Just the Right One - whitsantos string theory
pt1/?
The creation of myself and the wonderful @rjs-tmblr.
Pairing: Trinity Santos & Dennis Whitaker
Summary: Trinity and Dennis are platonic soulmates, and neither of them are sure how they should feel. Starts angsty, will get better.
Word count: 900 (will probably get longer as this progresses)
Very brief mention of suicide and SH concerning one of Trinity's childhood friends!
Trinity Santos hates the colour yellow.
As a child, she didn't know that she was any different. She knew about the string leading to your soulmate, of course, but as a child she simply figured that everyone had different colours. And yellow was so pretty!
It wasn't until her sixth birthday that she realised that it was strange. Her aunt had just got married the month before, and during her birthday party she got to talking about finding him. It wasn't some cliché or anything; they had met through work, which Trinity thought was incredibly boring. At least she seemed happy.
Regardless, Trinity asked the question. What colour was their string?
Her aunt had laughed.
And so, on her sixth birthday, Trinity Santos discovered that she was not destined to have a romantic soulmate.
It shaped the way that she saw the world well into her teens, when for the second time in her life, her world was shattered. Her best friend wasn't her soulmate - her string was red, and Trinity tried so hard not to be bitter over it - but their relationship felt as close to soulmates as possible.
Getting that call stripped Trinity bare all over again. The one person that she could rely upon, the first person she'd come out to, her date for prom, was gone. Just like that. The night of senior prom was the first time that she picked up a blade.
The anger carried on with her, alongside the grief and the sadness. She was furious with Rachel for leaving, even though she knew and understood what had happened to her. She was grief stricken and distraught over never seeing her again and it manifested into something ugly, something concrete. And it changed her yet again.
Where there was once a girl that tried so hard for everyone around her, where there was once a girl who was overly bright and bubbly just so that she knew that she'd be accepted, now stood someone hardened and defensive. It wasn't what she wanted, but it was enough. It was safe. She prayed that whichever girl ended up being her soulmate, she would love just as much.
Med school was difficult on her own, but she pulled through, if only to honour Rachel's memory. It had been hard, relocating to Pittsburgh of all places to do her residency, but she was determined to pull through.
She's up early for the first day. Alarm set for 04:00, then 04:30 so that she can feel like she's having a lie-in. Then it's get up, reply to her mother texting her from the night shift and begin to actually get ready.
Trinity moves on autopilot as she gets ready. Hair somehow tamed into a short ponytail and a little makeup so that she doesn't look as tired as she feels before breakfast. She has enough time to make eggs - something that she tells herself she will not take for granted when she eventually doesn't have the energy in the morning - and to sit on her phone for ten minutes before leaving.
Since moving to Pittsburgh, the tug on her string is stronger. She became so used to ignoring it, to pretending that it didn't exist, that it had been a shock the first time it pulled. It's been worse over the last two weeks, especially, changing direction constantly and pulling on her pinkie to the point of annoyance. Today it's particularly feisty, and all she can think of is that today would be the worst possible time to find out who her soulmate is.
Of course, luck is not on her side.
She makes it into PTMC with no issue, changes into her scrubs and manages to get herself a coffee from the cafeteria before the induction. With about ten minutes to 07:00, she makes her way back towards the main atrium where she assumes the other students and new residents will be. The string around her pinkie jerks almost aggressively, as much as she tries to tamp it down, and she begins to plan the best way forward. What if it's a colleague? Fuck, what if it's a patient?
Whoever it is, she hopes that she's at least nice.
She tosses her paper coffee cup in the trash and finally rounds the corner to the space outside the lockers. Her hand actually raises a little bit as the pull becomes strong enough to almost drag her in that direction.
Following the sickly yellow of her string, Trinity's eyes fall upon someone's hand. A man's hand. Her heart drops through her fucking stomach.
When she finally drags her gaze up, the man the hand is attached to is staring back in equal shock. His eyes are wide and wet, mouth slightly agape, and Trinity thinks briefly that he reminds her of a wet cat.
Her feet move almost on autopilot as she walks determinedly forward, shock and fury (though she's not so sure about the second one) written all over her face, even as her chest seems to loosen with a strange sense of relief. She wants to shout, to rage at this man for disturbing her on her first day of work. Instead, as if her mouth has other ideas, all that comes out is: "Hi."