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Summary
'“I see you’ve noticed Satan over there.”
“Huh?” Adora felt her cheeks flushing red as she tore her gaze away from the girl and turned to whoever had spoken. “Sorry, were you talking to me?”
The gorgeous girl strutted past them without a single glance, like she was totally oblivious to how much the world seemed to want her. The girl who had spoken to her followed the other girls down the hallway with her gaze. An intense wave of dislike seemed to emanate from her.
“Satan,” the girl repeated, nodding down the hallway once the other girls turned the corner, “Catrina Driluth, but everyone just calls her Catra. Head cheerleader. All the girls want to be her, all the guys want to fuck her, and she’s completely fucking evil from head to toe.”'
Or, Catra is the bitchy head cheerleader and Adora is the socially awkward new girl. What could go wrong?
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Summary
Three weeks after the end of a ten month situationship, Trinity Santos decides a change of scenery is exactly what she needs.
Unfortunately, her version of a change of scenery is transferring to night shift. Now her life consists of trauma alerts at three in the morning, Jack Abbot acting like he's won the lottery, John Shen committing crimes against coffee, Parker Ellis complaining about everything, Crus Henderson laughing at all of it, and Emery Walsh appearing with alarming frequency.
Santos tells herself she's starting over.
Walsh tells herself Santos is temporary.
Neither of them is remotely correct.
As shifts turn into routines and routines turn into something far more dangerous, Santos finds herself becoming part of the Night Crawlers and spending more and more time with the one person capable of matching her stubbornness. The problem is that some relationships happen all at once. Others happen one shift at a time.
Or: Santos transfers to nights to get away from her ex. Instead, she accidentally finds a family, a home, and a trauma surgeon who keeps showing up.
Or: The slowburn walshtos I want in the world
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“The easiest way to clean you up, besides keeping you away from the club, for the love of God—” Trinity opens her mouth to argue, but Samira just holds up a hand and shakes her head, “—is to give you a love interest. And people love a co-star romance. They’re hot right now and we think if it seems like you and Yolanda are dating—especially with Yolanda being as serious and respected as she is, we can have much more support for you before you even start filming.”
Trinity nods, processing the words for a moment before they actually begin to settle within her. “Wait—you want us to date?”
Trinity Santos, longtime film actress stuck just below the level of true awards acclaim due to a bad reputation for never shutting her mouth and never leaving the club before dawn, finds herself signing onto a PR relationship with the goal of cleaning up her image. Of course, this fake relationship is with none other than Academy Award winning actress—and her future co-star—Yolanda Garcia.
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“I didn’t stir this shit enough, it feels like I just downed a liter of straight syrup…” She groaned, shaking her half empty cup around much more thoroughly now. “Gonna fucking kill myself…”
At that Yolanda’s eyes widened. Was she kidding? Probably, Trinity’s been known for having a harsh sense of humor. She’s said things like this before and Yolanda’s never batted an eye. But that was before Langdon’s return, before the relapse they never talked about, before the month of silence. Sure she might be looking into things too much but she ignored warning signs from Trinity before. Maybe if she had said… well, anything it wouldn’t have gotten to this point.
Or
Five times Trinity jokes about killing herself because she's chronically online and five times Yolanda has a heart attack over it.
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Summary
Memory can be funny like that. Trinity looks at her and remembers the Yolanda from months ago, sat across from her with a drink in hand, their knees brushing every time one of them leaned in to say something. The dim lighting of the bar had softened her eyes, painting her face into an expression that could almost be mistaken for the same longing that echoed inside Trinity’s chest.
A lot can change in ten months. Not all of it for the better.
Or: It happens in increments, like all the worst things do.