if you ever find yourself thinking “wow I scraped the bottom of the barrel with my energy with that and came out okay!” that’s the devil talking. you did not come out okay. you borrowed energy from the future. you will repay it if you don’t rest and replenish the borrowed energy first.
WIZARD PSA: Chronomancy might be weird and confusing, but one of the few solid rules of the discipline is keep your promises. Time is a library, and you don't want to meet the librarian.
➳ categories: college au, friends to lovers au, female she/her reader, best friend's brother trope, light angst
➳ warnings: lots of drinking
➳ word count: 17.4k
➳ summary: A drinking game hosted by your friends causes you to evaluate your feelings for your best friend's brother.
➳ notes: this is an exchange fic for @justsomeoneintoomanyfandoms in celebration of #infixopmarch2025 @infixop! more personal notes at the bottom :)
➳ cross-posted on ao3
ONE.
Contrary to popular belief, people love to attend Monkey D. Luffy’s college parties because his tight circle of high school friends save the night with free food, drinking games, and comedic entertainment.
It’s no secret that the Monkey-Portgas residence has taken Foosha Village by storm because it’s buzzing with twenty-somethings every Friday night. You’re starting to think they’re pissing off the restobar owners down central street for stealing their most loyal frat boys and sorority girls, but you can’t blame Luffy for that. He’s charming, and his brothers are, too. Their energy is influential, drawing you in like a moth to a flame, contagious. Life is never dull with them around, so you find yourself, along with many others, frequenting their house often.
On days when Luffy isn’t hosting, he likes to invite you and his friends from high school to come over. He called this one in particular a simple get-together, a meeting with friends. Not wild, just chill. Naturally, he scheduled it on the day when his older brothers were out of town for “Seniors’ Night,” a mandatory event out of school grounds supposedly spent stress-free. Even then, all efforts at keeping the small gathering simple was lost once Zoro (certified rice wine lover) showed up with Nami (certified drinker) with a bag of alcohol squished in the backseat of Usopp’s Mazda.
You arrived at Luffy’s an hour early, so you witnessed your friends storm his home under the impression that it was an alcoholic party. As time passed, sobriety slipped from your grasp as you downed a bottle of who-knows-what until words came out slurred and conduct turned disgraceful.
The events that transpired from that point onward are incomprehensible.
“Drinks, drinks, anybody? Hey, would you care for a shot?”
“Stop it, Sanji. Leave the girl alone,” Nami hissed as the man tried to offer you another beautifully concocted drink. Upon her orders, Sanji retreated into the kitchen with a waiting tray, four—five?—shots into Jägermeister because Zoro challenged him to a drinking competition thirty minutes ago.
Nami relaxed into the cushion behind her and sighed deeply, her head buzzing from the alcohol she gloriously bought.
“Sanji! Zoro! You’re in the living room in the next two minutes, or I’m kicking you out!”
The following events are blurry, but you remember several things if you try hard enough. First, Sanji came back from the kitchen with a bottle of Jose Cuervo after Nami’s angry mandate; second, Nami unveiled a brand new deck of cards from her purse, a few of which suspiciously had an 18+ label stamped on the back; third, Luffy crashed your circle by barreling down the staircase in a yellow straw hat, a sign that he was already wasted; and fourth, Usopp cried into your side as the rest of the group realized that Nami was forcing everyone to a wild game of Truth or Drink.
You remember chasing a shot with ice-cold Sprite, deciding it was better to match everyone else’s drunkenness. A few rounds passed before you were chosen through a lucky spin of an empty glass bottle, to which Nami responded by shuffling the deck expertly and letting you choose from the display.
Afraid you would do something more than you bargained for, you chose the safe cards closest to you.
“Tell us which one of your friends’ siblings you would date… or drink the number of letters they have in their name.”
You don’t remember which one of your friends dared to howl aloud, but you recall Nami displaying an awful grin on her face, like watching you suffer was fun for her. Zoro erupted in genuine laughter, Luffy laughed through a mouthful of barbecue, Usopp covered his mouth in shock, and Sanji made a face of disagreement, waving his hands frantically in the air.
“Please,” he said your name, “do not say any of my brothers.”
You shook your head. “I don’t intend to.”
“Good,” he exhaled.
“Honestly, I don’t intend on saying anything.”
The small crowd erupted in oohs and ahhs at your display of bravery, surprised that you decided to drink x number of shots just to save face. You vaguely recall what they talked about as you chugged one shot after the other, but distinct voices at the back of your brain exchange a series of concerned mumbles that you can somewhat remember.
“How much is she going to drink?” Usopp.
“Not much. If I’m being honest, I don’t think she can handle drinking six.” Nami.
“She isn’t drinking past five because she emptied my Jäger an hour ago.” Zoro.
“That crosses out Nojiko and Ichiji. She’s two shots in.” Usopp again.
As you guzzled the third, the group waited for your next move. Stopping at three meant the obvious since Luffy’s brother Ace—hot, muscular, tattooed, and a little bit older—is the only suspect with three letters in his name. It was harder to tell otherwise. When you poured yourself another shot, your friends pressed on with concern.
Sanji was losing his cool. “I refuse to believe this.”
“I refuse your refusal,” Luffy joked.
“Tell me it isn’t Yonji,” begged Sanji. “Not Yonji, not Yonji, not Yonji, not Yonji—”
Nami shot him a glare, but his wish was granted soon enough. Silence fell in the room as you sat back on the armchair after having downed four shots nonstop. Sanji’s ears shot blood red as he realized that you weren’t hinting at his younger brother, but his older brother.
Vinsmoke Niji.
Zoro snickered. “You’re forgetting Sabo.”
After spending some time wordless, Luffy giggled. “Yeah, my brother! Sabo is a good man!” he uttered, happy to hear his brother’s name.
Sanji was unconvinced. Usopp shared the same sentiments.
Turning toward you, he asked, “Who is it?”
A hiccup erupted from the back of your throat. With every passing second, your vision began to darken. “I’m-I’m not telling,” you slurred stubbornly. Zoro laughed at your resistance, while Sanji broke down.
A few moments later, you blacked out.
The lights are out when Ace drives his Honda Civic into the parking spot by their front yard, which he finds rather unusual for a night like this. Luffy was supposed to host a get-together today—small and exclusive, sure, but Ace knows better than to expect any celebration thrown by his brother to actually stay that way. Luffy, after all, is an energetic twit. Plus, he scheduled it on a Friday night when most people at university are free.
Currently, it’s two hours past Saturday midnight and a quiet home is more suspicious to him than not.
Ace slaps Sabo awake in the passenger seat. Sabo stirs grumpily.
“What is it?” the blond mumbles, voice hoarse and laced with sleep. He’s been in that position for over an hour, just snoozing throughout the entire car ride home. That stupid Seniors’ Night robbed him of all his energy, so he passed out in the car as soon as he entered. Ace points a thumb past his shoulder.
“House is quiet. You enter first.”
“The hell?” Sabo whispers confusedly, not realizing that they’ve arrived home.
“Check if the coast is clear because I do not want to walk in on uni kids doing stupid stuff,” Ace reasons. “And can you bring my stuff inside while you’re at it?”
Sabo whines, but he doesn’t question it anymore because his feet are taking him to the front door in a matter of seconds, his bags and Ace’s slung across his body. With shoulders relaxed and eyes half-lidded, Sabo fiddles with his keys and unlocks the big timber doors to welcome the scent of old sweet home.
He acknowledges the scent of alcohol and the evident mess on the floor, but he walks past it nonchalantly, recognizing it as a typical occurrence at home. He checks the kitchen, takes note of the soda spill on the counter and the Dorito crumbs by his feet, then groggily saunters to Ace’s bedroom in the basement.
He drops his brother’s bags by the door before realizing that Ace is right about the eerie stillness. The house is dark, too. The only light comes from the faint glow of Sabo’s phone screen as he navigates the hallway toward his bedroom upstairs. Too exhausted to second-guess anything, he nudges his door open, drops his duffel bag to the floor, and collapses onto his bed.
But the moment his body hits what should’ve been his mattress, he screams at the bone and flesh he just collided into.
“AHHH!” he yelps, his body instantly rolling over to the side of the bed. His eyes shoot open as he collects himself, standing upright then scrambling to the light switch. He flicks it on.
“Oww,” someone groans pathetically underneath his sheets at the impact. Sabo freezes. He watches their hands clutch at the ends of his comforter and toss it aside swiftly.
He exhales a breath of relief when he realizes it’s you.
“What’s happening?” you mumble, eyes falling close no matter your efforts to keep them open. “Luffy? Sanji?”
“Uh, no,” Sabo answers. Eyes still closed, you stretch your limbs and roll over the mattress, getting comfortable once again in his sheets. “Um…”
“Wake me… in the morning… please,” you mumble, your voice barely above a whisper. Sabo lingers awkwardly by the door as you drift back to sleep within seconds, completely unaware of his dilemma.
Normally, he’d let you sleep undisturbed. He’s nice like that, and he avoids confrontation whenever he can. Plus, he has a soft spot for drunk people as the token caretaker of his friend group on a drunk night out. Luffy is probably passed out somewhere in the house, too, snoring alongside his equally rowdy friends.
But tonight, Sabo is too exhausted to be nice. He’s not in the mood to surrender his bed, even if he could just crash on the floor. For once, he wants to be selfish—either kick you off the mattress or wedge himself into the tiny sliver of space you’ve left behind.
“Hey, wake up,” he says, gently shaking your shoulder. You don’t respond. “Wake up. Please. I need to sleep.”
He pokes your nose, your side. He even tries to tickle you—still nothing. After a few more failed attempts, he sighs in defeat and sinks to the floor with a groan.
Having surrendered to exhaustion, he turns off the light, digs through his duffel bag for a fresh set of clothes, and quickly changes before finally collapsing into the space beside you.
TWO.
Nami always insisted on cleanliness, and that involved keeping your shared apartment fragrant. It was her first complaint when she stepped foot in your flat—she thought she could brighten up the place with her aroma lamp and essential oils, something Zoro or Usopp never considered doing before she moved in with the three of you. From that moment onward, every waking morning at your four-bedroom apartment smelled of fresh bamboo or white tea, depending on the oil she chose to diffuse in her lamp earlier that week.
Apart from their clean crisp odor, Nami’s essential oils are pervasive. It wafts through every inch of the house, fighting with the aroma of grease and umami from the dishes that Sanji cooks whenever he comes over. The odor of fresh bamboo is simply something you cannot miss. Quite frankly, you love it. Even Zoro does.
That said, you find it strange when your senses come together and you smell nothing of the sort in your bedroom. It’s the morning after Luffy’s get-together—you’re aware of that, but for some reason, your senses perceive foreign textures and smells the more you stir. Your fingers, running across the soft comforter underneath you, move farther as you stretch your limbs awake. You feel the softness of the material until you brush against something warm, something soft… and flesh-like.
You force your eyes open.
“What?!”
