worthy prince, I know’t.

i think baran is very used to flirting with men and can do it really well. she’s a very competitive flirt, with men. she will rib and poke and tease, appeal to men’s egos but roll over at the last minute. men are terrible flirts, she thinks. they don’t know how to leave anything to the imagination.

oh, yeah? and what would you do if i was?

she rolls her eyes. flirting is an art, and men are so unsubtle.

baran al-hashimi also has many close friendships with women. she struggles to fit in with groups, but has lots of strong individual friendships. she’s very touchy with them, will have their feet on her lap while they drink wine on the couch or will tuck a strand of hair behind their ears when there’s hair in their face. she loves her friends. she feels deeply for them. she also feels lonely, a lot.

this is why it’s so confusing when, after a long shift, trinity santos asks if she can kiss her.

they’re at a bar just across from the hospital, and everyone else from their shift has gone home while they’ve been talking. and maybe baran and trinity have chatted a few times while trinity’s had a smoke break and baran was out getting some air in the ambulance bay, but baran had never picked up any kind of flirtation from her. she’d never even thought—

trinity looks at her for a moment, tilting her beer from side to side, and smiles to herself. never mind, she says. don’t worry about it.

oh, baran responds, because she doesn’t know what to say. i’m sorry. you just caught me off guard, a little.

she must have flushed down to her chest, because trinity takes in the look on her face, and smiles again, a little like a smirk.

no, trinity says. my bad. i think i misread this.

she looks down to baran’s hand, which is placed onto her knee. baran withdraws it, humiliated.

oh, she says, feeling stupid.

why don’t we just forget about it? trinity replies, throwing her a lifeline. clock in tomorrow like nothing happened.

baran looks at trinity’s face, at the line of her jaw. at her completely easy posture, not having shifted one inch even after technically being rejected. trinity’s a lesbian, she thinks. obvious, in hindsight.

i, um. she starts, uncharacteristically nervous.

baran, i hope i didn’t make you uncomfortable. the posture doesn’t change, but trinity’s head tilts a little in concern. the r in baran’s name rolls off her tongue, easy, and baran blushes deeper.

it’s not that. no, she says. i just, um. it didn’t occur to me that—

she’s fucking this up. she takes a breath.

i’ve never been flirted with by a woman before. she’s proud of how even her voice is, at the little smile she pushes out through closed lips.

trinity smiles again in response, this time with her teeth. oh yeah? she says. proud to be your first.

oh. that’s definitely flirting. baran begins to re-evaluate their last few interactions.

oh yeah? in the ambulance bay. and in your professional opinion, what is the best way to do a blind finger-bougie crike, dr al-hashimi?

better you than me, dr al-hashimi.

you have a son? but aren’t you like, thirty-five?

the words themselves are innocuous, but combined with the way trinity lowers her voice, crosses her arms, juts her chin out a little….

oh.

baran leans forward over the bar, touches trinity’s forearm gently with her fingertips. trinity looks at the hand carefully, and then back at her face. baran looks at her lips. she wonders.

could you ask me that question again? she requests. in two weeks, when i leave?

trinity grins. sure can, boss.

NATIONAL HOLIDAY