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Rain taps on the rooftop like impatient fingers. A thick fog creeps over the city, a rich people’s kingdom, where gold means everything and truth means nothing.
You’re crouched on the roof of a fancy estate, watching the ballroom through your scope. Music floats up through open windows. Nobles dance below, laughing like they’ve never known fear. You’re not here for the music or the wine. You’re here for the letter.
Your client said the Duke is hiding something, military plans, maybe trade secrets. Doesn’t matter. You get paid to find things, not judge them.
You adjust the lens, zoom in on a stiff-looking man in a red jacket. Messenger. Sweaty hands. Nervous eyes. You watch as he slips a sealed envelope to a servant girl, who disappears through a side door.
“Gotcha” you whisper.
You slide down the gutter pipe, quiet as a cat. Through a second-story balcony, in and out like smoke. You’re halfway to the hallway when— “You’re getting sloppy.”
You freeze. That voice.
You turn, slow, annoyed.
There he is. Blond curls, black coat, arms crossed, goggles pushed up like he owns the place. He always shows up like this, out of nowhere, with that smug little smile like he knows something you don’t.
“Blondie...” you say flatly.
“Miss me?” he says.
You stare “You’re in my way.”
He glances behind you at the ballroom “You’re after the letter?”
“I was,” you snap “Until someone decided to start chatting in the middle of my job.”
“Someone just saved you from getting shot,” he says casually “Third window to the left. Look.”
You do. And yeah... there’s a guy with a crossbow, watching the hallway like a hawk. You mutter a curse under your breath.
“Fine,” you say “Thanks.”
Sabo grins “You’re welcome.”
He steps closer. Too close. You don’t move.
“So,” he says, “same question as always. Ready to stop chasing paychecks and join the Revolution?”
You raise an eyebrow “Same answer as always. No.”
“You could do more with your skills.”
“I am doing more. I’m doing everything. For the right price.”
He laughs “You really don’t care who hires you?”
“As long as the money’s good and the target’s worse than me? No.”
“That’s a short list.”
“Lucky for me, the world’s full of bad people.”
You sidestep him, heading toward the hallway. You don’t look back. You already know he’s following.
“You could work with me” he says.
“You’re not my type.”
“I meant on the job.”
“So did I.”
You peek around the corner. Two guards. One hallway. No problem.
“You know,” Sabo says quietly behind you, “we’d make a good team.”
You glance at him over your shoulder “You talk too much.”
“And you like it.”
You roll your eyes “Don’t push your luck, Blondie.”
He smirks “Lead the way, detective.”
You move. Fast. Quiet. Focused.
He follows. Loud in a way that’s not about sound, just there, filling the space with heat and chaos and questions you don’t want to ask.
Not yet.
Maybe later.
You’re halfway through a lukewarm cup of black coffee when the bell over the café door jingles.
You don’t look up at first. This job’s too easy to expect trouble. Rich guy thinks his assistant is stealing silverware. Real dramatic stuff. You’re here to follow the assistant and confirm if he’s a thief or just has a twitchy pocket.
You glance at the small mirror propped on your table. You freeze.
Of course.
Of course.
Sabo slides into the seat across from you like it’s his usual spot. Black coat. Blond curls. That same casual look, like he just woke up in a castle and decided to crash your life again.
You squint at him “No way.”
“Hi to you, too.” he says, resting his chin on his hand like this is a date.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“This café has really good scones,” he says, then lowers his voice “And there’s something important going on.”
You stare “Important? This isn’t a revolutionary hotspot. It’s a bakery. My target is stealing forks.”
“There’s more to it than that” he says, calm. Too calm.
You narrow your eyes “You’re telling me this boring little fork-theft job is somehow connected to the Revolutionary Army?”
“I’m saying it might be.”
You fold your arms “That’s not an answer.”
He shrugs “I don’t give out answers for free anymore.”
You snort “Since when do you hold information hostage?”
“Since I realized it’s the only way to get you to work with me.”
You lean back in your chair, staring at him “So what—you want me to partner up again?”
He smiles “Just for this one. Could be fun.”
“Last time I nearly got a knife in the leg.”
“You didn’t, though.”
“Because I handled it.”
He lifts his coffee cup “Exactly. Imagine how easy this would be if we teamed up from the start.”
You shake your head “Nope. Not biting.”
“Even if it’s bigger than it looks?” he asks, voice lower now, just serious enough to make your gut tighten.
You hate that you’re curious.
You try to ignore the itch in your brain “If you’re so sure it’s something big, why not handle it alone?”
“I could,” he says, eyes locked with yours “But I don’t want to.”
That throws you off for a second. You look away, annoyed at your own pause.
He sips his drink like he hasn’t just dropped that weird little truth bomb.
“Still no,” you mutter “You don’t get to dangle mystery crap in front of me and expect me to follow like a puppy.”
“No puppy I’ve ever met carries poison darts in her coat” he says, grinning.
You smile in spite of yourself. Just a little.
Then you stand “Good luck with your important fork mission, Blondie. I’ll be watching from my own shadow.”
He stays seated, smiling up at you “I’ll be around if you change your mind.”
You turn and walk away, but you feel his eyes on your back all the way out the door.
You hate that he makes things interesting.
You hate it even more that a part of you wants to go back and ask what the hell is really going on.
You’re bored.
That’s the most dangerous thing in your line of work. Not bullets. Not knives. Not corrupt guards with itchy trigger fingers.
Boredom.
