Chapter Text
There used to be a mark on his shoulder.
For the first ten years of his life it was there, a part of him as familiar as any other. He knew the shape of the letters with his eyes closed, knew the distance it spanned, and every little quirk – like the slight curl after the last letter, almost like it was smiling.
When he’d asked his parents, his father had shrugged it off.
“It doesn’t matter who it is. When the time comes, you’ll marry a suitable girl. Romantic notions like that are for the poor, not nobles like us.”
Sabo had known for a long time that neither of his parents had each other’s names.
He’d let the subject drop, but hadn’t forgotten. And he’d lie awake at night and wonder, if, whoever it was that name and signature belonged to, they might have his.
Ace would tease him relentlessly.
“Koala?” he asked, enunciating each syllable with exaggerated care, but with an inflection that betrayed his attempted mockery. “What kind of name is that?”
Sabo would usually ignore him – or stick his tongue out. But when he’d asked Ace about his own mark–
“Eh,” Ace said, arms crossed over his chest, the dismissal clear. “Who needs someone else’s mark? I’ll get my own.”
Sabo looked dubious. “Your own…?”
“My own name.” He grinned, and patted his arm. “In really big letters.”
“That’s…seriously narcissistic.”
Ace’s grin didn’t lessen. “I’ll make my own choices,” he said simply, and left it at that. And Sabo hadn’t argued.
For his part, Luffy had only tilted his head, brow furrowed, and – “D’you think it’s a real koala bear?” he’d asked, and Ace had laughed so hard he’d face-planted into a nap, and it had been weeks before he’d let Sabo forget it.
But – “What’s it mean, anyway?” Luffy had asked one day, poking the name on Sabo’s shoulder, features pulled into a thoughtful frown. And he didn’t look at his own mark as he said it, although Sabo wondered if the reason might be that he didn’t consider them the same thing. Not that he blamed Luffy for his confusion. His little brother’s mark had always been a mystery; a single x, sitting on his forearm, although Sabo had no idea what it meant – if it was a person’s name, or something else entirely.
“It’s–” But when he’d looked at Ace for assistance and only found him lifting his brows in answer, a silent look as though to say good luck trying to explain that to someone who still doesn’t understand how rainbows work, Sabo had sighed, and said, “We’ll tell you when you’re older.”
“Oh. Okay!”
And that had been the end of that.
Except it hadn’t been. Not for Sabo, at least. Because his parents might dismiss it as a triviality and Ace might tease, but lying awake at Dadan’s, looking up into the rafters and imagining himself seas away, he would sound out the syllables and imagine who they belonged to – would imagine where they were in the world, and what they were doing, and wonder if their life was anything like his, or completely different.
– Ko-a-la.
—
When he’d been younger he’d often wondered if they’d ever meet, and if so, in what way. You heard stories, after all – that the sea brought people together who were meant to find each other.
Of course, there were also the more cynical accounts, telling of those who found each other, but just a little too late – or those who met their one, only to discover they weren’t theirs.
But he’d always held out hope, in spite of it all – that across the sea somewhere there was someone who wouldn’t care where he came from, or that he was a noble; someone who lived in the same world as him, but who he’d always hoped would be better, somehow – that the cheerful signature belonged to a person who was good, in a world with so many bad things.
“What if it’s someone really ugly?” Ace asked one night. They were sleeping outside, an endless expanse of stars stretching overhead, and Luffy’s snores the only sound interrupting the quiet.
Sabo shrugged, gaze following the path of a familiar constellation. He wondered if Koala could see it. “If they’re a good person, I don’t think it matters what they look like.”
“Even if they’ve got the ugliest face you’ve ever seen?”
“But how can that be when you exist, Ace?”
Ace punched him in the shoulder for that. “I’m serious.”
“So am I,” Sabo defended. “I just–” he sighed, and didn’t know how to explain it – the sense that he couldn’t have cared less if they really were the ugliest person in the whole world, so long that they were good – to him, and together with him.
“My parents,” he said then, after a lull, looking up at the stars. “What they have…I don’t want that. They’re – civil, you know? But that’s all it is, and I want more than that. I want – I want someone I can trust. Not just a friend, but a–” he trailed off, searching for that word he knew had to exist somewhere, but that stubbornly eluded his grasp. Soulmate was too easy, even if it was the most commonly used term for it. But it only described the concept, Sabo felt – not what it implied; the bond that he could almost feel, if he concentrated, to this other person, miles and seas away.
“A partner?” Ace asked then, and Sabo mulled over the word.
“Yeah,” he said. And – it was a good fit, even if it still felt like something was missing, although he didn’t know what that was.
There was a long pause, before Ace said, “So…when you say you want more than what your parents have, you mean you want romance?”
Sabo felt his cheeks flush. “N–not necessarily.”
“Oho. What are you thinking about now, Sabo-kun?”
“Shut up!”
“Man, your cheeks are really red.”
Sabo closed his eyes, and pretended it didn’t feel like his face was on fire. “I don’t have to take this.”
Ace laughed, before he fell silent. And for a while neither of them spoke, listening instead to Luffy’s familiar noises – the occasional, half-coherent murmur that accompanied the snoring, in innumerable combinations of the words pirate and meat.
Then, “Do you ever think about whether or not they’d like you?” Ace asked.
Given his usual penchant for thinly veiled insults, anyone else might have interpreted it as such. But Sabo knew Ace, and recognised the care that had gone into shaping those words – and more importantly, the thought that had prompted the question in the first place. An old fear, for all that his general attitude gave no indication that he had any to speak of.
And so, “Yeah,” Sabo said, because he’d never been one to lie. And anyway, Ace wouldn’t appreciate being coddled to spare his feelings. “But I can’t change who I am, so they’ll just have to take what they get.”
Ace’s mouth lifted in a smirk. “You sound confident for someone whose head looks like a dandelion. You know you can’t wear a hat for the rest of your life, right? The secret’s gonna come out eventually.”
“You don’t know,” Sabo said, hands tucked behind his head. “They might like the hat.”
“And the goofy goggles?” But Ace was smiling now, Sabo noted, and so he only grinned, lifting his gaze back to the starry sky.
Then, when the quiet had settled once more, Luffy’s snoring sifting through the balmy air, Sabo hummed – “At least I can stay out in the sun without looking like something took a sprinkled shit on my face.”
