Pairing~ Sabo x fem!reader
Synopsis~ Sabo starts wearing an eye-patch one day. What could be the reason behind it?
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Since the day you confronted Sabo and he reassured you that he would talk to you he has been avoiding the island itself. He hasn't returned back to Baltigo for more than a week now.
You feel responsible, he has been taking upon missions as an excuse to get away. You really didn't wish to pressurize him into talking to you. However, that also makes you curious as to why he is procrastinating a simple conversation. Maybe the problem lies in deeper than you had thought.
You heard that he would be coming back by tonight but you're sure he would be gone by morning somehow. You wish he would choose a healthier way to avoid you rather than this. It isn't helping him or you or even the army if he burns himself out. So, you make your way to his quarters.
Your footsteps echoing in the empty hallway. Somehow, today, the hallway is quieter than usual as well as less crowd accumulated the space. A sigh leaves you, your heart still feels heavy as if begging you to let out your feelings; the things that have been left unsaid for so long.
You knew, now, wasn't the time for it. It was simple, perhaps.
Perhaps, you are useless, and hopeless that's why he abandoned you, it would be easier to think this way.
You pause as you have reached his room, the wooden door remains closed. The events of your last time here relays in your mind. His chilling gaze, his shaking voice, his disheveled appearance; everything is as clear as day in your memory.
You take out a sticky note, a pen between your fingers as you write.
You don't need to keep going on missions to avoid me. Take your time with it and talk to me when you feel comfortable. You don't have to burn yourself out.
You couldn't bring yourself to sign the note. He would understand it once he sees it; you are sure of it.
His tired footsteps echoes in the hallway as he makes his way towards his room. A paper clutched in his gloved hand; the mission he plans on taking upon the next morning.
He knows avoidance isn't really a solution but he can't gather up the courage to face her, yet.
He reaches his room, his gloved hand reaches out to unlock the door before his gaze falls on a note sticking on his door.
He reaches out to take it off. The note isn't signed but he doesn't need it to be signed to know who wrote it.
It's clearly her handwriting. Subconsciously a smile forms on his lips. She is worried for me, now?
Sometimes, he can't understand her. Her confused gaze when she looks at his eye-patch, her hesitation, her concern, any of it.
He crumbles the note in his fist before throwing it away. He doesn't need it— the false sympathy and concern.
But for some reason, it didn't seem false to his heart.
His mind persisted that it's just a deception— his heart believed otherwise.
He gets inside, exhaling deeply, taking off his coat frantically. His gloved hand comes up to run through his bangs on the left side of his face. Fingers curling up in the locks, don't be fooled, she finds me disgusting.
He settles onto the plush couch where he usually sat with her to do paperwork. The thought makes him hiss, tousling his hair again.
“Fuck, everything seems to remind me of you now”
He curses before inhaling deeply and exhaling deeply. His gloved hand shaking slightly, barely noticeable but he can see it.
His mind goes back to the day everything started, once again.
When Sabo had heard her voice cracking through the den den mushi, his body moved immediately, involuntarily. The documents? The mission? Everything was discarded aside in that moment. His priority was getting to her.
When he had gotten there, she was already bleeding, barely conscious. The sight tugged at his heart, his heart thumped loudly, the documents in his hands were discarded at side, which he didn't even care about.
Silver metallic eyes glinting with anger, fists clenched, flames swirling from his body, as he turned to the person responsible for this. His body moved on it's own, fists meeting with the man's body, flames engulfing the man not allowing him even a second for reaction. He couldn't stop, he didn't know how to.
Nothing could make him stop right now, not after what the man had done to her. “Chief! That's enough! He's no more..”, the voice of one soldier happened to reach his ears pulling him out of the trance.
He huffed, stepped back. No one had seen him so livid, so terrifying before. There was not an ounce of gentleness or grace in his movements; just pure rage.
“Sorry, got carried away”, he replied moving closer to her side.
Crouching down to inspect her, his moves were, now, gentle and soft contrasting to his previous rage. Swiftly, carrying her in his arms, he took her back to the ship — to safety.
He stayed by her side the entire time, worried. The failure of the mission didn't even cross his mind. Just the woman before him mattered, her body so tattered, so battle-scarred made his chest tighten. He just wanted her to be alright, to wake up.
That was the day I realized how much she mattered to me and how much I love her.
Few days later, He entered the room she was in, his eyes glow silver at the sight of her sitting up. He strided towards her instantly. “Y/n! You're awake”, his voice was soft and carried a hint of happiness.
However, she hadn't notice his presence yet. He moved closer, sitting beside her on the bed, “How are you feeling now?”, concern laced in his voice as he addressed her. “Mhm fine”, she replied, relief washed over his body upon hearing her voice.
