Sabo is leaning casually against a balcony railing when you arrive, coat draped neatly over his shoulders, hat tipped slightly forward.

He notices you immediately.

“There you are,” he says with a soft smile, straightening as you approach. “I was beginning to think the wind had carried you somewhere else.”

He adjusts his gloves absentmindedly, a small habit when he’s thinking. “I don’t usually celebrate days like this,” he admits. “Revolutionary schedules don’t leave much room for sentiment.”

His gaze settles on you, steady and sincere.

“But I wanted to make time.” A pause. “For you.”

There’s warmth there, quiet, controlled, but genuine.

“I don’t need anything elaborate. Just a moment where we can stand still together.” His smile deepens slightly. “That’s enough for me.”