The morning calmness is disrupted by your cry. You sit up from the mattress, the comforter falling to your lap as you move away from the sleeping boy next to you. Sabo, the middle child of Luffy’s confusing family, is crammed into the narrow space by the edge of the bed. He sleeps soundly in a fetal position, his right arm tucked under his head as a makeshift pillow. His bangs fall softly on his face, covering the scar by his left eye.
Your heart skips a beat.
You hop off the bed and slip out of his room. How you ended up in Sabo’s bedroom after last night’s events is a mystery. It’s equally mysterious that he (and presumably Ace) are back home from their trip. Against all odds, you fell asleep beside him. The only logical response at this point is to evacuate the premises before he wakes up.
You retrieve your items from the living room, thanking yourself for keeping them clustered together on the couch. When you pass the staircase on the way to the door, Ace zombie-walks from the basement and greets you with bedhead hair.
“Why are you awake so early?” he asks, leaning against the banister. It’s 6:00 in the morning, and last he checked, not a single one of Luffy’s friends wakes up at this hour.
“Why are you awake so early?” you return the question, much to Ace’s dismay. He frowns.
“Serving me attitude at 6:00 AM? Okay,” he says through a yawn. “I’m surprised you can walk just fine after killing your liver last night. That, and not having serious bruises after sleeping next to Sabo.”
“Hey, I’m no— wait, what?” You blink.
“Sabo used to kick me in his sleep when we were children,” he continues. His face contorts into bewilderment when he notices your discomfort. “What’s with that look?”
“How did you know I slept at Sabo’s?” you question, tone firm.
“Oh, that.” He shrugs, scratching the morning itch on his elbow. He explains ordering Sabo last night when they got home. “Figured he’d gone straight to bed, but I wanted to make sure. To my surprise, you were there with him.”
Yawning, he runs his fingers through his soiled hair.
“What were you doing in his room, anyway?”
You look onward with a troubled expression. What were you doing in his room? Your latest memory of Luffy’s get-together was Sanji bickering with Zoro over shots of Jäger, which you delightfully emptied after they abandoned the bottle. You remember playing a game or two with alcohol as punishment, but you’re not exactly sure what occurred. You headed to the bathroom somewhere in between, and you don’t recall much after that.
“I don’t know,” you tell him truthfully, yet ashamed. It’s one thing to get drunk, but it’s another to lose memory of all that transpired. “I know it’s a hard ask, but can you promise me just this once that you won’t tell anyone?”
“About what?”
“About me winding up in your brother’s bedroom,” you deadpan.
Ace thinks you're being a little ridiculous for freaking out over this, but he gets it. Among the three of them, you know Sabo the least, so the awkwardness checks out. He’d bet good money that Sabo had a near-death infarction upon seeing you passed out on his bed.
You like to think Ace thought about it for a while before answering.
“Sabo wasn’t drunk, you know. He’ll remember what happened last night.”
You groan.
“But if you’re worried about my brother conspiring against you for stealing 80% of his bed space”—you shove your hands into your palms—“I can assure you there is nothing to worry about. He’s not the type.”
Ace decides to be a role model and gives you an aspirin tablet to kill your migraine. Not long after that, you walk home and snuggle in bed.
You don’t wake up for the next four hours, even when your subconscious hears the tinkling of Nami’s keys unlocking the front door.
THREE.
Your university is located along busy Conomi Avenue, where locals and tourists dash in and out of establishments, stores, and embellished infrastructures. Along the main road stands an authentic Japanese ramen shop, which you and your friends swing by often after school.
On this particular day, you’re with the usual pack: Nami, Usopp, and Zoro. Sanji is away preparing for a cookout hosted by his adoptive father Zeff, while Luffy is somewhere over the rainbow. Nobody really knows where he is; Usopp’s brightest guess is Sanji’s place, probably snuffling all the food he and Zeff are putting out before the big event.
That aside, your friends have made it a big deal to bring up the events that occurred one night ago. Well, “friends” being Nami and Usopp—Zoro is just there to eat.
“Care to explain what that was about?” Nami asks keenly, swirling her drink with a metallic straw. When you display ignorance to some parts of their wild recollection, Usopp runs with you the full sequence of events that you wish never happened.
“I did what?!”
“Maybe I should have lied,” he mutters.
“God, you’ve got to be kidding me,” you grumble. “I didn’t actually do any of that, did I?”
“Winding up in someone’s bed completely drunk was already embarrassing enough,” Nami says, “but what did it for me was the fact that you drank four shots of Cuervo in the name of the very guy whose bed you ended up sleeping on.”
“I was not drinking for Sabo!” you protest. Your friends are unamused. “Don’t give me that look. I could have been drinking for no reason!”
“Yeah, totally,” Usopp deadpans. There is silence before he speaks again. “So, about Vinsmoke Niji…”
“I am not interested in Vinsmoke.”
“Right, so, you’re into Sabo.”
“I—” you stammer, your brain going haywire. “Look, I don’t really know where this is coming from.”
“U-huh.”
“All I did was play a game and drink a few shots, which shouldn’t mean anything considering I wasn’t in the right headspace.” Usopp looks at Nami with a raised brow, and that’s how they communicate their thoughts. They’re calling nonsense, but you object. “It’s the truth!”
“I think her reasoning is fair,” Zoro chimes in for the first time in ten minutes. He swallows a mouthful of tuna onigiri and leans into another generous bite like the glutton he is. Nothing beats an authentic Japanese restaurant smack-dab in the middle of tourist central.
“Thank you, Zoro.”
“But their arguments are just as fair.” He sprinkles grounded pepper into his ramen bowl. Your mouth closes in shock. “There is no forgetting what we witnessed.”
A stubborn back-and-forth breaks out in the middle of your lunch date. According to Usopp—backed by Zoro’s half-grunted observations—you were carried off to Luffy’s bedroom for a proper night’s rest after getting absolutely wrecked by Nami’s stupid drinking game. But somewhere in the middle of the night, you apparently woke up, wandered off, and insisted on crashing in the next room over, which just so happened to be Sabo’s, where you proceeded to sleep like a rock until he came home. Your friends tried to get you out of there a few times, but you had clung to the door frame and refused to be lugged away.
“Maybe I just found his bed more comfy,” you guess. Really, there’s no telling what was going through your drunk brain that night. Sabo is just Luffy’s older brother to you. Nothing more, nothing less. You don’t even talk often. While he has the looks as any of his siblings would have, you don’t like him the way Nami and Usopp make your feelings out to be.
Although Nami objects regardless. “That’s a little extra, don’t you think?”
“There’s nothing else I can think of that can justify what happened. I don’t like Sabo that way,” you say firmly, but end up mumbling toward the end. Nami isn’t wrong. It does seem a little extra. All your actions align as if to indicate some hidden feelings that you haven’t been telling anyone.
Suddenly, a realization dawns on you.
“Unless I do like him. Could it be that I actually like him?”
“Everyone thought you did. It seemed real when you were insistent on not telling,” she points out.
“To my sober and fully awakened knowledge, I don’t like that boy, thank you very much.” You shake your head, collapsing on your chair. “But it’s food for thought. Maybe I do like him, and I just don’t know it.”
Truth be told, your friends make sense to some degree. You find Sabo quite interesting because he’s easy to like, but not in the same loud, chaotic way his brothers are. Liking him platonically is more subtle, quieter, and in many ways different. He has a side of him that is strangely similar to his brothers, but he stands apart with his calm demeanor and thoughtful gestures.
Although it’s a problem now that your feelings are being questioned. You never saw him romantically. You think he’s nice, but you have never thought of him in that light. Sabo is just Luffy’s brother to you, someone you can depend on in the event of an emergency, but not someone you actively think of and speak to. Before going back to his devices, Zoro spews out some words of wisdom that he ought you hear.
“You’re rarely yourself when drunk, but alcohol imparts people’s deepest desires,” he says. “On one hand, it changes people. On the other hand, it tempts you to say the truth. Think about it.”
So you do. You think about it as the conversation fades into something else. You think about it as you pay the bill and leave the store well-fed. It’s in your mind as you go to bed that night, as you hop in the shower the following morning, as you get ready for another week of university, as you do your homework at the library. Zoro’s words haunt you everywhere you go, and it doesn’t help when Nami and Usopp tease you whenever Sabo’s name is thrown around. You can’t shake off the feeling that Zoro might be right.
That, or you’re just delusional. Feelings are weird. You might just be infatuated, for all you care.
You’re back at the ramen shop with Zoro a week later. You haven’t seen Luffy, much less come over at his place, since your schedules have become increasingly different over time. But if it meant avoiding any and all interactions with his brother by steering clear of their home, it might be for the better.
“Usopp wants a mild bowl,” you tell Zoro. Having known the owner, he volunteers to order takeout, while you sit and wait for him at an empty table by the front window.
You’re on your phone when you’re approached by the very person you don’t want to see.
“Oh, hey. Nice to see you here.”
You lift your head to find Luffy’s brothers standing before you. Ace, who greeted you out of the blue, is in a black hoodie and shorts like he came straight out of the gym. Sabo, standing behind him, is more well-dressed, with a backpack strapped to his shoulders like he just got out of the lecture hall. When Sabo catches your eye, you quickly look away.
“What are you doing here?” you blurt out, unintentionally coming off as rude. “Sorry, I meant, what’s up? Here for some ramen?”
“Yeah, I’ve had a tiring day,” says Ace. You don’t point out the odd fact that he claims to be tired at 12 noon, but you remember he’s narcoleptic. “Anyway, I’ll catch up with you later. I’m getting food.” He nudges Sabo behind him. “Sabo can keep you company.”
“Wait—” Sabo is pushed aside as Ace lines up two customers behind Zoro. Your eyes fall on the man standing before you, but you avert your gaze quickly.
Sabo regains his composure and decides to sit across you, paying no mind at how undeniably awkward it’s getting.
Your sentiments aren’t any better, especially when the man in front of you has been on your mind the past week. If anything, you find it more suffocating. Sabo doesn’t know, but he’s all you ever think about because you’re confused with your feelings. Your roommates don’t make it any better, either. Your conversation with them flashes before your eyes, and momentarily, you hope Sabo is clueless about your drunken antics.
“Where’s Luffy?” you ask, a poor attempt to relieve the tension between you.
He’s a little surprised, like he doesn’t expect you to talk to him at all. Even then, he answers your question with a rather short reply. “At home.”
“Oh.” You nod. He looks down at his lap, and you figure he’s on his phone. Your shoulders sag, and shame creeps up your spine. He doesn’t want to talk.
But you’re proven otherwise a few moments later.
“Ace mentioned something about you being anxious that I was mad,” he says out of the blue. He awaits your reaction, only continuing when you look up at him with parted lips and a creased brow. “If you’re worried about the bed thing, I hope you know it’s okay. I kinda thought it was funny.”
You almost don’t believe him, but he supplies it with a light chuckle, so you do. His words become even more alluring when the corners of his lips lift upward and his front teeth show. Sabo is cute, but has he always been this cute?
