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Summary
It didn’t help that what once was a light shower became a downpour over the dance floor. Large droplets fell from the sky, lit up like crystals by the flashing lights. Red, then blue, then purple, then green.
Baran could see Santos’ hair clinging to her neck and her cheeks as she moved. She could see water droplets falling from Santos’ hands and arms as she reached up to pull Garcia down into an aggressive kiss. She could see, as hard as she tried not to focus on it, Santos’ light-colored dress start to melt and cling to her skin—how the fabric became increasingly translucent by the second.
That dress...
Or, Baran Al-Hashimi says yes to a rare night out with the PTMC ladies (+ Whitaker), but spends the whole night admiring Trinity Santos from afar.