“Oi!”
—
He didn’t get rid of the hat, or the goggles. And he wouldn’t change who he was, Sabo decided – not for anyone.
But he had to change his circumstances, that much became clear, and quickly. If he wanted to achieve his dreams, he had to. And if he ever wanted to find Koala, it wouldn’t be on Dawn Island, he was fairly certain of that.
And when he set out to sea, gaze fixed on the horizon and the only home he’d ever known behind him, his world had, for a single, breathless moment, been one of absolute freedom.
Then, seeming between one breath and the next, his world became fire, and pain. And when he emerged on the other side, half of his body covered in burns and no memory to speak of, there was nothing there to remind him – his name stitched on a handkerchief the only connection to the identity he’d had, once.
But the one on his shoulder was long gone, lost to the fire like everything else, along with the memory that it had ever been there to begin with.
—
His new life greeted him with challenges, but he set his mind on overcoming them – on moving past the yawning gap in his memory, and to find out who he was, regardless of who he’d been. He’d make his own choices and live his own life, free of the amnesia and whatever else might have bound him in his past.
And it took time, but his burns healed, and he spent his days training until he was on the brink of passing out, intent on becoming stronger – but also, to be so tired he could wake and not feel the remnants of his dreams slipping through his fingers, as though his subconscious held the answers, but in the moment of waking they’d vanish at his fingertips.
Better not to remember at all, he’d decided, even as he knew the desire to know would never really go away.
There were other children his age with Dragon’s people, and he made a point of getting to know them. Most were like him – they had no homes to speak of, or they did and they’d run away, and usually for a reason.
And then there were others, who spoke little of where they came from, but whose silence on the matter was all the louder for it.
“Hey,” he introduced himself one day, to the girl he’d often seen training with Hack. She was a year older than he was and a scrawny little thing, but could wrestle boys twice her age and size to the ground. And she was always smiling, he’d noticed.
“I’m Sabo,” he said, holding out his hand. “What’s your name?”
She blinked, and for a moment Sabo wondered if she’d expected him to challenge her to fight; if that was usually how boys introduced themselves to her. Given her reputation he wouldn’t be surprised if it was – it was hard to believe just by looking at her.
But then her eyes seemed to light up, and for a moment he was so startled by what it did to her face – and to the smile, which had been a curiously unreadable thing before. Now it looked genuinely happy.
“Sabo?” she asked, and her voice was nice, he decided – the gentle lilt of it holding something pleased.
He hesitated, still holding out his hand and feeling suddenly awkward, as she’d yet to take it. The others often teased him for his manners, and he didn’t know why he did it, or where they came from – it was always an automatic reaction, please and thank you, and would you mind?
Seeming to finally notice his outstretched hand, she started – but then she reached out to take it, that bright smile still in place. Her grip was strong, and her gloved fingers small in his.
“Koala,” she chirped, holding his gaze as she said it.
Sabo smiled. “Ah, really?” he laughed, and watched as her smile faltered, just a bit. And he had the sudden sense that she expected mockery, and so he said, the words entirely earnest, “That’s a pretty name.”
She was still holding his hand, but her grip had slackened, and for a moment it was a little awkward – especially given how she was looking at him, as though she was trying to look through him.
“Thank you,” she said at length, the words sounding almost automatic, before she released his hand, tucking hers behind her back. “Most people think it’s weird.”
For some reason, Sabo found himself wanting her to smile like she had, just a moment ago. It was a bizarre sort of urge, and before he could think too much about it – “This coming from people whose leader’s name is Dragon?” he asked.
He watched her smile quirk, almost despite herself. And it wasn’t the same, but it was genuine, still, if only because it was so startled.
“I don’t think anyone would dare tease Dragon-san for his name,” she pointed out.
Sabo laughed. “Probably not.” Then with a shrug, “But who cares about names, anyway? They’re just words. They don’t really mean anything.”
But even as he said it, he thought about his own, and wondered who he’d be now if they hadn’t found that handkerchief, and if it would have mattered at all.
Koala seemed to consider him, hands still tucked behind her back. “What about soul-marks?” she asked then, seeming to choose her words with care. “For those, names are usually pretty important.”
And it always came back to that, Sabo thought, and fought to keep his face from letting slip a grimace. No matter who or where you were in the world or what your own views on that particular practice, there was no escape from it. Even his amnesia hadn’t managed to grant him that.
There was a word at the tip of his tongue – a sudden, almost rebellious impulse to tell her he didn’t have one, so what did he care? But what he said instead was, “There are more important marks. Ones that will gather a lot of people, not just two – like Dragon-san’s revolution. Or a jolly roger.” Even the World Government’s, if only for the resistance that symbol garnered.
She looked like she wanted to say something, but, “Yeah,” Koala murmured, and for a moment her eyes were far away. “I guess you’re right.”
He wanted to ask why she’d joined, but curbed his tongue, finding the question might be a bit too much, given that they’d just been introduced. But he didn’t want to walk away just yet either, although the conversation seemed to have veered off onto a distinctly awkward track.
An idea seized him then, and before he could let himself second-guess it – “So – ah,” Sabo said. “I hear your punch is stronger than Hack-san’s.”
Her smile widened, pride chasing across her expression, turning it bright with pleasure, and – there it was, Sabo found. The way to make her smile like that.
“Maybe not that strong,” Koala said, eyes twinkling. Bringing her hands up, Sabo found his gaze seized by the sight of them, her gloved fingers curled towards her palms.
“But I could show you, if you want,” she said, the words confident, but not defiant. And she seemed pleased at the fact, Sabo thought, and wondered just how many had told her the same he had, but had sounded dubious saying it.
He smiled, and watching her eyes curve with her own – “I’d like that,” he said, and for the first time in weeks, felt that he’d found a challenge he could meet, without having to overcome it.
—
They sparred a lot, in the beginning – their way of navigating the transition from acquaintances into friends, by fighting each other until they were sprawled in the dirt, gasping from laughter.
And over the years it became about more than just training. It was teamwork – a ‘let’s see how many ludicrous fighting combinations we can cook up between the two of us’. Or a ‘you go high, I go low – maybe we can finally take Hack this time!’
And it was something else – something that was uniquely theirs. A ‘hey, let me take a look at that bruise’, and a shared understanding between them when a match meant more than just practise – when it was a distraction, or a way to vent.
