𝑪𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒊 ★

It took me a while, but I finally made a part two of this post... ☆☆☆

Baran al Hashimi who always buys gifts for your son, and that coincidentally are the same gifts she buys for her own son.

Baran al Hashimi who over time became so close to you that you are already part of her routine.

Baran al Hashimi and you who now almost share custody of the two boys because they don’t let go of each other, and honestly, neither do you two.

Baran al Hashimi who invites you to drink wine in the living room while you wait for your son’s willingness to go home.

Baran al Hashimi who asks you to stay a little longer using the excuse that the boys want to play a bit more. But actually she just wants to keep you close to her.

Baran al Hashimi who starts including you in plans without even asking, “we’re going to the park tomorrow”. And it’s obvious you don’t refuse anything.

Baran al Hashimi who knows your parents, because your son, Ravi, always takes Zayan to the grandparents’ house to play in the pool on weekends.

Baran al Hashimi who is a very good communicator, always saying the right things and in a clear way.

Baran al Hashimi who slowly introduces you to the few friends she has, because at this point you are almost "best friends".

Baran al Hashimi who introduces you to pilates and convinces you to go with her to a trial class, and now you go together whenever you can.

Baran al Hashimi who takes you to the mall to buy comfortable clothes to wear to pilates. And of course you end up with a lululemon set.

Baran al Hashimi who casually walks into the fitting room with you, because you wanted an opinion about the set you chose.

Baran al Hashimi who helps you adjust the fabric on your body, as if it were natural, because you didn’t like the fit. Subtly running her hand firmly along your waist pulling the fabric of the tank top a little lower.

Baran al Hashimi who keeps her hands on your waist while listening to you talk about the outfit, and just praises you and encourages you to take the set.

Baran al Hashimi who gives a light slap on your butt when leaving the fitting room, laughing when you get surprised.

Baran al Hashimi who casually vents about her past marriage while helping you with an exercise, hands on your waist and leg.

Baran al Hashimi who doesn’t miss an opportunity to compliment you, always disguising it as a joke.

Baran al Hashimi who loves making you laugh, but gets completely distracted when you laugh for real.

Baran al Hashimi who likes putting you in slightly embarrassing situations just to see you blush.

Baran al Hashimi who loves eye contact, holding your gaze intensely until you look away, and always smirks when you can’t handle it, because she already expected that.

Baran al Hashimi who touches you subtly, a hand that stays on your arm too long after a greeting hug.

Baran al Hashimi who holds your face for a second longer when removing an eyelash from your cheek.

Baran al Hashimi who tilts her head slightly while listening to you, eyes falling to your lips without hiding it.

Baran al Hashimi who adopted a dog because Zayan wanted one.

Baran al Hashimi who has a dog that hates you, the type that stays quiet and turned away from you, just watching from the corner of its eye. But as soon as it hears your voice near it, it immediately gets up to attack you.

Baran al Hashimi who barely has time to react before you simply cling to her, hiding your face in her neck, pulling at her clothes to save yourself. Because obviously you are terrified of dogs.

Baran al Hashimi who, in the other times you all meet together, it’s always the same thing, you avoid even looking at the dog out of pure fear it will lunge again. And him avoiding you the same way for no reason at all.

Baran al Hashimi who has already caught you both in this exchange of “mutual disdain” several times, you stiff, avoiding even breathing near him, and the dog lying down, but always with one eye open, clearly watching you.

Baran al Hashimi who has a dog that changes places every time you are a little close.

Baran al Hashimi who on a certain night was in the kitchen pouring wine while you are at the table putting together a puzzle with the boys, and notices you and the dog staring at each other again. You pulled your knees in and put your feet on the chair, while the dog slowly approached and only stops when Baran says "no." He stops and goes back to his own bed.

Baran al Hashimi who takes you to a fancy bar with her friends, precisely on one of those rare days when both of you are free… because the boys went to a sleepover to celebrate a friend’s birthday.

Baran al Hashimi who watches in silence, with a small smirk, when she realizes you fit in way too easily with her friends, as if you had always been their friend.

Baran al Hashimi who catches herself looking too much at your mouth when you bring the glass to your lips, following the movement without even realizing she’s doing it.

