Love

by xTheCherryx

However, keep in mind, a sonata is only over, when the last bar has been played. - It is in January, when nine-year-old Gol D. Ace walks up the stairs at his new music school and meets a blond boy with a dazzling smile. Nine years later that boy is no longer just his closest friend and musical partner but also his lover. However, during times of war sacrifices have to be made.

1. Chapter 1

This is my contribution to the Share the Love Month Event on tumblr. It was inspired by the piece 'Love Theme I' by Shigeru Umebayashi from the Soundtrack for the movie 'The Grandmaster'. Give it a listen, if you like. It's been my theme for this entire story. I hope you enjoy reading this! I sure had a lot of fun writing it. :)

Warnings: violence, homophobia, homophobic language, sexual content

---

The first time I saw him was seven days after my ninth birthday.

It was the beginning of January, the world outside shrouded in a thick blanket of puffy white snow, the skies a gloomy grey, day in and day out, and cobble stone paved streets glistened, glowing softly in the lights of lanterns and windows come nightfall, a wickerwork of golden paths leading through the city. Winter had always been my favourite season, hiding poverty and misery beneath a blanket of sparkling icy crystals and just like that the world had become a better place.

It was one of those snowy days, two weeks after we—my father Roger, my mother Rouge and I—had moved to town. My father was working for a national newspaper and had just been transferred to the capital and put in charge of the head office. I hadn't been happy that we had to leave my hometown. I'd made a lot of friends there over the years and I knew that there was one in particular that I'd miss dearly, but Luffy's father had promised him that they'd come to visit us as soon as we'd settled in and I was already looking forward to it.

My mother's side of the family belonged to what was sometimes called old money, or nobles, in other terms. They had a nice estate down in the south with a vast garden and a forest on its edge, which Luffy and I would explore, chasing after imaginary villains, or pretending to be pirates sailing out to sea.

My childhood days were filled with laughter, freedom and happiness, and I didn't have a care in the world.

When we moved to the capital in the north eastern part of the country it was decided that I would be granted the luxury of a private teacher in order to be able to dedicate more of my time to playing the piano.

The reason why my parents wished for me to master this magnificent instrument was simple; my mother had always been musically gifted and my grandparents' dream had always been for her to become a virtuous pianist. She'd adopted that dream as her own, enjoying lessons by some of the continent's best teachers invited by my grandparents, turning out to not only be talented, but also ambitious and hardworking—all in all a promising student. My father, being the loving, devoted husband that he was, had always encouraged her, supporting her dream with everything he had.

And I? Well, most of the pieces she'd played during her pregnancy had stuck with me, even to the point where I only needed to play the first few tunes of a melody in order to feel the safety of an unborn child in its mother's womb, a sense of security, left behind by memories I could no longer recall, evoked by those familiar sounds.

But life had had other plans and two years after I'd been born, she'd gotten sick, and within the span of six months she'd become too weak and frail to continue playing. Luckily, her condition hadn't been life threatening and the doctors were eventually able to cure her. However, the stiffness in her fingers and the fragility of her body remained, making it impossible to play anything faster than adagio and leaving an unpleasant throbbing in her joints after just a single piece. And so her dream of filling the great concert halls of this country, and maybe even the continent, had been shattered.

However, my mother had never been someone to give up easily and with the obstacles life had thrown in her way she'd only become more obstinate, it seemed, dedicating all of her energy and time towards my career instead and with how much I adored and loved her in return, I wished for nothing else more but to see her happy, and thus becoming a renowned pianist became my life's purpose, the dream I should pursue vigorously, driven by the undying wish to make her proud, to give back some of what I'd received.

The glow lighting up her face, paired with a peaceful expression and the soft smile dimpling her freckled, fair cheeks whenever she and my father would sit on the chaise longue beside the grand piano in the centre of the sitting room at our old house in the south would serve as reassurance, telling me I was doing the right thing. And I cherished those Sunday afternoon sessions, revelling in the closeness of my family as I sat atop the stool, black grand piano in front of me, fingers striking the black and white keys in quick succession, playing my favourite tracks by Beethoven, Mozart, Schumann, Chopin. I'd steal glances at their enraptured faces, smiling to myself contentedly. After we'd recovered from my mother's illness I was profoundly convinced nothing would ever be able to tear us apart. The wishful thinking of a boy who'd grown up sheltered and protected.

When we moved to the capital I was sad that I had to leave my old life behind, but I was also excited for all the new things awaiting me, listening for hours on end to my mother telling me about all the opportunities I'd have—musical wise—in this thriving, bustling town with its many people of all kinds. The day my parents told me I would be able to enrol at the Royal School of Music I couldn't stop grinning, barely able to sleep the night before my first piano lessen. It was there that I saw him for the first time, on that snowy day in the second week of January, on the stairs of that grand, old building where the school was located.

My mother and I were on our way to the dean's office to introduce ourselves before meeting my teacher for the year when he came walking down the stairs, holding a violin's case in one hand, the other atop the rail, his mother by his side. Since we were still children we did not yet know an adult's fear , were not yet fully educated in the mannerisms of society—at least I wasn't. But our attention had been captured, so we stared shamelessly, big round eyes taking in the foreign child before them with unconcealed curiosity. And even though I was young and innocent and had not yet developed an opinion on what I perceived as beautiful, I found this blond boy's blue eyes the most mesmerising, captivating ones I'd ever seen.

I wasn't able to take my eyes off him, and when he felt my gaze he tilted his head to look at me, granting me the full sparkle of two sea blue orbs. For a second I forgot how to breath, startled by the sudden wild thumping of my heart, the world around my nothing but a distant blur of shapes and colours. He blinked. Once. Twice. Astounded, maybe, by how intrigued I must have looked. The corner of his lips twitched before they were pulled into the most radiant smile—second only to that of my mother—revealing a gaping hole where a tooth was missing and crinkling up the corner of his eyes with kindness.

We had only passed each other on the stairs that day, but that short moment had been enough for me to decide that I would make this boy my friend as I was already in need of the warmth radiating from his smile the second it had vanished from my sight. I would make him happy, just so I would be granted the grace of his smile again.

My mother had noticed the boy's smile and my fascination—hardly anything ever escaped her attention—and once we had reached the top of the stairs she lightly squeezed my much smaller hand, a smile of her own brightening her freckled face as she whispered that it seemed like I had already made a friend. Warmth filled me at the thought of that blond boy, with his amazing blue eyes, becoming my friend. And that night, when I pulled up the covers all the way to my chin, I wondered when I would see him again, whispering the wish to make it tomorrow into the feathers of my pillow.

It was two days later when we met again. He and his mother, a woman with a preposterous hairdo, were already standing in front of one of the many classroom door's of the music school, waiting to be let in, and fate had it that it so happened to be the one right next to mine.

They looked up, when they heard us approach, Sabo grinning widely, his mother pursing her coloured lips. My mother quickly introduced us, eager to make new acquaintances, and when Lady Outlook heard our last name she made the connection, politely but with overt curiosity inquiring about my mother's maiden name. Portgas. Nobles from the south, and, albeit not as high standing as the Outlook Family, people worth being acquainted with. Her face twisted into a smile and her dull eyes narrowed, the crinkles framing them giving her a sly look, as she placed her flat palm between her son's shoulder blades, pushing him forward for our scrutiny, while at the same time telling his name.

Outlook Sabo.

As it turned out, Sabo was only a couple of months younger than myself and had played the violin since he had been old enough to hold the bow. Though, Lady Outlook added with an exasperated sigh, it seemed he was much more drawn to the inferior—as she called it—cello, which was entirely inexplicable to her. Sabo only grinned mischievously, sapphire eyes glinting, and I bit the inside of my cheek to suppress a snigger.

Our mothers seemed to get along quite well, engaging in superficial chitchat, while we eyed each other up. Sabo was the one extending his hand in greeting first, though.

"I'm Sabo," he said unceremoniously, grinning.

Introducing himself again might have been superfluous, yet somehow it wasn't. Telling me again made me feel special in a way, as if I had just been let in on a secret only the two of us shared now, as if there was a ring to his name his mother always missed when saying it and therefore always failed to grasp the person behind it. I mirrored his action, taking his hand, shaking it like I had seen the grown men do, giving up my name in return to form the bond.

Seconds later found us sitting on the marble floor of the hall with Sabo proudly showing me every inch of his beloved violin and I was an attentive listener, eagerly absorbing every word coming out of his mouth. My eyes were wide with interest, sparkling with happiness at the fact that I was already talking to him, that he was talking to me, that we were about to become friends and that he loved music just as much as I did.