It makes your mind wander. Makes you look too long at the gold-plated chandeliers. At the delicate snacks on silver trays. At the man across from you trying way too hard to impress you.
And it makes you think of him.
You haven’t seen him in months. Not since that stupid fork job. At first, it was nice. Peaceful, even. No smug smile sneaking up behind you. No lectures about changing the world. No offers to join the Revolution.
But noow it’s weird.
You almost miss him. Not that you’d say it out loud. Or even admit it to yourself for more than a second. But the question keeps floating through your brain:
Why hasn’t he shown up?
And why are you thinking about him in the middle of a mission?
You blink and focus. You’re at a royal gala. Dressed like someone who belongs here. Elegant, expensive, bored out of your mind. Your target is a noble—round, rich, red-nosed, and currently getting suspiciously cozy with a foreign diplomat. You’re supposed to keep an eye on him, maybe follow him when he leaves.
Easy. Too easy.
Which is probably why your brain is being stupid.
“—and I said, if I wanted a real ship, I’d buy one, not borrow from the Marines” says the man in front of you, laughing at his own joke. You don’t remember his name. You never bothered to learn it.
He leans closer “You’ve been quiet. Thinking about me?”
You look at him like he’s a mosquito “No.”
He grins anyway “Come now, beautiful. A woman like you shouldn’t be sitting here alone.”
You’re about to lie or stab him with your butter knife, but then—
“Mind if I steal this beautiful woman for a dance?”
That voice.
That voice.
Your heart stumbles. You look up.
He’s there. Blond, charming, annoyingly handsome in a formal coat that fits him too well. Goggles gone. Hair slicked back just enough.
He’s holding out his hand, smile calm but eyes watching you. Carefully. Like he’s not sure you’ll take it.
You don’t say anything. You just rise from your chair, take his hand, and walk away like the other guy doesn’t even exist. You don’t look back.
“Wow,” Sabo murmurs as you reach the dance floor “Didn’t think you’d actually shove him like that.”
“I didn’t shove,” you mutter “I guided.”
He laughs “Gently guided him into the furniture.”
“You’re late.”
“For the dance?”
“For everything.”
He twirls you, smooth, confident. Then pulls you close again. Too close. You suddenly realize how warm he is. How steady. How his hand fits perfectly at your back, guiding you toward.
“Let’s dance next to your target” he says quietly, like it’s a secret between only you two.
You don’t even ask how he knows. You just let him lead.
You move through the crowd together, twirling and gliding right into the perfect position. Your target is just over Sabo’s shoulder now.
Only when you’re in place do you realize how close your faces are. How his breath brushes your cheek when he speaks.
“I’m sorry” he says.
You blink “What?”
“I should’ve said something. Disappearing for that long, it wasn’t the plan.”
You snort “Why are you apologizing? It’s not like we work together. Or like we’re friends. Or something like that.”
He raises an eyebrow “Something like that, huh?”
You hate how your face warms.
You don’t answer. You look over his shoulder again, watching your target raise a drink and whisper something into a diplomat’s ear.
But part of your mind is still stuck on the weight of his hand on your waist. And the fact that he did come back.
You move across the ballroom floor like you belong there, like you care about this dance. But your heart is nowhere near your target anymore.
It’s stuck somewhere between the weight of his hand on your waist and the word he just said.
“Sorry.”
You glance up “You already said that.”
“I meant it.” His voice is quieter now “I’ve got… news.”
You raise an eyebrow “Let me guess. You’ll only tell me if I say yes to joining the Revolution.”
He smiles a little “I usually would.”
You sigh, already annoyed, then you freeze.
Because this time… He speaks.
“I remembered everything.”
You blink “What?”
“My past. My childhood. It came back.” He swallows, and for once, he’s not looking at you like he has the upper hand “I remembered my brothers. And I found one of them.”
Your mouth opens. No sound comes out.
“I met Luffy again,” Sabo says, voice soft but full “After all those years.”
Luffy.
You’ve heard that name before. That’s the kid... no, the pirate, who’s shaking the world right now.
Your brain struggles to keep up “Wait. You have a brother who’s… that Luffy?”
“I had two brothers,” he says, and there’s something heavy in his voice now “One of them… Ace… died.”
You feel the shift in him. In the room. Like all the noise and music fades into nothing.
“I never remembered him until now,” he continues “And when I did… I found out about his Devil Fruit. What was left of him. And I—”
He hesitates, just for a second. Then “I fought for it. And I won.”
You stare at him. Not just at the words but the way he says them. Like they’re not secrets. Like he wants you to know.
Like you’re someone who deserves to know.
Which is ridiculous.
You don’t ask about his past. You don’t share yours. That’s the deal. That’s how this works.
But he’s looking at you like you’re close. And that’s too much.
You stop dancing. Right there in the middle of the floor.
He blinks “What—?”
You take a step back, breaking the space between you. It suddenly feels hot. Too loud. Too much.
But then you see his face, open, confused, a little hurt.
Damn it.
You grab his wrist “Come with me.”
He lets you pull him without asking questions. You weave through the crowd, out the side door, into the cool, quiet air of the garden balcony.
He finally speaks “What about your target?”
You turn, facing him “I don’t care.”
His eyebrows lift “You… don’t?”
“Not right now,” you say, crossing your arms “Keep talking.”
He looks surprised. Really surprised. Then he smiles. Not his usual smirk. Something softer.
“You actually want to know?”
“Maybe,” you mutter “Don’t let it go to your head.”
He laughs once “Alright, detective. Where should I start?”