“Thanks for not lashing out,” you say. “I was drunk, but I was worried it was inappropriate. Not that it wasn’t—it was, since I snuck in your room and slept there the whole night.”
“No, I should apologize for forcing myself on the bed beside you. I was tired,” he explains. You don’t think he should apologize, but it’s a habit of his. Sabo doesn’t want bad blood with anyone, it seems. “If what Luffy says is true, you blacked out first before your friends did. There’s no need to feel bad about wanting to sleep on a proper bed.”
Blood rushes to your face, and suddenly, your cheeks are hot.
“Yeah…” you mumble sheepishly, opting for such a reply instead of something else. “Just so you know, that doesn’t normally happen.”
“I understand it was a fun night.”
You shake your head. “Well, yes, but I never get that drunk. I drink moderately, and I’m not a lightweight either.” Realizing you’re getting defensive, your head falls in shame. “Sorry.”
“Hey, it’s okay. I don’t judge,” says Sabo. His tone is gentle like he means it, like he promises he isn’t judging. And the crazy thing is, you believe him. Relief washes over you at his reassurance, and you feel more at ease with your rambunctious display of behavior many nights ago. “I blacked out one time after Ace gave me Everclear. I know the feeling.”
A lighthearted laugh makes it past your lips, and for the first time in more than a week, you feel like you can talk to him normally again. It’s good to have brought it up, and suddenly you realize that he’s sort of confrontational, but gentle.
Zoro comes back a few minutes later with a paper bag of Japanese takeout. You don’t see it yourself, but you know he shoots you with an amused look when you seem to happily bid Sabo farewell. Even then, he doesn’t bring it up and just follows you on the walk back home, keeping his thoughts to himself.
FOUR.
From that day onward, you see Sabo more often than you expect. You cross paths on campus, sometimes on the way to class, and more surprisingly at random food chains along Conomi Avenue. It’s strange, and while it helps to have cleared up your awkward encounter, seeing him as often as you do now doesn’t help your confusing feelings. It’s especially problematic since he’s so nice to you, and you tend to be a sucker for courteous actions.
The next time you see Sabo, you’re at his house. Luffy begged you to come over because he’s been suffering the symptoms of food poisoning, which earned him a playful slap from Nami and a well-deserved lecture from Sanji. You decided to visit him with your roommates, and by the time you arrive, Sanji is already there.
“You’re going to die an early death if you keep this up,” Nami scolds him, pressing harder on the cooling gel on Luffy’s forehead. Sitting by the foot of his bed, your friends look at him pitifully.
“I’m sorry,” is all Luffy says, which sounds rather genuine given his pitiful state.
After some time, everyone shuffles out of his bedroom for lunch, leaving you to look after Luffy yourself. He falls asleep an hour or so later, and only then does Sabo decide to appear.
He approaches his brother, sits beside him on the mattress, and tucks the blanket under his chin. “He looks better than last night thanks to Sanji’s cooking,” he says, and you hum in acknowledgement.
“That’s great,” you mumble. Luffy hardly gets sick, but when he does, it sucks the life out of him. Thankfully, this isn’t your first rodeo with a sick friend. Living with three people and no trusted adult leaves you to just figure things out on your own. “How did he get poisoned?”
Sabo sighs. He stands from the mattress and crosses his arms on his chest. He tries to stifle a chuckle, saying, “He and Ace ate at a barbecue place when I wasn’t around. Lufy ate a bunch of undercooked meat and couldn’t handle it.”
Laughter erupts from the back of your throat, but you resist the urge in fear of waking your friend. Luffy shuffles in his bed.
“You can laugh,” Sabo tells you.
“I’d rather not,” you retort. “It’s already bad enough that he’s skipping uni. You should have more sympathy for your brother.”
“Hey, hey,” he says, looking at Luffy then back at you, “let’s tone down the accusations. And for the record, Ace had been making fun of him a whole lot worse.”
Sabo decides to stay at Luffy’s bedroom with you, oftentimes asking you things about his brother and commenting on nonsense that he thinks you would find hilarious. It feels strange to talk to Sabo this way after many years of just passively acknowledging each other, but his attempt to talk to you is sweeter than not. And for some reason, it makes you feel warm inside. Zoro’s words from a couple of weeks ago find their way into your brain, and for a moment, you’re distracted.
When you seem to have short-circuited, he asks, “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” you respond quickly. He nods. He inches closer toward Luffy and presses the back of his hand to his brother’s forehead. “Is he?”
“Not quite,” he says. “I’ll get him another gel pack. Could you slip into the bathroom and get some paracetamol?”
Upon Sabo’s orders, you walk to the common bathroom down the hallway of Luffy’s bedroom in search of the tablets. You open the medicine cabinet by the door, but the paracetamol isn’t there.
You look around the bathroom. Open shelves with toiletries line the back wall of the sink. At the topmost shelf sits a first aid kit, collecting dust. But there’s no stool in sight.
Standing on your tiptoes, you take your chances and reach for the kit, but it’s too far up. A grumble rips from your throat. Who stows away an emergency kit out of reach? Although when you stand back on your heels, you’re reminded that Luffy's brothers are unnecessarily tall on top of being bad organizers. Clearly, Sabo didn’t think your job through.
Slowly, you hoist yourself up on the small counter space by the sink. You kneel, but the marble hurts your kneecaps. You recoil backward before trying again.
That’s when Sabo comes in.
“Hey, I got—”
In a panic, he enters the bathroom and drops the pack of cooling gel on the counter to redirect his hands on supporting you from behind. His right hand clutches your hips, the other the back of your thighs. His touches are light and delicate, done out of courtesy and fear that you might fall, but it makes you somewhat dizzy.
“I’m okay,” you tell him, and slowly, you descend the counter with his help, even if you don’t need it. Sabo reaches for the kit and apologizes for its odd placement. “I’m guessing Ace put that there.”
“He probably did when he used it some weeks ago. He misplaces things often,” he explains. “You sure you’re okay?”
You appreciate his concern, but your stomach flips like you’re conflicted. Sabo doesn’t miss the way your lips purse tightly, a subtle sign that he should ignore, but instead chooses to address in an equally subtle gaze of concern.
“Seems A-okay,” he says. “We should head back.’
When you come back to Luffy’s bedroom, Usopp is already there. You throw him the first aid kit, which he catches, and pass down the duty before finding an excuse to leave, the events just a few moments before replaying in your head.
Sabo doesn’t question it. He just lets you.
A few days later, however, you see him again.
This time, you’re back at the ramen shop from a few weeks back, but you’re alone. When you enter, you notice him in the same circumstances. Ace and Luffy aren’t around.
It’s you who approaches him first, figuring there’s no point in trying to avoid him. Not that you have a proper reason to begin with—you spent some time reflecting on his actions at Luffy’s bedroom the other day, and after much contemplation, you concluded that you were just delusional. Sabo is a nice man. He likes to help people and he smiles at everyone often. He doesn't want bad blood, so he has a habit of apologizing. Most importantly, he’s just well-mannered.
Avoiding him makes you the problem, and you don’t want that.
“Hi,” you greet simply as you approach him by the counter, where he claims a bag of packaged ramen. He returns your greeting with his own, coupled with a smile that stretches on his lips. He asks where your friends are. “Half of them are in class. Zoro is taking a nap.”
“That goes the same for Ace. He won’t be waking up until evening,” he says in a joking manner. He nods toward the cashier. “Ordering something?”
“Just a quick meal before I head to the library,” you reply. “Are you a regular?”
Sabo looks down at the paper bag of food in his hands and cutely chuckles to himself. “Caught me red-handed? I come here often to buy their ramen.”
“Just like Zoro. Do you like Japanese food?”
“I think the cuisine is great, ramen most especially,” he says. It’s quiet for a moment until he realizes you’re there to dine, not to order takeout. An idea crosses his mind. “Can I sit with you?”
“Oh,” you stutter, “but I thought—”
“This? Nah, it’s for Ace,” he says before you can even finish your sentence. He’s lying, but you don’t look convinced, so he takes it up a notch. “He ordered a bowl with ghost peppers since he’s crazy like that. He said he couldn’t come since he was, uh, with friends… but he’s asleep now, so I’m in no rush to bring this to him.”
While Sabo isn’t a good liar, you decide to just nod and pretend to believe him. The takeout ramen in the paper bag is obviously his, but whatever his reasons are for lying, you shrug them off and instead appreciate his kindness.
You’re seated across him some time later, steaming hot bowls of noodles placed in front of you. Sabo offers you the first bite, and conversation flows naturally from there.
You ask how Luffy’s doing, and he laughs. “He’s somewhat in a predicament,” he tells you. Luffy’s been better since you last visited him, but as a precautionary measure, his grandfather imposed a no-meat ban for two weeks. In true Luffy fashion, he hasn’t followed it one bit, but Sabo stresses that he’s been looking after his brother’s diet to counterbalance his stubbornness.
“Your family is something else,” you remark.
“It runs in the blood,” he says, not long before he corrects himself. “Their blood. I’m kinda just there. I prevent them from doing dumb and dumber stuff, like a mediator.”
You hum over a mouthful of noodles, then you shake your head. “You’re blood-related at this point. You act like your brothers more often than you think.” But you’re more tolerable. And gentler.
“Do I?” You nod. “Guess they’ve infected me. I would’ve turned out differently if it weren’t for them.”
“It might have been for the better,” you say after much internal debate. As far as your memory goes, Ace and Luffy are half-brothers, while Sabo is adopted. It was something along the lines of being disowned and left to fend for himself at a young age, which explains the visible scar on the left side of his face. You don’t know much beyond that, but you’re aware it was rather tragic. No child deserves to go through what he did.
“You might be right.” Sabo is surprisingly not offended or hurt that the topic shifted to his past. He figured you knew—most likely from Ace—but he trusts you with that sensitive knowledge, so it’s not a big deal. “Speaking of Luffy, he’d like to say thank you for taking care of him. He wants to host another party to show his gratitude..”
“I’m just glad he’s recovered,” you say. Food poisoning sucks. It sucks even more when you’re a massive foodie like Luffy. “When is it?”
“No clue. But if I were to guess, probably within the next three weeks.” Sabo has heard of the undergraduates’ suffering because the semester is ending in a month. He’s a senior, so his semester ended earlier than Luffy’s and his third-year friends. Sabo knows you’re a third-year yourself, so you’re in the same situation right now.
You note down the date in your head, then you joke about your wariness of Nami, her drinking game, and the presence of strong alcohol in this upcoming party. Sabo laughs with you, but he’s confused.
“Nami’s drinking game?” he asks, reaching for the chili bottle in front of you. Without a second thought, he drizzles his entire bowl with a layer of chili flakes. “What’s that about?”
“Well, if you remember Luffy’s so-called get-together a few weeks ago”—you grab a bottle of condiments and sprinkle a generous amount on your bowl—“I got totally wasted. It turns out that Nami, my dearest friend, decided it was fun to play this game, where you basically—”
You stop yourself.