We laughed and smiled until the teachers opened the doors to the class rooms, ushering us inside. Our mothers said their good-byes for the time being, promising to pick us up again once we were done and left, and, with a last lingering glance on Sabo's profile, I stepped inside the room.

During my lesson that day I was uncharacteristically fidgety, my fingers hurrying over the black and white keys in a rush, as if increasing the tempo of the pieces given to me for practice meant I would be able to leave earlier than usual, fearing that I would miss my smiling friend otherwise. Of course my teacher scolded me for not paying attention to the instructions on my music sheets and made me play them again and again until he was satisfied.

When I was finally free to go my hands and wrists ached, fragments of various classical pieces whirling around in my exhausted mind. However, the moment I stepped outside all fatigue evaporated when I caught Sabo waiting for me in the empty hall, casually leaning against the wall, his toothy, wide smile already bright on his face.

"Ace," he exclaimed cheerfully, and was immediately shushed by both our teachers.

Sheepishly rubbing his neck he pushed himself off the wall, grabbing my hand and pulling me along down the hall, throwing occasional glances over his shoulders to check if the teachers were listening in on us, but they had already vanished back into their class rooms. I was lead into a deserted, dark corridor leading to another wing of the spacious building and Sabo leaned in conspiratorially once we had turned the corner, his smile morphing into a roguish grin, a wicked gleam in his sea blue eyes.

"Say, Ace. Have you ever been to the Grey Terminal?" he asked, voice hushed but laced with excitement, eyes suspiciously darting from side to side to check whether someone was eavesdropping. My heart rate picked up when I noticed his secretive behaviour, sensing adventure and danger.

"Hu-uh." I shook my head, sucking in my lips in anticipation.

Sabo's grin widened.

"Alright then, listen. Tomorrow you're going to come here alone. Tell your mother you don't need her to bring you here and that you've been invited to dinner at my place. And after class I'll take you there! I bet you've never seen anything like it!" His eyes shone bright at the prospect of adventure, excitement and the possibility of trouble, and without even giving it a second thought I nodded eagerly.

"Is it going to be dangerous?" I asked, eyes wide with fascination and anticipation.

"You bet!" Sabo assured me and I was relieved since I had firmly believed that I had left all the fun times behind when I had said good-bye to Luffy and my old home, but now I had made a new friend. One who seemed to be just as eager as I to explore the world and sneak into places boys of our standing were not expected to be. And then when Luffy would come to visit me I would take him with us and show him around, brag to him about all the trouble I had gotten myself into and the things I had seen, and his big round hazel eyes would go wide in admiration and envy.

I just wanted to tell Sabo about him when we heard footsteps on the stairs close by and hastily scurried out of the corridor to be met by our mothers' questioning looks. We put on our most innocent smiles, following them maybe a bit too well-behaved, barely able to contain our excitement when giving each other covert looks.

When I told my mother about my plans for the next evening over dinner that night she was thrilled, expressing how glad she was that I had already made a friend in such a short time and one who even seemed to be a talented musician no less. Now my father also wanted to know more about that boy, though his face fell a little at the mention of the Outlook name, but I payed it no mind, already too absorbed in my daydreams over what would await me the next day, shovelling food into my mouth, perfectly mimicking my father's lack of table manners.

Not even when he said, "It seems your mother's name opens the door even up here in the north," taking a big gulp of beer and licking the white foam of his moustache afterwards, did I notice his discontent. And how could I when I was still a child without any understanding for politics and the dominance of the aristocracy in our country?

To me Sabo was just a boy I wanted to befriend, who apparently shared my passion for music and getting into trouble, and had showed me his instrument and offered me a trip to a forbidden part of the city on the first day we had talked. Neither did I care for the title he carried nor for the position his father held, not realising at the time that it had been my own standing in our society's hierarchy that made it even possible for me to be so carefree and ignorant about it all.

"I'm sure Sabo has nothing to do with his politics, Roger," my mother reprimanded gently.

"Not yet at least," my father added, swiping his mouth with a napkin to brush off a few crumbs in a rare revival of etiquette, a sure sign that he was already trying to appease my mother, even if just unconsciously. He clapped my back with so much force I almost found my face in my mashed potatoes, startling me from my daydreams. "But you know that your father's from the working class, right, son? And there's no reason to be ashamed of it no matter what that pompous prick's gonna say tomorrow, you hear me?"

"Roger!"

He just laughed that raucous laughter of his, winking at my mother, who in turn rolled her beautiful hazel eyes in fake exasperation at my father's antics, taking a sip from her crystal wine glass to hide a tender smile while I blinked a bit befuddled.

I was not yet old enough to grasp the exact meaning of the gestures my parents exchanged, the small jokes they shared without saying a word, but I was able to feel the chemistry between them, the utter trust and understanding that filled the room, and it was that feeling which I should forever affiliate with my childhood days—warmth, love, happiness and safety, the safety to know that, no matter who I decided to become, they would always support and love me regardless.

A couple of years later I should learn that fortune had not favoured everyone like that.

But meanwhile my mother returned her attention to me.

"On our way out Lady Outlook told me that Sabo started playing the violin when he was three. I'd love to hear him. I'm sure it sounds wonderful!" And soon enough that familiar enraptured look was back on her pretty freckled face again. "Maybe you two could even play a duet some day. What do you think, Ace? Doesn't that sound lovely?"

I stopped chewing for a moment. Until my mother had brought it up the thought had not even crossed my mind, but now it seemed strangely intriguing. Ever since I had started playing I had usually played solo pieces, or pieces for four hands, and never with another instrument.

I put my fork down next to my plate, still staring at my mother, already going through all the duet pieces I knew, and which I was suddenly very eager to play and not just listen to.

My mother chuckled softly when she spotted the growing smile on my face.

---

The next day at class I was able to control myself enough to not be asked to repeat the pieces over and over again, even though I was barely able to hide my excitement over our secret adventure. When the church bell tolled five my teacher clapped his hands together, smiling contently before handing me a folder with notes he had prepared for me to practice over the weekend. I thanked him for his time and he hurried out the door, Sabo already waiting for me, casually leaning against the wall again.

"Let's go!" he said, smiling and I nodded enthusiastically, tagging along.

Since the Grey Terminal was located at the southern edge of town and no taxi driver working on Main Road was crazy enough to venture that far out of the city centre past nightfall—as Sabo had already explained to me on our way out—we would have to walk for a bit and take a few shortcuts he had come across over the years, before taking a carriage in one of the poorer suburbs where people were always in need of money and never asked too many questions at the prospect of making some to get to our final destination.

I had no objections, of course, happy to go with anything that was out of the ordinary, my cheeks already flush with excitement, the same pink tint mirrored on Sabo's own face. His sea blue eyes were alight with a fire fuelled by the feeling of freedom he was experiencing, stealing away from expectations and conformity and the suffocating rules those of the aristocracy had to adhere to. I knew nothing of all that as I followed him through the narrow, dark alleys, jumping over cardboard boxes and trash cans, startling cats and rats hastily scurrying away with a rustle.

The Grey Terminal turned out to be the city's main dump for everything, an enormously wide heap of trash. Old pieces of furniture mixed with thrown out clothes, scraps of food and what else the city's inhabitants deemed useless, with people being no exception. We climbed the jagged hills, hands and faces covered in dust and dirt within minutes, wielding some old pipes we had found on the way.

When we had climbed the top of one trash mountain, stopping to catch out breaths, I told Sabo about Luffy and how we used to dream of being pirates, had even built a tree house high up in the crown of an ancient oak in the forest behind my grandparents' estate, pretending to sail the endless green leave sea stretching out before us. Sabo seemed to like the idea, because not a moment later he jumped to his feet, thrusting his pipe into the starry sky, exclaiming that we had landed on this godforsaken island after months of hardship out on the merciless sea to find the buried treasure.

However, when we finally returned to Sabo's family's town hose, only a couple of blocks away from the music school, his mother scolded us terribly. Of course we had tried to wash off most of the evidence, but our shirts were stained with grease and dirt, and even torn in some places, and most definitely beyond saving. As for our hands and knees, luckily, they were only covered in minor, shallow cuts and bruises.

Smiling sheepishly, yet with an impish gleam to our adventure glazed eyes, we followed a maid and a butler and were thrown into the bathtub, neither of us putting up much of a fight. It dawned on me that it was not the first time that either of them had to help clean Sabo up after his adventures, it just so happened to be the first time that his mother had caught him. But they kept a straight face as long as she went on with her tirade, smiling amusedly once she had left the room. Afterwards, we had to promise to stay away from the dump in the future and of course we swore a solemn oath to return the next chance we got.