Koala never removed her gloves when they fought, and Sabo didn’t ask. Her eyes were of the few that didn’t linger on his burn scars, and so he’d give her the courtesy of privacy, at the very least.
Although there were moments – when he’d tug his coat and shirt off, a balmy morning with the sun sitting high in the sky above Baltigo’s rough-hewn structures, and the cravat stifling at his neck as they took a break between matches. And he’d catch a glance of her gaze drifting towards him, but not with that almost morbid curiosity he’d come to expect. Instead the sweep of her eyes was searching, the weight of them gentle, and – not unwelcome, Sabo was surprised to discover.
When they were younger he’d turn his head away, pretending he hadn’t noticed, and hope she didn’t see how red his ears were. But as they grew older there’d be a clever remark threatening – to ask if she liked what she saw, but he’d never speak the words out loud, knowing they wouldn’t sound even half as suave coming out of his mouth as they did in his head.
And anyway, the suggestive tone that sat behind them carried a hint of truth he didn’t think he would have been able to conceal. Not with how well she knew him.
“Sabo-kun.”
The sigh that carried with his name held a familiar petulance, a remnant from when they’d been kids. But there was something else there as well – a dearly exasperated fondness that he’d long since come to associate with her.
And he’d always liked how she said his name. It was never just Sabo, devoid of honorific, or even some form of feeling. She always spoke his name like she meant it – or at least, like it meant something to her.
Small hands tugging at his shirt, and Koala clucked her tongue. “This is what happens when you don’t pay attention.”
He glanced down to see what she was talking about, and – “Oh. Heh, I didn’t notice–ow!”
Releasing his ear, she pushed him down until he was seated on the bed, before she went to rummage about for a med-kit. “How could you not have noticed? You’re bleeding all over your shirt!”
“…I thought it was sweat. It’s pretty warm out.”
The glare she shot him was murderous, and he grinned, but didn’t offer any further smart remarks as she set about tugging off his shirt to get a better look at the wound.
The laceration sat just across his collar, an inch from where the scar tissue that climbed up his torso stopped.
Her hands hesitated, but only for a second, and then she was cleaning the cut, movements quick and meticulous. She was much better at this than he was, although she often let her reproval seep into her ministrations – like when she applied the antiseptic cheerfully and without warning, or when she tugged the bandage closed with more force than strictly necessary.
It had been a simple reconnaissance mission, before they’d gone and stumbled upon a massive smuggling operation. They’d escaped with valuable intel, and more than they’d thought they’d get, but as the sting in his shoulder now cheerfully reminded him, they’d been lucky in more ways than one. And holed up in their safe house now he was suddenly, keenly aware of the fact.
“When did you get this, anyway?” Koala murmured, and he felt the light touch of her fingers, just above the thick scar tissue. She’d put on a pair of surgical gloves, although he hadn’t even seen her change them. But her other gloves sat, discarded next to the med-kit.
“An explosion,” Sabo said, almost absentmindedly, gaze fixed on the gloves. The light pressure of her fingers persisted, and for the first time in years he felt self-conscious under her gaze, and tried not to squirm in his seat. “It was – before my amnesia. Or the cause of it, I think.”
He felt her hand disappear – ironically, like she’d been burned. “Oh– no, I meant the–” And looking at her, Sabo found her gesturing to the cut she’d been cleaning – the gift he’d brought back from their mission.
“Oh.” He laughed, the sound a little forced. “Ah – I don’t really know,” he said at length. “I was busy trying to outrun that guy with the knives. Which…thinking about it now, might be the culprit, actually. Probably.”
Koala said nothing, and when he followed the path of her gaze now, he found her looking at the burn scar, not the cut.
“It doesn’t hurt,” Sabo said then, and – didn’t really know why. She didn’t look like she needed assurances, although the slight furrow to her brow hinted at something he couldn’t read. “The scarring. Not anymore.”
She lifted her eyes back to his, and there was understanding there, Sabo found. “I’m glad,” she said, and set about applying the bandage. “Some scars take a long time before they heal.”
He wanted to ask, but didn’t. Instead he settled for watching her work, noting the little shifts in her expression – the slight purse of her lips, telling of deep concentration, and the attentive focus of her eyes on the task before her. It was a familiar routine, perfected over long years, and he found he could anticipate the subtle changes before she let them slip – the way she’d bite down on the inside of her cheek, and the soft hum that sometimes slipped from her when she was pleased with her own work.
They were a curious fit – her careful planning, and his split-second decisions. Her diplomacy, where he sometimes spoke without thinking. And he felt it in her small movements now, allowing his shoulders to sink under her touches; the knowledge that he didn’t have to put up appearances here. That she’d seen more of him than most, and was still intent on making a place for herself in his life – had claimed the right to do so, silently and in a way that brooked no arguments, least of all from him.
And it was easy, this partnership they’d forged – a mutual trust and comfort that allowed for silence as well as words, but demanded neither. She’d never once asked him to be anything he wasn’t or couldn’t be, for all that she often scolded him for being too reckless, and for not thinking things through.
“There,” Koala said then, pulling her hands back. “All done.”
Sabo glanced at the bandage, then back at her, his smile curving. “No lecture?”
Her own smile was a strange thing. “Be more careful next time.”
He pouted. “You always tell me that.”
“And yet you never listen.”
“I was kind of hoping for a tirade.”
“Well I’m not giving it to you.”
“Not even a little one? Something about not running with knives?”
“You were running from the guy who was running with knives,” Koala pointed out.
Sabo grinned. “Thanks for tripping him, by the way.”
She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I have your back,” she said, the words entirely familiar, even before she added, “You know I do. We’re partners, aren’t we?”
There was something about the way she said it that struck Sabo as odd, but he couldn’t figure out just what it was. And before he could ask Koala was turning away, busy packing up the med-kit, before leaving him with his newly bandaged shoulder, and words that lingered long after she’d left the room.
He plucked at the bandage, and – partners, he thought. For some reason the word stuck, even though it had so long been an implied thing between them. And not always just implied, either; Dragon referred to them as partners, after all. Most of the Revolutionary Army did.
Still. There was something about it that made him pause now, as though there was something significant about that word that he was missing, somehow.
But for the life of him, Sabo couldn’t figure out what.
