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Summary
Garcia tips her back as she laughs, the sound loose. The cigarette hisses faintly as she presses it against the railing, finally putting out. For a moment, the night smells like smoke and metal.
Trinity seizes the chance, grabbing Garcia by her shirt and pulling her forward. The kiss starts rough, instinctive, almost, and she gasps at the lingering taste of smoke on Garcia’s lips, bitter, and strangely enough, addictive.
or: Garsantos, before casualgate, and the words Trinity can't take back.
