Sylvie tried to find something to say that was light and encouraging. She actually appreciated that she was now one of the people Casey leaned on the most at 51 – he didn't really have anyone outside the house, and he'd admitted that with Kidd having moved in to Severide's place, he felt awkward talking to Severide about much, like he was horning in on their couple time. So he was going out more, trying to 'move on' apparently while also staying out of their way, working long hours on construction projects so he was only really sleeping there, but Sylvie really wanted to be encouraging his pursuit of happiness, not be a jealous meanie, who thought he was hot, and kind, and sweet, and hot – how had she not noticed how handsome he was when he was married? She'd been so convinced that he was so lucky to have Gabby, but damn, Gabby had been lucky to have him, too.

So Matt was talking to her now, not Severide. This time, it had been an insensitive bitch (Sylvie's thoughts, not his) who had basically cut him off at the knees when he mentioned he had a roommate. They'd been going out three weeks (Casey's attempts at being discrete were ruined by the perpetual gossip queens at 51, so this was not news), and the woman had wanted to go back to his, and he'd gotten to the fact he was living with a friend (he had not, he said, gotten to the whole 'I lost everything I owned in a fire and insurance is insisting that the court case be finished before officially determining I wasn't the arsonist'). Apparently, he'd passed along, having a roommate at 37 made him a 'loser' who was 'immature, financially unstable, or worse, both' and that he'd never find a normal woman who'd date a guy nearing 40 who didn't at least have his shit together enough to live on his own. She could imagine Matt, sweet, solemn, genuinely-cares-about-what-you're-saying, and much more sensitive than most people knew Matt Casey, listening to a woman he liked call him a loser and then getting stuck with the dinner-and-drinks bill, and here he was, of course, blaming himself, believing this woman (though he didn't say as much, it was pretty obvious, and she was drunk, so it must be really obvious) and it made her mad. Very mad. He was such a decent guy, and that face, and he was nicely built, and he was not a loser at all – even when she was sober she totally did not think he was a loser at all. He was kind and warm and very responsible and very mature and very hot. Okay, she was drunk, and focusing on the 'attractive' thing a little too much.

"You don't have to disagree with her, you know." Matt managed a sad attempt at a half-smile. Her confusion must have shown on her face. "You look like you're trying to come up with a nice, supportive, Sylvie Brett way of saying she's right – of all the fish in the sea, I'm the worst catch, so to speak."

"Uhm, no, not what was I thinking at all. Trust me, you have to scrape the bottom of a really deep barrel to be the worst catch in the sea." She meant that, truly, there were a surprisingly high number of shitty people in the dating pool. Like apparently this Miranda woman he'd been seeing. Seeing the look on his face, she kept going, "Not that you're a bad catch at all, Matt Casey. You're kind, and sweet, and very handsome, and you've got a good job – two good jobs really, so bonus for that – and you're a great friend, and you have the most amazing eyes, has anyone told you that?"
"You've been trying to keep up with Foster again, haven't you?" He asked, a more genuine smile spreading across his face.

"No, well, yes, but she bought and she kept buying, before she left to go to some thing for a friend or with a friend or about a friend." Sylvie explained. "But me being drunk is not why you have beautiful eyes. You just do. Me being drunk might be why I'm saying it though. But it's better than saying the other thing I was thinking, so it's okay, because the other thing I was thinking is you're hot. And that would be awkward. Maybe. If you're not okay with that. Not with being hot, I guess you're okay with that, you've probably been hot like your entire life, but with me saying it."

"Were you drinking beer all night?" He gestured to what was in her hand. She didn't follow his jump in topic, but oh well.

"What? This?" She glanced at the bottle. "No. After round three of whiskey, I told Foster I had to switch to beer."
"Three? And how many beers?"
"This is my third, but I've had like…two sips out of it. You're not going to buy me a drink, are you?"
"Well, I was going to offer, since you've listened to me complain, but I think now I'm going to offer to take you home instead."
"See?! Nice, sweet, kind Matt Casey – definitely a good catch."

