Gender: Lesbean

she gets hugs, right? often enough. the occasional awkward one with dennis, when she can tell he needs it. sometimes a patient will cling to her for a moment and she'll allow it, or take their hand when they grieve. it's often enough, it's whatever. it's not like she never gets touched. she'll even pat victoria's shoulders sometimes, ruffle dennis's hair.

she doesn't consider herself to need touch. it's not exactly been some pillar of her life, it's not been something welcomed or wanted. it's something other people need, maybe, not her. sure, being held sounds... nice. in theory. being held without expectation, by someone safe. but she— she probably wouldn't even like it. it doesn't matter.

and then maybe... a patient death or story cuts deep. leaves her shaken. little tremors in her hands, stumbling over words, faltering during traumas. more than enough for ever perceptive baran to notice. she pulls her aside, brow furrowed in concern. is everything alright, doctor santos?

and maybe trinity shrugs. her lip trembles a little, just a little, more exhausted than anything. and baran is tactile— a warm hand on a shoulder, back, guiding or comforting. and she can tell trinity could use one, so... maybe she pulls trinity in for a hug.

trinity waits for it to be over for a minute. keeps herself stiff in that awkward way she always does, because hugs are an over-in-a-second, make the other person happy ordeal. but... baran doesn't let go. just holds, holds, holds. pats trinity's back, keeps her close.

baran is so warm. she smells good, too, dark cherry and musky vanilla, alluring. and trinity, for the first time in... maybe ever? melts into it. slumps against that warmth, tension seeping out of her sore muscles, a stretched out rubber band finally snapping. she doesn't mean to, doesn't mean to, but then she's crying, and she's holding onto baran, and maybe a please whimpers out of her mouth.

Katherine LaNasa as Dana Evans The Pitt (2025—) 2.01 "7:00am"

The world looks almost peaceful from the top of PTMC.

Sitting cross-legged near the edge of the roof, Cassie stares out to the city. It doesn’t feel like too much of a flirt with danger, the raised ledge keeping her safely contained to the corner of the roof she’s found herself in. She feels secure enough sitting here, hiding away from the rest of the world. It’s an almost still evening, the air fresh as it gently breezes against her still flushed cheeks. It’s not her first time seeking solace up here after a hard shift, and it’s probably not going to be her last, either.