Nami’s drinking game. Everybody getting themselves drunk through many rounds of Truth or Drink. You downing four shots because your subconscious just felt like it, not because you were intentionally naming one of your friends’ siblings in response to the prompt you drew.
Your friends poking fun at you for having feelings for Sabo.
Sabo doesn’t know what happened that night. The way he curiously questions you proves it. He doesn’t know about Nami’s game and the cause of your blackout. All he knows is that you drank one too many shots on a fun night with your friends, which caused you to drunkenly stumble into his bedroom and snooze there for the rest of the night until he came home.
Sabo finds your silence uneasy. Chewing on a mouthful of noodles, he asks what’s wrong.
“Nothing’s wrong,” you reassure him, but it comes out a little shaky, like you’re hiding the fact that there is something wrong.
Sabo decides to ignore it. “Anyway, you were saying?”
“Well…” you stutter, eventually becoming speechless, winding up wordless. You stuff some of the noodles in your mouth and chew on it aggressively. Sabo narrows his eyes at you, and something clicks inside his head.
“Is it a secret? Something I can’t know?” he asks.
“Pretty much,” you say truthfully.
“I’m guessing it has something to do with why you blacked out.” And why you ended up in my bed. He thinks. “Was it something that happened during the game?”
You’re sweating buckets, and it’s not because of the malfunctioning AC within the shop. You’re incredibly nervous, and Sabo notices it as you look down at your bowl and keep eating.
“You’re easy to figure out,” he teases.
“I’m not,” you defend.
He nods. “Well, does Luffy know what happened?”
“Yes?” you answer in a questioning tone. “Of course he does. Why wouldn’t he?”
As you look up from your ramen bowl, you see him holding a stupidly arrogant smirk on his face. You almost drop your chopsticks. You’ve been fooled.
“You are not going to ask Luffy what happened.”
“I’m sure it’ll reach me either way,” he teases. You whine in your seat, face falling into your hands. “Hey, if it’s just an innocent drinking game, then what’s the harm?”
You groan. You just dug your grave. You tried to run away, but you were backed into a corner at the last second. “It wasn’t as bad as I made it out to be, but there are some things that need to be kept buried. That event is Exhibit A.”
Sabo hums to himself, thinking deeply. He tries his hardest to guess what could have possibly occurred that night that makes you so uptight about keeping your mouth shut, but he ends up empty-handed. If he truly is curious, Luffy is his best source.
In the end, Sabo decides to be a good friend and respect your privacy, but his curiosity doesn’t leave as he continues to dwell on it for the next few minutes. Out of keen observation of your resistance, he asks something even he was surprised by.
“Does it have anything to do with me?”
You choke on your noodles. Your life flashes before Sabo’s eyes and in a matter of seconds, he’s up and standing, fetching you a glass of water from the self-service station. When he comes back, you’ve calmed down.
“I’m sorry!” he cries as he watches you drink the very last drop of your glass. Although his comment was nothing but a joke, it was truthfully riddled with narcissism, and you were probably taken aback by his prideful confidence. Stupid Sabo. He thinks to himself.
“It’s okay!” you tell him weakly, your airway relaxing with the subtle burn. Sabo apologizes for the nth time, and once he’s convinced that you’re okay, he shifts the conversation elsewhere.
But for some reason, his gut tells him that he was right.
The next two weeks pass by in the blink of an eye. You’ve been working yourself to the bone that you’ve forgotten how it feels to sleep on your bed. Your friends aren’t doing any better either; Nami has been working on a thesis proposal, Usopp on an architectural build, and Zoro on a paper debunking a mathematical theorem (“Nerd activities,” you once told him). As the semester comes to a close, you’ve finished the bulk of what has to be done before finals, so you’re now working on the less important matters (that are honestly quite important on their own, but less important than your other tasks).
You’re cooped up in the library to get them done, but as the clock strikes six in the evening, your body relaxes into your seat, your shoulders sagging in the process. Tiredness overwhelms your body, your energy expended after working all day. The paper you’ve been writing is nearly done, but you can’t find the brain power to finish it tonight.
“Somebody’s in a slump.”
You raise your head at the sound of Sabo’s voice. He stands before you in his usual get-up, well-dressed and presentable like he normally is. Unlike your pitiful self, his eyes are full of life, his face full of color. Clearly, he’s been stress-free. You try not to think about how tired you look, and instead acknowledge his presence.
“Up to something tonight?” he asks.
“Just trying to get this paper done.” He looks down at the mess you call your workspace, and his eyes flit to the many drafts and sticky notes you have on the table. “It’s for an elective. ECON 185. Not my strongest suit, so I’ve been fighting for my life.”
He nods. “‘Law, Economics, and Public Policy.’ It’s a tough elective if you don’t major in it.”
“It was the last open class left. Everyone else took the easier ones.” Your nose scrunches up at the bitter memory. You’re always unlucky with selecting free electives—you eventually just take what you can get when the promising classes are already full. “What have you been up to?”
“Helping Luffy with a project,” he answers. “Says he has to interview me for something. I dropped by to work on it since it needs a little bit of research. Involves local policies and all that boring stuff.”
Your eyes light up at the mention of your friend, and at that moment, your face regains color.
“Right! You major in diplomacy, don’t you?”
A few heads a couple tables away turn toward you, and you shrink into your seat. Sabo contains a chuckle and presses a finger to his lips, his teeth showing behind a grin.
“I do International Relations,” he whispers. A smile makes its way onto your face as you realize the gold mine of knowledge in front of you. Sabo can probably lend a hand or two with this godforsaken paper you’ve been working on.
You tell him this, and like the kind man he is, he agrees to take a look.
“Yeah? What’s it about?” He rounds the corner and drags an empty chair from the table across you to sit at your table. You scoot over to the side, but even with the large space the library has to offer, he decides to sit quite close. You note the proximity he’s subjected the both of you to, but you don’t dwell on the thought.
“Um, about international policies… and other stuff,” you tell him as you shuffle through your handwritten drafts. Sabo observes them from the corner of his eye. “Part of it is a case study, and the other part is somewhat subjective. It’s a final assessment, so you can imagine the extra instructions.”
You show him your working draft, a 12-page long essay formatted in Times New Roman 12 and correctly cited Chicago footnotes. Sabo is impressed by your progress, and with that, he’s convinced you don’t even need any of his help.
“It’s bound to get longer,” you say. “I’m 90% done, but it’s due in two days and I haven’t reviewed for a final. I’m not making that deadline without sacrificing many hours of sleep.”
“This calls for help then,” he says. He takes your latest working draft at the top of the pile and skims through the first couple of paragraphs. He reads them silently, his eyes scanning every word, every letter, every punctuation that you’ve inked down on the pages. You sit in silence as you await his remarks. “Looks pretty good to me. Do you have an outline?”
The next hour is spent on Sabo overlooking what you’ve written with the occasional questions on your work. You crunch a few concluding paragraphs in between his silent readings, your eyes focused on the laptop in front of you as you digitize your work. Your shoulders sag, relaxed. The load of stress disappears from your body. It feels good to be supported.
“Huh?” Sabo whispers to himself some time in between, immersed in your writing. You look up from your screen. “Oh.”
“Yeah?” you ask softly, but he doesn’t reply. He keeps his head down, eyes trained on the draft before him. He continues to read through it, unbothered.
You debate asking again, but you don’t. Sabo doesn’t seem to notice anything else, his attention all drawn to the words written before him. At that moment, your fingers rest on your keyboard, and you watch him silently.
He leans on the table, his cheek resting on the palm of his propped hand. Locks of his blond hair fall on his face, now longer than before. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him this up close. He’s pretty. Gorgeous, even. You found him cute just a few months ago, but it feels different now. He feels different now. For some reason, everything is.
What changed? It’s a question that comes from a place of unknowing. You’ve grown accustomed to seeing him so often that it might just be the answer, but that doesn’t explain your newfound fondness for his looks, out of all things. Pressing your lips inward, your thoughts jumble with the feelings in your heart, and you’re distressed.
Do I like him?
It feels almost wrong to think that way. You don’t know if it’s a claim you should be making. Your feelings tell you it’s true, but your brain says otherwise. Maybe you’re infatuated with the thought of him as you lack enough reason for how you feel, but that thought is only equally troubling because it feels wrong, too.
Your laptop enters sleep mode, and you realize you’ve been pondering for far too long. Sabo is on the last page of your draft, just a few paragraphs away from your concluding section. You tune back into your work, your fingers flying once more across your keyboard to distract yourself from your inner dilemma.
“You’re a great writer,” he says after reviewing your work the second time. “I like your voice. It’s clear. You don’t have to tweak anything else other than, well, finish the essay.”
Warmth simmers at the pit of your stomach, but you hide it behind a nervous laugh. “You’re sugarcoating it.”
“Does it sound like I am?” He tilts his head toward you, and you catch his eyes—round, black, and gentle. It knocks the wind out of you, and it doesn’t help the warmness of your insides.
“It,” you stutter, “it does.”
He smiles. “Please, take it as a compliment. I meant it.”
Staring becomes too much. You avert your gaze and turn to your drafts before you, shuffling through them in a make-pretend excuse for looking away. God. You’re a mess.
And just like before, Sabo notices. Your panic is evident to him. Beyond that are other things he’s noticed the more he lingers around you—how you get flustered, how you think before acting the way you do, how you move with bursts of confidence before thinking deeply again. You don’t do too well at hiding, he thinks.
“Your observance is only limited to me and Luffy though.”
Sabo shakes his head. A chill runs down his spine. Ace haunts him at untimely places.
While you busy yourself with writing your paper, he fishes his laptop from his backpack and gets some work done himself. The next hour is spent in silence, but Sabo wouldn’t have it any other way.
“I should get you something to drink.”
Your ears lift at the voice that disrupts your quietude. Sabo speaks to your right, having changed positions half an hour ago because his laptop died on him and you were closer to the charging port than he was. You roll your head to face him, but you don’t lift it from your arms, your body slumped into the table to get some rest.
“I’m okay.”
“You seem tired.”
“Just haven’t been getting enough sleep, that’s all.” As if to prove a point, a yawn forces its way past your mouth, your eyes shutting close momentarily. You look away out of courtesy and apologize.
“Yeah, I’ll get you something. Is water fine?”
You shake your head stubbornly, but Sabo resists just the same. Grabbing his wallet, he stands from his seat, although you stop him before he could go any further.
“I’ll come with you.”
That’s how you end up in the convenience store just across campus. Walking does you a great deal as sleepiness disappears from your body, only to be replaced with fuel as you take a few sips of an energy drink Sabo insisted on paying for.
When you meet him at the far corner of the store, he’s two hands deep into the ice cream freezer. Packaged cones line the first rows with the larger tubs occupying the back wall. He grabs two cones, one of them a flavor you like, and hands it to you.
