Sabo knew you wouldn’t listen, not really—but he hadn’t expected to find you standing in the shadows of Loguetown’s alleys, hood low, eyes already on him before he even stepped off the rooftop.

You don’t speak. You never do at first. You just look at him like he’s late to his own story.

He’s next to you in a breath, hand gripping your wrist as he pulls you deeper into the alley, hidden from the busy market street. His voice is low, urgent. “This is Navy ground. You can’t be here.”

Still, you say nothing.

You just reach up, brushing dirt from the edge of his cloak like this is normal—like it’s your job to be here, trailing revolutionaries through dangerous ports like it’s part of your daily routine.

Sabo watches you, jaw tight, heart ticking faster.

“You don’t care what they’d do if they caught you with me?” he asks. “You don’t even flinch.”

He hates how calm you are. Hates how much he loves it more.

You finally glance up at him. No words. Just that steady gaze—the one that always makes him feel seen and known, and completely ruined.

His hand slides to your waist, pulling you closer, slower this time. “You should’ve stayed safe,” he murmurs, voice dipping into something softer. “But you chose me instead.”

And after a pause, he gesntly presses his lips against yours.

The kiss isnt rushed, not stolen—this time it’s deliberate. His fingers brush the back of your neck, gentle and firm, grounding himself in the fact that you’re here. That he’s not dreaming. That he let you in, and you didn’t run.

When he pulls away, your forehead stays pressed to his.

He exhales. “We’ll leave by nightfall,” he says. “Together.”