You shrug, trying to ignore how fast your heart is beating “Wherever you left off.”
The balcony is quiet. The soft sound of the party behind you fades into the background. You lean against the railing, arms crossed, as Sabo stands in front of you, looking for once like a man who doesn’t have it all under control.
He tells you everything.
Not just the facts, but the feelings, too. About losing his memories. About waking up with holes in his mind. About the strange weight in his chest when he saw Luffy again. About the funeral he missed, the brother he remembered too late. About the fire fruit. The tournament. The fight. The win.
You don’t interrupt. You just… listen.
And when he’s done, there’s silence between you. He watches you, waiting. You tilt your head slightly.
“Okay, Blondie,” you say slowly, your voice calm, almost teasing “I know about Ace. From the news. The whole world does.”
His eyebrows shoot up “First thing, my name isn’t Blondie but it’s Sabo. And then… you know?”
You nod skipping past the name thing he said “I mean… big fire guy. Big execution. Big mess. Sad ending. Even someone like me couldn’t miss it.” You pause. Then smirk “So now you got fire powers?”
He blinks “I—yeah, I do.”
“Prove it.” You lean in slightly “Show me.”
His eyes widen “Here?”
“Why not? There's no one else.”
Sabo stares at you for a second, like he’s trying to decide if you’re serious. You are.
He sighs once, smiles, then lifts his hand.
One finger rises. His gloved hand stills in the air. And then a flame sparks to life at the tip of his index finger.
Not just a spark. It burns. Bright. Alive. Orange and gold, like a piece of the sun. It dances, hot and proud, like it knows who it used to belong to.
You lean closer, eyes narrowing “Huh.”
“Huh?” he repeats, still holding the flame.
You smile “Didn’t think you were actually telling the truth.”
He gives a short laugh “I just spilled my entire life story to you.”
“I know. That was weird.”
He lowers his hand slowly, and the flame fades out. You feel the warmth linger on your skin, even though it’s gone.
“I thought you’d walk away” he says, watching you carefully.
“I almost did.”
“And now?”
You shrug “Now I’m just wondering what else you’ve been hiding.”
That gets a grin out of him “You’re not scared?”
“Of a little fire?” You smirk “Please. I’ve dealt with worse.”
He steps a little closer. Not touching you, just there “You’re something else.”
You look up at him “You’re just figuring that out now?”
The air out here is cooler, but your skin is still warm from the flame Sabo showed you. The fire’s gone, but he’s still close. Still looking at you like he’s seeing something real. Something he missed.
You’re not used to being seen like that.
He leans against the railing now, just beside you. The silence hangs between you, comfortable but heavy. Until he says,
“So… what about your target now?”
Your brain blanks for a second. You blink.
“…Target?”
You actually forgot. You. Forgot.
You straighten up a little, suddenly aware again “Shit—right. The guy. Cheating husband. Rich. Smells like fish. Probably still inside with his mistress.”
Sabo laughs quietly “You forgot?”
“Shut up,” you mutter, then pause. You look at him, narrowing your eyes “Wait a second.”
He tilts his head “What?”
“Blondie… why are you even here?” You gesture toward the ballroom “This wasn’t some world-changing event. Just a man cheating on his wife. I already figured it out. Mission solved. But what about your mission?”
He looks at you. And then, slowly, carefully, he says “You were my mission.”
Your heart trips over itself.
“W-what?” you stutter, and the sound of your own voice makes your face heat. You never stutter.
Sabo just smiles. Too pleased “That’s new.”
You frown “Shut up. What do you mean I was your mission?”
“I mean,” he says, leaning a little closer, “I was looking for you. That’s why I came.”
You blink at him again, confused “…To recruit me again?”
He shakes his head “No. I just wanted to talk. To explain. I didn’t like disappearing like that. Not without saying anything.”
You’re quiet. You weren’t expecting this. Not from him. Not tonight.
“So… you found me… just to say sorry?”
“Well,” he says, grinning now, “and maybe to see that look on your face when I said you were my mission.”
You roll your eyes, but it doesn’t hide the way your heart’s still racing “You’re the worst.”
“Maybe,” he says softly, “but I came back, didn’t I?”
You look at him. You hate how warm that makes you feel.
“Yeah,” you say, barely above a whisper “You did.”
“I just need a photo of him with his mistress,” you say as you push away from the railing “That’s all. Then I get paid.”
You shoot him a dry look “If you’re not busy, blondie… want to tag along?”
He grins “Lead the way, detective.”
You both head back inside. The music is still loud, the lights still too soft, the perfume in the air still expensive. You glide through the crowd, quiet, calm, focused. He walks behind you, hands in his pockets, like this is a stroll in the park.
You find the hallway the target mentioned earlier. Follow the plush carpet, past too many locked doors, until you reach a side room with long glass doors leading out to a small private balcony.
Perfect.
You sit on the floor in the shadowed corner just outside its small balcony, dress tucked around your legs. He sits beside you without asking.
You keep your eyes locked on the room inside. Your camera is ready. The lights are dimmed. No one’s here yet. But you know they’ll come.
Sabo… doesn’t watch the door.
He watches you.
You feel it after a while. His gaze. Quiet. Steady. Soft.
And then “You’re really beautiful tonight.”
It’s so quiet, you almost don’t catch it. You turn your head “What?”
His eyes go wide. Like he didn’t mean to say it out loud. Like the words slipped out and betrayed him.
