Work Text:
Dennis first notices the humming as he’s fighting with his key in the door. The sound is distant, quiet, and Dennis is far too preoccupied with his one-sided fight against the doorknob to pay attention. But it’s there just the same.
“Come on,” he murmurs, finally retrieving the key. He sighs in relief and shakes out his sweaty palm before wiping it on his pants.
Just one of the many perks of living in a century-old shit box, Trinity explained when he moved in. It was that, and hundred-degree winters because the building-wide heating system had one setting and that setting was hot.
As Dennis tosses his jacket onto his hook in the hall, the humming gets clearer. It’s not a song he recognizes —if it’s even one at all— but the sound of it settles warmly in his chest. It reminds him of when things were still simple back home and how his mother used to sing while making dinner.
Only this is different, Dennis knows. It’s Trinity’s voice, but Trinity never sings.
(Except, of course, that one time in the shower at 5am. She’d thought he was still asleep and when she saw him pouring a bowl of cereal in the kitchen, she shot him a look that told him everything he needed to know.
Speak of this, and I’ll kill you.)
Dennis peers behind the array of jackets, past the end of the tiny hallway, and sneaks a look at his roommate.
Trinity is sitting on the carpet, legs folded in her lap while she leans over the coffee table. She’s writing something — no, drawing? Coloring?
Dennis takes a step closer. When he sees it — his eyes widen.
Trinity is coloring a picture of the Rugrats in Crayon. Her bottom lip is drawn halfway beneath her teeth in focus and she’s wearing an oversized Fleetwood Mac tee that’s actually just a picture of Snoopy playing an electric guitar below the band name.
She’s calm and content and for a second, Dennis is reminded of coming back to his best friend’s house in middle school. His little sister always used to be in the living room playing house or watching cartoons.
Dennis can’t help but chuckle at the connection.
“Whatcha doin’?” He asks.
Trinity’s head whips around.
The humming stops. Brows above wide eyes furrow, and before Dennis knows it, something fuzzy is hitting him in the head.
“What the—”
As he stumbles backwards, he sees the offending object fall to the floor. A stuffed dog with floppy brown ears and a spot around the eye.
Dennis looks at Trinity, confused.
She’s staring back at him, pale as ever, and Dennis can’t tell if she’s terrified or fuming. All he knows is he’s never seen her like this. This frazzled, exposed part of her.
Confusion swirls as Dennis tries to work it out — his eyes darting between his roommate and the plush dog.
“Go a-way,” Trinity finally snaps.
It’s a voice that means to be sharp, but it comes out all muddled around the edges.
Dennis wants to protest it and explain he didn’t mean any harm — but before he can get a word out, Trinity is scrambling to her feet and making a beeline for her room. The door slams loudly behind her and Dennis shudders.
Still, he rushes after her.
“I- I’m sorry,” he says, talking right to the door. “I didn’t mean to startle you or anything. I just— I don’t know— I was surprised, I think? But I- I’m really sorry, it came out wrong, and I swear, I didn’t mean to upset you.”
He pauses for a moment, waiting for a response.
Annoyance seems inevitable and frustration feels fair. Maybe even anger, if he’d unknowingly invaded her privacy. Dennis would take it all if it meant they could just start back over and move on.
But nothing happens.
“Trinity…” He says, his voice softer this time. “Are you… are you okay?”
Still, nothing.
“Look, I- whatever I did, I’m sorry about it. I just- can we talk about it or something? Figure out what happened?”
Dennis holds his breath as he lets the request linger in the air.
As it dissipates, the disappointment that sinks him is heavy and stiff. It twists in Dennis’ gut — the knowledge that this is on him. In an instant he still can’t comprehend, he wrecked things. He isn’t sure how or why but he knows it happened. He knows it was his fault.
Then again, maybe it always is.
Trinity stays silent on the floor, crouched behind her bed to keep herself hidden. She sits with her arm wrapped tightly around her stomach and her knees pulled close to her chest. Her thumb stays firmly planted in her mouth while hot tears roll down her cheeks.