—
For a long time, he didn’t remember the mark – the one that had once curved in that cheerful scrawl over the arch of his shoulder; the syllables that he’d so often sounded out in his head, and wrapped around his tongue when his brothers were out of earshot. For the longest time he hadn’t remembered, thinking the scars that climbed from his ribcage and up his collar obscured nothing more than skin.
“Sabo-kun,” Koala asked one day, a strange lilt to her voice that he couldn’t tell if carried mischief or simple curiosity – or something entirely different, sitting in the care with which she spoke his name, and if he hadn’t been so busy poring over the document on his desk he might have picked up on it. “Do you have a soul-mark?”
Lifting his gaze to find hers where she sat perched on the edge of his desk, Sabo considered the tuck of her hands in her lap, and where the question had come from, out of the blue as it had been offered.
They’d never actually discussed this, at least not beyond vague references whenever the topic was brought up by someone else. Some people flaunted theirs with pride, but for most, soul-marks were infinitely private things, and for different reasons. And there was an unspoken rule that it wasn’t something you just asked someone about, like their preference for beer over sake.
But they were partners, and had been for a long time. And he’d caught himself more than once wondering what Koala’s situation was, but he’d always dismissed the urge to ask whenever it presented itself.
Now he found her looking at him, her gaze level but her eyes yielding genuine curiosity – and something else, but Sabo couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was.
Then again, maybe it was just her finally caving, and asking what she’d always wanted to know, the way he’d never dared. And what would it hurt if she knew? It wasn’t like it would change anything.
He shook his head, and wondered if he imagined her smile faltering for the barest of seconds, but before she could say anything – “Do you?” Sabo asked her, the question tumbling off his tongue before he could pull it back.
And he hadn’t meant for it to be so abrupt, because in all their years he’d never seen one on her, and that usually meant only one thing – that whoever hers was, they were dead. He knew that feeling better than most, after all, and so he’d meant to phrase it differently.
But if she found it rude, Koala didn’t show it. Instead – “Yeah,” she said at length, kicking her feet, and the admission sparked a flicker of surprise within him.
And there was a strange smile on her face now – one that didn’t look quite right, but before he could ask, she added, “But I’m not his.”
Sabo felt a sudden pang of sympathy – and understanding, for why she’d never let the mark show. Situations like that were awkward at best; soul-shattering at worst.
“Ah,” he said. Then, “Sorry,” he added, and winced, realising how callous it must have sounded.
She shrugged, but the gesture was too brittle for the ease he imagined she was trying for. “It happens,” she said simply, although Sabo knew it was far from a simple matter.
But it did happen, and they all knew the stories. Some were tragedies, and others great romances – of persevering in spite of adversity. For all its vast oceans and twisted history, it was the one thing that carried across the whole world – the understanding that some things were just out of your hands. It was a universal knowledge, that whatever mark you were born with, it was part of your destiny whether you liked it or not, for better or for worse. Even if the person whose mark you had didn’t have yours.
He’d often wondered if it went even further than that – if people of different species could find each other, and if possible, what that might mean. He knew she’d spent time with fishmen in her past, and perhaps there was a different reason she’d taken to learning their martial arts than what everyone assumed – one bond where she couldn’t have another.
The thought lingered, curiously persistent, and once again before he could stop himself he was asking, “So you’ve met him?”
There was a moment where he thought she wouldn’t answer – or that she’d pinch his cheek and tell him it was none of his business. But then Koala nodded, before she dropped her eyes to her hands, restless fingers fiddling with one of her gloves.
And he had a thought then, one he’d considered more than once over the years they’d known each other, that the mark might be on one of her hands. He couldn’t remember having ever seen them bare.
She was still plucking at the glove, a downward slant to her mouth that looked so out of place on her face, Sabo had the feeling that he’d overstepped – that this was already sensitive territory, and with her situation being what it was–
“You know,” he said then, scrambling for something to say, to fill the sudden silence. “I think about mine, sometimes. I mean– I think about who they might have been, back when they were alive.”
He almost regretted blurting it, but then her head lifted, her gaze finding his, and he had no mind for regrets. Because his situation might not be the same as hers, but they could share this, if nothing else. The tragedy of it; a bond in its own way, for people like them.
“I don’t even know their name,” Sabo said, voice gentler now.
“You don’t remember anything?” she asked.
He shook his head. He’d often wondered, in the vast, black hole that existed in his memory, if there was a person there – someone he’d known once, and forgotten.
But if he had known them, or even just their name, whoever they’d been they were dead now – the fact that he didn’t have a mark was testament enough to that.
Koala hummed then, the sound low and thoughtful. “It’s weird, isn’t it? That we’re not given a choice in the matter.”
Sabo looked up, considering her where she sat. He watched her gloved hands, her fingers intertwined in her lap, and the sad smile playing along her mouth.
And he wanted to ask her again, just whose mark she carried – if he was in the Revolutionary Army, or if he was someone from her past. He wanted to know if he’d found his other half, and if she’d seen them together – if she had to do so on a daily basis, perhaps, and the thought made his chest constrict.
Death seemed almost the kinder alternative, when faced with that.
“Hey,” he said then, reaching out to nudge her knee, and he felt her start, as though she’d been lost in thought. And when she looked at him, the delicate arch of her brows lifting above eyes that had always seen him better than anyone, it took effort to keep his smile in place.
He hated how his heart skipped – that it would, knowing that getting over a bond like that was virtually impossible, and that even if she’d harboured so much as a shred of affection for him beyond simple friendship, he’d always come second.
But – “We always have a choice,” he told her, his touch lingering by her knee for a second, before he pulled his hand back, away from the warmth seeping from her skin, through her stockings. And he didn’t know why, but the words sounded – familiar, like he’d heard them spoken somewhere before, but when he looked for the memory he came up short.
Koala looked like she might say something, worrying her lower lip between her teeth, but in the end all she did was nod. And when she reached out to catch his hand, squeezing his fingers, her grip tight and her hand small in his, Sabo tried not to think about whose name was written on her skin, and why it mattered so much.
Then she let go, and they left it at that. He didn’t ask any more questions about her mark, where it was or what it said, although it was with far less effort that he turned his thoughts away from what his own had once been.
Still, he couldn’t stop himself from thinking about what it might have been like, in a world where there were no soul-marks – where people were free to find each other, and choose each other, without the added complication of fate.