“I mean...” he clears his throat, looking away, “you got all dressed up for a small mission. Just a cheating man. That’s a lot of effort.”
You smirk, letting him twist “Missions are all boring recently.”
He looks back at you. Eyes narrowing like he just heard something important.
“Missions are boring… recently, huh?” he repeats slowly “So what changed recently?”
You roll your eyes “Don’t start.”
He leans in, grin wide now “Wait. Wait. Don’t tell me.” He taps his chin “Could it be that without me, you got bored?”
You scoff “Keep dreaming, Blondie.”
“So I was your entertainment?”
“You were an annoyance.”
“A charming one.”
You bite back a smile “Debatable.”
But it’s too late. He’s grinning like a fool, clearly enjoying himself. And the worst part is that you don’t even hate it.
Not even a little.
Sabo is in the middle of his next line, probably something ridiculous like “I bet you missed me so much you cried yourself to sleep” when your hand shoots up.
“Shhh!” you hiss.
He blinks “What?”
You tilt your chin toward the room inside.
The door opens.
There he is. Your target. Same smug walk, same too-shiny shoes. And hanging on his arm his mistress, laughing at something he said. They head toward the balcony.
Your balcony.
“Shit,” you whisper “They’re coming out here—”
You grab Sabo’s wrist and pull.
Fast.
You barely have a second to think. Just behind you, near the edge of the balcony, there’s a thick curtain tied to a decorative pillar. It’s more for style than privacy, but it’s big enough. Barely.
You slip behind it, dragging him with you. The heavy fabric closes in around you both. It’s dark. Cramped. His back hits the cold stone wall. You stop moving.
You’re close... Too close.
You’re pressed chest to chest, your leg between his. One of his arms is braced against the wall behind you, the other lightly around your waist. It’s the only way to not fall over.
Your breath hitches. His does too.
Neither of you speaks.
The couple is right there. Just on the other side. You hear their laughter, the low sound of a kiss. You should be paying attention. You should be lifting your camera, snapping the photo.
But your body is frozen. All your focus is on the heat of him, his hand, the closeness, his heartbeat that you can actually feel.
And then his hand moves. Slowly. Carefully.
He brushes your hair away from your cheek. His fingers are light, like he’s afraid to push too hard. They trail along your skin, and then he tucks the loose strand gently behind your ear.
You look up. His eyes are already on yours.
There’s no teasing in them now. No smirk. Just quiet. Warmth. Something deeper.
You open your mouth to say something, anything, but the words vanish.
Outside, your target laughs again. The mistress pulls him inside. The moment is over.
You stay still a second longer. Neither of you speaks.
Then, very softly, Sabo says, “We’re going to have to talk about that later.”
And all you can manage is a whispered, “Shut up.”
You finally lift your camera. Your hands are steady, like always, even if your heart still isn’t.
The cheating man is kissing his mistress again, pressed up against the glass inside the room. They think they’re alone.
Perfect.
Three shots. Clear enough to ruin a marriage.
You lower the camera, your voice low “Got it. Time to go.”
Sabo doesn’t say a word, just follows you again like a shadow.
You grab the edge of the balcony, throw one leg over, and jump down like you’ve done a thousand times.
Except you forgot you’re wearing heels.
Your ankle bends awkwardly and pain shoots up your leg as your foot hits the ground. You hiss, stumbling slightly.
“Fucking heels...” you mutter, already yanking them off. One in each hand, and then you throw them down the alley without a second thought.
Behind you, Sabo lands light as a feather.
He watches the scene. Your bare feet. Your scowl. The heels lying sad and broken in the dark.
Then, his voice “Jump on my back.”
You glance at him “What?”
He shrugs casually “I’ll carry you. Don’t want you walking barefoot.”
You blink “You serious?”
He gives you that soft little half-smile “Completely.”
You snort “Nah. I’m good… but thanks for the offer, Blondie.”
And with that, you turn around and walk ahead. Not looking back. Definitely not letting him see the way your face is burning.
Behind you, he watches every step. And he’s smiling.
Not because you turned him down. But because you didn’t hesitate to throw away those fancy shoes. Because you didn’t care about being graceful or anything. Because you didn’t mind walking barefoot in a dirty alley if it meant freedom.
Because you’re real. And damn... he really, really likes that.
The alley behind you is gone now. Just stone paths and quiet shadows.
You’re walking through a garden, the party mansion behind. The only light coming from the stars above and the soft glow of lanterns hidden among the trees.
It’s quiet. Too quiet.
You want to say goodbye. You always do after a job. Clean cut, no mess, no feelings. But your steps slow. You don’t want to walk away just yet. Not this time.
You stop near a small fountain. The sound of water trickling fills the silence between you.
You cross your arms, not facing him “So… I was your mission, mh?”
Sabo stands beside you, close but not touching.
You glance at him “Well… mission completed. You’re free to leave.”
He tilts his head slightly, a small smile tugging at his lips “So are you.”
You breathe in slowly.
“But here we are,” he adds softly “Still.”
You stare at the fountain “Still.”
The word hangs there like fog.
You swallow and finally look at him “You could’ve gone without telling me anything. But you didn’t. You came back. Why?”
“I told you,” he says, voice lower now “I wanted to explain. I didn’t like disappearing like that. You deserved more than that.”
You shake your head slowly “I don’t need people to explain themselves to me. I’m not—”
“Yeah,” he cuts in gently “But maybe I wanted to explain. Because I missed you.”
The words stop you.
You stare at him.
