There were certain unspoken rules about life in a firehouse; never mention the 'q' word, always put a fresh pot of coffee on, and keep your eyes to yourself in the locker room.
Living and working in the firehouse for twenty-four hours at a time already meant a distinct lack of privacy, even without taking into consideration the communal sleeping and shower areas. So when changing out in the locker room you keep your eyes front, you don't look sideways, and you make good friends with the locker door in front of you.
Which is why Casey will go to his grave saying his first glimpse of Brett's tattoo was a total accident.
He'd been staring at his locker door at the end of the shift, trying his best to not think about their last call. He wasn't even sure what made him look over, if she made a noise, if he caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eyes; he wasn't sure why he looked over because he hadn't even realised there was anyone in the locker room with him.
But he did look over, doing so unthinkingly, and in doing so caught a glimpse of creamy skin, a strip of white lace, and a collection of clean, black lines inked into her skin, before he jerked his gaze up and met Sylvie's wide eyes.
Spinning back around to face his locker, Casey coughed and shook his head, trying to wipe away the image of her long bare legs and that little tattoo on her hip bone for his own good.
"Sorry, I- I'm sorry."
Sylvie gave a forced giggle, clearly trying to lighten the mood. "It's fine! Not like you saw anything. Not that you were-"
She broke off and Casey idly wondered which one of them was blushing a deeper red.
"I have to admit I hadn't taken you for a tattoo kind of girl." Unthinkingly, Casey went to glance at her again before snapping his gaze back straight.
Sylvie laughed again. "It's fine, you're safe to look. And yeah, you're not the first person to say that."
Sensing a story there, Casey slowly turned to face her, trying not to notice the pretty pink fading from her cheeks.
At his questioning glance, Sylvie fiddled with her watch band, but explained. "You remember my friend, Hope? Well, right after we graduated high school she got it in her head that she wanted a tattoo. She dragged me and my ex, Harrison, along when she got it done and they both kept making these jokes about how it was something I would never do. And I guess- I guess I was young and wanted to prove them wrong."
"So you got a tattoo," Casey finished, smiling a bit at the thought of a younger Sylvie, that fierce look on her face, a few strands of hair escaping her bun, determination written all over her. "What is it? I didn't quite-"
"Oh, it's a cat," she said, before carefully peeling down the band of her pants so he could see. "Nothing too badass, I'm afraid but-"
"I like it," Casey said, stepping closer. The tattoo was made of a few clean, black lines, with a little heart for the nose. So simply Sylvie, that he had to smile. Without thinking he reached out to graze a thumb over it and told himself he wasn't imagining peeling down the lace of her underwear and pressing a kiss to the skin there.
"I like it," he said again, voice dropping an octave, and told himself that the shiver that passed through her had nothing to do with him.