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Tacenda

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They sleep together and they sleep together, and Casey isn't sure which is worse. The first one shouldn't have happened at all, and the second one definitely shouldn't have, it was too dangerous. Casey laid there sometimes, their skin so close that she could feel the heat coming off of her, and she wondered what this would be like if it was real. What it would be like if she could come home to find Olivia waiting for her, what it would be like if they held hands or kissed gently instead of frantically, what it would be like if Olivia actually loved her.

Casey hated this self-pitying nonsense, but it was the only way she could feel sometimes.

She really does love it, which is all together worse. She loves waking up in the warm cocoon of their (her) sheets, she loves waking up first and just looking at Olivia's face in the weak sunlight (if she's being honest, it's more like the last hints of moonlight), she loves the secret glance they share, the glance that says that this is private, this is theirs, and theirs alone, the glance that always, always ends up bittersweet, because than it's time to leave and lie again.

It's not an active lie, exactly, it's just that sometimes Casey wants to hold her hand. It's just that sometimes Casey wants to go visit her at work, just to visit her. It's just that sometimes (all the time) Casey wants it to be different.

But it's not time yet, it's the morning, and they wake up early, and maybe they kiss and maybe they don't, she doesn't know. All she knows is that it's almost time for Olivia to open her eyes, and it's almost time to start over.

(Of course she knows, because they never do).