blurted out the first thing that had been sitting in the back of his head for a decade.

“I—I think I’m gay.“ He said, the words coming out in a rushed, shaky breath.

Trinity froze. She let go of his wrist and just stared at him, her eyebrows knitting together like she was trying to solve a math problem that didn't make any sense.

She looked really confused, her head tilting to the side as she processed the sudden jump from child abuse to his sexuality.

“What?“ Trinity asked, her voice blunt and totally baffled. “Where is this coming from all of a sudden?“

Dennis felt his face go from pale to a bright, burning red. He looked down at the table, fumbling with his lighter again because he couldn't handle the way she was looking at him. He took a huge gulp of wine, nearly choking on it before he started talking again.

“When I was fifteen, I kissed a boy for the first time,“ he started, his voice cracking. He kept his eyes fixed on a piece of the brownie that had crumbled off the plate. “He was a neighbor’s son, and it only happened once behind the tool shed. No one ever found out. My dad would’ve actually killed me if he knew, and my mom—she wouldn't have stopped him.“

He took a puff from a new cigarette, the smoke shaking as he exhaled.

“I felt so guilty about it. I thought I was broken or something. I prayed every single day for like three years straight and went to church every Sunday morning, just hoping that God would finally forgive me and make me normal.“ Dennis muttered, trying to force another one of those awkward chuckles that just died in his throat. “I spent so much time trying to fix it, and now I don’t even know. I’m not sure what I am. I just know I’ve spent my whole life feeling like I’m hiding something.“

He finally looked at her, his chest heaving like he’d just run a marathon. He expected her to laugh or tell him he was being dramatic, or maybe even look disgusted, but Trinity just sat there. She reached for the wine bottle, refilled her glass, and then refilled his without even asking.

“So let me get this straight,“ Trinity said, her voice sounding a little more grounded now. “You think the big guy in the sky is pissed at you for a kiss, but your dad is fine after locking you in a barn? You really have your priorities messed up, Huckleberry.“

She took a long drag of her vape and looked at him, her expression softening just a tiny bit around the edges.

“If you’re gay, you’re gay. If you’re not, you’re not,“ she said, shrugging like it was the simplest thing in the world. “But quit acting like you need to be forgiven for existing. It’s annoying.“

Dennis just stared at her. He shifted in his seat again, his fingers tapping a nervous rhythm against the side of his wine glass.

He’d spent so many years sitting in those hard wooden boards, listening to the pastor talk about hell and sins, that it was hard to just switch it off because Trinity told him to.

“I mean, I don't know.“ Dennis muttered, looking back at his scarred arm before quickly pulling his sleeve down.  “It’s just—it's what I was always been taught. Every Sunday, they’d say the same things. That it was a sin, that it was against how things were supposed to be. Especially for someone like me. I just grew up thinking it was wrong, at least for me. Like I was carrying some kind of disease I had to keep hidden.“

Trinity let out a short, dry puff of air that was halfway to a laugh, but she didn't look like she was joking. She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand, her eyes locked on his.

“Okay, let's use that brain of yours for a second,“ she said, her voice dropping that sharp edge for once. “You know damn well that I like girls. I mean, you literally know I hook up with Garcia, right?“

Dennis nodded slowly, his face getting warm again. “Yeah. I mean, obviously.“

“And is that wrong?“ she asked, raising an eyebrow and waiting for him to answer. “Is it a sin that I want to be with her? Am I some kind of monster because of it?“

“No,“ Dennis said immediately, his voice firm. He didn't even have to think about it. “Of course not, Trinity. You're—you're just you. It's not wrong for you at all.“

Trinity took a long, slow hit from her vape, letting the silence hang there for a second while she watched the smoke drift away. She leaned in a little closer, her expression dead serious.

“Then what the fuck is so wrong about you liking men?“

Dennis opened his mouth to answer. He wanted to say something about the Bible, or his dad's voice in his head, or the way the people back in Nebraska would look at him if they knew.

He wanted to explain that it felt different, that it felt like he was breaking some kind of rule he couldn't unbreak.

But as he looked at her, he realized he didn't have a real reason. Not one that actually made sense out here, away from the farm and the church.

The words just died in his throat. He looked down at the table, his thumb tracing a crack in the wood, and he just went quiet. He couldn't find a single way to explain why one was okay and the other wasn't without sounding like his father, and that realization hit him hard.

Dennis took another long, slow drag from his cigarette, the tip glowing in the dark.