He says it so simply. Like it’s just a fact. Like saying it might rain tomorrow. Like I missed you isn’t a damn earthquake in your chest.
You try to scoff. Try to play it off “That’s very dramatic, Blondie.”
He chuckles “I learned from the best.”
You roll your eyes, but you don’t move away. You don’t leave.
You’re still standing beside him. Under the stars. Just… there.
And he is too.
...Still.
The silence stretches. The fountain bubbles softly. Somewhere far off, the music from the party fades into the trees.
You glance at him. He’s looking at the stars now, like they might give him something to say.
You speak first “So, what now?”
He shrugs “I don’t know. I didn’t really plan past this.”
You snort “Bad planning for a Revolutionary, don’t you think?”
He smiles “I figured I’d improvise. Depends on what you do next.”
You don’t answer. Your eyes fall to the path in front of you. The wind moves through the leaves, cool against your skin.
You hate this.
The quiet. The part of you that doesn’t want to walk away.
You cross your arms, trying to sound casual “Well, if you missed me that much, maybe next time you disappear, leave a note. ‘Gone off to recover lost memories and beat up powerful enemies, back soon’. Something like that.”
He laughs “You’d burn the note.”
You smile despite yourself “Probably.”
Then the quiet slips back in. He turns toward you again. You feel it before you see it. His eyes on you. That look you’re starting to know too well. Like he sees something in you you’re not ready to admit is there.
And yet…
“I kept thinking,” he says quietly, “how many jobs you’ve taken since I left. How many stupid people you had to spy on, how many lies you had to fake-smile through. I wondered if you ever thought about me.”
You open your mouth. Then close it.
He doesn’t push. Just keeps watching you with that calm, steady warmth.
You scoff lightly, more to break the moment than because anything’s funny “Don’t flatter yourself. I was too busy following cheating husbands and hiding in bushes.”
But your voice is soft. Not sharp. Not convincing.
He leans slightly closer. Not touching. Just near “So… not even a little?”
You meet his gaze. You want to lie. You always lie. That’s your job.
But instead you say “Maybe once.”
A pause “Or twice.”
Another pause “Something like that.”
He smiles “Good. Because I thought about you more than that.”
Your chest tightens and you quickly look away “You should go before I punch you for saying things like that.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time.” he murmurs.
You both laugh quietly.
Still not touching. Still not fully confessing.
But the air between you hums with something neither of you wants to name... Not yet.
And so you stand there a little longer. Under the stars. In the garden... Still.
You feel the weight of his words still in your chest. You have to shake it off. Do something, say something, or you’ll start thinking too much. Feeling too much.
So, you clear your throat and nudge his arm with your elbow “Hey… got any more fire tricks? Something cool. Or funny?”
Sabo blinks. Then a smirk tugs at his lips “You want a show?”
You roll your eyes “Don’t make it weird. Just entertain me, Blondie.”
He chuckles, stepping back a little “Alright, alright. Watch this.”
He lifts one hand. With a little flick of his wrist, a small flame spins into life at the tip of his finger, then flickers out and reappears in the other hand, like a magician’s coin. Then he makes a little fire butterfly, letting it flap its glowing wings before it floats up and fades into sparks.
You stare. Eyes wide. Mouth parted just slightly. Like a kid at their first festival.
You step closer, enchanted “And it doesn’t burn you?”
Without thinking, you reach out, your fingers heading straight for the flame still flickering in his palm.
“Wait—!”
He quickly closes his hand, putting the fire out in an instant. But it’s too late. You brushed against the edge of it.
He grabs your hand fast, holding it tight in both of his.
His brows furrow “Did it burn you?” he asks, voice sharp with worry “Let me see.”
You blink at your hand... your hand, which is now in his hands, and for a second you completely forget what you were even doing.
His touch is warm, gentle. He’s checking your fingers, your palm, his thumb brushing softly over your skin. Too carefully. Too tender.
You finally come back to your senses. Your heart stumbles in your chest.
You yank your hand away like it’s him that’s burning “I’m fine. Jeez.”
He blinks, stunned “I just—”
“I should go,” you say, voice too fast. Too high “Client’s waiting. Gotta report. You know, job stuff.”
He opens his mouth, probably to ask something, maybe to stop you. But then he just closes it again. His eyes follow you as you take a few quick steps back, avoiding his gaze, his hand, everything.
He doesn’t say a word.
He doesn’t chase.
Because he’s still there, stunned…
…realizing how fast his heart is beating, looking at his hands who were just holding yours.
You’ve been pacing the hallway for ten minutes now. Not because the job is hard... hell, you’ve done harder with a broken rib and a broken heel. But because you know he’ll show up.
He always does.
You’re even dressed for it. A sleek outfit, long coat, subtle daggers tucked under your sleeves. Not that he notices things like that.
Except he does. And that’s the problem.
You sigh, adjusting your collar. You’re here to spy on a nobleman, catch him trading information to pirates. But all your attention is pointed toward the nearest door like some lovesick idiot.
Which you are not.
“You really should stop standing in front of open doors.” comes the voice you’ve been trying not to expect.
You spin around, already scowling “Blondie.”
He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, smug grin in place “Miss me?”
You scoff “Like I miss being shot at.”
He straightens and walks toward you, looking way too casual for someone who just broke into a mansion “So... how many missions have you almost ruined since I last saw you?”
“I don’t ruin missions,” you snap “I finish them. Unlike some people.”
“Oh right, because hiding in a curtain last time was definitely the plan.”