"Yeah, nice guys, what every woman wants apparently." Matt scoffed, rolling his eyes a little. "Stay here, I'll clear my tab with Herrmann."
"I'll be here." She assured, thankful a moment later that the bar was kind of loud as "enjoying the view of your butt," slipped out because she was actually that shallow tonight, he had a nice butt. His turnout gear of course did not show it off, but sometimes his duty pants did. Tonight, his dress pants did. He'd gotten dressed up, they must've gone somewhere nice, and then he got dumped, and told he was a loser. He probably paid the bill, too, he was the type to always pay for a girl, definitely. Typical Casey. Treated like crap and paid for the privilege of it. He was back a minute later, she almost laughed because he'd be the type to never realize but he always got served like first in the whole place because that was just Herrmann and Otis being respectful of their boss like that – everyone in the house adored Casey, even when he was making them nuts with drills and stuff.

"What're you grinning about?" He asked with a smile.

"You."
"Laughing at me, huh? Can't blame you." His smile was fake now, though.

"Sort of, but not like you think. Her loss, Matt. I mean that. Everyone here loves you and if she doesn't, well, that's just poop for her."
"Poop for her?" Matt laughed lightly. "You're in a bar, you can swear."
"I don't like to swear much." She shrugged. "Except, well, you don't need to know that."
"You ready to head home?"
"With you?"
"Well, I'm driving, but no, I'll take you back to yours. Otis said Cruz should be back from his date with Chloe by now."
"What if he brought Chloe back to ours? He thinks Otis and I are both out for the evening."
"I'm sure they'll be in the bedroom in that case." He reassured as he ushered her out of the bar.

"Hey, Case, 'hawks tickets next Wednesday, you in?" Severide asked as they passed his table. Kidd had a weird look on her face, Sylvie couldn't place it, but it was weird. "Section 110, 2nd row."
"Hell yes I'm in. I'm gonna take Brett home – she tried to keep up with Foster again – catch you back home."
"Sure, later."

"You know, I think Kidd doesn't like you living there. Or maybe she was just jealous Severide didn't take her to the Blackhawks."

"Yeah, I'm thinking about getting a new place. I'll have to rent for a while."

"Ooh, let me help again this time! I love real estate. You should totally buy in this market, you know, you could make money on a fixer, you can do the work yourself and everything."
"I would, if I get the insurance settled. Then again, I have nothing to go in a house. Or an apartment. I don't even own a mattress, or an entire wardrobe that doesn't say Chicago Fire Department on it."
"Oh, I forgot for a second. Sorry. How long on that?"
"Lawyers say a month or so until the case is wrapped up, so maybe six weeks."
"It's been almost a year – since last December. Good thing you've got Severide."
"He's a good friend, letting me crash in the guest room for 10 months." Matt agreed. She looked at him, he was so earnest and kind and hot. She was stuck on the 'hot' tonight. Then something occurred to her.

"I just realized you sleep in the bed Kidd used to sleep in. The same sheets even. Washed but still. That's kinda weird. I bet they had sex in her room sometimes. So like, you sleep in their bed, sort of."
"Now I'm going to be thinking about that tonight. Thanks for that." Matt chuckled a little. They pulled up near her building. He didn't have a parking spot, so he'd had to take what was sort of near her building. They had official visitor spots, she remembered. Too few, but it was a weeknight, so there were some left probably.

"You can go in the parking. You can have a visitor spots. I'll give you the code. But shhh, we're not supposed to give it out, we're supposed to buzz you in with your phones, but I don't know if I can type the code right right now."
"Alright, what's the code I have to enter?" He asked, but he hadn't moved the truck.

"Uhm, you have to be at the gate."
"I know that, I'm just not getting stuck up there and then you can't remember it."
"Oh. I remember it! I'm not that drunk."
"You're pretty drunk. It's adorable but also a little concerning."
"It's Foster's fault. She drinks a lot. Not like at work, Captain Casey, sir. Just, like, out, she drinks more than I ever have."
"I can tell. The code?"
"Oh, yeah. 03-04-18-37. Then my apartment number. Do you know that?"

"Yeah. Between you, Otis, and Cruz, it's on a lot of paperwork I see."
"There's an elevator. Thankfully. I'm not sure I like stairs right now."
"Probably not." Casey agreed, as he punched in the code and the gate rolled back. He found the visitors spots easily up on the almost top bit of the parking deck. How did he know that? She got distracted, or something, because he was holding open his truck door, looking at her expectantly.