“I actually tried to tell them once,“ he said, his voice sounding thin and distant. “Right after I turned eighteen. I wasn't even totally sure myself, I just knew I couldn't keep pretending. I told them I thought I was gay, mostly because I wanted to see if they cared.“

He let out a dry, hollow sound that was supposed to be a laugh, but it died in the back of his throat. “My dad just walked to the hall closet, grabbed my old duffel bag, and threw it at my chest. He told me to get out before he did something he wouldn't regret. He kicked me out and I had that bag and maybe fifty dollars in my pocket. That was it.“

Trinity didn’t say anything. She just watched him, her grip tightening on her wine glass as she listened.

“That’s why I was homeless when I finally made it here,“ Dennis continued, flicking ash over the railing with a hand that wouldn't stop shaking. “I started medical school with nothing. No place to go and no one to call. So I just—I started living in the hospital.“

He took another hit of his cigarette, his chest hitching as he exhaled a thick cloud of smoke. He didn't have to explain the details, the quiet corners, the hours spent hiding in plain sight, the way he’d learned to wash up in public sinks while trying to look like a stressed out student.

“I’d just stay there until my shift or my classes started,“ he whispered, looking down at his cigarette. “It was the only place that felt safe, even if I wasn't supposed to be there.“

He stopped talking then, the silence falling over the balcony. He didn't look at her and he didn't try to make another joke.

He felt raw, like he’d just opened a layer of his skin and left it sitting on the table between the wine and the brownies. He needed to say one more thing before he lost his nerve and went back to pretending everything was fine.

“Hey, look at me,“ Dennis said, his voice a little more steady, though he still wouldn't meet her eyes. “Just—don’t interrupt me this one time, okay? Let me just get this out.“

Trinity started to open her mouth, but she caught the look on his face and stopped. She just leaned back, her vape resting in her lap, and gave him a short, silent nod.

Dennis took a deep breath, the cool night air stinging his lungs. “I’m really glad you’re here,“ he started, finally looking over at her. “I mean, really glad. I like living with you, Trin. Even when you’re being a pain in the ass about the dishes or making fun of me at work.“

He paused, his heart doing that annoying thumping thing against his ribs again. He looked down at his hands, then back at her, forcing himself not to look away this time.

“I like you,“ he said, the words finally dropping into the space between them. “A lot. You’re like—you’re like the sister I never had, but always wanted. I’ve never really had anyone in my life like that.“

He stopped, his face heating up, and waited for the world to end or for her to start laughing.

He’d spent so long hiding every part of himself that saying something that simple felt like jumping off a cliff. He just sat there, gripped by the sudden awkwardness, wondering if he’d finally said too much.

The silence on the balcony stretched out, thick and heavy. Dennis couldn’t bring himself to look at her, he kept his eyes locked on his own legs, his heart hammering against his ribs so hard he was sure she could hear it.

He felt stupid for saying it, for being so vulnerable when he knew how much she hated the sappy stuff.

Then, he heard it, a tiny, muffled sniffle.

His head snapped up just as Trinity reached out and punched him in the bicep. It was weak, almost hesitant, like she’d lost all her strength.

“Shut up, Dennis,“ she whispered, her voice sounding thick and jagged.

He watched, stunned, as she quickly reached up with the back of her hand to wipe at her eyes, her face turned away toward the streetlights. She looked genuinely rattled, the cool, untouchable mask she wore every day finally slipping off for a second.

She didn't look at him, but she grabbed her wine glass and took a massive, desperate gulp, like she was trying to wash down whatever emotion was bubbling up in her throat. She set the glass back down with a shaky hand, staring hard at the railing.

“Just shut the fuck up.“ She muttered again, though there was no bite in it this time. “Don't make this a whole thing.“

Dennis felt a strange, light sensation in his chest, a feeling he hadn't felt in a while. For the first time all night, the corners of his mouth actually twitched upward. He smiled, just a little, a tired but genuine expression.

He leaned over the railing and flicked his cigarette butt into the dark, watching the spark disappear before it hit the pavement. Then, he reached for his glass and took another long gulp of the wine, letting the warmth settle the last of his nerves.

The silence that followed wasn't like the awkward ones from before. It was quiet and still, just the sound of distant sirens and the wind.

“I used to do it too,“ Trinity said suddenly.

Her voice was so low Dennis almost missed it. He froze, his glass halfway to the table, and he looked over at her. She wasn't looking at him, she was staring at her own lap, her expression unreadable.

“The cutting,“ she clarified, her voice flat but steady. “I used to cut myself too.“

Before he could even process what she was saying, Trinity stood up. The metal chair scraped loudly against the balcony floor. Without a word, she reached down and pulled down her pants, sliding them down just far enough to expose the side of her thigh.

Dennis’ breath hitched. There, etched into the skin of her leg, was a map of silver lines, faded and old. They were deep and jagged, same to the ones hidden under his own sleeves.