Baran al Hashimi who only notices when one of the friends raises an eyebrow and lightly clears her throat while smiling, and then she looks away too quickly, the slight blush giving everything away.

Baran al Hashimi who, trying to compose herself, calls the waiter and orders another drink for you, without even looking in your direction, because she already knows exactly what you like. And of course she gets it right.

Baran al Hashimi who lets the friends lead the conversation just so she can observe you better, completely distracted, you being the most interesting point of the night for her...

Baran al Hashimi who as the night goes on gets closer to you. A hand on your arm when she laughs, fingers lightly sliding over your thigh under the table while she comments something low in your ear.

Baran al Hashimi who doesn’t even try to hide it that much anymore, especially after realizing you don’t pull away.

Baran al Hashimi who gets up from the table with a “be right back”, and you don’t even realize how much your attention stays on her until she disappears down the bar hallway and until her friends start subtly asking a lot of questions.

Baran al Hashimi who comes back a few minutes later, and raises an eyebrow when she notices you a bit stiff and the friends with suspicious smiles. — “what did I miss?”

Baran al Hashimi who receives as an answer just a. — “nothing much…” followed by several amused looks in your direction. And you just laugh and gesture for her to sit down again.

Baran al Hashimi who later that night, still has the glass in her hand when the friends all get up at once, and that last one touching her shoulder before saying "don’t do anything stupid... or do" and leaving laughing.

Baran al Hashimi who sighs and smiles already understanding everything, but looks at you and sees you laughing a little nervously and looking away, and her hand automatically goes up to your earrings. An old habit of yours whenever you get nervous.

Baran al Hashimi who sets the glass aside and slowly approaches and holds both your wrists with one hand to lower them so you stop touching your earrings.

Baran al Hashimi who whispers — "stay still..." with her hand on your face while pulling you into a kiss.

Baran al Hashimi’s friends who know exactly what they did, and come back minutes later as if they hadn’t done anything. Just quick looks and little laughs, but no one comments on it, they just go back to talking normally.

Baran al Hashimi who insists on taking you home, like she had already done on the way there. And who parks in front of your house... and no one moves to get out.

Until you look at each other again, and it’s Baran who pulls you again. Leaning over the center console, using one hand for support while the other comes up to hold your chin. And you return it without even thinking, hands going up to her neck, your fingers tangling in her curls. Baran sighed against your mouth when your fingers lightly tugged her hair. She kissed you slowly, without rush.

The hand that was holding your chin slid to your neck and stopping at the base pulling you a little closer. Wanting to end the space between you.

You follow without thinking, leaning your body toward her, and try to mimic her position, supporting yourself on the center console, but your hand slips, not finding any support.

And in the next second your foreheads lightly bump. A surprised silence hangs for two seconds before you both let out a laugh.

"Oh my god" You look away leaning back against the passenger seat. "Sorry... I totally ruined the moment."

"It’s okay... I took part in that too." Baran stared at you with a smile, her hand lifting to play with a strand of your hair, absentmindedly wrapping it around her fingers.

"Even so… terrible timing" You add still with that bit of embarrassment, but you look back at her.

And the way she looks at you makes your stomach twist. Tilts her head with that soft smile of hers, not fully showing her teeth."We should go out together more often... just the two of us."

"I would love that." You lean in toward her again, this time more carefully placing a quick and short kiss on her lips. "Good night, Baran." You murmur against her lips before pulling away.

"Good night." She replies softly that damn smile never leaving her face, looking you up and down as you get out of the car.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Still on the subject of Thinky, Whitaker, and the reader. They are a trio of divas.

*Translated using Google Translate (sorry for any translation errors)*

It had been their third month in the emergency room. And it had been chaos. Whitaker seemed to have been cursed; everything that could go wrong, did go wrong. Santos was still stuck in that complicated situation from the Langdown case… and you could feel the weight of it in every step she took through the hospital. No one spoke openly about it, but everyone knew.

And you? Your problem was never dealing with the pressure. It was dealing with time.

Long shifts, studying, responsibilities… and your mind that sometimes seemed to race faster than you could keep up. Reports piled up, schedules got jumbled, little things slipped through your fingers. It was like trying to put together a jigsaw puzzle while the pieces insisted on moving.