"What?"
"You're not sleeping in my truck, Sylvie. Let's go inside."
"Your truck is comfy. Not new, but reliable, comfy, lived in. Like you."
"I don't know if that's a compliment. Probably true, though." Matt shook his head.

"I mean, it smells like you. Not that you're lived in or comfy. You might be comfy. I've never sat on you." She admitted as she slipped from the truck and headed towards the door into the residential part of the building. She was not sure the parking had always been this unlevel. She continued, "it smells like you. Like, good things. Like wood and sawdust and that guy smell, just whatever it is, that Matt smell that is just you, not anything else."
"I have a smell?" He caught her as she threatened to fall into him, the floor was really unlevel tonight and right in front of the elevator too, that was silly, who built it like that?
"mm-hmm. It's nice. See you smell like it right now. Sort of. You wore cologne though. It covers it up. It's nice cologne, but I miss you smell."
"I did have a date tonight. I didn't think 'me smell' was what I should go with."
"When we date, don't bother with cologne. You smell sexier with the sawdust and you smell."
"Are we dating?" Matt asked with a chuckle.
"I could stop being jealous of stupid mean women who say you're a 'loser' then. And you wouldn't get stuck paying for dinner with a woman who would call you a 'loser'. Which isn't good. Plus, then it wouldn't be weird that I was checking out your butt tonight when you paid your tab."
"You were?" He wasn't chuckling now, as they got out of the elevator on her floor. It wasn't even many floors down from where they had been, but she was sure the stairs would be even more unlevel than the parking.
"Mm-hmm. You have a cute butt in those pants. Also, you have the bluest eyes. I love your eyes. Did I say that already tonight? I'm drunk. I think I'm drunker than I think. Thought. I'm drunker enough to just decide we're dating, so you can stop being with mean women and I can stop dealing with guys who don't want what I want or whatever it is that means I keep ending up with guys who don't understand me or the job. And since we're dating, I can look at your ass and it's not weird. And your eyes. And your…you."
"Is Cruz actually home? I could knock. I think you're a little drunk to be left home by yourself."
"You can sleep over! If we're dating now, it's fine if you sleep over. Chloe sleeps over sometimes. And Lily too."
"That would probably not be a good idea."
"But if you leave, hey, what're you doing, that's my purse." He just reached out and took her purse off her shoulder and was opening it. Rude.
"And we've been standing at your door for a full minute. You have a key?"
"Oh, yeah, it's in there. Sorry."
"Let's get you inside." He said, as he found the key and opened the door. He guided her inside, even though she lived there. "Cruz!" He called out, but there was no answer. She figured that meant he was at Chloe's, or maybe they were still out, it wasn't that late, not really, she was just drunk kinda early. Because of Foster. Who was a bad influence. Whose bad influence led her to be here, being ushered around her own apartment by Matt Casey. Who was also her boss. Sort of. Not really. So it wasn't a conflict really because he couldn't give orders to ambo. Except sometimes. And he processed all their personnel paperwork and stuff. So some authority. But that didn't mean he was her boss and she shouldn't be attracted to him because of rules. He smelled good. Sexy. And he was probably really well built. She'd never actually seen him shirtless. But he had to be. She wanted to know. "Let's get you some water." His voice pulled her from her thoughts. Even his voice was sexy.
"I'm not thirsty. I had lots of liquid, too much, I mean." She was pretty sure if she drank anything more, she'd start to feel sick. Plus, she kind of didn't want to sober up just yet. She was enjoying the feelings of being close to him.
"You're drunk." Matt reminded. "water will help."
"But if I get less drunker, I won't have the guts to do this." She said, then practically fell into him to kiss him. Maybe it was his body heat, or his smell, or his Matt Casey-ness, but she was drunk enough to go with it and worry about whatever later, so she kissed him, good and long and hard. She kissed him and enjoyed that he kissed back and he was good at it. He kissed like he did everything else, like it was the only thing on the planet going on right at that moment, and damn it, she wanted him, wanted to throw him on the nearest surface and just kiss him until they both passed out from lack of oxygen. She always got wet easily when she was drunk, and she could feel herself getting really turned on, and she pushed impossibly closer to him, her hands roaming, trying to get their fill of him, all the things forbidden to her before right now, and speaking of forbidden, she fumbled at his fly, damn dress pants were harder to get than jeans, and she mostly ended up groping him through his pants, but just for a second because then his hands grabbed her wrists, firmly but not too hard, and he was pushing her away from him, which caused her to whine – she didn't mean to, but she didn't want to be away from his heat and his smell and his Matt Casey-ness.