She stood there for a long moment, letting him see the parts of her she never talked about, the parts she’d kept buried under baggy clothes and a sharp tongue.

Then, she pulled her pants back up and sat back down, reaching for her wine glass with a hand that was trembling slightly.

She didn't look at him, but she didn't look away either. She just stared out at the dark sky. Dennis watched her, the smile gone but the feeling of relief still there.

He watched her for a long time, the image of those silver scars burned into his head. He set his glass down, feeling a weird weight in his chest.

“Do you want to talk about it?“ he asked quietly, throwing her own words back at her. “I mean, you made me spill everything. Only fair, right?“

Trinity didn’t snap at him, she didn’t even roll her eyes. She just stared at the railing, her jaw so tight it looked like it might snap. She took a slow, shaky breath and finally looked at him.

“It was a while ago,“ she said, her voice sounding totally hollow. “When I was seventeen. Me and my best friend… there was this guy. He was older, and he took advantage of us. Both of us.“

She stopped, her fingers digging into the metal arms of the chair until her knuckles were white. Dennis felt a chill go down his spine that had nothing to do with the wind.

“I handled it by getting angry. By cutting. By becoming—whatever this is,“ she said, gesturing to herself. “But she couldn't. She wasn't like that. A couple of months after it happened, she killed herself.“

Trinity finally looked at him, and her eyes weren't sharp or mean anymore. They just looked exhausted. “I think that’s why I’m such a bitch to everyone.“

Dennis didn't even think about it. He stood up, his chair scraping against the floor, and walked over to her. He reached out and grabbed her by the hand, pulling her up until she was standing right in front of him.

Trinity looked completely caught off guard, like she was about to snap at him, but before she could say a word, Dennis wrapped his arms around her and hugged her really tight, not caring about how pathetic he looked.

For a second, she just stood there stiff, her hands hovering in the air like she didn't know what to do. But Dennis didn't let go. He held her close, feeling her heart racing against his.

“I love you, Trinity.“ Dennis whispered into her hair, his voice steady for the first time all night. “I really do.“

He felt her finally give in. She let out a long, shaky breath and leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his waist and gripping the back of his shirt like she was afraid he'd disappear. She buried her face in his chest and held him back just as hard.

“I love you too, Huckleberry.“ She muttered, her voice muffled against his shirt.

They just stood there on the balcony in the dark, holding onto each other, the city lights blurred in the background.

Dennis eventually pulled away just a little bit, looking at her for a second before he leaned in and kissed her on the cheek.

Trinity actually smiled then, just a small one, and she leaned in to kiss his cheek too. Neither of them said anything, they just stood there for another minute before they leaned back in and hugged again, even tighter than before.

🏥

They eventually moved inside once it got too cold, bringing the last of the wine and the plate of brownies with them. The living room was dark, just the glow from the TV lighting up the room.

Trinity was sprawled out on the couch and Dennis was laying right on top of her, his head tucked into her neck. He had one arm hooked under her waist to hold her close, and his other arm was stretched out next to her. Since he’d taken off his hoodie, he was just in a t-shirt now. Trinity didn’t say anything about it, she just reached over and started gently scratching at the self-harm scars on his forearm with her fingernails.

On the screen, Grey’s Anatomy was playing, and some doctor was doing something completely ridiculous.

“Oh my god,“ Dennis muttered, his voice muffled against her. “This is so inaccurate. You don't shock asystole. It doesn't work like that. This show is so stupid.“

Trinity didn't even look away from the TV. She just reached up and flicked his head.

“Ow,“ he grumbled, lifting his head to look at her.

“Shut up, Dennis,“ she said, her eyes glued to the screen. “I’m trying to watch this. I don’t care about the science, I want to see if they actually get back together.“

“But they’re holding the paddles wrong.“ Dennis said, propping himself up on his elbow while his other arm stayed gripped around her waist. “If I did that, Robby would have my head. And nobody has time to cry in the elevator, it's too busy.“

Trinity let out a huff and flicked him again, right in the same spot.

“I said stay quiet,“ she complained, though she was smiling a little. “Stop being a doctor for five minutes and let me watch the drama. Go back down.“

Dennis grunted but he did what she said, dropping his weight back onto her and resting his head on her chest.

He could hear her heart beating, and she went back to gently scratching the scars on his arm. The feeling made his brain go fuzzy, and he stopped caring about the show.

They stayed like that for a moment, the light of the TV washing over them while the wine bottle sat empty on the table. Dennis shifted a little, getting more comfortable and tightening his arm around her waist.

“Fine,“ he whispered. “But if she dies because of that, I’m saying I told you so.“

“Shut up,“ Trinity whispered back, but she just kept scratching his arm and pulled him a little closer.