Still, you managed.

And that's why, finally, God blessed you with a quiet shift. Extremely rare after weeks of pure ER chaos. You breathed for the first time in months. You realized you NEEDED to do something different. Not just for yourself, but for your friends too.

Whitaker was two steps away from having a public meltdown, and Santos… Well, she was clearly avoiding any kind of interaction with people that wasn't strictly necessary. She was probably close to assaulting someone.

So, you were leaning against the counter, twirling a pen between your fingers, staring intently at a paper on the wall—a vaccine campaign—and trying to remember if you'd eaten anything that day (probably not), you spoke, still somewhat thoughtfully:

"We should go out."

"I'm already leaving. My shift ends in twenty minutes." Whitaker didn't even look up from the chart he was writing.

You sighed, turning to lean your back against the counter and crossing your arms.

"No. Really go out. Like normal people. Short clothes, loud music, questionable decisions… women."

"That sounds like a terrible idea," he said, now finally looking at you.

"The women part?" You raised an eyebrow, confused.

Whitaker stammered, and you could swear you saw him blush slightly.

"I, personally, want to drink until I forget my name," you finished, in your usual calm tone, as if you hadn't put him in an awkward position.

Santos still had the medical record in her hand, but she clearly wasn't reading anything anymore. A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

"Women?" she repeated, looking at you, amused.

"I'm trying to sell the idea." You smiled and shrugged.

"It's selling very badly," Whitaker murmured, still too afraid to look properly at the two of you.

Santos let out a genuine chuckle now, shaking his head. "No, like, I understood the concept."

"…you've always been like this and I never noticed?" Whitaker blinked slowly.

"It's my charm." You blinked back, still smiling.

"I don't even know if I have the energy for this." Whitaker ran a hand over his face.

"You don't need energy," you replied simply. "You just need to show up. The rest we can solve with bad drinks and bad decisions."

"That definitely doesn't reassure me."

"It wasn't supposed to reassure you."

"We survived the worst possible months. This deserves, at the very least, a bad night at a dodgy club." Santos closed the chart with a light sigh, finally turning a little more towards you.

"You can't be on her side." Whitaker crossed his arms, looking defeated.

"See? Sensible people." You tilted your head, satisfied.

"You just said you want to forget your own name." Whitaker retorted.

"Details. And that's the lightest thing I want to do tonight."

They both slowly turned their heads in your direction. You held their gaze for a second… two… Then you scratched the back of your neck, completely oblivious.

"What?"

Whitaker exhaled through his nose, disbelieving. Santos just shook her head, chuckling softly. And that was it.

They already knew they were going to end up going anyway.

The plan had already started going wrong before it even began; you spent about 30 minutes trying to find an Uber.

"Is he coming?" Santos asked, looking at his phone for the third time.

You turned your phone so she could look. "The app says yes."

"He's been coming for ten minutes already." Whitaker looked at the empty street, somewhat distressed.

"He… is going in circles." You narrowed your eyes at the screen.

"Why is he circling the block?" Santos leaned forward slightly to see. "Maybe he's… lost?" Whitaker suggested, without much conviction.

"With GPS?" you looked at him. "I doubt it."

The car on the map made another completely senseless turn. The three of you stood in silence, watching.

"He just passed us." Santos said slowly.

You turned at the same time. A car passed… didn't stop… and kept going.

Silence…

"Was that our Uber?" Whitaker blinked.

"It was." You held up your phone, showing the license plate.

"He… ignored us?" Santos asked, incredulous.

"I think so." you replied, too calm for the situation.

Santos opened his mouth, indignant. "How could he ignore us?? We're literally stopped here!"

Your phone vibrated.

“I didn’t find you guys.” You read the message aloud.

“You didn’t find US?” Santos opened his arms wide. “We were LITERALLY right in front of him!”

Whitaker started throwing a minor tantrum in the middle of the street, pacing back and forth, running his hand through his hair, clearly upset about what had just happened. He wasn’t exactly thrilled about leaving the house, and now he was afraid of being mugged. Santos, who had zero patience for Whitaker’s outbursts, tried to calm him down, gently pulling him and telling him to stop making a scene in the middle of the sidewalk. Even so, he continued grumbling, indignant.