"Not tonight, Sylvie."
"Why not?"
"You're too drunk to make this sort of decision." He paused. "And I'm not the kind of guy who takes one woman to dinner and sleeps with a different woman on the same night."
"She should've hit that then, her loss."
"If you really want this," Matt sighed, but smiled at her, "you'll still want it when you're sober. I respect you way too much, and value our friendship too much, to not wait for sober enthusiastic consent. I mean, I always do, would, but especially with you."
"Why are you such a good guy?" She asked, half in complaint, half out of just sheer affection for this sweet, solemn, lovely man. Who was also really hot, hence her half complaint. "But I think I love it about you, you know? You're good. Not nice, I mean, you're nice, but you're not nice like you have good manners and act the part, you're good. Down to your bones. Do you know that? You're good down to your bones, Matt Casey, and that's why I love you. Well, that and you're hot with beautiful eyes."
"Let's get you to bed. With some water. I'll text Cruz, see where he's at."
"Don't bother him, he's with Chloe. Otis will be home at like 3. I'll be fine. Or you could stay."
"On the sofa." He gave her a sharp look, as her hands wandered down his body again. She couldn't help it. He should be touched. She was drunk, but she also noticed that while his mouth said 'no' his body was saying 'yes' – he liked being touched.

"With me." She shook her head. "Not like…I respect your 'no'. Just in the bed."

"I don't think that's a good idea."
"You don't trust me?"
"Drunk? Not entirely." He chuckled.
"So you're good and you're smart." She laughed. "But I promise. No roving hands tonight. But I want a cuddle. Just a cuddle. I miss the cuddling."
"Yeah, it's hard to go back to sleeping alone. Come on, this is you, right?" He gestured to the bedroom he'd led them down the hall to. She nodded.

"That's me. I'm gonna brush my teeth first. Be right back."

"I'll get that glass of water."
She came into the bedroom, unsurprised to find he'd already turned back the covers. He was the type to do that. He was also the type, it turned out, to turn around when she started changing clothes. Which she'd probably appreciate when she was sober, but tonight it was just silly and adorable. She'd let him see the whole show anyway. She was in her PJs, nearly fell into bed, then looked up at him.

"Your turn. Oh, I could get something from Cruz's room for you-"
"It's fine. I've slept worse." He shrugged, sitting on the edge of the bed, taking off his shoes from what she could tell and guess. She couldn't see it, the angle was bad and his shoulders were between her eyes and his actions and oooh, he had nice shoulders. He took off the outer, nice, shirt he was wearing, too.

"Your pants." She prompted, then explained at his look. "I mean, they're nice, don't wrinkle them. I promise to keep my hands to myself, you can take your pants off. Though I'll be tempted. It felt nice, the like second I touched it."
"Thanks, I think." He chuckled again. "You know, this sort of thing is easier when you girls crash at a guy's – I can just give you some boxers and an old t-shirt."
"I could give you my underwear." She laughed. "I don't think it'd suit you."

"Or fit." He grinned.

"Take your pants off. Unless you're not wearing underwear. That might be too much temptation."

"You've known me for almost five years." He laughed, shaking his head. He also stood to remove his pants, and she unashamedly checked out his ass. "If you think not wearing underwear is an option, you don't know me nearly well enough for us to do this. Or even think about going where all that kissing out in the living room was going."
"You've never not worn underwear?"
"You have? I mean, gone out with no underwear?"

"Yep." She popped the 'p'. "It was kind of a dare. But it felt kind of…naughty and I kind of liked it."
"Damn it." He blushed a little, but she didn't know why.

"I was just joking." She reassured, not wanting him to think she didn't know him very well. "I mean, I totally did that, but I mean I knew you'd be wearing underwear. I even knew it would be black boxer briefs, plain black, always, and always Jockey. Dawson joked about how predictable you are." She realized he looked taken aback or something and he was definitely blushing more now. "I just mean I know who you are, Matt Casey."
"Yeah."
"And you are comfy and warm and you smell good and I'm drunk enough to ask so just get over here for cuddles."
"Drink some of that water. I'll stay until Otis or Cruz gets home, okay?"