(curse, some people called it, because love was a big enough burden already, and some souls were better off alone)
But mark or no mark, if he could choose for himself Sabo knew what his answer would be – sounded it out in his head, the syllables sitting silent on his tongue, but the weight of them a small, almost familiar comfort–
Ko-a-la.
—
For all that she’d never shown him her soul-mark, he knew she had another – an entirely different kind of brand, with an entirely different sort of significance. He’d never seen it, and had never asked to, having deduced from her silence on the subject that it wasn’t something she liked to talk about.
But one day he caught a glimpse – not enough to see the whole thing, but then it wasn’t the brand itself that had made the biggest impression.
A mission gone sideways, they’d barely escaped with their skins intact, but in the scuffle preceding their escape she’d gotten her shirt ripped – a tear running down the length of her back, exposing her skin, and the sunburst mark.
They’d come to a stop, on the heels of a dead sprint that left the taste of blood in his mouth, and he was leaning his weight on his knees, trying to catch his breath.
Ahead of him, Koala wasn’t much better off, chest heaving with her own breaths where she sat, bent over her knees, and Sabo caught a muttered curse slipping into the quiet – along with what sounded like his name.
She didn’t seem to have noticed the tear, and so he reached for her, fingertips brushing against the torn, pink fabric. “Hey, Koala? There’s a tear in your–”
His hand had barely touched against her back, but she recoiled like he’d struck her, and her reaction was so sudden and so unexpected, for a moment all he could do was stare.
She’d spun around, scrambling away from him, her back turned now, and when she looked at him there was genuine fear in her eyes – the kind it usually took him doing something supremely reckless to prompt. But watching him now, it wasn’t fear for him that Sabo found on her face, but something else – something that made it suddenly difficult to draw breath into his lungs.
He’d never in all their years seen her scared of him.
He didn’t know what to say, but in that moment he would have taken anything if it would just wipe that look off her face. “I’m s–”
“No, don’t–” Koala cut him off, hands behind her back now, keeping the fabric of her shirt closed, and she was refusing to meet his eyes, Sabo noticed. “Don’t be sorry. I just don’t– I’m not really comfortable with people seeing it.”
There was something – off, about the way she said it, but he didn’t press the issue, knowing full well what it was like to feel the scrutiny of others and want nothing more than to hide. He carried some of his scars in plain sight, after all.
He shoved down the feeling that threatened – the one that had latched onto the way she’d said people, as though there wasn’t a shred of difference between him and anyone else.
And there were probably any number of things he could have said – offered her assurances, or tried to lighten the mood with a joke at his own expense. He could have asked if she wanted to talk about it, or tell her that if she ever did, he’d listen.
But for all that he could have said, all he did was remove his coat, movements calm and deliberate as he shrugged it off his shoulders, before placing it over hers without a word.
It was much too large for her frame, the dark fabric obscuring most of her. But it covered her back, as had been his intention.
And he still said nothing, even as he watched her expression shift, an emotion chasing across her features now that he couldn’t name – an open, desperately vulnerable thing. And if he’d searched her face Sabo might have seen it for what it was, but instead he turned his eyes away, and waited for her to follow.
Because it wasn’t fear, and that was really all that mattered.
—
Things between them were…strained, after that.
They avoided each other for a while – or rather, he gave her space, and she took it. The general consensus was that they’d had a falling out, although Sabo suspected the others knew it was more than just a simple disagreement. But whatever gossip floated around the halls pertaining to the true reason for their awkwardness around each other, he’d rather not hear it, knowing well of what nature the rumours likely were.
It didn’t last long, but then Koala had never been able to keep her anger with him, and Sabo suspected the same might go for lingering awkwardness, or whatever this was.
Having knocked on his door one day after breakfast, she gave him back his coat, along with a quiet thank you, and another apology for reacting the way she had. And he accepted the coat, but not the apology – told her instead, more secure in his words now, that she had nothing to apologise for, and that if anyone understood it was him.
“I was still out of line,” she said. “Ignoring you like that.”
Sabo allowed a smile to touch his lips. “Is that what you’ve been doing? I hadn’t noticed.”
Her mouth pursed, her smile seeming to come quite despite herself. “Well, you know what I’m always telling you about paying attention.”
“That I need to do a better job pretending that I am?”
She punched his arm, and the reaction made him laugh. “I should strangle you with your own stupid coat,” Koala huffed.
He grinned. “You’d miss me,” he told her. “What would you do with all your time if you didn’t have me to scold, or use as a human punching bag?”
She sniffed. “I’d find a better punching bag. One who actually listens.”
“You’d still miss me,” he said. “No matter how many punching bags you got, it wouldn’t be the same. Admit it – you need me.”
She looked at him then, her eyes large and holding a hundred unspoken things, and she was fiddling with the sleeve of her shirt, the way she had of doing when she was nervous, or when there was something on her mind.
And there was a moment – a brief but achingly hopeful moment – where Sabo thought she might say something; that she might finally put words to the inkling he’d had for so long but never dared consider fully – that whatever name she wore on her skin and whatever feelings still clung to that bond, she might not be averse to a different one. One that wasn’t about soul-marks or destiny, but a mutual understanding – and a mutual desire and affection, in spite of what the world wanted.
That she might choose him, if he asked.
She was about to open her mouth to speak when there was another knock on the door, followed by a summons – an announcement that news of the war had just arrived, and that Dragon had asked for them.
“Hey,” Sabo said, before Koala could walk past him. He’d reached out to touch her, but let his hand drop before it could make contact, fingertips barely brushing the delicate fabric of her blouse. He watched her eyes track the movement, before she lifted them back to his as he asked, “Can I– can we talk, later?”
She considered him for a long moment, saying nothing, and Sabo wondered what she was thinking – if she could tell what it was he wanted to talk about, and if she heard the implied offer as he gave it.
And for an instant he regretted asking, because he’d rather shove down his feelings for the rest of his life than force her to deal with them, when she had enough to contend with already.
But then she smiled, her eyes curving at the corners, and something in him settled.
“Yeah,” she said, and he was certain now that she knew exactly what it was he wanted to say – and what’s more, that she would welcome it when he did. And he knew his grin had to look pretty ridiculous, but Sabo couldn’t find it in himself to care as she tucked her hands behind her back and met his gaze, her smile still in place.
“I’d like that.”