You just sighed, already opening the app again, as if it were just another small setback in the middle of everything. Like, bro, you guys are going out to have fun and your shift is later the next day. You just want to enjoy yourself.

“Give him a bad rating.” Whitaker said, crossing his arms, still furious. "Very poor rating."

"Talk about his mother," Santos added.

"I'm already doing that." You started typing. And looked at them again just to justify yourself. "Not about his mother..."

"This is the closest thing to justice we're going to get today." Santos crossed his arms, looking from one to the other.

"One star. No mercy."

"Driver passed me, eye contact was made, and yet he decided to keep going." You raised your phone, reading aloud.

"That was personal." Santos turned her face away.

"It was VERY personal." Whitaker agreed.

"There. Justice served." You finished the rating.

"I'll never forget this." Whitaker took a deep breath, still offended.

"You will. In about twenty minutes, after two drinks." You patted his arm.

Finally, with the new Uber requested, all that was left was to wait… and hope that, this time, at least the driver would decide to stop.The new Uber took forever, the car on the map seemed to be standing still, and their patience was wearing thin, with them already considering going back home.

When a car pulled up right in front of the building, it was automatic. None of the three checked the license plate. Nobody looked at the app. There was no exchange of glances, not even that basic pause for confirmation.

Whitaker was the first to open the door."This is it."

"Yes." Santos agreed, already getting in.

The doors closed.

The car was silent for two seconds.

Three.

Four.

Suddenly, the driver turned around quickly—Startled.

Very startled."What—?"

The three of you froze.

"...you're not an Uber?" Whitaker blinked, confused.

"No??" The man frowned, completely lost.

Whitaker was already starting to panic. "Sorry, sorry—it was an accident—we thought that—"

"We thought you were an Uber." Santos finished, stumbling over her words.

"We've been waiting for a long time—" you added, watching Whitaker open the door.

"But you just got in." The driver was still looking at you, not understanding anything.

"IT WAS AN ACCIDENT. YOU JUST STOPPED—" Whitaker insisted, already getting out of the car.

"I'm really sorry." Santos got out right behind him.

"Have a good night." You were the last to leave, carefully closing the door.

The car remained stopped for a second… two…

And then it drove away.

"Bro, why was his door unlocked? And what the hell was he doing here?" You said, laughing.

Santos shook her head, while Whitaker just stared at the street, completely lost and embarrassed. Luckily, a few seconds later a car pulled up on the other side of the street. You slowly pulled out your phone, checking the license plate, the model, the color.

"I don't get in without visual and spiritual confirmation." Whitaker walked around the car, looking at the license plate again, just to be sure.

The driver rolled down the window, looking somewhat confused at the whole inspection.

"Uber?"

"YES!" the three of you said at the same time, this time calmly getting into the car.

With your dignity partially recovered.The ride to the club was uneventful, starting with casual conversation and towards the end turning into a serious debate about why the Uber had simply driven past and ignored the three of you on the sidewalk. Every now and then the driver would say "it happens" or "I've heard worse," which only fueled the discussion.

"He looked at us," Whitaker insisted.

"He looked," Santos confirmed.

"And even so, he drove away."

And in the silence you tilted your head slightly, analyzing, your back against the car door.

"Maybe… it's you, Whitaker."

"What do you mean, ME?" He turned around immediately.

You and Santos looked him up and down in silence before adding him at the same time. "You're wearing a cropped top."

"So what??" He said, a little embarrassed.

"So what... this here," Santos pointed to herself, "is an outfit."

"This here is also an outfit." You lightly ran your hand over your skirt.

"Yeah! We look hot."

"Very," you agreed, relaxed.Whitaker was silent for a second, processing.

"And me?"

You both looked at him. Making a deliberately dramatic pause."You... are wearing a cropped top." She shrugged.

"It's not a problem."

"It's an explanation," you added.

It wasn't long before the car finally stopped in front of the club. And of course, the cropped top story didn't last more than five minutes. You were just teasing him. Come on, you're three divas.

