Chapter Text
Trinity regrets agreeing to watch the fireworks.
The ache in her legs walking up the tens of flights of stairs to the roof is nothing compared to the feeling of her phone burning a hole in her pocket. She knows that it’s still open on the message Yolanda sent her about thirty minutes before.
I think we should end this. We don’t want the same things, and it’s clearly starting to affect you at work.
Never in her life has Trinity been so glad to have her read receipts turned off.
Normally she would have rushed to reply, bending over backwards to find a way to make Yolanda stay, to not give up on her. But after today’s shitshow she feels… not indifferent, exactly, but more like she’s moving in slow motion. Tired in every sense of the word.
Next to her, Dennis says something. He looks tired, too, but in a different way. Tired physically, maybe from the climb to where they now stand, but probably more from the toll of their work.
He tilts his head and blinks a couple of times, speaking again. “Trinity? Are you still with me?” His tone is joking, but there’s a nervousness behind his eyes that Trinity recognises.
“Yep. So, where are we going for the best view?”
“Over there.” He nods his head forward.
They weave their way to the side of the roof through the clumps of people, different coloured scrubs and unfamiliar faces, people anxiously checking their pagers and watches to make sure they have enough time to catch the show.
When it starts, everyone gathers up closer to where Trinity and Dennis are standing, pushing them up close to the barricades. They all tilt their heads back, craning their necks to look up at the sky where it explodes into red and blue sparks.
It’s only Trinity whose eyes seem to be drawn somewhere else. Her gaze falls down, down, down, watching the people on the street. Some of them pause to look up and point at the sky, but most move quickly in a blur, ants from up here.
It’s almost hypnotising.
Trinity feels herself take a half step closer to the edge, tight up against the barrier now and leaning slightly over, to get a better look. At what, she isn’t sure.
The bangs from the sky and the cheers of everyone on the roof fade away and it feels like the only noise around her is the rush of blood in her ears. Trinity wonders vaguely if she would hear the same thing if she fell.
Suddenly, she feels a hand on her arm, startling her. She tears her eyes away from the concrete, heart racing.
It’s Dennis. His eyes are still fixed on the sky, but he must notice her looking at him from the corner of his eye because he squeezes her arm tightly and clenches his jaw. Trinity takes a step backwards, shaky, and joins everyone else in watching the colours spreading across the sky.
They stand there watching until the show’s over. Dennis doesn’t loosen his grip on her arm until they’re both walking down the stairs again.
When they get home, Trinity silently pads to her room and shuts the door behind her before Dennis has even finished taking his coat off.
She leans her back against the door, taking her phone out with a shaky breath. Replies to Yolanda’s text with a simple Okay. Plugs it in to charge and stands under the sweltering water of her shower until her fingers wrinkle and she feels faint. Doesn’t look at herself in the mirror as she brushes her teeth.
As she’s rifling through her dresser to find something to sleep in, her phone buzzes. Trinity freezes. She turns, holding an old pair of exercise shorts and an oversized t-shirt. Stares at where her phone lights up. She walks over to her bed and hovers over the phone, not touching it. One new message.
She slowly gets dressed, and goes back into the bathroom to quickly blow dry her hair. It’s getting long, stretching past the bottom of her shoulder blades.
Trinity sighs and sits back on her bed. Bites the bullet.
The new message from Yolanda (because of course it was from her. Trinity knows her, knows that she never waits longer than half an hour to reply to messages) is short.
I’ll come over tomorrow after work to pick up my things.
Trinity gives the message a thumbs up and exits out of the app. She sets her alarm for five thirty, which is–ugh, way too soon–and reaches over to turn out the lamp on her bedside table.
For once, she doesn’t lie awake thinking about the message or anything else. She’s too tired.