My mother was only mildly shocked when she heard about our little trip, probably having expected something of the sort to happen sooner or later, especially after my past antics with Luffy back home, but she threw in a round of scolding for good measure and proper parenting nonetheless, while my father watched on without saying a word, only winking at me and hiding a proud grin behind his moustache.

---

Over the years we got better and better at sneaking away after class. We learned to store an additional set of pants and shirts somewhere on the way to the Grey Terminal as well as a cloth to wash with, and even wore a pair of sturdy leather gloves to protect our hands from telltale marks and more severe injuries. And whenever things had gotten a little out of hand again, we stopped at my place first, our household staff soon becoming accomplices in our adventures, helping out with patches and ointments and mending the tears in our clothes, laughing at the colourful stories we would tell.

Years slipped by like that, and Sabo and I became inseparable. Sometimes Luffy would visit us for a week or two, and we would take him with us to the seedy parts of town to show him the proper city life, his eyes big as saucers when we scoured the dump for the first time. But then there were also the times when I would return home to visit my grandparents, enjoying a few weeks of the laid-back lifestyle of the countryside.

Every now and then Sabo would even be allowed to accompany me, though probably only because of my mother's persuasiveness and my grandparent's name. My parents would make sure we boarded the train safely, waving from the platform. Sabo's parents never came to see him off, but neither he nor I were bothered by this. On the contrary. They only would have spoiled the fun, since excited giggling was absolutely forbidden in their presence and talking about all the things we were planning to do was entirely out of the question. Sabo would have never been allowed to join me ever again had they found out what we usually got ourselves into.

There was nothing dearer to me than spending time with Sabo, except maybe having Luffy visit and playing the piano. He was like my other half, my best friend, loyal to the core, honest and upright, caring and even sharing my deep passion for music. Not seeing him for two days in a row made my heart ache, almost as if I suffered from withdrawal symptoms, and I brimmed with happiness the moment I saw him again. But it was not until after my sixteenth birthday that I should realise just how much he meant to me.

---

Being friends for so long and even visiting the same music school one might have thought we had probably played a thousand duets by then. Especially, since my mother had mentioned that possibility during dinner the very first day we had talked, but surprisingly, we had never gotten around to it until seven years later.

The middle of June was when Lady Outlook usually hosted her annual garden party, taking place at the Outlook Family's palatial country house located east of the capital, and usually the month's most lavish social gathering as well as the event that at least the capital's aristocracy simply had to attend, swarms of politicians and other important people in tow. It was famous for two things mostly: the priced roses Lady Outlook's gardeners spent all year growing with the utmost care and which filled the early summer day's air with their intoxicating scent, and the attendance of at least one of the princesses, usually showing off some new fashion for the Ladies of the noble houses to wear during summer.

White pavilions would dot the green vastness of the garden, butlers carrying silver trays with small delicacies and crystal glass champagne flutes would wander from guest to guest offering refreshments and snacks, while some people would play cards or indulge in the latest gossip or discuss politics to the soft tunes of a string quintet.

Sabo and I would normally pass time by trying to sneak into the kitchen unnoticed and steal morsels from under the chef's nose, running off to the stables the moment we got caught to distribute the haul. Of course we were usually also required to stand by our mothers' sides, talking to guests, though Sabo was the one who had to endure the more tedious procedure, being the sole heir to the Outlook title. He would stand there in his snugly fitting smoking, short cropped blond hair glowing in the midmorning sun, offering a dazzling smile to anyone who approached. The smile was fake, of course, the real one, which would crinkle the corner of his eyes, had long since been deemed too precious for the likes of his peers to be seen and was now solely used when no one except for me could see or was present.

I admired him for his endurance, while pitting him at the same time. It was not the role he wanted to play, but due to his birth he had been denied the freedom of choice. Unlike me, who stood next to his mother to keep her company in that gathering of people we had so very little in common, let alone were able to identify with. Everyone was always polite, of course, just like etiquette demanded, but it was clear we were only tolerated, because of some kind of social tradition and the necessity to honour an old house, even though its significance was long since fading.

However, that year Sabo's mother seemed to have already been anticipating us to disturb the kitchen's work and had therefore approached us with the suggestions to contribute to this year's party by entertaining her illustrious guests with some music. A grand piano would be rolled outside for me and conveniently placed on the veranda below the awning for everyone to see and hear, while Sabo would stand next to me, playing his violin.

We had started practicing together as soon as the idea had come up, both eager to finally join our musical expertise as well as being equally determined to enrapture those guests with our music, and therefore, what my mother had suggested years ago, finally came to be.

Of course I had heard Sabo play his instruments before. He was virtuous with the violin, but the cello was his favourite, and I loved listening to him playing both of them without distinction. I would sit there and watch him as he played with his sea blue eyes closed, an enraptured, yet highly concentrated look on his beautiful face, his long, slender fingers skilfully dancing along the bridge, pressing down the strings with just the right force, while his other hand urged the bow back and forth—leisurely sometimes, only to break into a frenzy with the next bar. His body would sway gently to the melodies his hands coaxed from the strings and wooden corpus, the curve of his lips often mimicking the atmosphere of the song, and as I set there and listened, the music would fill my mind, carrying my thoughts off to far away imaginary places.

During those moments we shared an intimacy we never questioned. Being there, being a part seemed entirely natural to us, and thus I had never had any suspicious about my feelings for Sabo. He had practically been there, since the day I had moved to the capital, a constantly present figure during my adolescence. Having him by my side, sharing my hopes and dreams as well as my fears with him, felt like second nature.

He would encourage and reassure me, when I lacked confidence, but would also reprimand, whenever my flaring temper had gotten the better of me again. This was often the case, when I was practising a new piece that just refused to be played properly, at least by my hands. I would rage and curse, and he would yell back at me, successfully stunning me into silence, before making room for himself beside me on the piano stool. He would brush away a few strands of my raven hair and tug them behind my ear, leaving behind a pleasant tingling, where his fingers had touched my cheek, a content serenity spreading throughout my entire body.

Gingerly taking one of my hands into his own, he would then bring it up to his face, pressing its back to his cheek ever so softly, sapphire eyes overflowing with warmth and affection as he looked at me, whispering, "Don't curse the hands I cherish like my own… If not more," and granting me that captivating smile of his, which had captured my imagination all those years ago on my way up the stairs at our music school.

This would usually leave me dumbfounded and all of a sudden I was highly ashamed of my unbridled outburst, my heart thumping loudly in my chest. How did I deserve such a gentle, kind-hearted friend? I did not know, but I would soak up all of his well-meant gestures like a dried up sponge. It probably even go to the point, where I would pretend to be frustrated more often than I actually was, just to receive his signs of affection, basking in his warmth like a lazy cat on a windowsill on a sunny spring day after a cold, hard winter.

He had most likely noticed one day and realised that, sometimes, it was all just an act, but he never called me out on it, the only thing giving him away the small knowing smile playing around his lips, whenever he would sit down to brush my hair out of my brow and press his cheek to the back of my hand.

However, when the day of the long awaited garden party had finally come, I was surprised, and also a bit shocked, to see him nervously pacing the whole length of the room we had been given to prepare ourselves ahead of our performance. I watched on helplessly as his beautiful face twisted more and more with his growing anxiety, and whenever he pulled back the curtain just a little to look at the guests gathering outside, a stifled groan escaped him, before he sharply turned around again, the curtain rustling back into place.

I had never seen Sabo like this before. He was always so composed, so confident. And judging from the looks of it, he wasn't used to such a level of stage fright either. It was even more surprising, since this hardly was his first time playing for an audience. Our school had organised small concerts all the time, so we would get used to it, and there was not a single piece we were planning on playing today with which he had had difficulties during practise. The only one who had occasionally shown nerves had been me, because I had a tendency to doubt my abilities.

After a couple of more minutes of aimless wandering, almost like a giant cat in a cage eager to escape its constricting confinement, he finally sat down beside me, bent over and covered his face with his trembling hands.

What was I supposed to do? I was at a loss. He was the one usually comforting me, not the other way around, and I felt bad for my inability to console him, desperately raking my brains for a way to help him. Until I decided to simply do as he normally did.

Carding my fingers through his short golden hair, I tried to get him to relax. He looked up, surprise mixed into his gaze, sea blue eyes still darkened by his haunted expression, though. So I gently took his hand into my own in an attempt to copy him, bringing it up to my face, before softly kissing the tips of two of his fingers, closing my eyes to appreciate our small moment of intimacy, not in the least aware of what I was doing.