Without thinking too much, you went straight for your objective. Dragging the two of them to the bar, you ordered three shots, without argument. The glasses arrived, you stood up, exchanged a quick glance so as not to hesitate... and drank.

Whitaker grimaced immediately, his hand lightly squeezing your shoulder, trying to push away the sensation.

"This is really bad." Santos disguised a grimace.

"Wow." You just took a deep breath and turned to the dance floor.

And for a moment you just watched the crowded dance floor, people dancing, glasses being raised, people bumping into each other and dancing.

"Okay, then..."

"Where are the ladies?" It seemed like Santos had read your mind and finished your question.

You two looked at each other, that very familiar look between you. A smile appeared on your lips. Whitaker knew very well what was coming and immediately intervened, an automatic response.

"Not really."

The silence between you was complete.

"We could… make this more interesting," you commented, feigning too much casualness for someone who clearly already had an idea.

"I hate when it starts like this." Whitaker let out a long sigh.

"I like it." Santos almost smiled.

"Simple rules."

"Always." Santos nodded immediately.

"I'm not going to like this." He closed his eyes for a second.

"Of course not," you continued, completely ignoring him. "Whoever kisses someone first… wins."

"Wins what??"Santos turned a little more towards you, her smile now truly appearing.

"Whoever wins doesn't have to do any chores around the house."

"I need more shots first."

"Me too."

"I'll pay." You were anxious.

The next shots simply came one after another, without justification. Just words of affirmation, "just go for it," and the desire to let loose.

At first it was just to liven things up, then it turned into a silent competition to see who could hold out the longest.Whitaker held on well… until the seventh. It was a good record. He downed the shot just like the others, but seconds later he froze, took a deep breath, and rested his hands on the bar counter, fighting his own decision.

You nudged his shoulder, slightly annoyed, and murmured something like, "Don't do that, I paid almost 10 dollars for a single shot."

Your fifth shot had already started to kick in. You were never the strongest drinker, it wasn't obvious, but you could feel your body lighter, your thoughts slowly forming and quickly forgotten. You mimicked Whitaker's movement and leaned on the counter, feigning composure.

"She's ahead." Whitaker glanced to the side.

"Who?" You followed his gaze, analyzing the scene, forcing your eyes to focus.

Santos was sitting on a bench facing a woman, laughing at something while casually chatting with her. Of course she was playing, and of course she was winning.

You both sighed and exchanged glances until you broke the silence.

"Fuck, she just has the sauce." You thought for a moment and asked, "Want to dance?"

"Sure..."

You danced for a while, or rather... tried to. You both seemed like revolving doors, totally clumsy, bumping into someone with every step, tripping over your own feet, without rhythm, without salvation. The loud music only made things worse. You held onto each other to avoid falling, while every now and then someone looked on, half-annoyed, or curious, or amused.

"Nothing happened," said Santos, appearing on the dance floor with a forced smile and the glass still firmly in her hand.

"Why not?"

"The woman was dating someone. I don't date people who are in relationships," she explained as if it were obvious. "So… nothing happened."

"Oh, that wouldn't be a problem for me," you commented, shrugging, provoking a shared laugh.

"We both know that," Whitaker murmured, still trying to catch his breath and regain his balance after stumbling on the dance floor.

At a certain point in the night, the three of you didn't even know what a floor was anymore, or the people around you, the lights, the walls. It was practically chaos reigning between you.

And somehow, Charli XCX's "Guess" started playing. You immediately looked at each other and got even more excited, as if that were possible. The rhythm perfectly matched the awkward way you and Whitaker were trying to dance. I mean, your lack of coordination had already become your trademark on the dance floor. Santos still had some control over everything, correcting some of your steps, but without success. She was holding her phone, recording a story, showing her face, her makeup with rhinestones and glitter highlighted by the flashing lights, and her hair pulled back in a bun with clips that matched her outfit.

Santos turned her phone towards you and Whitaker. You were talking and gesturing with a guy, trying to convince him of something. Whitaker leaned forward to listen to what the man was saying, then stepped back, making a "no" gesture with his hand, and pulled you back to dance with him again. Santos approached without hesitation, placing herself between you, just in time to hear the following comment:

"Did that shrink in the wash or was it always that small?" The man looked him up and down and let out a mocking laugh.