—
In the end, they didn’t have that talk.
Not for a long while, anyway.
—
It took time, after waking to find his memories returned to him, to remember everything.
First there were the obvious things to deal with – Ace, and Luffy. The Paramount War. Ten years and two brothers and several seas between them, and for days he’d struggled to come to terms with one death, and the excruciating uncertainty of whether or not Luffy was still alive.
And it took time, picking himself back up – re-learning what it meant to exist in this world now that it was irrevocably changed. And in the midst of it all, fumbling to come to grips with who he’d been and what it meant for who he’d become, Sabo hadn’t spared a second thought to what else had been taken from him, the day his ship had been destroyed off the coast of Dawn.
In fact, it took two whole years before that particular memory resurfaced – two years of his little brother being the foremost thought in his mind. And with the balance of the world powers shifting and the uncertainty that loomed in the New World, they’d both had enough to occupy them to even consider anything more intimate than their already established, professional partnership.
After his ordeal, Koala had given him space, and hadn’t brought up the conversation they’d had, that day he’d regained his memories. And Sabo hadn’t forgotten, but between everything else that had happened he hadn’t wanted to burden her with that; the affections of someone who was still figuring himself out, and who couldn’t give her what she deserved – at least not yet. She’d already suffered that once, tethered to a soul that didn’t desire hers in turn.
And he wouldn’t give her anything less than the whole of him, whoever that was now.
But there were moments – selfish moments, appearing in the lull between battles, when they took a minute to recuperate enough to catch their breaths, and when they weren’t revolutionaries first and foremost, just them. Partners, or–
“You okay?”
She looked up from where she’d been silently fuming, after he’d zoned out through most of her lecture – a common occurrence, maybe, although he really did have a lot on his mind this time.
But now that he’d had the chance to let his thoughts settle, Sabo watched her where she stood, her expression wary, and – tired, he thought, although he couldn’t really blame her. Their stay in Dressrosa had been a hot mess for a whole number of reasons, but the thought struck him now full force, that it might had gone seriously wrong. And not just the regular snag in an otherwise carefully planned operation.
He allowed himself to take in the sight of her now, but she had no visible injuries – not a single scratch that he could see, and the relief that followed the realisation was enough to drag a breath loose of his chest.
As though sensing what he wasn’t saying, Koala sighed, shoulders sinking with it. “Of course I’m okay,” she said. “I was worried about you. I’m not the one picking fights with Yonkou subordinates and Navy Admirals.”
She’d crossed her arms over her chest, and the purse of her mouth spoke of disapproval, but her eyes told a different story, and he felt a pang of regret for making her worry.
Pushing to his feet, he was about to apologise when he caught sight of something on her face, and before he could stop himself, “Hey, Koala–”
He’d reached out without thinking, thumb brushing against the smudge on her cheek, and he heard her startled inhale, before her eyes flew to his. And for a moment he was frozen, his hand half-cupping her cheek, the pad of his thumb pressed against the curve of the fine bone beneath her skin, and the implied suggestion behind the gesture unavoidable. If anyone had walked by, Sabo knew they would have thought the same – that it was the tender prelude to a kiss, stolen in the quiet aftermath of a terrible event.
And he thought then, that he wanted to kiss her. That even if he hadn’t planned it before he’d reached for her, he could do it now – wanted to do it, the desire so acute his breath felt suddenly heavy in his chest.
He even thought she might welcome it, at least going by the way her pupils had dilated, and how she was looking at him, her expression open and tinged with barely-concealed anticipation. And all it would take was for him to tilt his head down – to catch her mouth, the soft curve of her lower lip gently beckoning, along with the slight hitch in her breath that had a shot of heat dropping straight into his gut, and that had nothing to do with his new devil fruit.
But then the Den Den Mushi in her pocket gave a loud chirp, and they broke apart so fast Sabo almost tripped over his own feet.
And before he’d had time to properly react Koala was answering it, although Sabo didn’t think he imagined the near-breathless quaver in her voice, before she swallowed, and when she spoke next her tone was carefully level.
He heard Hack’s response over the line, but couldn’t focus on what they were saying, busy trying to calm his racing heart, and to wrap his mind around what had just happened – what had almost happened.
He caught the tell-tale click of the call ending, and then Koala was turning back towards him. And there was that fear, resurfacing with a vengeance – that he’d gone too far, and too quickly. That this wasn’t how he’d wanted to do it, or to ask her.
Grasping for some way to salvage the situation, he did the first thing that sprung to mind.
“Ah – here,” he said, tugging out his handkerchief from his pocket, and holding it towards her.
Koala blinked, gaze flicking to the offering, before lifting back to his, confusion bright in her features, and her wide eyes.
But before she could ask– “You have a–” Sabo gestured to her cheek, and watched as her fingers flew towards it, before realisation dawned on her face, along with what looked like a potent dose of abject horror.
And he felt like explaining, then – to blurt that she hadn’t misunderstood, as he could tell now she thought she had. He wanted to tell her that he really had meant to kiss her, but the look on her face wiped all the words from his mind, and all he was left with was the offered handkerchief, and the yawning gap that seemed to expand between them where they stood, less than an arm’s length apart.
Then she was reaching out to accept it, keeping her eyes downturned, very deliberately not meeting his, and Sabo knew with a sinking heart that there was no salvaging this.
Koala considered the cloth for a moment, gaze seeming fixed on his name where it was stitched into the fabric, before she tucked her fingers around it, her smile tight. She didn’t lift it to wipe her cheek. “Thank you,” she murmured.
Then she’d turned on her heel, gloved fingers gripping the crumpled cloth, a jarring strain in her step that betrayed her attempted calm, even as she called over her shoulder that Hack was waiting for them, and for Sabo to pick up his feet or they’d leave him behind.
But watching her walk away from him, the muscles in her back tense beneath the fabric of her shirt, it took him a long while before he moved to follow.
—
He would think later, of how cruel fate sometimes was – that in a world like theirs, where souls were bound from birth, there would be an element of predictability to it; a sense that, in spite of everything else that might occur, at least there was a certainty in knowing that your soul had a mate somewhere, and one you were bound to meet.
But perhaps it was a perfect world, the one where two souls found each other as planned, and without trouble.
It certainly wasn’t this one.