“That was your fault! If you hadn’t distracted me with your stupid compliments.”
“You’re really bringing that up?”
“Yes! Because it’s your fault!”
He smirks “If I remember correctly, you were the one blushing.”
You point a sharp, gloved finger at him “That was heatstroke.”
He raises a brow “At night?”
You flinch. Damn. Walked right into that one. But you don’t answer. You storm past him toward the second hallway where your target is supposed to appear. He follows, like always, humming under his breath.
“Seriously,” you say, trying to focus “Why are you even here? This isn’t a Revolutionary job.”
“You’re here.”
“That’s not a reason.”
“It’s the only one that matters.”
You stop walking “You’re impossible.”
He grins “And you’re blushing again.”
You shove past him without another word.
Somehow, you still manage to finish the mission. You get your intel, threaten a butler, blackmail a merchant, and grab your proof. As you head out, Sabo falls into step beside you like this is routine. Like you always leave places like this together.
“Hey.” he says suddenly, and your stomach drops because of his tone, like he’s about to say something real. Something important.
You don’t like that.
“My brother’s in town. Wanna come meet him?”
You blink “Luffy?”
He nods, too casual.
You cross your arms “I don’t do dinner with strangers.”
“He’s not a stranger. He’s Luffy.”
“That’s literally the definition of a stranger to me.”
But he takes your hand.
Your brain short-circuits.
“What are you doing?” you snap, looking down at your entwined fingers.
“Holding your hand. You seem like the type to run.”
You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.
“You’re not pulling away...” he says, almost amused.
“…I’m tired.” you lie.
“You’re not even trying anymore.” he says with a laugh, already pulling you toward the docks.
You don’t pull away. Not even once.
The Thousand Sunny is louder than expected. Lanterns swing gently from ropes. Someone’s playing music. Someone else is screaming about meat. The Straw Hat crew is mid-party and you don’t even want to ask why.
Luffy’s the first one to spot you. He runs over barefoot, grinning so hard it almost hurts to look at him.
“Oi, Sabo!!” he shouts “Who’s she?”
You already step slightly behind Sabo, not used to this kind of attention. Not used to people looking at you like you matter.
Sabo rests a hand on your back again. Gentle. Warm.
“This is Detective Y/N,” he says proudly “Soon to be a Revolutionary.”
Your jaw drops “Oi! Blondie! How many times do I have to say no?!”
Before he can reply, Luffy tilts his head, blinking at the both of you “So is this your girlfriend?”
You and Sabo both freeze like someone just tossed a grenade between you.
“What?!” you shout, face burning “NO!”
“LUFFY!” Sabo snaps, just as red.
Luffy shrugs “You were holding hands and stuff.”
“We—! I—!” You throw your hands in the air “That was not—”
“Don’t act like you didn’t want to come.” Sabo hisses.
“You invited me!”
“You didn’t say no!”
“You didn’t let me!”
Zoro, watching from the side, mutters to Sanji, “How long you think before they kiss or kill each other?”
Sanji smirks “I’m betting both.”
You cross your arms and glare at Sabo, still blushing. He rubs the back of his neck, awkwardly looking away, but the edge of a smile is tugging at his lips.
Neither of you corrects Luffy.
Neither of you denies it again.
And your hand still feels warm where his was.
You clear your throat, trying to reset your brain “So,” you say, turning to Luffy as casually as possible “You’ve known Blondie since he was little, right?”
Sabo shoots you a look “No. Don’t even—”
You ignore him “Got any embarrassing stories?”
Luffy lights up like a lantern “OH YEAH! There was this one time, he—”
“Nope!” Sabo says quickly, cutting him off with the speed of someone panicking. He grabs your wrist gently... always gently... and pulls you a step back “We actually came just to say hi.”
You blink “We did?”
“We’re leaving now, I planned something.” he says firmly, already starting to walk.
You don’t fight it, but you are confused “Why? What do you have planned?”
Before he can answer, Luffy shouts after you, mouth full of meat, “Are you two going on a date?!”
You freeze.
Sabo stops mid-step.
Sanji drops a tray.
You’re standing there, Sabo still holding your wrist, and you feel your heart slam in your chest.
Sabo turns slowly, managing a calm expression “No.”
You, on the other hand, are red again “Obviously not!”
“Sure looks like it,” Luffy says, grinning wide “You guys were holding hands again.”
“HIS FAULT... FOR BALANCE.” you shout, instantly regretting how defensive you sound.
Sabo mutters under his breath, “Not very balanced now, are we.”
You elbow him. He smirks.
Robin chuckles behind her book “Young love is so… chaotic.”
You cover your face “We’re not—”
But Sabo’s hand slides down your wrist and links your fingers with his.
You glance at him, startled.
He doesn’t look at you, just tugs you toward the edge of the ship “Come on, Detective. I do have something planned.”
You don’t say anything for a second. You just stare at your joined hands.
Then, quietly, you mutter, “It better not be a date.”
He finally looks at you with that maddening half-smile “What if it is?”
You hate that your heart skips. You really hate that you don’t have a snappy comeback this time.
He walks beside you in silence, hand still in yours.
You should pull away... You really should.
But the warmth of his grip is like something you didn’t know you missed. And the way his thumb brushes against your knuckles as you cross into town makes you forget, moment by moment, that you’re supposed to be good at keeping people out.
You frown “This doesn’t look like a hideout.”
“It’s not.” he says, almost too casually.