Whitaker stood still for a second, completely offended. You placed your hand on his shoulder in a supportive gesture.

"Seriously?" he murmured, incredulous.

He simply ignored Whitaker's presence and turned his attention back to you. Santos put her arm between you and said you were with her. You raised an eyebrow, and before you could react, Santos turned her face towards you and pressed her lips to yours in a quick peck. Quick and direct.

The guy just looked somewhat incredulous, made a low comment that you honestly didn't even hear, and left.

You quickly pushed Santos away, and you looked at each other in silence before laughing; Whitaker was surprised too. In any other situation, you would have pulled away and made a disgusted face and a tease about it. But the alcohol was working its magic, and for some reason it didn't seem strange, just funny.

"Shit. I want to drink."

"Me too."

"I'll keep an eye on you."

Still laughing, you ended up at a table far away in the corner, sprawled on the soft leather sofa. Many drinks flowed without much discussion. You were already calmer, or at least, trying to pretend. Santos was feeling better. And at some point the conversation turned to work. Because it was obvious it would come back. It's your life.

Santos was looking at Instagram stories while stirring the ice cubes in her orange vodka drink with a straw.

"Damn she's so fine," she said, sighing softly.

"Who?" you turned your head, trying to peek at her phone. "McKay? I agree..."

"What's your problem with mothers and committed women?" Whitaker asked, but you ignored him, rolling your eyes and blushing slightly.

"I'm talking about Garcia," she turned her phone towards you two, showing her story.

You and Whitaker both exclaimed "oh" at the same time, and looked at each other before laughing softly.

"You should text her." Whitaker rested his arm on the table.

"Yeah! The other day she kind of indirectly asked me if you were single," you said, mimicking his pose.

"How come you never brought this up before?!" Santos turned to you quickly, surprised.

"I didn't think it was relevant." You shrugged.

"Yeah, we didn't know you were interested in her." Whitaker took a sip of his drink.

"I don't…"

"You are!

"Yes, you do."

A few seconds of silence before you encouraged her again.

"Send the message, Trinity."

She sighed, looking at the story for a moment before clicking to reply. "Okay, and what do I send?"

"Let me help you." You simply leaned over the table and grabbed her phone without giving her time to react. Ignoring her protest as you typed rapidly.

"What did you do?" She said, sounding a little worried, as she picked up the phone and read the message: "I was thinking about you just now. Want to go out with me this week?"

"It's awful… but it works." Whitaker chuckled softly, leaning in to see better.

"I hated it. It has nothing to do with me, I wouldn't say that."

"It's done now, so relax. Thank me later."

Even grumbling, Santos ended up grabbing a drink too… and, little by little, the conversation changed, the three of them going back to enjoying the night, with her cell phone face down on the table and momentarily forgotten.

And, apparently, the cell phone wasn't the only thing forgotten.

The memories of the rest of the night came broken and disjointed, blurred by alcohol and exhaustion. You remember loud laughter, and the path to the room that wasn't exactly straight. Even the simple attempt to lie down on the bed was flawed, it was as if the distance had been deliberately lengthened. The impact with the floor came sooner than expected, accompanied by uncontrollable laughter and Whitaker's voice asking if everything was alright.

Whitaker tried to pull you back up, completely weak from laughing and the alcohol. With great difficulty, he managed to lift you and carry you to the bed. Your body collapsed onto the mattress almost immediately, and from then on, everything was silent. At some point, between consciousness and complete blackout, came that belated regret, the realization that you had drunk more than you should have, along with the uncomfortable certainty that the hangover the next day would be awful.

And that's exactly what happened.

You woke up with a throbbing, heavy headache, as if each beat came directly behind your eyes. Your mouth was dry, your body sluggish, and that unpleasant feeling of regret seemed to cling to your skin. You sat up, still wearing the clothes from the previous night, the fabric now crumpled and with a few small alcohol stains. Only one of your heels was still on your foot, misaligned, almost falling off.