When I opened my eyes again, the anguished look on his face had been replaced by an astonished one, and only then the meaning of my actions dawned on me. Heat rushed to my cheeks, my neck burning with embarrassment and I hastily let go of Sabo's hand, averting my gaze, my heart in my throat. But it was not even a second later that my face was turned back again and I was forced to look into those bottomless pools of blue, breath catching in my throat as I was confronted with that dazzling, radiant smile of his. He pulled me close, his eyes fluttering shut and he carefully pressed his lips to mine.

Frozen in shock and unable to form a coherent thought, I sat there, still, neither responding nor rejecting until finally, finally my feelings, my instincts compensated for my useless brain, taking over my body and I realised just how perfect Sabo's lips felt against my own. Pushing away my initial reserve I leaned in, hands curling around his waist to bring us closer together, moving my lips against his.

Bliss exploded in my belly like a swarm of butterflies and when we pulled away again, we both turned away shyly, but with a stupidly happy grin on our faces nonetheless. No words were necessary to explain our actions, the fact that we still held each other's hands leaving no room for wrong assumptions.

And just like that Sabo's nervousness had vanished and the whole concert had somehow been turned into an insignificant happening played out on the sidelines, my head already filled with musings of what we would do the moment we got a minute to ourselves, the lingering burn left on my lips a constant reminder, making me yearn for more of Sabo's taste.

That night, after I had returned home with my mother, I lay awake until the early hours of the morning, incapable of finding sleep. Plagued by love-induced insomnia, restlessly throwing myself from side to side, my pulse quickened every time the feeling of Sabo's soft, full lips crossed my buzzing mind again. The memory so vivid, it was as if I was still in that very room with him and our mouths had only just separated.

Never before had I felt more alive, more present, more happy. I had never questioned my feelings for Sabo before that incident and I should never question them afterwards either.
Suddenly, I was complete, whole, as if a piece, which had been missing so far, but without me ever noticing its absence, had been returned to me. Though now that I had rediscovered it, I was convinced that I would not be able to exist without it should I ever lose it again.

From that day onwards, it was impossible to keep Sabo and me away from each other. Of course we were always discrete about our mutual affection for one another, stealing a kiss, or two, only when we were sure no one was watching. Instead, we resorted to communicate our feelings through loving gestures only we knew the true meaning of; reassuring smiles, the fleeting brush of a hand on a shoulder or an arm, heated gazes. None of our parents ever questioned our demands to always spend time with one another, quite the contrary. Both our mothers even encouraged it, since it seemed to be the beginning of our musical success.

The concert we had given at the garden party was all the talk in town even two weeks later. Our joined play had been on spot throughout every piece, creating a perfect, breathtaking harmony, completely capturing our audience with the sounds of our instruments. I had already marvelled at how easy and natural it had felt to play with Sabo during our practice sessions, but after we had shared that first kiss it was as if, all of a sudden, there was some secret connection tying our minds and bodies together, telling him exactly how to play a certain part of a piece to perfectly match my tempo. And instead of just playing alongside one another we complemented, even completed us.

When the last tone had faded away that day even the birds had gone silent, the people in the audience staring at us wide-eyed, amazed and mesmerised by the sounds they had just heard, before breaking into thunderous applause. Sabo and I had just sheepishly glanced at one another, the newly formed bond between us still vibrating with all the new emotions and impressions we had just received after sharing that secret kiss, a bit taken aback by the intensity. Playing with him had been marvellous, too, and I wanted to do it again and again, almost as much as I wanted to kiss him, eager to relive that perfect moment.

However, the day of our first joint performance as well as our first kiss, should also be the end of our, more or less, carelessly spent childhood. After that day in June our trips to the Grey Terminal should become less and less frequent until we stopped venturing out there entirely. Instead, our days would be filled with countless hours of practise and repetition, by ourselves or together, and eventually also with the first concerts at locations in our parts of town, at private soirées held by one of Lady Outlook's many friends or other gatherings. But once word had made the round we started to play at smaller concert halls, too, soon followed by requests from neighbouring cities.

The warm pride in my mother's eyes would have probably been enough compensation on its own for all the long hours I spent practising—forcing my fingers to play round after round of tremolos until they would trip over the keys, stiff and sore, or those pieces, during which I had to restrain my temper, to create slow, sensual melodies. But the real reason for my unfaltering, everlasting motivation, was knowing Sabo would be by my side.

Whenever I thought I had reached my limit, that there was no next level for me to achieve, that my hands were simply incapable of mastering the perfection and finesse it took to play a particular piece, Sabo was there, urging me on, pushing me past the mental boundaries I had set for myself, so I could soar to new heights.

Sometimes he would take the lead with his violin or the cello in a way that made clear he was throwing down the musical gauntlet, and since I had never been one to turn down a challenge, I suddenly found myself in the middle of a musical competition with my best friend and lover. Our favourite piece for such a trial of strength was 'The Flight of the Bumblebee' by Nikolai Rymski-Korsakov. We would spend hours on end trying to establish who was able to play it faster and after my third defeat, I had to admit that it was him, and most likely always would be.

But there were also those times, when Sabo felt like simply lounging on the sofa situated next to the grand piano at my home, sapphire eyes closed and a captivated look on his angelic face, wordlessly listening to my interpretation of the adagio part of Beethoven's 'Moonlight Sonata'.

Most times he even get up after a while and, once he had ensured that we were alone and would also remain undisturbed for the next couple of minutes, he would stroll over to where I sat and walk around me in a semicircle, with one hand on my shoulder, watching as my fingers struck key after key, creating the piece's typical floating notes. His presence was always calming and nerve-wrecking at the same time, and I was barely able to concentrate and keep the slow tempo, when his hand would wander up my bare neck and into my hair, slender fingers carding through my raven waves.

It took some time for me to learn how to actually keep playing, while leaning into his touch, but then my hands found their way over the black and white keys automatically even with my eyes closed and my mind occupied with other things besides the next bar I had to play.

And then, when the last cord had finally faded, he would lean down, yet at the same time lifting my chin until I met with his eager lips, and I complied only too willingly, always greedy for his kisses.

---

Months passed and seasons came and went. Our relationship remained a secret, though one, which became harder and harder to hide. We would spend hours on end practising together, but the more people demanded us the less time we had to ourselves. With the growing support and attention we received, most of our practise sessions were now supervised by teachers, making it more difficult to steal a moment or two of privacy.

Passionate, drawn out kisses, while I sat at the piano, were replaced by a hurried clash of tongues and teeth in the darker, less frequented corridors of the Outlook Mansion, where we were now practising, with both our hands becoming bolder over time. Slipping below the hem of a dress shirt or ghosting over the fly of a pair of pants, they often left a state of undress behind, which would then be hastily smoothed over by frantic fingers tugging everything in place again, whenever the sound of people approaching echoed through the halls.

By then, we were already playing all across the country. Even down in the south, where I occasionally had the chance to visit my family and Luffy. But no matter how much I enjoyed playing with Sabo, the strain, the constant traveling and rehearsing put us through, became more and more visible. Dark circles were now a constant presence on our worn looking faces and more often than not I would stagger to bed, falling asleep on top of the covers without even removing my clothes, resulting in reproach from whoever came in the next morning to wake me.

However, no matter how exhausted we were and how much we yearned for a few weeks off, we never failed to play for our ever growing audience. The glow in people's eyes always reminding us of the impact our music had, and at the end of every concert we would bow and wave, thanking our listeners with honest smiles, taking chances, when smiling at each other as well. The curve of our lips always a little brighter, a little wider, when the loving gesture was only meant for the other.

And then came the summer after my eighteenth birthday.

The past couple of months had been hot and humid, with barely any rain to provide some relief from the sweltering heat. Wherever we played, the concert halls were always packed, but the longer the drought went on the harder it became to play properly. When we returned home, after a four week long tour of the south east that summer, my mother's hands flew up to stifle a shocked cry, when she and my father came to pick us up from the capital's main station.

That evening she went out to meet with our manager, after a long, and—as I should later find out—also heated debate with Sabo's mother, cancelling the rest of our performances for the rest of that summer as well as forbidding us to touch any kind of instrument for at least the next two weeks.

I was somewhat relieved to be banned from playing the piano, knowing quite well that I was in need of some serious rest away from it for a while. However, I already missed it dearly after only two days of abstinence, all sensible thoughts of taking a break in favour of my health already pushed to the back of my mind. I became restless and a bit moody, unsure what to do with myself now that I had so much free time at hand. As always I confided in Sabo and he smiled knowingly, gently nudging my shoulder with his as we walked through the shade provided by the large plane trees of a neighbouring park.

"Why don't we take the bicycles and go for a little ride tomorrow? There's a nice spot down by the river, where the current isn't too strong and the water is shallow. I'm sure I can even persuade my cook to prepare some lunch for us to take with," he proposed and I was thrilled by the idea, eager to leave the house for more than just a couple of hours, and even more so at the prospect of spending a whole day alone with Sabo.