“How did you know I like this?”
“Oh,” he says, but it’s met with a couple seconds of silence as he slides the freezer close. “You talked about it once.”
“I did? When?”
“Well,” he says, “you might have been drunk when you did. It’s a distant memory. Kinda hazy from my head, to be honest.”
You find it strange. Even your roommates wouldn’t know what ice cream flavor you would pick—it’s kind of just a random background detail that you don’t speak of. Sanji, out of all people, would probably be the only person to know. Still, you don’t press on. Maybe you really did overshare once.
“Hey, check this out. It’s a card game.”
Your eyes drift to several stacked cardboard boxes on the top shelf of the miscellaneous section. Your eyes widen by surprise.
“It’s a drinking card game,” you deadpan, grabbing a box and reading the labels. The memories from many weeks ago flood your head. Your nose scrunches up irksomely. “I’m not fond of this game.”
Chuckling, Sabo grabs a box of his own and he reads through it. “Why not?” he asks, but he remembers eventually. “Ah, I see. It was that small gathering, was it?”
“I don’t even want to remember what happened then,” you say, rolling your eyes. Sabo laughs at your misery, but it’s playful and not condescending.
“You should get back at your friends for that.”
“How I wish. Revenge sounds hellish when it comes to those dorks,” you say.
“I figured— wait a sec.”
You look at him.
“You know, I never got to hear what happened during that game,” he begins. You shake your head, looking away in a muffled groan. “Wow, did you just groan?”
“You’re persistent,” you remark.
“Please, it couldn’t have been that bad!” he exclaims. You look at him, unamused. “Oh, come on.”
You shake your head, lips sealed tight. Sabo can’t know. He can’t. Not when your feelings are still jumbled, not when you still haven’t figured out if drinking to his name meant anything. You haven’t had the time to reflect on it. All you know is that you like being around him, and you enjoy seeing him. It’s complicated.
“I’m the most curious of the bunch.” He places your box back on the shelf after mentally taking note of its name. “So? Do you really not plan on telling me?”
Grinning wildly, Sabo pokes your side a couple of times to elicit a response. You almost break, you’ll give him that, but you stay true to yourself. You can’t admit something so hastily. You need more time to think.
“I’ll tell you when I’ll tell you,” is all you say.
“Alright, alright. I’m just teasing.”
“You say that only to ask again a few hours later,” you tease back. He laughs. If you can’t share the truth behind that game, then he’ll just settle for the many jokes you’ll milk from it. This is fine with him. Getting to laugh with you is enough.
“No, no, I won’t. You don't have to worry about that.”
“Sure I don’t,” you reply sarcastically. You grab the ice cream cones from his hands and skip to the counter, leaving him down the aisle. “But I know you will.”
When you disappear into the next aisle, Sabo giggles softly before reaching for the box of playing cards in his pocket, tucking it up his sleeve, and heading to the counter before you do.
FIVE.
Luffy’s party, as usual, is a fun mess.
“Why is there a flamingo floatie on the roof?” Usopp asks when they arrive at Luffy’s home for the semester-end party he and his brothers have been planning. It was initially Luffy’s “thank-you” party for taking care of him when he was sick, but word somehow got out and everybody else showed up. Nami, tonight’s designated driver, steers Usopp’s car toward the curb and parallel parks with ease.
“People are passed out yet it’s still 9 o’clock in the evening,” you point out as you check your phone screen. You and your roommates file out of the car together and walk up the front door.
“Yeah, well,” Usopp says as he spots a guy straight-up drunk, face planted in the grass of Luffy’s lawn, “that was you two months ago. Can’t really criticize now.”
You roll your eyes. “Shut it.”
Around three weeks have passed since you’ve written your essay and you have survived your finals for the most part. Many days were spent cooped up in the library to get things done, oftentimes with the help of your friends, but you’re one step closer to freedom now as the school year comes to a close. Just a few things here and there for clearance is all you need to take care of, which shouldn’t take long if you tend to them swiftly.
But for now, you want to rest. Part of that is letting yourself loose at Luffy’s party with some drinks. Nami brings up the idea of another drinking game, but you reject her invitation right away, followed by a firm announcement of your abstinence for the next two months.
As soon as you enter Luffy’s home, your eyes scan the room. You squeeze in between hot bodies on the makeshift dance floor, excusing yourself when you get too close. You search for a particular blond. Your eyes narrow at the sea of people, your irises dilating under the faint light. To your dismay, he isn’t to be found.
“Where did you go? You got lost.” Zoro gently tugs the fabric of your top as he stands close to you. The music muffles his words, so you lean forward.
“I was looking for Luffy,” you lie. He nods.
“They’re on the patio. Let’s go.”
With one hand on Zoro’s wrist, you lead the both of you out of the wild crowd, past a populated hallway, and into the outdoor space adjoining the kitchen. Nami sits beside Luffy on a poolside loveseat, while Usopp stands before Sanji, who’s manning the grill. On the other side of the patio sits Ace with his older graduate friends, his shirt off and hair damped. Zoro is confused when you approach them first, but he doesn’t question it.
When you approach Ace, he’s wasted and surprisingly energetic, a complete 180º from his usual narcoleptic self.
“Hey! You came!” he greets enthusiastically. He tries to stand up, but his legs wobble, a sight you have never seen before from Portgas D. Ace, so he sits back down on the poolside furniture.
“Wouldn’t have wanted to miss out on the party,” says Zoro.
“And I’m kinda surprised you’re already drunk,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest. Ace laughs.
“Attitude!” he snaps. “A bottle a day keeps the”—he hiccups—“narcolepsy away!”
“That’s enough.” Marco, a tall blond guy with tattoos similar to that of Ace’s, snatches the bottle of alcohol from his grasp. He passes the bottle around, far from Ace’s reach. “God, you’re a problem.”
“What did you come for?” he asks anyway through a stifled hiccup, but his chest rises again and he lets out a burp. “Actually, I think I know. If you’re looking for him, he’s inside.”
“I was looking for your brother,” you say, intentionally vague. Zoro grunts behind you.
“U-huh, sure you are. He’s all you ever think of, I bet,” he teases. Your eyebrows knit in confusion. “He’s somewhere inside. Probably looking for something to drink, or looking for you—I don’t know!”
You roll your eyes. “Thanks.”
“No problem,” he says, “oh, and, you weren’t as mysterious as you thought you were. You could’ve just said his name. I’m sure you’re aware that Luffy’s behind you.”
Right behind you, Zoro snickers. Your hands clench into balls of fists, but Marco shuts Ace up with a dry towel and a bottle of water. Turning on your heel, you decide to approach your friends at the other side of the patio and plop on the couch when you hear Ace’s scornful cackling from the distance.
“What’s up with him?” Sanji asks over the grill. The scent of melted cheese on marinated steak patties wafts through the area, and for a moment, you’re calm.
“Someone is finding one of his brothers in the middle of the party,” Zoro answers.
“I want to push him in the pool,” you joke.
“You’re looking for Sabo?” Luffy pipes up at the mention of his brothers. “He was just here. He went to look for something.”
Nami smirks devilishly. “More like someone.”
“Nami,” you warn.
She giggles. “I didn’t mention any names.”
“Let’s put our anger aside and get something to eat first,” says Sanji as he plates the first few burgers on serving plates from Luffy’s kitchen. He brings you a plate and an accompanying drink, just the way you like them served.
“You put seaweed on mine,” Zoro points out the evident nori flakes on his burger. Sanji glares at him.
“Yeah? Well, I didn’t want you complaining, so I added them ahead of time. Got a problem?”
Zoro’s forehead creases. “I was showing my gratitude.”
“It’s not my fault for assuming otherwise since you always talk like—”
“Hey, you guys came!”
Suddenly, Sabo emerges from the crowded kitchen, a red cup of liquor in hand with a pack of Nerds’ Gummy Clusters in the other. Your eyes shoot upward upon seeing him, and you fix your seated position on the couch.
“We were just talking about you,” Luffy says through a wide grin, his burger long gone. Nami nudges his side in an attempt to caution his words, which seemingly works since Luffy shifts his attention to Sanji’s food. “Sanji! Do you have any more patties there?”
“No, but I could cook some more,” replies the chef.
As your friends draw their focus to Sanji’s cooking, Sabo sits himself next to you on the couch. You scoot to the side, but your legs touch given the cramped space. “Have you eaten?”
You chuckle. “Haven’t even pre-gamed yet.”
“Planning on drinking tonight?”
“As long as I’m not roped into anyone’s crazy game, yep.”
“It’s been two months since that happened yet you’re still so cautious,” he points out.
You shrug. He’s right. Maybe you should let it go, but you can’t. Not that you’re at his house, not that he’s in the vicinity. Your feelings are still at a state of tug of war, your heart and brain telling you two different things.
But Sabo has been challenging your feelings as of late. He’s been helping you constantly with whatever you needed, be it an essay he could proofread or a last-minute grocery run to get you something to eat. He’s been too kind, too generous. And perhaps the worst part of it all is that he’s too good at doing those things, keeping you on your toes all the time, always catching your heart effortlessly.
“Just trying to be cautious this time around. Like I said, I never get that drunk. I’d rather not blackout on your bed and wake up next to you again,” you deadpan.
Laughing, he leans on the couch and extends one arm behind you. You inhale sharply. He isn’t even touching you, yet…
“Why not?” he asks. “Not that I want to see you that drunk again, but I doubt it’d be weird this time. You’re no stranger to me. Unlike before, you’re… you’re a friend.”
You look at him. That’s when you see it. His eyelids hang lower than normal, his circular eyes glowing in the dark, the colors of his irises reflecting the light of the bonfire in front of you. He’s a little tipsy, but his words are softly curated that you find the sincerity behind them nonetheless.
“I’d really rather not give you a heart attack by waking up next to you,” you whisper.
“You really won’t,” he whispers back.
“ACE!” A screech of Ace’s name sounds from the other side of the patio, where you just were. Startled, you and Sabo whip your heads behind you to find his brother running amok, his footsteps heavy on the wooden floorboards. He stops just behind you, his movements somewhat wobbly.
“Man, how much have you been drinking?” Sabo scrunches his nose at the sight of his brother, his damp hair sticking to his forehead. Marco and a bunch of his friends follow.
“Not a deal, honestly. Where’s that card game you bought a few weeks back?”
Sabo shakes his head. “What are you talking about?”
“It was like a game or something. You showed it to me after you went on that date with—”
You raise an eyebrow. Sabo glances at you before looking back at his brother. “Shut up! It wasn’t—I wasn’t—”
“The card game, please,” says Ace with an extended hand.
Sabo grumbles under his breath. He places his drink on the ground, tells you that he’ll be back in a few minutes, then disappears into the buzzing crowd inside his house. Ace laughs maniacally when his brother leaves.
“What was that about?” Usopp asks.
“Just him being stubborn,” Ace says in a sing-song. He looks at you. “I see that look on your face. You’re curious, aren’t you?”