With a slow movement, you kicked the remaining heel, letting it fall somewhere in the room without the slightest concern.Now, sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the closet door for several long minutes. Trying to regain consciousness, each thought requiring too much effort. You tried to remember who drove you home, who the woman behind the wheel was... no chance it was an Uber at that hour.

You also wondered where your cell phone was, and the other of your heels. Looking at yourself in the mirror and letting out a sigh, you ran your hand over your face, feeling the remaining mascara on your eyelashes, and what was left of your makeup. And of course there was a bump on the forehead; you definitely remembered that fall. And not only that one, but the fall when you went to sit in a chair in front of the bar at the club. You drifted through many vague memories... even a very strange one, about seeing Whitaker kissing someone? strange things...

Your mind returned to reality when you heard the sound of the coffee maker, the sound of the cutlery hitting the sink. Which didn't make sense, because you were usually the one who made the coffee. It definitely wasn't something Whitaker and Santos would do, they didn't even do it on normal days, let alone on a day like this. They're probably passed out somewhere in the house.

And another strange thing, you weren't late. But even so, that was enough to make you get up. Maybe you still had time to compose yourselves before work. Maybe it wouldn't be a complete disaster.

Although, honestly, you didn't even remember what time you got home. Everything after a certain point in the night simply… disappeared. Still, judging by how heavy your body felt and the relentless headache, it was easy to guess: at most, about four hours of sleep. Maybe less. Nothing ideal. But not exactly uncommon either.

Still, as you left the room and walked towards the kitchen, your mind began to fill in the blanks with increasingly absurd hypotheses. But in the end, you chose the logical one.

Maybe you had brought someone home.

Maybe it was just an acquaintance… or a stranger.

Or not even that.

You imagined several possibilities as you approached. You expected anyone… but you definitely didn't expect to see Yolanda Garcia in your kitchen. Completely different from the image you had of her at the hospital, none of the impeccable posture, none of the formality. She was very casual and comfortable. As if she belonged in that space. As if it were absolutely normal to be there, in your kitchen, making coffee on any given morning.

For a second that was far too long, you simply stood there, extremely confused, lightly scratching the back of your neck, trying to understand at what point in the night this had become reality. Garcia didn't even seem surprised to see you. On the contrary. She glanced quickly in your direction, a half-smile appearing as she made a sarcastic comment, followed by a "good morning" said with too much naturalness for the situation.

As if you woke up together every day.

As if that wasn't completely absurd.

You were still processing, or trying to, when you heard another sound behind you. The bathroom door.

Santos appeared in the hallway shortly after, still showing clear signs of having just woken up, but strangely, she didn't seem as affected as you. There wasn't the same weight in her movements, nor the same expression of tiredness... well, at least not the same as yours.

Still… something was off. Her hair, especially in the back, was more tangled than usual, as if she'd been through a difficult situation, more than just a sleepless night. And her expression? Bright?

When she saw you standing there, there was a small pause. A second of silently assessing the situation… and then, against all expectations, she smiled. Not a free or natural smile. A somewhat stiff and embarrassed smile.

The kind of thing that simply didn't suit her, much less in the morning, much less after a drinking binge. And, as if that wasn't strange enough, she even said good morning to you? It didn't fit. Nothing about it fit.

And it was at that moment that the feeling solidified: you hadn't just lost a few hours of the previous night. He had lost something else. And, the way things were going, Whitaker would probably be shocked when he realized it too.

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Honestly, I'm not good at writing in this format, but I tried. Because I wanted to read and create something funny. I leave the drama for the pitt series. I like to have fun. I'm already writing other ideas about this trio, but in a different format. Maybe this will become a series.

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Baran al Hashimi who met you at the taekwondo gym, because her son takes classes with your son. And of course, they became best friends from the very first class.

Baran al Hashimi who responds to your attempts at conversation with short, polite answers… but clearly keeps her distance. She finds it strange how quickly the boys bonded and it bothers her more than she’d like to admit.

Baran al Hashimi who only starts talking to you because the boys won’t leave each other’s side.

Baran al Hashimi who exchanges numbers with you “for safety,” making it very clear it’s just because of the kids.