You glance around, brows furrowing. You're not far from the city square now, where lamplight spills soft gold. Music plays in the distance, a quiet violin, and the smell of grilled food drifts from the open-air restaurants lining the plaza.
He leads you toward one of them. A quiet place tucked between ivy-covered walls, glowing with soft lanterns. It’s... cozy. Intimate.
You stop in your tracks.
“Do you have a mission here?” you ask, suspicious “You needed me for something?”
He doesn’t meet your eyes “…No.”
You blink “Then why?”
“I wanted to take you out.”
Your breath catches.
He finally looks at you, and his cheeks are dusted with red. And suddenly, you’re blushing. Hard.
Your heart kicks against your ribs like it’s trying to claw its way out “I’m...” You glance down at yourself, then back at him “I’m not dressed for this. I didn’t even shower after the mission, I—I smell right now, probably.”
His eyes widen. Not at your panic, but because you’re not saying no.
You’re... making excuses.
His lips twitch, almost smiling, but there’s something soft under it too. Hopeful. Careful. “If you feel uncomfortable, we can come back another time.”
You hesitate.
You could take that way out. He’d let you go. But you don’t want to run. Not tonight.
So instead, you tighten your fingers around his. Not much. Just enough to tell him you’re still here. And then you meet his eyes.
“Let’s go somewhere else,” you say, voice quieter than usual “Somewhere less... fancy. Should we?”
He looks stunned for a second. Then a smile softens his whole face.
“Yeah,” he says, squeezing your hand back “We should.”
You’re walking side by side through the old part of town, the kind of place with cobbled streets and small lanterns flickering in shop windows. There's no mission, no lie to keep up, no identity to steal—just you, him, and this weird silence that’s more peaceful than awkward.
You chew slowly on a skewer from a food stall, the oil still warm on your lips. Sabo is next to you, carrying a second portion he insisted you try.
He walks close enough that your shoulder brushes his every few steps. You don’t move away.
And just when the warmth in your chest starts to feel dangerous, when you're thinking maybe the food's not the only thing softening you, he speaks.
"By the way… earlier."
You glance sideways at him “What about earlier?”
His gaze is ahead, not on you. His voice is careful, but not cold.
“I just… I wanted to say…”
You stop chewing. The pause is long.
He exhales like he's regretting even bringing it up, then blurts “You actually smell good right now.”
You freeze mid-step. Did he just...
“I mean...” he fumbles, ears turning so red it's almost funny, “...not like I was trying to notice that. Or, I mean... I did notice it. Not in a weird way, just...”
You stare at him. He won’t look at you.
“And you're beautiful,” he says, a little quieter, like the words hurt to say out loud “No matter what you wear.”
Your heart slams against your ribs so hard it echoes in your ears. You don’t breathe for a second.
Beautiful.
You blink once. Twice. Your voice is caught somewhere in your throat.
He's still not looking at you. Maybe he thinks if he doesn’t see your face, it won’t sting so much when you laugh it off. But you don't laugh.
You take a small breath and then you say, softly, “I’m sorry, Sabo.”
His head jerks toward you. Eyes wide.
It's the name. You never use it. He notices instantly.
You take a slow step closer to him.
“I’m not good at this...” you say again, quieter now. Like a confession.
Your hand lifts almost on instinct, your fingers brushing against his cheek before your palm rests fully there. The contact is warm, real. His skin is soft, just like you thought it’d be.
He doesn’t move.
Your other hand rises to his face too, like gravity’s pulling you in. His breath catches. His lips part but he doesn’t speak.
And before he can try you lean in.
Your lips touch his.
Just once.
Soft.
Quick.
A heartbeat and it’s over.
But when you pull back, your hands are still holding his face. And his eyes are locked on you like you just flipped his entire world upside down.
He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t speak.
You’re about to say something stupid. Or apologize. Or maybe run away, like you always do. But then his fingers slowly lift.
They rise like he’s in a trance, brushing lightly over his own lips where you just kissed him. Like he’s trying to prove to himself that it actually happened. That you actually did that.
You watch him, unsure what to say, unsure if you've gone too far or not far enough. But you don’t move. You wait.
His eyes meet yours again, still wide, still stunned, but there’s something fragile and flickering and new now.
You see it before he can even say a word.
Hope.
He whispers your name like it means something sacred. And you feel your heart stutter again. But this time, you don’t run.
You let the silence stretch. Let the night fold around you. Let yourself breathe in the moment like it might disappear.
You kissed him. And you want to do it again.
Sabo’s still staring at you like you just knocked the wind out of him.
Then, all at once, a grin pulls at the corner of his mouth. Something soft, but surprised. A little breathless.
And then he speaks, his voice lower than before, unguarded.
“…Oh.”
You arch a brow “Oh?”
“You said you’re not good at this but you’re actually damn good,” he says, like it’s just occurred to him “You make me nervous.”
You blink. And then you laugh.
It slips out before you can stop it, a quiet breath of a sound, half smile and half disbelief. You shake your head, grinning like he just said the most ridiculous thing in the world.
“Nervous?” you repeat, tilting your head “You?”
He shrugs helplessly, like he’s trying to pretend this isn’t a big deal while looking very much like a man whose heart is hanging off a wire “Yeah.”
You watch him for a beat, heart still beating way too fast for comfort. Then you nudge his arm lightly with yours.
“So, Blondie…” you murmur, a little smirk tugging your lips now “What do we do from now on? How does this work?”
He exhales slowly, looking at you sideways “Depends. Are you going to disappear again the second I blink?”