Your eyebrows knit in anger. “Wasn’t even going to ask.”
“Aw, don’t be mad!” He giggles. You pick up Sabo’s drink from the ground and lean back into the couch, drinking your own. Lowering his voice, he says, “I promise you, I was just teasing.”
You huff, but you don’t let Ace see any more of your troubled expression. “Like I said, I don’t care,” you lie through your teeth. Ace is a great older figure when he’s his normal self. When he’s drunk, he becomes annoying ten-fold.
“We’ll see about that,” he chirps. He tries to wrest Sabo’s abandoned drink from you, but Marco stops him from doing so.
When Sabo comes back, he’s rather sheepish. He slides the so-called “card game” in Ace’s hands before repositioning himself on the space next to you.
Before you can ask him any questions, he chugs the rest of his drink and apologizes.
Ten minutes later, you’re confronting Sabo as your friends unite in laughter behind you.
“You did what?!” you exclaim.
“I was curious, but I wanted to play the game, too!” Sabo defends himself. Your head falls into your hands. Sabo caresses your shoulder. “I’m sorry!”
“I have my reasons, Sabo. They’re embarrassing.”
“I understand, but it’s nothing to worry about,” he consoles you. He pats your shoulder once, then reluctantly your head. Your heart misses a beat. “Nobody knows what went down that night, okay? I do hope it wasn’t homicidal, but embarrassing or not, you’re safe.”
Sabo smiles when he evokes a response from you, a light laughter that gets drowned in the noise, but he hears it nonetheless. You lean into him closer.
“You’re not joining that game, are you?” Sabo looks at Ace and his group of friends, where your group of friends now sit after inviting you over. Nami left you under Sabo’s custody when you declined, warning him intently to keep an eye on you throughout the night—and he takes the job seriously because you’re closer to each other than before, like he’s guarding anything and anyone who dares try anything on you.
“Not tonight, no,” he says. “I’m keeping an eye on you.”
“A drunk man watching over me,” you goad him. “It’s funny, but I appreciate it.”
“I promised your friends,” he says. Suddenly, the crowd erupts in laughter. “They’re having a lot of fun.”
You nod. In all honesty, you didn’t expect Ace’s friends to concur with his antics. Ace is the youngest of the bunch, and Truth or Drink doesn’t seem like a party game that graduate and postdoctoral dudes play. Sabo tells you they’re all like-minded regardless of age, which makes a whole lot of sense considering their closeness.
“Ew! Marco, you’re gross! You’re gross!” Ace yells in response to Marco’s revolting story, reminisced in light of the card he chose. “You could have taken the shot instead of saying all that!”
“I’m not getting myself drunk,” the man in question says. With a flick of his hand, he tells Usopp with the empty bottle, “Spin it.”
You spend some time with Sabo at the patio until he excuses himself to the restroom, saying he drank too much prior to your arrival. You promise him you won’t go anywhere, so he walks back inside with ease.
But you’re adventurous. And most of all, curious. Without Sabo beside you for a suspiciously long amount of time—it’s been more than ten minutes and you’re worried; he must be puking his brains out over the toilet—there’s nothing to do.
After much debate, you walk over to the crowded end of the patio and peek through the crowd to see the mastermind of it all. Ace is as energetic as ever, and it doesn’t seem like he’s ending the game any time soon. Your eyes flicker across the crowd, and there, you see your friends—Nami, Usopp, Zoro, and Sanji. You can’t find Luffy anywhere, but your instincts tell you he’s somewhere there, hidden.
“Yikes, it landed on me,” Ace hisses through gritted teeth. Right beside him, Nami expertly shuffles the deck and lays it out neatly. Ace picks a card somewhere in the middle, and with bated breath, he awaits.
“Tell us which one of your friends’ siblings you would date, or drink the number of letters they have in their name.”
You freeze in place.
“The hell? Their siblings are, like, older than 35,” he says, unamused. “These people don’t do dating.”
Usopp shrugs. “Try your brothers’ friends, then?”
“Ah,” Ace gives it a thought or two, “well, you guys are little siblings to me. Sabo only has two friends outside of this circle, who I don’t really know. Let’s see…”
“Hey,” Sabo whispers beside you, and just like that, you’re distracted. He spares Ace a glance before looking back. “You alright?”
“I need a drink.” He nods. He takes your hand in his, and together, you leave the patio and squeeze through the sea of partygoers before winding up in the kitchen. Sabo snatches two bottles of Smirnoff from the counter with your express approval, then leads you back outside, past the swimming pool to the far corner of the backyard, where a big hardwood tree stands tall.
Sabo sneaks behind the tree, and with a push of a lever in a discreet junction box, the corner of the yard lights up. Lanterns hang from the branches of the oak, emitting a faint orange glow that consumes the night with warmth. Sabo points to the ladder by the base that extends upward to the branches.
You know this place. A tree house sits at the first fork of the oak, its design attributed to the large trunk that transverses the middle. The tree house is the brothers’ childhood playground, back when the adults used to live with them. You’ve been to their home enough times to know this, but none of your friends have ever stepped foot inside. You always assumed it was an off-limits area for the sake of preserving the space. It’s almost sacred.
“In here?” you ask Sabo just to make sure you aren’t entering a place you aren’t supposed to.
He nods.
“It’s too loud anywhere else. My room isn’t any better.”
He convinces you enough to climb up. He follows suit. When you make it to the top, you look around in awe.
Sabo has to crouch down because he’s too tall for the life of him, and there is only so much space before he’s smacked in the face by leaves. You laugh at him. He marches over to a small door, fiddles with the lock and keys in his hands, then pushes it open once unlocked.
You enter first. It seems almost magical. “Nostalgic” is another word to describe it. The light from the lanterns spill through the cracks and windows of the space, providing enough light to guide you around. Part of the oak’s trunk is in the middle, designed with LED lights and guarded by rails that encircle it. On the back wall are three bean bags of different colors. Sabo walks over to them, patting away the light dust that has collected on top of the blue bag, and pats the yellow one next to him.
“I’m guessing this is your color?” you ask, sitting on the bag as you’re told.
“Luffy’s. Mine’s blue. We kinda had a thing for playing pirates, and the colors assigned themselves with our costumes,” he says sheepishly. He then points to a black tapestry behind you, the word “ASL” painted on top of a crossbone. “Luffy tends to wear his straw hat when he’s drunk.”
“I’ve witnessed that,” you remark. You look around the room, scanning the many pictures and drawings hung up on the wall. Sabo cracks open the bottles and hands one of them to you, ensuring to inspect them first before letting you drink anything.
“Thanks,” you mumble. You clink your bottle with his before chugging down a generous amount. Sabo just watches you go, like taking a swig this impressive is second nature to you.
“You sure drink like you’re 30,” he comments.
“I’d argue otherwise,” you reply. “Those in their thirties usually drink some wine. That, I don't really have access to. Alcohol is much, much cheaper for uni students.”
“Can’t argue with you on that,” he mumbles, only after which he drinks some of his own. It’s your turn to watch him. “What?”
“No reason.” It’s true. You’ve just grown accustomed to watching Sabo so much that it feels a little fun to watch him just be himself, doing his own things. You drink another gulp of the liquor. Sabo tells you to slow down, but you don’t listen.
“Don’t shock your digestive system with the sudden influx of 45% ABV,” he warns. You find it incredibly nice of him, a warning out of genuine concern for you. But if you’re going to spend the rest of the night with Sabo alone at his childhood space, you might as well match his tipsy level.
When you’ve drunk one-thirds of the bottle, you rest your body on the bean bag and face the man next to you. Sabo is more exhausted than he makes himself out to be. His eyes hang lower than earlier, his blond hair tousled all over. But it’s in a handsome way most women like, making him look more vulnerable, but raw.
Sabo routinely notices this—how you’ve gone quiet, how your eyes scan his face. Bravely, he asks, “Are you checking me out?”
You sneer. “Does it look like I am?”
“Totally, yeah,” he says, but it’s hypocritical because he goes silent and he starts checking you out himself. You look different under the dim lighting, but he stares right back nonetheless.
It’s endearing, to say the least. Sabo holds so much charismatic power in his eyes that it almost drives you crazy. Then you realize it’s all he’s been doing the past weeks you’ve known him. Your heart swells.
“Thanks for sticking with me tonight,” you decide to tell him instead. He hums.
“It’s the least I could do.”
The conversation ends like that, leaving you with your silent thoughts as the muffled noise from the sound system outside passes through the walls of the tree house. You and Sabo sip from your bottles until sobriety slips from your grasp many minutes later.
Your head is buzzing when you move around the bean bag, figuring that if you move too much, the subtle ache in your head will turn into an intolerable migraine. You look down at your bottle and notice that you’ve drunk all of it. That explains it.
Your eyes flit to Sabo, who’s in the same position, but he’s tipsier than you are with his bottle equally empty. His eyes are almost closing, but he keeps them open as he gazes past the windows, eyes trained on the dark void outside.
He seems to be zoning out. He hasn’t blinked in the ten seconds you look at him, but it’s not truly what it seems.
He’s been preoccupied since that evening. His thoughts have been floating in his head the moment you arrived a couple hours ago. Frankly, he hasn’t thought about anything else but you. Sabo notices that you occupy his mind a lot, like you’re living rent-free in his small head for an unfair amount of time, but he doesn’t know whether or not he should consider it a problem.
His lips thin out into a straight line as he falls deeper in thought.
“Your observance is only limited to me and Luffy though.”
He’s been telling Ace about his interesting predicament since the start of your friendship. It hadn’t been a secret to him—or to anyone, for that matter—that you weren’t close to begin with. For some reason, you always hung around Ace, which made him ponder a few times about your fondness for his brother.
“Does she like you?” Sabo asked one day.
Ace’s features contorted into confusion. “Um, hello? Chill out. I’m basically her older brother.”
“She seems to hang around you a lot. I mean, when Luffy’s friends are over.”
“Doesn’t really mean much. I just talk a lot more than you do.”
Sabo always thought it was odd how you were closer to Ace more than you did him. Not that he was jealous of Ace—no, it wasn’t that. It wasn’t anything in particular that you did either, but rather it was the bizarreness of it all that did. Sabo thought it felt strange that the both of you weren’t tight when you saw each other as often as you saw Ace. It made him wonder if he’d done anything wrong that seemed to repel your presence from him, but he always ended up clueless.
Ace shot him a look of doubt. “Are you implying that you want to impress Luffy’s friends?”
“Uh,” Sabo hesitates, “no.”
“Kinda seems like you’re worried about them not liking you, though,” his brother teased. Sabo was becoming flustered. “I guarantee you it’s my mouth. I doubt Luffy’s circle would approach me if I wasn’t loud.”
Sabo shrugged. Ace slid next to him on the kitchen island, gripping a glass of water.
“Hey, do you have a crush on someone you haven’t told me about?”
Sabo glared at him. “Don’t play with me.”