When we said good bye that evening, though, our silhouettes obscured by the muted twilight of a rapidly setting sun and huddled together in an alley not too far from Sabo's home, our kisses suddenly became desperate, and it seemed as if my arms were not able to hold Sabo close enough for me to be satisfied. I pushed him up against the wall, grinding my hips against his, his growing hardness rubbing against my own, embarrassingly obvious arousal. He whined, his fingers tugging at my dark strands more fiercely and for a moment my heart stopped, before it tumbled in its frantic attempted to start an erratic beat from nothing, when I became aware of the needy sounds I was able to elicit from him. My pulse hammered so wildly through my veins I started to feel dizzy, staring at Sabo's flushed face through a wondrous haze.

"Tomorrow," he whispered hotly against my lips. "Tomorrow," he said again, just to make sure. More out of encouragement for himself than a promise to me.

It would have happened even without his statement. Both of us filled to the brim with withheld affection, yearning for a moment, when we would finally be alone, to try and finish what had been started by curious, daring hands so many times before in a narrow hall or hidden alley. But it had never felt right then, and we had returned to fully concentrate on our music once more, cravings left unsatisfied.

Dinner with my parents that night was such an unusually silent affair even I, in my dreamy state, had to notice. I was not particularly interested in the reasons, but eventually found out that it was due to the ever growing threat of war overshadowing our country's supposedly bright future. It should have been impossible to miss the daily news on another political clash between our king and the leaders of the neighbouring countries, but since I had been so absorbed in practise day in and day out as well as giving concerts, I had lived inside a bubble of obliviousness. There were also occasional reports and rumours of violent outbreaks in one of the country's largest cities, located further southeast. Apparently shops of owners belonging to certain ethnicities had been looted and destroyed by a rioting mob mostly consisting of armed Royalists.

This enraged my father so much that he actually had to excuse himself from the dinner table, leaving the room under a string of angrily muttered curses. My mother had been about to follow him, but I held her back by putting my hand on top of her own, silently reminding her that it was best to just leave him be in this state and grant him some time to cool down. I knew, because there were times, when I was the same, having inherited my father's flaring temper, though the reason, stirring up my anger back then, were much more trivial. So all we did for the rest of supper was glancing over at the door from time to time, wondering, when he would return.

That my father was passionate about politics was nothing new to me. He was one of the voices in the country demanding for the king to be dethroned and for a democratically elected parliament to be installed instead, but since the majority of people still seemed to be in favour of our monarchy, his demands, and those of others, fell on deaf ears. Even more so now that we were on the brink of war. People were scared and not even the fact that those thugs, raiding shops in the southeastern cities, were mostly Royalists, did anything to weaken the king's position. Probably also, because dislike against those affected had been ingrained in the people for centuries.

My mother admitted that this sort of behaviour had become quite normal for him during the last couple of months, but since I had been away most of the time, I had never witnessed it before, though sometimes he would also just sit there in brooding silence and no matter how much she longed to ask what bothered him, she remained silent, knowing that he was reluctant to tell her, because he did not want to burden her with the stories he had come across at the agency. But two weeks prior to Sabo's and my return home he had finally confided in her and that had been, when she had found out how precarious the situation really was. I briefly thought about asking for more details, but just as quickly dismissed the notion again, not wanting to further dampen the already somber mood.

He returned just when my mother had dapped her petal shaped lips with her linen napkin, her plate in the same state since he had left, fork and knife neatly placed beside it. Apologising with a kiss to her temple, caressing the back of her head, he resumed his seat at the head of the table once more, sipping from the glass of Scotch he had brought with him.

But the approaching war was not what kept me up that night, because once I had switched off the light the country's political situation was the last thing on my mind. All I could think about was Sabo's hot, erratic breath fanning out over my face and the sweet promise he had made to me. In vivid mental pictures I imagined how we would hurriedly take off our clothes the moment we had made it to the sandy river bank, jumping into the cool stream with a joyous cry of relief, not a piece of clothing covering our bodies. We would splash water at each other until I suddenly held him in my arms, mouths already joined in a passionate kiss. He would wrap his legs around my waist as I carried him through the gurgling waters, before putting him down on a bed of soft green grass and finally, finally we would be united in an entirely new way.

The sheer thought made my pulse vibrate loudly in my ears and I bit one hand to stifle a moan rolling up my throat as I stroked my throbbing cock with the other.

The next morning, my mother threw me bemused glances over breakfast and I could hardly blame her. I had barely slept, because every time the thought of Sabo, ringing the doorbell to pick me up for our trip, had crossed my mind, a whirl of warm fuzzy feelings had made my guts twist and turn, leaving my stomach with tight knots and a light but not unpleasant nausea. It was not like me to be this nervous around Sabo, but then it was not like we were two ordinary friends going for a picnic on a hot summer's day either.

When finally the doorbell rang, I jumped in my chair, causing my mother to chuckle amusedly, before she rose to greet Sabo, while I sprinted up the stairs to quickly brush my teeth and fetch my bag. Their casual chatting travelled up the stairs as I came back down and I swallowed thickly, when I heard Sabo's deep voice, my palms suddenly sweaty and my legs trembling slightly, holding onto the banister as if it was a lifeline.

They suspended their talk for a moment, when they had heard me on the stairs, looking up at me to where I stood frozen to the spot. Sabo blinked, the physical signs of my nervousness not going unnoticed, but then I was presented with the most radiant, dazzling smile he had to offer. The corner of his eyes crinkled up softly as his lips stretched widely over two rows of perfectly pearly white teeth, his sapphire orbs alight with love and happiness, his beautiful face glowing with affection. My breath hitched in my throat and I swallowed drily again to calm my nerves, my tongue a thick, furry object too big for my mouth.

"You ready?" he asked with an edge to his voice only I was able to identify the true meaning of and I willed myself out of my stupor, descending the rest of the stairs, nodding in confirmation.

"I hope you two enjoy yourselves! You deserve it after all this hard work. Take care, yes?" my mother said, following us a bit, before lingering in the doorway, where I briefly kissed the top of her head, suddenly not so flustered anymore, and then taking my leave, both of us waving at her as we followed the paved pathway to the gate.

The butler was waiting for us, holding onto both our bicycles and, thanking him, I swung one leg over the saddle, before pushing off with one foot, Sabo right behind me, the butler's kind words of good bye mixing with the sounds of a busy morning street.

Once we had reached the outskirts of the city we turned onto a more deserted road, which quickly turned into a country lane. The basket tied to the carrier of Sabo's bicycle rattled with every bump on the path, glasses tingling, and we had even rolled the sleeves of our shirts all the way up to our elbows, so the occasional cool morning breeze could bring some relief in the already warm and sultry air. The headwind played with my waves, mussing them some more and the longer we peddled on the broader my wide grin became.

We entered a small forest with oaks and beeches providing shade, the sweltering air suddenly not so oppressive and suffocating anymore. After that came fields and grassy hills dotted with trees, kettle and barns, followed by a sea of gently swaying golden grain, the soft rustle mixing with the cicada's chirping song. It was a perfect summer day's symphony, the scent of warm earth filling our noses.

Since there was no one around Sabo and I cycled next to each other most of the way, talking and laughing and sometimes throwing a quick glancing at each other, and the moment we spotted the river bank we raced towards our destination like maniacs. My eyes went wide at the sight of the river's swirling, gurgling waters and the riverbed could even be seen due to the lack of rain. We found a secluded spot, hidden from direct view by anyone who came down the same path as we had by a few bushes, untying the basket and the blanket and carefully putting our bicycles down on the ground. We both just stood there for a moment or two, marvelling at the sight before us, before we suddenly kicked off our shoes and took off our socks, rolling our tweed pants up to our knees and dashing for the water with a joyous cry.

The cool soothing softness of the water spiralling around our calfs brought immediate relief and it did not take long for us to break into a little wrestling-match, trying to trip the other and force him below the surface for just a moment, our euphoric shouts clearly audible over the splashing of water. In the end, neither of us had won, since in stumbling backwards, I had slipped on a smooth, wet stone and all my flailing hands were able to hold onto as I lost my equilibrium was Sabo's arm, pulling him with me, both of us vanishing with a loud splash. Coughing and spluttering we rose to the surface again, shaking our heads and spraying glittering droplets everywhere, our soaked clothes heavily hanging off our shoulders. We blinked stupidly for a moment, a bit disoriented, before bursting into uncontrollable laughter, splattering the other with more water. Not that it was doing any damage at that point.