It took him two years before he realised it, one brother’s legacy now in his keeping, and the other’s happiness at finding him alive having given Sabo renewed purpose, if not all the answers he’d been looking for. And it wasn’t a grand revelation this time – no earth-shattering news dredging the memory to the surface.
Instead it was something staggeringly simple, walking down the corridor towards his room one evening after a briefing on the state of the world's weapon trafficking in the wake of the mess at Dressrosa, his mind elsewhere – on a little island in the East Blue, and Ace’s grin familiar and teasing–
"Koala? What kind of name is that?”
He stopped dead in his tracks. And there was a moment he didn’t breathe – didn’t dare to, in case the memory should slip from his grasp, as quickly as it had appeared. But touching his fingers to his shoulder, he felt it, following the path where it would have sat, if not for the scar tissue that met his fingertips beneath his shirt.
And he could picture it clearly – that happy scrawl, and that little, smiling curve after the last letter. He remembered it, but not just because he’d spent so many hours looking at it growing up, but because he’d seen it – every day, gracing the bottom of numerous documents and requisition forms, birthday cards and the odd, scribbled note that found its way into his hands.
Sabo-kun,
Did you remember to sign off on that shipment?
Koala~
Sa-bo-kun,
Dragon-san said you forgot to sign off on that shipment, and now it’s my problem.
You better run :-)
Koala~
THE WORLD’S WORST PARTNER,
You missed the morning briefing (again!), and I got grief for it!! Do you know how much trouble you cause me on a daily basis???
(PS: I saved a piece for you from Hack’s birthday cake, even though you don’t deserve it)
(PPS: don’t for a second think that paper crane you left on my desk makes up for you forgetting about that shipment)
(PPPS: make it a pink crane next time)
Koala~
And he could hear it now – the three syllables that had been such a mystery when he’d been younger but that weren’t anymore, because he’d been speaking them for twelve years.
He was out the door running before the last echo of her name fell within him, a keening bell-chime through a hollow space that had for so long been entirely silent.
—
He found her in her room, having torn through the whitewashed corridors so fast he’d almost missed her door in his hurry. But then he was throwing it open, forgetting to knock, or even to announce himself, although with his mind reeling from the onslaught of his discovery, Sabo couldn’t have found it in himself to remember his manners – or the fact that she was very much liable to clock him for barging in uninvited.
As it was, Koala looked too started by his appearance to even think about resorting to violence, and for a moment all they did was stare at each other.
Her hands were bare – that was the first thing he noticed, when he’d gathered his wits enough to think past his heart trying to physically push through his ribcage. She’d discarded her gloves, and when he took in the sight of her hands, the slender fingers and the deceptively gentle arch of her knuckles, there was a stray thought at the back of his mind that he couldn’t see a mark anywhere.
And he might have asked her about it, if there hadn’t been another, far more pressing issue occupying his mind at present.
Koala frowned, considering him from where she’d risen from her chair, her expression wary. “Sabo-kun–”
“You–” he cut her off, the word pushing up his chest and out his mouth before she could finish speaking. And he wasn’t thinking about what he was saying, just that it had to be said.
“It’s you,” he said, when she continued to watch him, her expression one of genuine bafflement now. And he realised he probably wasn’t making much sense, but he had to tell her – he had to let her know– “I had a– mark,” he continued, the words stumbling over his tongue, seeming suddenly too thick for his mouth. “Koala, I had your name.”
He saw the second the words registered, by the way her features slackened – bafflement yielding to disbelief, and he knew he should probably give her more time to process what he was saying, but the words were pouring from his mouth now, entirely of their own volition.
“It was burned off,” Sabo explained, the words escaping in a rush. “And it’s not there anymore, or at least you can’t see it, but it was, and– and I had it. It was there. I remember.”
Koala was still looking at him, her face entirely blank, save that threat of disbelief running through her expression that made his heart constrict. And he had the sudden fear that she might not believe him – or worse, that she might think he was joking, but before he could scramble to explain himself further–
“What?” she asked, and her voice was the smallest Sabo had ever heard it – too small for what he knew her to be, the lone word sounding so fragile a single breath could shatter it.
He touched his shoulder, and her eyes followed the movement, although he knew she couldn’t see – wouldn’t have been able to even if he’d torn his shirt off. But he needed her to know – to understand.
“It’s you,” he repeated. “It was – it was always you.”
He thought, one second after speaking the words, that he’d made a mistake – that even if she’d welcomed the suggestion of becoming something more once, that had been a long time ago. Two whole years’ worth of time. Not to mention, she’d made that decision when she’d thought they were on equal ground, his other half lost forever, and hers the same but for a different reason. Now the scales were skewed – tipped, and not in her favour.
But he couldn’t take it back, Sabo found – not now that he finally remembered. With everything he’d lost when he’d regained his memory, the knowledge of who she was and what she’d meant to him for so long wasn’t something he’d just let go now that he had it.
Of course, he’d been so caught up in his newfound discovery he hadn’t even stopped to think his actions through – that he might have gone about it differently, or at least done her the courtesy of taking his time in explaining things, instead of just blurting it all out and laying his heart at her feet. And he didn’t know what he’d expected would come of his confession – whether she’d be upset or angry, or something he couldn’t even bring himself to hope.
But she didn’t yell, or tell him to get out. Instead, Koala said nothing at all, and although silence might have been the worse alternative, Sabo wasn’t given the chance to feel regret before she’d turned her back to him. And before he could even open his mouth – to apologise, to beg forgiveness – she’d curled her fingers around the hem of her shirt and lifted it up.
And whatever he’d expected – whatever he’d imagined she’d do, and whatever he’d meant to say, it all left him, along with every coherent thought he might have otherwise mustered as he was presented with the sight of her back, exposed to him now in its entirety.
Because there, sitting just below the red sun, in a signature he knew, because he’d spent enough years signing it to a never-ending pile of paperwork, was his name.
It took him a moment to wrap his mind around what he was looking at – what it meant, beyond the fact she had his name on her body.
Ace had told him once that his handwriting was too pretty – too elegant for a pirate, and that if he ever wanted to be taken seriously he needed to ditch the girly cursive. But he hadn’t, and Sabo watched it now, gaze following the familiar curves of the letters where they sat across her lower back, the top of the signature partly obscured by the brand above. If it had been applied even just a little lower, the sun’s rays would have swallowed it whole.