“I’m just saying, you’re asking an awful lot of questions. Some might say they lead back to one person in particular.”
The blond groaned, eyes rolling to the side before he hopped off the stool and trudged away. “Shut up, Ace.”
“If you like her, you should tell her! You heard it first from me.”
It killed Sabo thinking about it. The atmosphere always turned different every time your friends left the both of you alone, just sitting around in the living room and giving each other respectful looks before directing your attention to your phones. You’ve talked before—quite obviously—but it was always awkward, a thick layer of silence never failing to engulf the space between you after a short-lived conversation. Sabo never understood it. What was wrong?
He figured you just didn’t connect as well as you did with his two brothers. After all, Sabo was less energetic than those two. Maybe it was just a ‘him’ problem all along.
“Right, so, you’re conflicted because you’re awkward, and she’s not.”
He groaned once more. “Correction: we both are.”
“You just need to talk to her. She doesn’t hate you, you know,” said Ace.
“I don’t trust that,” replied Sabo.
“Well, Mr. Nice-Guy-Who-Wants-To-Be-Friends-With-Everyone,” Ace started, “she doesn’t. If you want to be friends with her so badly, just walk up to her. Start talking. But I personally wouldn’t do that.”
“You wouldn’t?” Sabo blinked. “What does that mean?”
“I personally would never disguise my crush on somebody as ‘wanting to be friends with them.’ I’d cut to the chase and ask them out directly.” said Ace with finger quotations in the air. Sabo frowned. “Dude, don’t give me that look. Sadness doesn’t suit you.”
“I don’t like her,” he said, “I just want to be—”
“Want to be friends with her. Yeah, yeah, sure.” Ace waved his hands in the air, then took a huge gulp of water. “Maybe you do. But you only do because you’re nice to everybody. And when you want to be at peace with someone who seemingly hates you, you don’t make a fuss about it. Do you?”
Sabo was silent. Ace was victorious.
“Look, attraction is very weird. Some people get attracted to people who hate their guts. Or when they get ignored by the person they like.” Ace laughed. “You probably think of her because you know her least, so you keep thinking of her until she’s in your head every time she’s near. And suddenly, you’re attracted.”
Sabo grumbled. Screw Ace for being a natural romantic. “Even if I were, that doesn’t mean I like her enough to date her.”
Ace shrugged. He marched over to the fridge to get a bottle of Yakult. He threw one toward Sabo, who caught it just in time.
“It doesn’t. But that’s where the dating part comes. You go out to get to know them.” He downed the bottle in one go and tossed it in the bin under the island. “Dude, you’ve dated people before. Think about it. She’s your type. Don’t waste your time and just ask her out.”
Sabo was red by the end of that exchange. You are his type. He wouldn’t hide that at all, because if he tried hard enough, he could imagine dating you. But he didn’t know if he should take his chances or not. You’re one of Luffy’s best friends. He didn’t know how his brother would react if he found out that he was making moves on you. Beyond that, it also felt wrong to ask you so soon. Not when you couldn’t spare each other a glance, not when you couldn’t hold a proper conversation without ending on an awkward note. If Sabo were to make his move, he’d make sure you’re on talking terms first.
Finding you asleep on his bed two months ago was the push. Like a catalyst to speed his reactions. He hadn’t thought of approaching you so soon, but he was glad. Whatever could’ve been the reason for your drunkard antics, he was glad you ended up in his room, then because he could talk to you, then he could clear things up, then he could finally befriend you and dissolve that wall of discomfort.
He hadn’t known it back then, but you’re nice. You’re sweet. You get shy when he’s around because of the bedroom incident that happened a few weeks back, but you hold yourself accountable. You're apologetic for your actions. Even then, Sabo always reassured you that it was fine because it really was. He wouldn’t have gotten the chance to be with you the way he is now if it weren’t for it. But he couldn’t say that, of course. He’d save the explanation another time.
Although the thing with Sabo is that he gets himself in the most baffling of situations. Unlucky, if you will. But they might also be blessings-in-disguise. Regardless, it’s clear that his brain is running on alcohol and he can’t control his thoughts from pouring out the way he normally would sober. His thoughts seem like they have a mind of their own. So through his drunkenness, through the dim lights of the lanterns at his childhood tree house, he just conveniently decides that now is that time.
“I thought you were with Ace,” Sabo said. He had come upstairs to use the restroom and miraculously ran into Luffy seated by the foot of his bedroom. “Are you alright?”
“I’m hungry, but my tummy hurts,” he admitted. Sabo looked down at his brother, who had one hand on his stomach. He shook his head. “I can’t open my room.”
Like the good brother he was, Sabo unlocked Luffy’s bedroom door and rushed him inside, laying him down on his mattress. He tucked his brother in bed despite his protests.
“I don’t want to go to bed, I still want to eat!”
Sabo flicked his forehead. “Don’t even try. You’ll get sick again.”
“I want to go downstairs with Ace! He’s playing that game we played before!”
He heaves a sigh. “Yeah, because I brought it to him.”
“That game was dangerous. It got me drunk, too,” Luffy reminisced. “Everyone was barfing, and—”
“Go to sleep, idiot.” Sabo threw the blanket over his face.
“—she picked the worst card, but she didn’t want to tell us who it was, so she ended up drinking four shots like they were nothing!”
Sabo stopped moving. He removed the blanket covering Luffy’s face.
“Wait, say that again. What happened?”
Luffy began to ramble. He narrated the events that transpired that fateful night, from the moment Nami revealed the deck of playing cards to when you blacked out. Sabo tried to process the information as much as he could, but Luffy rapped through his words, only slowing down when Sabo’s name was roped into the game.
“Hey, don’t tell her this, but she drank four of them. I think she was spelling your name! Not Niji!” Luffy whispered.
So, as he sits right next to you, Sabo is conflicted. He just learned something he wasn’t supposed to, something he wasn’t allowed to hear. No wonder why you were so insistent on not telling him—everything that occurred that night had everything to do with him. He was right all along.
On one hand, it satisfies Sabo that he’s been on your mind the same way you’ve been in his. On the other hand, he feels like a traitor. He knows it isn’t his fault, but he can’t prevent the guilt that gnaws at his conscience. It will probably haunt him for the rest of his life if he hides it from you. He has to apologize. He has to.
So he wants to say it. He wants to be honest, at least. It’s the least he could do for finding out something he wasn’t supposed to, then he can apologize by the end of it. And maybe, just maybe, he can be honest about his feelings for you, too.
He opens his mouth, but he hesitates at the last second. He has his doubts, and just like that, he begins to second-guess his decisions. He probably shouldn’t say it because he’ll end up being this jerk who doesn’t know any better than to snoop around your business. He doesn’t want to be so cocky and arrogant that your eyes well up with tears, your lips form into a frown. So he decides to shut up. He decides to be a good boy and a gentleman, providing you with amazing company in comfortable silence, until you’re in the mood to chat.
But his mouth betrays him, and he says it without hesitation.
“Can I ask you something?”
You look at him. Sabo’s heart thumps in his chest. You’ve made him nervous before, back when you would sit so close at the library or at a jam-packed restaurant around Conomi Avenue. But the nerves that hit him this time around are different. They're far greater than the ones he’s experienced, like his heart is about to leap out of his chest.
You nod.
Sabo sucks in a deep breath.
“Is it,” he hesitates, “is it true that you would date me over your friends’ siblings?”
He drops the bomb. Your face instantly morphs into shock, your mouth falling ajar and your eyes becoming wide with fear. Sabo immediately regrets it. His heart falls to the pit of his stomach when you don’t reply.
You don’t seem too pleased. You stare into the night silently, like you’re giving Sabo the cold shoulder after his utterance. Little does he know, alarms blare inside your brain to signal a fight-or-flight response to his words. Adrenaline rushes through your bloodstream and you think of what to say, but your body fails to do anything productive as you simply tremble in place.
Sabo notices your internal dilemma when you don’t respond. He keeps quiet for a few moments as he waits for you to speak, but silence remains.
“You okay?” he decides to ask. A safe question, nothing to be afraid of, even though your answer is clear as day.
“Who told you?” is your first question, but you don’t sound mad. Just surprised.
Sabo leans back on the bean bag, then brings his bottle to his lips, drinking the last droplets that have pooled at the bottom.
“Luffy,” he admits soon afterward. A sigh escapes your lips. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“I knew you didn’t want me knowing things, and believe me, I never acted on it,” he continues. “I just got too close.”
“Too close?”
“It just came out mid-convo,” he explains. “Luffy was M.I.A. earlier due to a sick stomach. I found him upstairs when I left. Everything just came out, and… I was too shocked. I had no idea how to stop him from divulging more than what he already had.”
Your head falls forward in defeat, but the liquor makes it heavier. A subtle throb aches in your right temple.
Typical Luffy. Of course he would tell him that. He probably thought it wasn’t a big deal since you and Sabo seemed to have been getting along recently.
“If there’s anyone you should be mad of, it should be me,” says Sabo.
But there’s no point. Getting mad at Sabo won’t get you anywhere. After all, his name was just dragged into your stupid drinking antics. If anything, beyond the bed issue, he should be mad at you. He should be mad that your feelings are jumbled, to the point that you can’t even properly tell him what happened in that stupid drinking game many weeks ago.
“I’m sorry.”
You suck in a deep breath. “It’s fine.”
He looks up from the ground.
“Really, it’s fine.” Turning toward him, you force out a smile. It’s the best that you can offer right now. A part of you is relieved that he doesn’t seem to be mad at you after learning what he learned, but the other part remains anxious. You don’t want your friendship to end badly. You’ve only warmed up to him recently, so the last thing you want to happen is to go back to ignoring each other.
“I’m sorry,” he says again.
“I told you, it’s fine.” You laugh breathily. You reposition yourself on the bean bag, so you’re facing him. You call out his name. “Sabo.”
He twists his head slowly, looking at you. The warm glow of the tree lights reflect on his face, and for a second, you’re speechless.
“Hm?”
“I…” He waits patiently. “Well, I…”
Is it worth telling him the truth? What happens when you do? He’s drunk and he looks so smitten under the moonlight, so you can only imagine how deeply it would hurt to tell him the truth behind your stupid drinking spree. You gulp.
Why are you so reluctant?
“I don’t want to hurt you,” you say, “but that… all that didn’t mean anything.”
Sabo purses his lips. Your words leave a bitter taste in his mouth, but he sucks it up.
“I see.”
“But it was short-lived,” you interject. He listens. “All of it didn’t mean anything then, but it started meaning something when you came. When you started showing up in my life often a few days later.”
Silence falls.
“I thought I was going to lose my mind,” you confess. “I drank recklessly, but that was the end of it. You weren’t on my mind until the morning after, and the many days after that.”
“Until you woke up on my bed,” he finishes. “Right next to me.”
“You just knew when and where to show up,” you joke. “You were always there. You showed up whenever I thought of you, like you knew I was thinking of you… Did you know I was thinking of you?”