“We are almost back at Baltigo, rest up”, he wanted her to get as much as rest she can. “Baltigo? Wait, what happened to the mission? The document?”, she asked with raspy voice.
He had almost forgotten about the mission, the documents. The documents had gotten lost after he discarded them are side, it had slipped off his mind completely.
“Couldn't get it”, he managed,he knew she'd be sad. Unlike him, it mattered to her. The mission, the document, the failure mattered a lot to her.
“You left it because I asked for help? Didn't you?”, the accusing tone sent made him freeze.
He saw it coming, she was like this; too diligent, overbearing, always putting herself at risk to achieve results. However, he hadn't expected this.
“It's not that. You don't have to worry about it”, he rose from the bed.
He didn't know how to handle this, how to make her feel better. It wasn't her fault in the slightest. It was his move, she shouldn't have to feel burdened with it.
“How can I not? You left it because I asked for help, right? Tell me!”, he flinched at the question, he didn't know how to respond to that.
No matter what words he chooses, it will make her feel like she was at fault. It would be better not to tell her anything at all, perhaps.
“Answer me! Isn't that so? Because I was fucking useless and incompetent— because I asked you to come over— I- I could've held on longer! Why didn't—”, that was the last string, it frustrated him, made his blood boil.
How could she think like that about herself? She did everything she could, why couldn't she understand that it wasn't her fault? It makes him mad to know she thought so low of herself. She is fucking amazing, capable, dependable, strong and glorious unlike him who let his emotions take lead.
He turned to face her, covered in bandages, so tattered, so vulnerable and yet, so strong. The words tugged at his heart, he couldn't hide the anger, anger at her for thinking like that about herself.
The anger evident was in his voice, “How could I let you be? Don't be ridiculous! You're covered in bandages!”, his voice came out rougher than he wanted it to, more angrier with a tinge of concern beneath.
“You could've died if I came a little later! It's all fine as long as you're alive!”, he huffed, just the thought of it makes his body freeze. The image of her laying unconscious, bleeding, covered in injuries flashed in his mind.
Fists clenching at his sides, No, I should have been softer, gentler with my tone. She's hurt. I need to—
“—Ridiculous! It's nothing at all! It would have been better if—”, his thoughts are cut short as her voice reached his ears.
He cuts her off, he knew he shouldn't but he couldn't bear to hear it. “Shut up! We did enough! We did what we could do”, he yelled.
He didn't meant to but he ended up doing it anyways. He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his blonde hair to calm himself down.
What have I done? I yelled at her when she's injured, when she needs help and reassurance. Agh, now only he realized that he had yelled at her when he shouldn't have. It wasn't supposed to go like this.
“Don't blame yourself, y/n. It's fine, really”, hemanagesd, softer this time. He couldn't bring himself to look at her face after yelling at her. He walked out of the room; to think better, to calm down.
He let the salty breeze envelope him, his blonde hair swayed gently, he rest against the railing of the ship as the silhouette of Baltigo had started to come into view.
“I'll talk to her once we reach back, with her favourite coffee. She will definitely listen”, he mumbled to himself, he smiled softly at the thought of sharing a warm coffee with her.
However, it didn't go as he planned. She locked herself up in her room, refusing to get out. He couldn't help but feel more anxious.
He, frequently, checked up on her to make sure she was alright. He couldn't help it, his legs moved on their own before he could even think he was heading to her quarters, again.
He stood in front of the door for what feels like minutes before mustering up the courage to knock softly on the wood, “Y/n, it's me. Sabo. How are you feeling now?”, his voice laced with concern and softness. He wasn't going to repeat his mistake. This time gentler, softer, and with grace.
The familiar voice muffled by the material reached his ear, the voice low and cracking, the sound made his chest tighten. He hated the sound of it. “How can I leave you alone, y/n? It's been days. Open up atleast”, his voice gentle and soft, he couldn't get himself to raise his voice at her again.
He was met with same response he has been getting since days, “I'm fine, leave me alone”, even if he wanted to he couldn't do it. Not when he knew she was suffering physically and emotionally.
He pleaded, this time, “Please, open the door. Just this once?”, he didn't care how he sounded. How it seemed like he was pleading to her as long as he could her face, once again.
“—Leave! Why the hell do you keep coming back? I said I'm fine!”, her voice sharper this time. He exhaled softly choosing his words before speaking. “—Leave you alone? Never!”, he said firmly. He wasn't leaving her side, not when she needed him the most, when it mattered the most.
“—the hell can't you understand that I don't want to see you? You're disgus— your scar, your face, everything about y—! ”, her voice muffled by the material between him and her.
He couldn't make out a bit of her sentence but he was sure he heard her call him “Disgusting”
He opened his mouth to speak but the words wouldn't come out. It stings. He felt something shatter inside him, no, he has to be hearing it wrong.