The irony wasn’t lost on him, but it was hard to focus on anything other than the implication that now presented itself, with his name staring back at him from her bare skin.
“You knew,” Sabo said, when he finally found his voice, only to hear a hoarse rasp escape him, as though he’d been screaming. His mouth worked, but he couldn’t seem to find the words he wanted to say. “All this time, you knew I was–”
But he couldn’t finish the sentence – couldn’t put words to that thing that had so long sat at the very tip of his tongue but that he hadn’t been able to identify. The sense that there’d been something about her – some significance that he hadn’t been able to unearth.
Partner, Sabo thought then – the word slipping through the chaos of his mind, but where he’d once thought the word didn’t fully encapsulate all that he’d imagined his soulmate would be, somehow, now it did.
Koala let her shirt drop, and Sabo watched as the fabric slipped back over the marks, hiding both from sight, except the image seemed to have seared itself into his retina.
When she turned back towards him it was with deliberate care, as though she was bracing herself for his reaction.
“I knew you were mine,” she said then, the words soft – a long-held secret finally offered. “But I didn’t know I was yours. You didn’t recognise my name, when we first met. And then– when you said you didn’t have a mark–”
She let it trail off, and Sabo remembered the conversation – recognised it now, the look that had been on her face; that carefully concealed hope that had guttered out with a few simple words.
The thought resurfaced, of those piles and piles of paperwork – the documents she always double-checked, to see if he’d forgotten something. And he thought of how she must have felt, looking at it day in and day out for years – just like he had, but where he hadn’t remembered the significance of her signature, for her to see his and believe that he’d once had someone else’s?
And it made sense, suddenly – the fear he’d found on her face that day, when he’d caught a glimpse of her back. It hadn’t been about the sunburst brand at all, but what had sat just beneath it – fear for what it might have meant for them, if he’d found out. Fear that it might have irrevocably changed their relationship, and not for the better.
Awkward at best, he remembered the saying, the words old and worn.
Soul-shattering at worst.
“You are,” he said, voice too rough for gentleness, but he didn’t care – he needed her to understand, this more than anything else. “You would have been, either way. If you’d wanted to be.”
Then, his smile curving – “Who cares about a stupid mark, anyway?”
Koala opened her mouth, before closing it, her lower lip trembling, and Sabo wondered if she was trying to decide whether to shout at him or burst into tears. But whichever was the stronger feeling, he didn’t give her the chance to settle on a decision.
He moved towards her, but his steps were made with care, and when he reached for her Sabo made sure to give her enough time to back away – made sure to make his intention clear this time, but also everything else that sat behind it.
But she didn’t flinch, or step away from him, and when he touched his fingers to the curve of her jaw he heard her soft inhale, and saw the way her mouth parted, just a fraction.
And – he wanted suddenly to laugh, as he cupped her cheek to tilt her head towards him, only to find her smile echoing his, wide and silly, and with a trace of lingering disbelief. Because for so many years they’d been together without knowing – had been partners, marks or no marks. And maybe fate had had a hand in it, but it didn’t matter now, Sabo decided. He’d have chosen her anyway.
“So are you actually going to kiss me this time, or do I have to do it?” Koala asked then, the remark teasing, although her voice sounded thick, like she was holding back tears. “Because I know this is all very new to you and you just realised what the deal is, but I’ve kind of wanted to do this for years, so if you don’t mind–”
“I didn’t just realise,” Sabo said before she could finish, and smiled when her mouth snapped shut. Her eyes were wide and hiding nothing, although he suspected she wasn’t trying to this time. “I just remembered. I already knew how I felt.”
Her lip trembled, and she pressed her mouth together. And for a moment Sabo thought she looked angry, although the tears threatening at the corners of her eyes ruined the effect somewhat.
“You didn’t say anything,” Koala said then, still holding his gaze, but there was no real accusation in her tone, although Sabo had a feeling it wasn’t for lack of trying. “I thought that– that maybe you’d changed your mind, because you’d remembered something, or someone. And I didn’t want to push if you weren’t interested anymore, except there was that…moment in Dressrosa, and your stupid handkerchief, and– and why are you smiling?”
He couldn’t help it, and he heard her breath, a frustrated huff that sounded more like a laugh than anything else. “Oh – just kiss me already!”
Sabo laughed, and when he pulled her close her soft grumble dissolved in a startled noise as she fell against him, before her own laughter followed at its heels, tucked against his chest. He felt her soft curves, his fingers following the gentle arch of her spine, before pausing at her lower back, just above where his name sat beneath her shirt.
He heard her laugh, wrapped around a sigh. “It’s really not that complicated, Sabo-kun.”
Splaying his palm across her lower back, he felt the next sigh that dragged loose of her, an entirely different sound now, and Sabo couldn’t have stifled his grin if he’d tried. “Yeah,” he said, gaze holding hers, and all the things he found in it. “I just–”
He thought of how he’d struggled to explain it to Ace once, that thing he’d wanted – not just trust, or someone who was good, but something more; more than what his parents had. That it was this – the feeling of holding her close, and of being at the centre of her undivided attention. But even more than that, it was the certainty that what he felt was reciprocated.
Koala’s expression softened, and Sabo had the sudden sense than she understood, even before she said, her voice a low murmur, “I know.”
He felt the gentle press of her hands, palms sketching up the length of his chest before her fingers curled around his cravat, and when she lifted up on her toes he bent his head to meet her, allowing his eyes to slip shut as he pushed his palm against her back, lifting her up.
There was a moment, right before their lips met – that sliver of pause between heartbeats, too brief for contemplation, but not for sudden realisation. And he’d been trained in haki; his senses were better than most.
He felt it, the second before it happened.
But that one second made no difference, in the end.
A crack shooting through the floor, the ground split in half beneath their feet – the whole room caving in, and the suddenness of it all was such that Sabo wasn’t given the chance to shout. Not before she was ripped from his arms did he react, and the sound that tore from his throat held her name in it.
Something struck against the back of his head, cutting the syllables short, and the dying echo of the final one was the last thing that rang through his mind before darkness swallowed him whole.
And it wasn’t fire this time, the detached thought slipped into his rapidly fading consciousness. But it showed him no more mercy than the flames once had – perhaps even less, because while fire consumed and warped, flesh and soul-marks and brands, the dark left nothing at all in its wake.
Not even scars.