You scoff “You’re the one who vanished for months.”
He doesn’t argue.
You go on “I still won’t accept your offer, you know. I’m staying a detective. Better pay, more drama, less running around screaming about justice or whatever.”
That makes him laugh, and god it’s nice hearing him laugh like that, light, real, warm. Like this version of him exists only for you.
He leans his shoulder into yours a little “I don’t even care anymore.”
You glance at him “What do you mean?”
He shrugs, eating the last bite of his skewer “You’re always working with me anyway. We just keep bumping into each other mid-job. Revolution or not, we’re already a team.”
That earns another smile from you, though you roll your eyes “Ugh, don’t say it like that.”
He grins wider.
And then, softer “Say it again?”
You blink “Say what?”
“My name.”
You pause.
You know exactly what he’s asking for.
Your lips curve slowly. You fake a thoughtful expression, tapping your chin “…Blondie?”
He pouts. Full-on, eyes-narrowed, almost-childish pout.
You laugh again, a little too fond, a little too fast.
“Okay, okay—” you cave, pushing his arm gently.
You lean a little closer, voice playful but real.
“Flame Emperor Sabo.”
That makes his whole expression shift, his eyes widening a bit, like that title coming from your mouth short-circuits his brain. You say it like it’s not just a title, not just a name the world gave him. You say it like you know exactly who he is beneath it, and you still say it anyway.
He’s silent for a beat too long, lips parting like he forgot how to breathe.
You blink “Now stop acting like a baby.”
His mouth quirks into a smirk again, but there’s a faint blush under his eyes that he absolutely cannot hide.
“You’re dangerous” he mutters.
“Me?”
He nods, licking his bottom lip absently “Yeah. You don’t even realize it, do you?”
You open your mouth to respond, but nothing clever comes out. So you close it again.
He grins.
And the stars above keep burning. Just like the slow, steady fire growing between you.
The mission is simple. In theory.
Infiltrate a noble’s estate. Steal a sealed document before it gets shipped to the World Government. No casualties, no noise, no slipping up.
Simple.
Except nothing is simple when he’s with you.
Sabo walks beside you through the bustling garden party, dressed in dark formal wear that somehow makes him look more like royalty than a rebel. His hair is slicked back tonight, but one stubborn curl keeps falling in front of his eyes. You hate how much you keep noticing it.
“I told you we should’ve entered from the east wing...” you whisper through your teeth, smiling like a polite guest while your eyes scan the crowd.
He leans close, smirking “And I told you the west entrance had the least guards. What’s your plan, detective, run in heels again and scream ‘I told you so’ if we get caught?”
You don’t look at him but you can feel the smirk.
“I swear,” you hiss, “if this mission goes wrong, I’m blaming your giant ego and that dumb little curl on your forehead.”
He chuckles low “You like that dumb little curl. You looked at it twenty times already.”
You turn your head fast “You counted?”
He leans even closer, lips almost brushing your ear “You’re blushing.”
“I will punch you.”
“You’ll have to catch me first.”
And there it is again, that tension. That crackling space between you that’s always been charged, but now it’s like standing next to a fire and pretending you’re not melting.
Your heart beats a little faster as you both slip away from the crowd toward the private halls.
Inside, it’s quieter. Just soft footsteps and faint music echoing from the ballroom.
You’re meant to stay focused. There’s a vault. A document. A ticking clock.
But Sabo walks behind you with his hand ghosting near your back, and it’s suddenly hard to remember the full plan.
“You’ve been quiet” he says softly.
“I’m trying to think.”
“Mm. Dangerous.”
You stop walking. Turn around.
He nearly bumps into you, he’s that close. His breath catches.
You narrow your eyes “We’re in the middle of a mission, Flame Emperor. Don’t start.”
He lifts both hands like he’s innocent “I’m not doing anything. You’re the one who stopped.”
“I stopped because you were breathing down my neck.”
“You know what? I still can’t believe you kissed me first.”
You scowl “You want me to regret that?”
He smiles, cocky and soft all at once “Do you?”
You stare at him.
He stares back.
The moment hangs.
Heavy.
Then your gaze flickers to his mouth.
His does the same.
And like magnet to spark, you crash forward and kiss him.
Again.
Your hands grab the collar of his coat. His arm instantly slips around your waist, pulling you in, mouth hot and insistent. You kiss like it’s an argument neither of you want to win, messy, fast, like you’re both annoyed at how much you want this.
And damn it, you do.
You bite his lip lightly and he groans into your mouth, deep and low. His fingers tighten at your hip. One of your legs slides between his and you’re just about to press him up against the wall when...
“Focus,” he pants, breaking away just enough to whisper against your lips “Document. Vault. Revolution. Remember?”
You blink “…Right.”
You both take a deep breath.
He adjusts his cravat like kissing you hasn’t just fried his brain. You smooth your dress, refusing to look flustered.
“I hate how good you are at kissing” you mutter.
“I love how bad you are at staying focused” he grins.
You glare.
He winks.
And just like that, the tension resets, but it lingers in every step. Every glance. Every time your hands brush, or you lean a little too close to whisper, or he rests a palm low on your back to guide you around a corner like a gentleman with very impure thoughts.
But neither of you mess up.
The vault? Opened.
The document? Secured.
The guards? Unaware.
You slip out the west gate under cover of darkness, walking side by side through the city like two shadows.
Job done. Hearts racing.
And even though you don’t say it out loud, you both know you’re not just partners anymore.
You’re a storm.
And this is only the beginning.