Sabo was the first to be back on his feet, offering a supporting hand, and I had half a mind to yank him back into the current, but the rumbling of my stomach made me push aside the idea only too quickly. I took his hand with a grateful smile and not a moment later we waded through the river back to the grassy bank, where a basket filled with food was waiting for us. I spread out the blanket and Sabo started to unpack the delicacies his cook had prepared. We did not even bother with taking our wet clothes off, enjoying the cooling they offered. Even though it might have been the perfect opportunity to initiate what we had initially been planning to do now that we were finally alone and undisturbed. But while I munched on my ham sandwich, covertly glancing at Sabo every now and then, his fair skin shimmering beneath the now transparent fabric of his shirt, the cloth clinging tightly to the curves of his body, I suddenly felt awkward and self-conscious, timid even.

We had longed for this moment alone for so long, had almost given up hope, only for me to have cold feet now. I quickly looked away again, heat rushing to my cheeks.

What was I even supposed to do? Was Sabo expecting me to take the first step? Or would he? I had a rough idea of how the whole thing worked, because, out of teenage curiosity, we had snuck into a particular brothel one night. It was the kind of establishment, where women would offer their services on the upper stories, while down in the basement there were men waiting for other men. Since it was close to the Grey Terminal, the police hardly cared, but it was still dangerous to go there.

Homosexuality was punishable by law and, depending on who had been caught, the punishment varied from a hefty fine to a few years in prison. Some were forced by society to undergo agonising procedures to cure their sickness or lived as outcasts. Being severely beaten by either the police or later in prison, some even succumbing to their injuries, was no rarity. However, at least I was more scared of my parents finding out at the time than ending in prison as for Sabo, I didn't know. We had never talked about it, but since he was usually paying closer attention to the happenings of our world, he probably did, but kept quiet nonetheless.

But in our youthful cockiness we had simply assumed we wouldn't get caught, the thrill of entering forbidden territory way more enticing than the prospects of being captured were daunting. So after one last reassuring look we had followed the creaking stairs to the lowest level and squeezed into a corner somewhere close to a curtain, cheeks flushed with excitement and a rapidly beating heart in our chests. Carefully, Sabo had pulled the curtain aside, so we could peek inside the makeshift room, holding hands for support.

The two men on the ruffled bed had already been completely undressed and we had watched with wide eyes as hands had explored and bodies had been joined until, suddenly, there had been noise from the stairs close by. Startled, Sabo had let go of the curtain and we had scrambled back to our feet, dashing for the exit. However, the owner had already spotted us, chasing after us with much shouting and cursing, but letting us escape in the end. We had run until we had reached the safety of the city centre again, stumbling into a dimly lit alley, and with bent backs and hands resting on our knees, we had waited for our racing hearts to settle. When even breathing had started to fill the quiet of the night again, we had looked at each other, instantly breaking into a fit of elated laughter.

Sabo had wiped away the tears gathering in the corner of his eyes with his sleeve, cleared his throat a few times in an attempt to calm down, before his hands had reached out for my face. The moment his fingers touched my cheek, the last fits of laughter died in my throat and I had licked my lips at the sight of clear determination on his face. He had pulled me close, pressing his lips to mine, declaring that intention, which had just formed in his head.

However, now that the moment had come, there were so many thoughts, so many questions bothering me, I started to panic. I even had to put down my sandwich, when a wave of nausea washed over me, tightening my guts. It wanted everything to be perfect, but without experience, how was I supposed to make it happen, make it unforgettable? And then there was the possibility of hurting Sabo. The simple idea made my head spin. Not for a moment would I be willing to accept that risk.

I jumped, when Sabo rested his hand on my shoulder, a worried frown wrinkling his brow.

"Ace? Are you okay?" he asked softly, sea blue eyes full of concern.

I bit my lip in distress and Sabo moved closer until he sat right next to me, his thigh pressing against mine, hot and cold at the same time. Carefully, he brushed some wet strands out of my brow, soft fingertips caressing my suddenly feverishly hot skin, tugging the raven waves behind my ear, before he tilted his head in question. But I avoided his gaze for fear he would see right through me und discover the insecurity I was so desperately trying to hide.

"Talk to me," he urged, and my stomach tightened even more at the anxiety lacing his tone.

Pressing my lips together, I turned away. He tensed in response.

"Did I do something wrong?" His hand hovered just above my head, I could tell, even though I couldn't see, suddenly afraid to touch, and his voice edged with fear.

I pondered on my answer for a moment, unsure how to explain myself.

"No," I finally said. "I mean, of course not. It's not you," I hurriedly added in an attempt to reassure him.

"What is it then?" he pressed on.

My shoulders slumped and I buried my face in the crook of my elbow, my arm resting on my drawn up knees.

"Everything's so perfect. I'm here with you, at this beautiful place. We have delicious food and we are finally able to spend the whole day together without anyone disturbing us," I began explaining, "I just… I'm…scared of spoiling this perfect moment by doing something wrong or… I don't know. Doing something that would disappoint you."

Sabo did not answer right away, but remained silent for a couple of moments, deep in thought. My heart was already heavy with regret and I reprimanded myself for my inability to hide my emotions. But then it was Sabo I was trying to hide from. The one person, who was able to see right through me. I already knew I was an open book for my mother, but for Sabo, I did not even have a cover, just pages filled with words in a language he spoke as fluently as his mother tongue.

"Is this about what I said yesterday?" he wondered aloud. This time it was me who remained silent. He seemed to take it as a sign of affirmation.

A deep sigh escaped him, before he started to gently card his slender fingers through my waves again, massaging my scalp, easing some of the tension with his soothing strokes.

"I never meant to scare you or make you feel uncomfortable by saying that, you know."

"You didn't scare me," I clarified, sounding maybe a tiny bit offended, but finally looking at him again, and Sabo chuckled softly, the sound chasing away more of my worries.

"Of course not," he whispered as he leaned down, brushing the tip of his nose against my ear, burying it in my hair, his breath warm on my skin.

I squirmed a bit, glaring at the ground, my mouth forming a rather uncharacteristic pout, but I allowed him to continue with the caresses.

"Ace," he said after a while, and I loved how my name sounded coming from his lips. Like it was a secret spell or a treasure, and something he cherished. He took the half eaten sandwich from my hand and put it aside, before he cupped my face with his hands. "I only said that to let you know how much I want to be with you. I'm ready, if you are. But if you're not, or if you don't want to be with me in that way that's fine, too. And I also want you to know that I would wait a thousand years for you to be ready to do this. But what I don't want is for you to feel forced to do anything just so I'm happy, or because we have no idea, whenever we'll get the chance again."

I blinked, focusing my gaze on the ground behind Sabo's shoulder in an attempt to avoid those sparkling sapphire eyes overflowing with love and sympathy. The warm glow filling my belly already made me feel stupid for panicking and that my awkward behaviour had forced Sabo to say aloud, what I already knew. There had never been a reason for me to worry.

"Thanks for telling me," I mumbled and looked up, when an amused snort reached my ears.

"Stupid," he whispered with the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, before quickly kissing me to seal my lips already parting in protest.

Our kiss tasted of the river's cool waters, the ham sandwiches we had just been eating and the juice we had been drinking and all of those flavours mixed perfectly with Sabo's own, a taste on my tongue that would never fade, forever reminding me of that perfect summer day. Humming contently, my arms snuck around his shoulders, pulling him closer, the last traces of my insecurities evaporating into endless azure of the sky stretching above us—at least for the moment.

The rest of our sumptuous meal was filled with more laughter and stolen kisses. Some were quick, not more than a peck on the cheek, some more passionate, usually followed by meaningful glances and smiles. By the time we had finished, our clothes were dry again and Sabo rummaged around in the basket, pulling out a book he had brought along, plopping down onto the blanket with a satisfied sigh, shielding his eyes against the glaring light of the sun to look up at me.

"I could read to you," he suggested, patting the spot beside him on the blanket. I complied eagerly, stretched my legs and rested my head on his upper arm, snuggling up to him, one hand on his chest.

The bump of his steadily beating heart against my palm reverberated through my fingers, a constant, soothing rhythm accompanied by the ever present chirping of the cicadas and the lazy gurgling of the river. My gaze lost its focus, eyes staring at nothing in particular, as soon as Sabo had read the first few lines of 'Moby Dick' to me and I slowly slipped into a relaxed trance, while Sabo's fingers absentmindedly carded through my hair. The light caress and Sabo's even, mellifluous voice eventually lulling me into a dreamless slumber.