She doesn’t want this anymore, Trinity thinks. She wants to be big again — strong, like she normally is.
But for once, Trinity can’t seem to will it out of herself. The dark cloud is looming heavy above her — she can feel it in the pressure in her skull — but the rest of her is gone. It doesn’t make any sense — it’s normally never gone — even when all she wants is to be left alone. But now, Trinity doesn’t know where to search for herself. Her mind is a void; empty of friends or foes. All she can do there is look to the screen in the back to see the world around her.
So she does.
Trinity looks at the rug beneath her bed and watches her toes curl into the material. She can’t quite feel it right now, but she knows it’s supposed to be soft. Next, she looks at the wood floorboards and the nail sticking out by the radiator that she always trips on. Beside it is the pen she’d dropped. Behind that — the sweatshirt hanging off her swivel chair.
Trinity sniffles. Her chest tightens as fresh tears rush up through the rest of her, and spring into her eyes. She tries to breathe through it, but the air trembles on her lips, unable to fully find its way to her lungs. She fights to bring it back again and again, and still, the effort is fruitless. Eventually, Trinity accepts her defeat in a limp exhale.
She can keep hiding here, she decides. It’ll keep her safe.
Trinity isn’t sure how long it is before she realizes her stuffed dog is still in the hall.
All she knows is she’s still on the floor and he isn’t beside her like he always is. No — he’s laying on the ground where she left him and she needs him here with her. He’s always there during the hard parts, making sure she isn’t going through it alone.
Trinity’s stomach twists at the thought. She can’t leave him out there. She just needs to figure out how to reach the levers in her brain that’ll tell her limbs to move again. If she can’t remember how to be big, she at least needs to remember how to be brave. Then, she’ll be able to move.
Sucking in a breath, Trinity tries to summon the knowledge back to her. It brings back the same cloud from before — the one that hangs over the top of her head and presses behind her eyes or down the center of her skull. This time, when a fraction of herself returns, Trinity feels it toward the right parietal lobe.
It takes the form of a gentle voice, which Trinity is grateful for. From miles within, it reminds her what to do; how to climb back onto her feet and get to her dog. It tells her it’s going to be okay and reminds her of how strong she is.
Trinity sinks into the words. She lets the presence hold her proverbial hand as she shakily rises from the floor, and on slow, wobbly legs, manages to walk into the hall. There, she pads across the floor and turns at the front hall, smiling when she sees her dog.
Trinity quickly picks him up, cuddles him close, and whispers a quiet apology for leaving.
Thankfully, her friend seems to forgive her.
Trinity’s about to take him back to her room when she hears the sound of Dennis’ voice coming from the living room.
“Trin?”
Trinity squeezes the plush and shakes her head. She can’t do this again. She isn’t ready — she can’t breach containment.
“Are you okay?”
Trinity doesn’t respond — she just lets her feet take off. But before she can get to her room, Dennis is calling out:
“I um, I really like your Snoopy shirt.”
Trinity stumbles to a halt and hugs her dog to her chest. She knows she needs to get back to her room — that’s where it’s supposed to be safe — but the statement has piqued her. And now, all she can think about is how she wants to say that it’s not just Snoopy, it’s her Lindsey Buckingham Snoopy. She’d really wanted a Stevie Nicks Snoopy but she’d never been able to find one, and even though Trinity was, and always would be, Team Stevie, she couldn’t resist Snoopy shredding an electric guitar. So Lindsey it was.
Trinity turns slowly on her heel and looks back at Dennis.
“Do you uh… do you like Woodstock too?” he asks. “The festival or the bird.”
Trinity frowns.
“That’s not a good joke.”
“Oh, r- right. Sorry.”
As Dennis scrambles to find new words, Trinity tilts her head and watches. Her mouth hangs open ever so slightly, and she focuses on the feeling of her stuffies fur against her chin.
“You say that a lot,” she observes, swaying from side to side.
