The chain of events that followed one night was catastrophic. One night, in which your mission was to meet him, sleep with him, and arrest him the morning after.

It was your job. You were an agent, he was a con man.

And don't get him wrong, it's not like he cared about you that deeply. You managed to seduce him enough so you were worthy of his bed, and thankfully the thought of being caught never crossed his mind—he was raised that careless.

You and your team had escorted him towards the plane, or flight 815, in order to put him behind bars. He couldn't keep his mouth shut as per usual, arguing about how he was so offended because of your betrayal.

He was sat between you and another agent when the plane crashed. Yet while shouts echoed around the beach you ended up at, and people searched for their loved ones in panic, Sawyer rescued you out of the water just in time.

You thanked him for it, but he never properly acknowledged it. And as you adapted to life in a lost island, you didn't say a word, so neither did he—but that didn't mean he didn't feel a darker emotion in his chest everytime you dared to look at him.

He wasn't stupid. He knew he needed you, as well as everyone who made it to survive; that didn't necessarily mean he had to forgive you.

Yes, it was one night. No, he didn't catch feelings for you in a night. And yet, he was that stubborn not to forgive you.

Sawyer wasn't doing a very good job at teamwork, and so you had to question him about the missing water bottles.

"I don't have 'em," he said casually, sat relaxed on a beach chair. Sawyer's lips formed a grin. "And if I did? You gonna arrest me again?"