I woke to the low rumble of thunder in the distance. The sultry air was even more oppressive than before and a cool breeze, sweeping across the fields, sent a shiver up my spine, heralding the long-due thunder storm brewing on the horizon with some dark clouds already looming perilously close. Turning, I saw that Sabo had fallen asleep as well, book lying upside down beside him on the blanket. I leaned down to softly kiss his temple, his nose crinkling in displeasure at the offending touch rousing him from his peaceful sleep.

"I'm sorry to wake you," I whispered close to his ear, nuzzling his hairline in apology, "but I think we have to leave and look for shelter. There's a storm coming."

Bleary sea blue eyes blinked up at me followed by a yawn and a stretch, before he watched as lightning flashed between the massive clouds, a curtain of heavy rain already pouring down only a few kilometres away and the wind's speed picking up gradually. A moment later he was on his feet, closing his book with a clap and throwing it into the basket. We hastily rolled up the blanket, putting on socks and shoes, and yanked our bicycles into a standing position. I helped Sabo fasten the basket and the blanket on his carrier, before nervously glancing over my shoulder. The time it had taken us to pack up our things had given the threatening clouds a chance to crawl closer.

"There's a barn about one or two kilometres away from here with a few larger trees in the area. We should be safe there," he said, already swinging one leg over the frame.

"If we make it there, before the storm's caught up to us, that is," I added, biting my lip. "Let's go!"

And with that we pushed off the ground and started pedalling as fast as we could, racing against the storm, the fresh smell of nitrogen oxide already heavy in the ionised air. But the roll of thunder grew louder and louder with fewer and fewer seconds remaining after every flash. It helped to urge us on. My lungs ached, when I finally spotted the barn's silhouette, relieved to see the many taller trees dotting the field it was standing on, ignoring my throbbing legs and the burning in my chest. A flimsy fence surrounded the premises and we quickly threw our bicycles to the ground. With basket and blanket tugged beneath our arms, we climbed over the decaying bars and ran across the field.

However, the storm had not remained in place and the moment our feet touched the ground on the other side of the fence, large raindrops started to mercilessly beat down on us and before long water streamed over our heated cheeks. By the time we had finally reached the barn's door we were soaked to the bone once more.

With a clang we closed the heavy gate behind us, locking out the raging storm, but the wind continued to whistle through the numerous gaps between the beams and slats our shelter was made of. Sabo put down the basket and shook himself like a wet dog, spraying water everywhere. When he looked up to see that I was watching him, he suddenly started laughing without any particular reason, and soon enough I joined him, the sound contagious.

It took a while for us to calm down again, but once the last laugh had faded, I retrieved to surprisingly dry blanket from atop the basket, spreading it out on the barn's dusty ground, before looking around, inspecting our surroundings. I found nothing of interest and simply shrugged, a bit disappointed. Outside a new round of thunder rumbled through the sky above us, our surroundings rattling with the powerful sound.

Sabo sneezed and when I turned around I saw him furiously rubbing his arms. Smiling, I walked over to where he stood and wrapped my arms around him, pulling him close, though I wasn't sure, if I was actually doing any good. Wiping away the glistening traces the rain had left on his cheeks with my thumb I leaned in to kiss him, gently nudging the tip of his nose with my own.

"Are you cold?" I asked, starting to rub his back. He grimaced at the wet sound his shirt was making, pressing his cold nose into the crook of my neck in search for a warmer place, when a shiver ran through his body. I pulled him even closer, allowing for my body's warmth to gradually permeate Sabo's.

Silence followed as we both waited for him to warm up, while listening to the sounds of the storm until, all of a sudden, I felt the featherlight touch of Sabo's lips against my neck, hot breath fanning out over cool, moist skin.

"There are other ways to keep us warm…" he whispered huskily, suggestively even.

I tensed, pulling away to stare at him in surprise and saw that the blue of his eyes was tinged with a hint of unease.

"I mean, only, if you want. A-And we don't have to go all the way of course," he added quickly, clearly afraid of demanding more of me than I was willing to give at the moment, our earlier conversation probably still fresh on his mind.

I blinked, lost for words and continued to stare at the angelic face before me, taking in his full lips and the long blond lashes framing his eyes with tiny watery pearls glistening at their ends like a sparkling garland. And his eyes, yes. Those sparkling bottomless pools in the colours of the endless sea, dotted with specks of various shades of green around the iris. My mouth went dry.

A painting of Sabo in that very moment, forever freezing his beauty for me to behold. But there would never be a painter skilled nor colours vibrant enough to paint in the same shades life just had. The glow in his mesmerising eyes, the red of his lips, the shine of rain on his fair face—they were already forever lost in the moment.

And it was as if realising that life rarely offered second chances lifted a weight of my shoulders, all doubts and fears suddenly cleared from my worrying mind. The answer to my countless questions had been there all along in the loving gaze of Sabo's eyes. Pressing our foreheads together, I sighed in relief.

"I want to go all the way, if it's with you," I breathed against his lips, before capturing them with my own, prying them apart with my daring tongue to claim what was mine.

Sabo offered himself without a second thought, hands clinging to the collar of my soaked shirt to pull me closer and deepen the kiss.

"Are you sure that's what you want?" he asked once we had broken apart again, his breaths already coming faster.

"I am."

Sabo's arms wound around my neck, suddenly desperate to increase the contact between our bodies, letting his tongue slide against mine, and when I pulled back both our faces were already lightly flushed, and our eyes glazed over with the first signs of lust. He let his hands wander over my shoulders to my front and started to undo the buttons of my shirt, but his always so nimble fingers failed him, betraying his own nervousness. Huffing annoyedly he pulled down my braces, and pulled the shirt out of my pants and over my head. It all happened so quickly I hardly had the time to feel embarrassed and my brain had finally registered what just had happened, he had already gotten rid of his own shirt in much the same way, dropping our clothes on the blanket.

I bit my lip, granting myself some time to look closely, before I reached out and let my fingertips touch his fair flesh. Wherever they travelled a trail of goosebumps followed and sometimes even a tremor. Sabo's chest was firm, with a few fine lines hinting at the muscles lying beneath his skin, but that was mostly due to his slender build. Since we did not belong to the working class, our only exercise was horse riding and playing our instruments, or maybe cycling somewhere, like today.

When his fingers touched my own chest I gasped and a smile appeared on his face as he continued to explore the body he was longing for, tracing the soft hills of my muscles slightly more prominent than his. He let his pointer caress my nipple and another gasp escaped my mouth at the jolt running through me. We had touched each other before, but it had never been like this, never this intense. Another kiss followed, before he took my hand, pulling me after him until we were both lying on the blanket.

My hands wandered and so did his, smoothing over curves, following lines to so far unknown places. I squeezed his ass through the fabric of his pants and he rubbed his thigh against my groin, both our breaths hitching in our throats.

This went on for a while until I had mustered enough courage to try myself on the button of his pants, unfastening it with trembling fingers. Kissing his neck, inhaling his scent mixed with the smell of rain, my hand snuck below his waistband, inside his underwear. His breathing in my ear became louder, when my fingers carded through course hair and I clenched my jaw, when his nails, which, luckily, he was required to keep trimmed, scraped over my bare back. Slowly, I started to peel him out of the clinging, wet fabric of his pants and he lifted his hips to help, but as soon as I had removed them completely and he was lying before me in all his naked glory, he covered his face with his arms.

"Sabo," I whispered, trying to pry his arms away.

"Don't stare," he demanded, but he removed his arms nonetheless, cheeks dusted pink.

My fervent kiss surprised him, but he did not complain, instead he wrapped his legs around my waist and pulled me close, pressing our groins together and sucking at my lower lip. I moaned and instantly pulled away, pressing my lips together, when I realised what kind of sound I had just made. But since Sabo's legs were still around my hips, I could feel his body's response and I barely managed to suppress another lewd sound from escaping my mouth. A moment later Sabo had unbuttoned my pants and I helped him take them off.

However, the moment I felt his eyes on my growing erection as I sat before him with half crossed legs I understood why he had hidden his face, since it took all my willpower not to hide my most private parts with my hands. He seemed to have noticed, because he quickly came closer, sliding forward on his knees, distracting me by lifting up my chin with one hand and placing a passionate kiss on my lips. The familiarity of our kiss calmed me and when his other hand slowly travelled over my chest and my abdomen along a set path, I was suddenly very eager to feel it there

Still, nothing could have prepared me for the actual sensation flooding my body, when Sabo's fingers finally curled around my hardening shaft. A second, more powerful jolt shook my body, followed by another, louder, moan, and when he started moving his hand up and down I thrust my hips forward, into his touch. There was nothing left of our earlier timidness, no trace of reluctance in the way we explored. We wanted this. Both of us. Yearning for a unity we had not yet had the luck of experiencing. And maybe it was the knowledge that there would not be another chance to do this anytime soon, which heightened the susceptibility of our skin and intensified the experience.