“Your face, scar —it makes me sick! I don't want to see your face again!”, his mind filled in the gaps he couldn't hear by itself . His ears started ringing, his hands trembled. His breath came out in shallow gasps, he couldn't believe his ears. The world around him had started spinning.
“i-i..”, he tried, the words wouldn't come out. He didn't know what to say, what even he could? If that was the case, he couldn't do anything about it; about the situation, her thinking, her disgust. He decided to walk off, without uttering a word.
That's when I had come to know how much she loathed me. My love was shattered before I even had a chance.
The next day, He had gotten up like he usually did, got dressed, made his hair. But something had felt different that day, his heart felt heavy for some reason. He stared at himself in the mirror for longer than usual, staring at his scar.
You're disgusting! the words rang in his ears even now. Gloved fingers tracing the bumps on the left side of his face. He didn't gave much thought to his scar before this. He always thought it Was bad but,
Is it really that disgusting?
He shook the thoughts away, it didn't matter. It was who he is, he couldn't change it. He walked down the hallways, with a weak smile. But, no matter what he does, the words crept back into his mind like a haunting nightmare.
He saw her making her way to him. He couldn't look at her the same again, sure, he cared for her and loved her but he didn't have a place for someone in his heart who didn't accept him.
Still, the sight of her making her way to him quickened his heart. However, It was different this time, it wasn't the fluttering feeling which made his heart quicken; it was anxiousness. His hands started trembling without him even realizing, “Sabo! I want to talk—”, he glared at her with a sharp gaze which makes her stop mid-sentence.
He didn't bother to utter a word to her, he simply brushed her off. He didn't need to talk to her, not after what happened. It was pointless to hear someone make excuses. He busied himself with others, talking with people to avoid her. However, he felt her gaze on him. It made his skin crawl, he couldn't get himself to look. at anyone else in the eye either. He couldn't comprehend what's wrong with him.
It felt like they were staring at him, his face, his scar specifically. It made him anxious, uncomfortable even. He avoided meeting everyone's gaze.
The second day, he felt as if all the eyes were on him, his face, his scar, in a room full of people. It felt as if they stared at the left spot of his face, talked about it, even when no one was actually looking. His breath came out in shallow gasps, fingers clenched, sweat dropping. He tugged at his hat, futilely trying to cover his face with it.
He couldn't stand in the room anymore. It felt too heavy, as if all the eyes were focused on him, and him alone. He strided, ran almost, towards the washroom. Splashing cold water on his face to calm himself down. His hands trembling as he did so. He stared at himself in the mirror, water dripping down his face. His eyes focused on the left side of his face.
He couldn't look at it, the sight made his body tremble, his legs weak. His heart thumped loudly in his chest, gripping tightly onto the sink to refrain himself giving out. “What has gotten into me? I-”, palm to the left side of his face. He has never felt like this before, not because of his face or scar. Not this strongly at least.
He looks at himself in the mirror again, slowly removing his hand from his face. His heart quickened at the sight, the mark felt like a blemish. As if it looked back at him, haunting and confiding him. You're disgusting, the words rang in his ears.
Before he knew, his fist met with the hard material of mirror shattering it on the spot. Blood dripping down his knuckles, he didn't felt it; the pain or the blood didn't register in his mind.
He pranced out, his gaze fell upon her in the hallway, blood trickling down his knuckles splattering on the floor leaving a trail of blood behind. The sight of her makes the words ring in his ears again and again.
You're disgusting, he covered his ears in an attempt to block out the voice. What will make the voice go away? How could he get it to stop? He didn't know.
On the third day, he didn't feel like getting out of his room. Not when everything felt like it was focused on him, like everyone stared at him. His mind was loud, too loud. He couldn't hold a coherent thought in this state or moment. He didn't want to go out of his room at all, but he had to. He is the commander, chief of the staff, he couldn't stay huddled up in his room forever.
He goes through his clothes, when a piece of cloth falls on the floor. Crouching down to get it, he stared at it — an eye-patch he had bought for a disguise on a mission. “This could work”, he mumbled to himself.
Putting on the eye-patch with shaky hands. He had shattered the mirror in his room as well, he couldn't bear to look at himself since yesterday. It felt like he hated himself now. Like his own face was treading over him now. It was a foreign emotion, he wasn't used to it at all.
The patch covered the most of his left side of face; he could tell by touching it. It hid the part of his face he has started to feel more insecure of. And when as soon as he wore that, he felt his body relaxing slightly and the voices in his head diminishing. It's just what he had been looking for.
The patch blocked his vision but he didn't care, atleast it made the voice in his head go away. It felt better and lighter. When he walked around the base with the patch on, everyone noticed. Of course, they did it was hard not to. “Why are you wearing an eye-patch?”, Koala was the first to ask him bluntly considering their close relationship. He managed a weak smile, “Just because”
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