“Yeah, sor-“ Dennis stops himself and shakes his head. “I do… yeah. Bad habit.”
He pauses, watching the movement, before asking —
“Did something happen today? With you o- or with us? I just… I don’t really know what’s going on but I want to help. I want to — I don’t know — fix it if I can.”
Trinity hesitates. She can hear various answers in her head — conflicting statements coming from each side. She needs to run back to her room and lock the door, she needs to explain that she’s just having an ‘off’ day but that she’s fine and they don’t ever have to talk about this again. She needs to breathe, she needs to stay calm, she’s going to be okay — Trinity tries to focus on that one, the nice one — but it’s all so overwhelmingly loud and the more they all argue, the further the words get from Trinity’s lips.
“Um…” Trinity swallows. She wants it to stop. The big one is right, she never should’ve left her room. Now, all she wants to do is go back and keep hiding, then kick herself under the covers.
“I—”
The explanation gets caught in her throat. Words that aren’t hers are fighting to be forced out and Trinity is trying — trying with everything she has to say them. But somewhere between her brain and her mouth, essential wires have been cut. The translation isn’t working and all Trinity can do is stare as new tears fill her eyes.
“Uh…”
Her fingers tighten around her dog. The air is too thin and her heart is too fast. Dennis isn’t supposed to see her struggle like this — no one is. But now he’s watching and he’s memorizing and—
“Hey, it’s okay.”
And his voice is so soft.
“Do you um… do you wanna sit?”
And his eyes are so kind. They’re filled with real kindness, as he guides Trinity over to the sofa and sits beside her, making sure to leave a safe amount of distance between them.
“I promise, I’m not thinking anything bad,” Dennis says. “I just… want to understand.”
Trinity sniffs and sucks in a breath. She holds it in her lungs, then quietly says —
“Just… been small.”
“Small?”
Trinity nods. She doesn’t know how else to explain it. She’s shrunk down in her mind and now the rest of the world is far too big.
“Small as in…” Dennis pauses, carefully considering his words. “You— you feel younger, maybe?”
Another nod. Trinity chews her bottom lip as she waits for his reaction. When all Dennis does is smile at her, she can finally exhale.
“Oh,” he says. “Yeah— that’s cool. I get that.”
Trinity looks up at him, unsure.
“You don’t need to be embarrassed or anything, really,” Dennis continues. He pauses for a moment and gives a nervous smile. “But you um, you like coloring, right? And… Snoopy, obviously.”
Trinity nods. There’s a twinge in her chest — an urge to tell him more. It’s like a switch has been flipped within her. Now, all she can think is that she wants him to understand.
Maybe, somehow, he already does.
”And Puppy,” she adds, giving the dog a squeeze.
“Yeah! What’s his name?”
Trinity hesitates and makes a face. Maybe Dennis isn’t as perceptive as she’d thought.
“…Puppy?”
“Right, of course,” Dennis corrects — quickly nodding along. ”He’s a really great dog.”
The statement is enough to get Trinity to crack a smile.
“Yeah… he’s my best friend,” she says. “He just listens and doesn’t bite. See?”
Slowly, Trinity extends her arm to hold out Puppy to Dennis. She touches the toy to his arm, letting its nose sit there for a moment before pulling back.
Quiet and still, Dennis watches. He takes in the gesture and how cautious it is — Trinity moves with the type of care she has always tried to silently insist she doesn’t possess. But Dennis has known, in his own silence, that it has existed for as long as they’ve been friends.
It was there when Trinity invited him to move in with her, only fifteen hours after meeting. It’s there each time she has a pediatric case and stays at the bedside just a little longer than she normally does — speaking just a little softer. And it’s there when she makes sure they get his favorite cereal whenever they go grocery shopping, even though she always makes a point to say she finds Corn Flakes bland and disgusting.
As Dennis looks back at her, he realizes this version of Trinity isn’t different at all.
No, this might just be the most Trinity he’s ever seen her.