But it was not only the physical connection we suddenly shared that contributed to the euphoria we felt. It was also the love lying in every touch, in every shared kiss, clearly visible in our eyes, whenever we took a break from kissing to look at each other. We savoured the moment almost as if it was our last, mapping a foreign body until we knew every curve of muscle, every vein shimmering through beneath skin, every rise of bone, returning to it again and again until the feeling was imprinted in our memory, carefully noting every sound, every shiver caused by our caress, be it with lips or hands or teeth. We worshipped and offered and let go. Falling and falling, losing all sense of time and place.

I pleasured Sabo, too, doing as he did to me, though with slightly clumsier strokes, and loudly sucked air into my lungs, whenever another spike of pleasure travelled up my spine again. The heat in my groin grew, became almost unbearable, and that was, when I had to pull his hand away. He understood without a word of explanation, and even if he had not, my laboured breathing was a telltale sign.

Rising to his feet he said, "I'll…get it," before staggering over to the basket, my eyes following him curiously.

He rummaged around for a while with his back on me, returning after what seemed like a small eternity. When he sat beside me again, he thrust at me whatever he had brought over and, after turning it, I realised it was a jar of oil.

The moment its purpose had sunk in, though, my heart started beating twice as fast, the sound of my rushing pulse almost deafeningly loud in my ears and I immediately returned to my earlier nervous stage.

"I…" I began only to realise I was apparently lost for words. My head spun and my thoughts raced.

I had watched those men in the brothel. I knew what would happened. I had known for a year. Then why was I so nervous? Swallowing, I reached for the lid of the jar and unscrewed it. Whatever scent the oil had, it instantly filled the air around us, but it did nothing to soothe my buzzing nerves.

Panic rose inside me once again, its icy hand crushing my chest as I mechanically dapped my fingers into the jar, coating them with oil. Sabo's firm grip stopped me and my eyes darted to his concerned face.

"Ace," he said and I was glad he had interrupted me. "What are you scared of?"

I looked back at my trembling fingers safe inside Sabo's tight grip, contemplating whether or not I should tell him what was bothering me.

"What if I disappoint you?" I muttered under my breath. "What if I'm not good enough for you?"

He blinked, eyes narrowing, darkening. Almost angry he took the jar away from me, putting it on the ground beside us, before taking a deep, calming breath.

"Just to make sure. You're scared that you're not good enough for me?" he asked. I sucked in my lips in response. "You? Not good enough for me?" He was clearly agitated. I nodded. "How can you even think that?" Letting go of my hands, he cupped my cheeks. All anger had vanished from his voice, leaving nothing but sadness. "I love you, don't you know?"

My eyes widened.

Of course I knew, but then we had never actually said the words, always assuming our actions would suffice to convey our feelings. Apparently that had not been the case, because now that I had heard it out of Sabo's mouth it had become even more real. I shook my head in deep disbelief over my own doubts and insecurities.

"Of course I know. And I love you, too. But I guess it's because I love you so much that I want everything to be perfect and I'm not sure I can give you that…"

"Ace."

Ah, yes, my name on his lips again.

"I am perfectly aware that neither you nor I have any sort of experience, but that's what makes this so special to me. There's nothing I expect. All I want is to be with you and feel you. We've always talked up until now, so I'm sure, if we do this and tell the other what we want, it's going to be just perfect."

I stared, once again impressed by how grown up he was and how easy it was for him to dispel my fears, and while I calmed myself by looking at his beautiful face I wondered who I was to deny this man his wishes? He was everything to me, and I wanted to be with him just as much as he wanted to be with me. I, too, wanted to feel him.

"I want to feel you, too," I repeated my thoughts aloud, because hearing them added to my determination.

"Good," he said, and kissed me, briefly but deeply. "But I want to feel you…inside me" he whispered against my lips, when he had pulled away again, a flush colouring his cheeks, but determination was clear in his eyes.

"But what if I hurt you?" I protested.

"You won't."

"But-"

"You won't. You'd never hurt me."

And after a soft peck on my cheeks he put the jar back into my hand, before lying down on his back.

"Please," he begged.

I glanced from the jar in my hand back to a naked Sabo spread out before me and back at the jar again.

"Promise me, you'll tell me, if I hurt you!" I insisted.

A warm, happy smile spread across his face.

"I promise."

Again I shook my head, this time in disbelief over how easily I had been convinced. Then I made sure my fingers were slick with oil.

My mouth had gone dry, and I was nervous and excited at the same time, when I pushed in my first finger. He tensed due to the unfamiliar intrusion, but relaxed again just as quickly. I kept my eyes trained on his face to not miss the slightest change in his expression, ready to pause or stop completely the moment I hurt him. But even, when I started moving my finger he looked relaxed, and I became more daring again, reaching for his hardening erection. It twitched, when I touched it, and Sabo's lips parted, and I eagerly leaned down to steal a kiss, gently starting to stroke his shaft. He wrapped his arms around my neck to keep me close.

"Go on," he said after a while and I added a second finger.

His grip in my hair tightened instantly and I paused.

"Don't worry, Ace," he breathed, but I waited until his fingers had loosened somewhat, before I continued.

But just like he had said, he told me what he liked, what felt good and what did not. I listened eagerly, doing what he wanted me to do, my own arousal growing only by hearing his voice, the words he said, but also, because I knew what I was doing to him. The longer I prepared him the bolder I became until I eventually crooked my fingers.

Sabo cried out, but the sound was anything but painful. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end and my cock started throbbing. I repeated what I had just done and he shivered violently, fingers digging into my shoulder.

"Ace," he whined and hearing my name said so huskily, so wanton, was almost enough to send me over the tip even more so, since I now felt the blood pulsing through Sabo's hard shaft.

"I think that's enough," he said and I silently agreed, sweat already gathering on my forehead.

Sabo turned a bit, reaching for the oil and warming some of it between his palms, before he suddenly reached for my cock. I gasped, when his hand curled around it.

"Careful or it's all gonna be over soon," I pressed out, holding onto my last bit of self-control, the tips of my ears burning with embarrassment. He sniggered and just like that all tension evaporated into thin air.

There truly was nothing to be afraid of. It was just me and Sabo, alone in a barn with a storm raging on outside, about to share an entirely new experience.

I pushed the jar with oil further aside to not spill its contents, before properly settling between Sabo's legs again. He lifted his hips and I aligned our bodies, claiming his mouth for another kiss, and then I gently pushed in. I took my time, allowing him to adjust, while revelling in bliss. There were so many new sensations flooding my brain I was hardly able to process them all. Sabo was tight and hot and perfect, his sea blue eyes obscured by lust and his body gleaming with sweat. His lips were swollen, and his chest rose and fell with every panting breath he took. I let one of my fingers trail along his cock, relishing in the feeling of his muscles contracting around me.

After a while I dared to move and that was, when he bit his lip so hard it started bleeding, his whole body suddenly rigid. I flinched and stilled.

"Does it hurt?" I asked, worried.

"Just a little," he lied, unable to open his eyes, crumbling the blanket between the vice-like grip of his slender fingers.

"We don't have to do this," I said. "Or we can switch!"

"Don't be stupid," he returned, but what was supposed to sound teasing was overshadowed by held back pain.

"Sabo, I mean it!"

"I just have to get used to it, is all," he pressed out. I bit my lip. "Go on," he urged.

Ever so slowly I started moving again and he grimaced, but then I felt him relax a bit, much to my relief. I reached for his cock, brushing over the tip with my thumb and it had the desired effect, he loosened some more and even let go of the blanket.

"It's...better now," he said, and, "Kiss me, please." And I did. Not before long my thrusts became faster as I slowly became accustomed to the language of Sabo's body.

I broke the kiss and straightened my back, adjusting his hips, when he suddenly cried out again just like he had earlier, and I knew I had found that spot again.

From that point forward everything became blurred, a whirl of colour and sensation. The barn was filled with our panting and moaning, and when we reached our climax, it was like a blistering tidal wave crashing down on us, every nerve end on our body singed, heads spinning as we entered a state of utter bliss.

Afterwards, the barn was filled with whispers and soft laughter. We stole kisses and huddled closer together. I caressed his face as he toyed with my hair, and I once again whispered that I loved him. In turn I was gifted with his radiant smile.

The world could not have been more perfect that day, or ever again. This was the man I loved. This was the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. This was the man I wanted to look at with the same affection that brightened my parents' eyes, whenever they looked at each other.

And I could tell Sabo wanted exactly the same.