Sabo’s heart flutters in his chest. He never knew it felt good to hear someone say that. In some way, he felt honored. And for some reason, finding out your feelings for himself is a million times better than learning it from someone else.
“Even if you didn’t drink for me, I can’t say I didn’t like thinking as if you did,” he confesses. Your stomach turns. “For the time I thought it meant anything, it was rather short, but it felt good to know I crossed your mind that way.”
“Sorry,” you mumble. He waves his hand, disagreeing.
“An apology isn’t needed. Knowing you thought of me eventually in that light is good enough.” Smiling to himself, he replays your confession inside his head. He feels a jolt of electricity course through his body. He’s more than thrilled right now. “To make things even, I should let you know that it’s mutual. Always has been.”
“It is?” you ask.
He gives you a look. “I was obvious, wasn’t I?”
“But I was confused,” you explain. You’re into him, and you always have been into him—for once, you’re being honest with yourself. But it scares you to a degree that your feelings are merely infatuation. “What if I only liked you because you kept appearing around me? Because I’ve been thinking about you since I stumbled into your bedroom?”
You look at Sabo, your eyes a little glossy.
“I worried too much about these things that I didn’t pick up on your intentions.”
You’re not crying, but you might as well be. Alcohol is flushed into your system and it’s wiring your brain differently. You look helpless.
“What are you saying?” he asks, but he empathizes. He thinks he understands.
“I just didn’t know what’s fair and what’s not, and I still don’t,” you tell him honestly. “I’m into you, but how do I know if I truly do? Not because I see you so often, not because you’re nice to me?”
Sabo doesn’t respond right away and instead thinks to himself. It’s a great question, immensely reminiscent of his exchange with Ace. He and Ace don’t have a lot of differences, but it seems their views on dating is one of them. Ace likes things quick, fast, and straightforward. Sabo likes things slow, sweet, and just the right amount of pining. He doesn’t go out with people easily because he has an intrinsic fear of waking up one day and realizing that it isn’t love all along. It checks out with his dating history—he might as well be speaking from experience.
The problem now is that you seem to be in the same ditch. Other than the anxiety that comes with the doubt, he guesses it’s because he’s your best friend’s brother, too. Any problem between you will make things difficult for your friends, so Sabo understands where you’re coming from. You’re not about that risky life when the future appears blurry. When you commit, you want to be sure.
Sabo is smitten just the same, though, so he wants you to be sure. He wants it for the both of you.
“It takes time to know that,” he answers. “You go out and do things. You go on dates. When your heart is free of doubt, that’s when you know.”
Sabo watches you bite your lip. You’re still troubled, but the sight of you has him spiraling. Suddenly, he has the urge to hold you.
“It makes sense, but”—you bite your lip harder—”I still fear it. I don’t want to be wrong. I want to be sure. I want to be sure that it’s you.”
And I want that, too, Sabo says to himself. A sigh passes his lips. “We’re not far off. I didn’t know if I liked you because I knew you least or because I saw you as often as I did.” Standing up, he offers you his hand. You take it and let him hoist you up. As you stand before him, you look into his eyes while he peers down at you. “I got ahead of myself by bringing this up tonight. I’m sorry for causing you confusion. I hope you can forgive me.”
You frown. That’s not what you expected him to say.
“You don’t have to apologize for that,” you argue. “You don’t think this was a mistake, do you?”
“Being into you will never be a mistake,” he says, “but forcing us to have this conversation tonight might have been one. I brought it up early. I should have waited a little longer.”
Your lips form into a pout and you look so… sad. Sabo feels guilty for it. He wants to hold you closer, possibly even do the unthinkable and peck the sadness away from your lips. But it’s the alcohol talking in his system, so he prevents himself, not wanting to take advantage of you drunk.
“Thinking about it upsets me, but you’re not wrong,” you mumble. Things would’ve been different if you had this conversation at a later time. By then, you would have figured out your feelings and be more sure about Sabo than you are now. On the flip side, you’re challenged by the uncertainty of tomorrow. What happens after tonight? Will you continue your friendship as if nothing happened? There is no guarantee this will end well.
Sabo comforts you with gentle strokes of your head, patting your hair down as he surmises a reply. He’s distressed, but he’s glad you’re on the same footing.
“What do we do now, then?” He hears the brokenness in your voice, sees the genuine sadness in your eyes. He has to fix this.
“I’m still into you, you know?” He brings one hand up to your cheek, then pinches your skin softly. Blood rushes to your face at the endearing act. “That will never change. We just need time to figure things out together.”
He reaches for your hand. Sabo runs a thumb across your knuckles to soothe your nerves.
“If you want to, that is.”
You hold his hands in yours.
“I want to.”
“Then come here.”
He opens his arms, and almost automatically, you fall into them. Your arms encircle his waist as he lays an arm around your shoulder to bring you closer. You smell the liquor on him mixed with his cologne, and just like that, you’re entranced. You’re comforted. Sabo just does it so well.
“Just so we’re clear, I’m not remembering a single thing tomorrow,” you warn him softly.
“It’s okay,” he whispers through a hearty laugh. “I’m no better. We’ll just see where this goes.”
SIX.
You remember every single thing.
When you and Sabo got back to the patio, it was past midnight. Ace and his friends were down by the poolside, while your friends packed themselves like sardines in Luffy’s bedroom, sleeping soundly as a 2000’s romantic comedy played in the background. The house had been less crowded then, allowing you to navigate around better without having to link hands with Sabo as tightly.
You ate some crackers to fill your stomach before heading to his room upstairs, where he offered to let you sleep on his bed. You initially refused, but he insisted, promising you that he could sleep on the floor just fine.
That’s how you find yourself in his bedroom the following morning. You wake up a few minutes before the clock strikes 7, jolting awake by the sudden unfamiliarity of your surroundings. When you realize you’re in Sabo’s room, you relax back into the mattress, your head hitting his soft pillows.
You realize that Sabo is gone when you look down to check his make-do bed on the floor. He’s woken up early, it seems.
You sling your feet off the side of the mattress when you feel the first throb of an impending migraine. You hiss in pain. Even then, you fight through the ache and make a beeline for the bathroom in search of some hangover pills, then tread to the kitchen for a glass of water.
When you get there, someone has beaten you to it.
“Good morning,” Sabo chirps from the other side of the island, tossing a pan of eggs over the stove. The side of your head throbs again, but you resist to flinch. “You’re up early.”
“I have a migraine,” you mutter. Approaching the stool just across him, you lay your head on the counter and pat your own head gently. “Got anything there for it?”
“Other than the classic pain-relievers, I can give you something good to eat,” he says. A few minutes later, he slides a plate of seasoned eggs in front of you, hot and freshly cooked. He rounds the island and sits on the stool beside you, watching you silently.
But you meet his gaze when you tilt your head to the side. Your head throbs again, and again, and again, but you stare at him, and he stares back.
You laugh.
You both laugh.
“Remember anything?” he asks, hopping off his seat and leaning on the countertop next to you. Reflex causes you to look away, but you aren’t rattled one bit. Flirt.
“Very much so.”
“That saves me the trouble of explaining things from the start. How much do you remember?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” you say. “Like, all of it?”
Sabo pinches your cheek. “I had a feeling. You’re a tough nut.”
“And so are you.”
“Mm-hmm, but you could give me that. I was pretty out of it for the most part,” he says. “You kept me sober. I fought the effects of the alcohol so I could remember.”
“Oh, Sabo,” you call his name. He smiles, and you’re ruined. You feel warm again, your heart beating a little faster. Your stomach swarms with a million butterflies and for a moment, your headache is gone, like Sabo was all you needed to get rid of it.
“What are you two doing, flirting in my kitchen?” as if on cue, Ace bellows from the living room, his hair untidy and his shirt gone. He looks around the space, deciding what to do first, then walks straight to the fridge where he hunts for food.
“We were having a moment,” Sabo snaps. Ace makes a face of feigned disgust, but you don’t see it from your seat.
“Gross. Let me have some breakfast first, then you can continue,” he says, drinking Luffy’s leftover can of orange juice from the fridge. “Not sure if anyone’s told you yet, but congratulations. I hope I was the first.”
Before Ace strolls out the kitchen, he bids you goodbye. “Remind your friends that they owe me some money!” After that, he’s gone.
You giggle. Annoyed, Sabo rolls his eyes. He has to confront Ace later for betting on his love life behind his back, but for now, his focus is on you and the migraine that seems to prick at your head.
“Hangover soup and a few more hours of sleep can fix this,” Sabo advises. You nod. “I’ll make you something, then we can order anything you’d like at noon.”
“Thank you,” you reply shyly.
“Anything for you.” He pats your head, ruffling your bedhead hair in the process. And there it is again—he smiles, and you melt. He’s handsome without even trying. “You have me.”
“I have you,” you echo.
-
thanks for reading! i apologize to everyone for taking so long to post this, especially to my giftee @justsomeoneintoomanyfandoms. i underestimated this semester's workload, so i barely got enough time to write on time:( my first idea was to write about the ASL brothers going on a glamping trip with reader, which i had written a substantial amount of, but i scrapped the idea because it was going nowhere. that was originally around 4k words, while this was supposed to be within 8k. it ended up stretching to 17k (i'm sorry).
some other things: i wanted to write about law, but i was afraid everyone else would write about him (and i was right), so i settled with sabo, who barely gets enough fics. i had a lot of fun writing this. sabo is very sweet and he deserves more stories written about him. following that thought, ASL modern AU's should definitely be more common. i don't understand why barely anyone writes them, it's kinda criminal.
other than being my first full-length sabo fic, this is the longest one shot i've ever written, so it's kinda special to me. i didn't have enough time to get it beta-read, but i proofread it myself so i hope it's good enough lol. that's about it. thanks for tuning in!
this “bon appetit” meme has turned into some sort of bizarre telephone game where each incarnation sounds more and more different than the original. in what way does “bon appetit” sound like “osteoporosis”
If you do this with my fics, or anyone's fics, please know I HATE you. I hate you more than every troll comment, every "your writing sucks kys" comment, every "update soon" comment. I hate you. Other authors hate you. If you want my fic, you either WAIT for it or you pay me for it. And if you won't do one of those things, you don't deserve my fic or anyone else's.
We literally cannot let them start charging 80 dollars for video games 70 dollars was already outrageous 60 was pushing it. 80 fucking dollars. ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR DAMN MIND. For MARIO?!?!?!?!?
The fact that you can’t raise taxes on billionaires even slightly without them pouring money into fascist political movements is, of itself, evidence that billionaires as a class shouldn’t be allowed to exist in the first place.
I’d just like to point out that every single thing that has happened in the 6 years since I created this post has only reinscribed its absolute moral correctness in my mind.
when i have a crush i dont kick my feet or twirl my hair instead i am in my kitchen at 3am pacing in circles with my hands clasped behind my back like a middle-aged divorced detective haunted by a cold case he just cant crack