Baran al Hashimi who is extremely protective, and you have to convince her to let Zayan, her son, sleep over at your place for a sleepover. After a lot of insistence, she finally agrees. She keeps texting the whole time asking if he’s okay, if he needs anything, asking for pictures “just to be sure,” and sending you a thousand instructions on how to take care of him.

Baran al Hashimi who, whenever she can, arrives early to pick up Zayan from taekwondo just to watch him. She even lets out a small smile and takes pictures of Ravi, your son, and Zayan sparring together.

Baran al Hashimi who still doesn’t trust anyone to take care of her son, but feels oddly bothered when you don’t fully trust her to take Ravi home when you’re late picking him up. Still, she always waits with your son until you arrive, making sure he’s safe.

Baran al Hashimi who starts letting her son spend more time with yours, leaving him at your house for the afternoon because she’s too busy with work.

Baran al Hashimi who tests your reliability, watching closely how you handle her son, almost expecting you to mess up… and gets confused when you don’t.

Baran al Hashimi who starts noticing how much her son talks about you, always saying how nice you are and how much he likes being at your house. It bothers her a little, but she pretends it doesn’t.

Baran al Hashimi who subtly criticizes everything you do at first, the way you talk, how you organize things, even the snacks you bring for the boys to share, always saying Zayan doesn’t eat this or that… but slowly becomes more open about his food because of you.

Baran al Hashimi who, for the first time, thanks you sincerely, awkwardly, when she picks him up from your house after you helped him through a difficult moment.

Baran al Hashimi who starts texting you more often… always using her son as an excuse. Always rereading her messages five times before sending them.

Baran al Hashimi who replies way too fast for someone who “doesn’t care”… and gives short replies when you take a little longer to answer.

Baran al Hashimi who spends the entire day tense because the boys have a competition in the afternoon, watching closely, worried about any movement that might get them hurt.

Baran al Hashimi who barely talks to you before and during the matches, too focused on her son… but relaxes just a little when you gently squeeze her shoulder.

Baran al Hashimi who completely transforms during her son’s performance, cheering, smiling, celebrating every point like it’s the most important thing in the world.

Baran al Hashimi who surprises you by hugging you when the results are announced, first for her son’s second place… and then holding you even tighter when your son is announced in first, because even if she won’t admit it, she cares deeply about Ravi too.

Baran al Hashimi who gently leads you away from the other parents, holding your arm firmly but softly, guiding you to the boys, and only letting go once you’re both there, hugging and congratulating them.

Baran al Hashimi who surprises you again by asking someone to take a picture of all of you on the podium, the boys at the top showing off their medals, and the two of you beside them, smiling far too brightly for people who, not long ago, could barely stand each other.

Baran al Hashimi who surprises you a third time by taking everyone to a fast-food place to celebrate, completely ignoring her usual strictness about food, simply saying, “They deserve it.”

Baran al Hashimi who rarely posts on social media, but still posts that photo from the competition, with a soft caption praising both boys’ effort and how proud she is.

Baran al Hashimi who tags you in the post and secretly worries whether you’ve seen it, and gets visibly excited when you repost it with the caption “my boys 🤍”.

Baran al Hashimi who, after that, slowly starts allowing herself to like you… and trust you.

Baran al Hashimi who begins inviting you out on weekends with the kids, always pretending it’s just for them, but really, she just wants any excuse to spend time with you.

Baran al Hashimi who calls you one busy day, her voice quieter, hesitant: “There’s an emergency at the hospital… can you stay with Zayan for me?”, and for the first time, she doesn’t question whether you’re capable.

Baran al Hashimi who starts lingering during goodbyes when picking up her son, always finding one more thing to say.

Baran al Hashimi who ends up staying longer at your house when her son asks for “five more minutes”, and those five minutes turn into hours, and she doesn’t seem in a hurry to leave at all.

Baran al Hashime constantly exchanges photos of Ravi and Zayan with you. His galleries are full of photos of them together.

Baran al Hashimi who realizes a little too late… she’s not there just for her son anymore.

Baran al Hashimi who looks at you differently now, and this time, she doesn’t try so hard to hide it.

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So... Important things to say. English is not my first language, so please i'm sorry if the translation is wrong; I used Google to put everything in English. Also, I have many ideas to continue with this, so let me know if you liked it.