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You first meet Nami, who enters your shop with a worrisome glint in her eyes and an even more worrisome amount of bags in her hands. She is stylish, you have to admit, all high heels and patterns and neon colours, loud but not clashing, to be noticeable but not noticeably out of place.
She’s also picky, but that’s alright. You like a good challenge. The two of you eye each other for a moment, appraising, and both of you are satisfied with what you see; Nami is suddenly all smiles as she starts choosing items off the racks to try on, and you unlock the fitting room in anticipation. It’s good publicity to have someone beautiful wearing your clothes around town, after all, and you’re no fool. You’ve seen her in the papers before.
She’s picking out skirts when Sanji walks in, and, oh. Now there is a model, you think. He’s all legs, long limbs loose and confident, posture picture perfect but for the hint of a slouch as he slides his hand into his pocket and stations himself by the wall. He looks absolutely nothing like his wanted poster, in the best way.
You’re a little distracted, half with opening boxes—in the hopes of enticing Nami into buying more of your clothes—and half with what cut of pants might flatter him best, such that you don’t notice for some time that Sanji is actually looking at you.
“Oh!” you exclaim, a little bit embarrassed; but you are not particularly shy, and your quick recovery impresses the both of you. “Sorry, how can I help you?”
“I was just admiring,” he says with a silly little smile, “a beautiful woman surrounded by beautiful clothes.”
It’s a lovely compliment, you think to yourself, and it almost works. Almost.
“Surely you would allow me to help you? I’m waiting for Nami, you see,” he says. “I’m strong and those boxes look awfully heavy. It’s only right for a man to help a lady in distress.” And suddenly that ever-present smile of his is starting to grate on your nerves a little.
“Excuse me? Distress? ”
“I couldn’t live with myself if I let you strain those beautiful arms of yours,” Sanji says. There's a faint note of questioning in his voice as if he cannot understand your displeasure.
“Well,” you answer, consciously relaxing your jaw. He is still a customer, or at least with a customer. “I can assure you that I will be absolutely fine handling these. If there’s nothing I can help you with, I’ll get back to sorting these out.”
He looks puzzled and dismayed by your dismissal, but the thought is already out of your head when Nami asks for a blouse in a different colour. If she witnessed the interaction, she doesn’t say anything, and leaves the shop with two extra bags in tow that are promptly handed off to Sanji.
He comes back a couple of days later, accompanying another beautiful woman who introduces herself as Robin. She is equal to Nami but different, like the moon and the sun, dressed in laced-up leather and a dangerous smile.
That’s fine. You’re flexible, and determined to make a killing off of these stylish pirates. The effort you put in will pay off, you think, surveying your restructured store; and it’s rewarding to watch Robin’s discerning gaze sweep over the racks and linger. You try to ignore Sanji, your pride still smarting a little from your previous interaction with him, but the task is difficult when he looks so damn good in his black pinstripe suit and a silk shirt that matches his eyes perfectly.
He holds in his hands a single box this time, unburdened by the fruits of his companion’s shopping labors, and it is this box that he presents to you with an air of remorse that smoothes your ruffled feathers.
“I’m sorry,” he says, “for underestimating you the other day. I didn’t mean to offend. I would ask that you accept this cake as an apology. I baked it for you last night, sleepless at the thought of causing you upset.”
He’s a little bit unnerving in his intensity, but the spirit is there. You accept the box and offer him a smile that brightens his countenance immediately.
His eyes sparkle with anticipation as you set the box on the counter and open it cautiously, revealing a little round cake decorated with tiny marzipan fruits. A fine dusting of powdered sugar blankets the creation like the first snowfall of winter; it looks so soft that for a moment, you’re tempted to just swipe your finger across the top and ruin it. The desire for destruction wars with reluctance to damage its pristine icing, and you stare, paralyzed, for longer than is appropriate.
When you tear your gaze away and look at Sanji, he’s wearing an expression that might be suited to someone witnessing the christening of their first child. His gaze is fond, perhaps a little nostalgic, with more than a hint of pride. It’s much better than that smile he wore yesterday, you think to yourself, and decide not to mention that you’re not all that fond of sweets.
“Do you like it?” he asks. “I wanted to give you something as sweet and beautiful as you are."
“I really like it,” you say, and you mean it. He doesn’t need to know that you’re talking about more than just the cake.
It’s surprisingly easy to get along with the Straw Hat pirates, considering they’re a bunch of infamous criminals. The town gossips about them but nobody in the crew seems bothered, and you coexist just fine. Half the pirates opt to spend their days exploring the dense forest that covers the majority of the island; the other half shops and mingles, and it amuses you to watch Usopp and Chopper eat ice cream together, or to see Robin idly perusing the wares of the secondhand shop on the next block.
Nami becomes your closest friend among the crew members. The two of you take to having afternoon tea a few times a week, with the occasional extra guest. More often than not she arrives with Sanji in tow and then shoos him away to indulge in girl talk , which is mostly gossip and swapping stories. They always show up with snacks to go with your tea; apparently, Sanji never lets the crew go without food. It’s a rather motherly quality, you think, and pretty cute.
"So how long are you gonna be here, anyway?" you ask. It’s been about three weeks now and you can see it wearing on them a little; there’s a certain restlessness to the way they roam about town, searching for interesting things to do or see. Nami sits with her legs elegantly crossed, balanced on the bench you leave out for waiting companions. Normally you don't allow food or drink in the shop, but, well. Sanji has kind of thrown that rule out the window already, so you have Nami choose the tea while you pull out a small table from the back room.
"The full four months, can you believe it?" she sighs. "Luffy was beside himself when he found out. Wanted to go without the log pose setting at all. He found some entertainment in the forest, though, so we ended up deciding to stay. It causes major problems every time we ignore the log pose, but it's not like that idiot cares!"
You hum in acknowledgement, reflecting on how you'll actually miss her. Certainly your days had become much livelier, and your business hadn't exactly suffered either.
“I’m glad you’re staying. It’s exciting for the town, and I like the crew.”
“Oh really? All of us, not just one in particular?”
“I mean, if you’re fishing for a compliment…”
Nami smiles at you amusedly. “You know that’s not what I meant.”
“Well, I don’t know the others as well as you.” Sanji included.
“You could get to know them. There’s plenty of time now that we’re staying.”
Four months is long, isn’t it? A whole season, at least, and you can’t deny that you’re interested in learning a little more about the wider world.
“I will...consider it.”
You can’t tell if Nami knows your mind is basically made up, and she doesn’t let on. She simply accepts your words and offers you a madeleine.
They taste like heaven. You might be developing a sweet tooth.
On a brisk autumn day, Nami invites you to afternoon tea on the Straw Hat pirate ship. The Thousand Sunny sways peacefully in the harbor; it dwarfs the fishing boats and sloops populating the rest of the wharf, bright and full of life just like the crew that inhabit it.
Nami meets you at the foot of the gangway. She's red-cheeked and windblown and greets you brightly, ushering you onto the ship's lawn and towards a small sitting area.
The deck is lively as you cross it; despite the chill in the air, all of the Straw Hats are out to enjoy the sunshine. Sanji is sparring with Zoro when you spot him. You're not sure what caused the fight, but they're really in it now. Zoro's katanas gleam in the sunlight, so many little glittering stars along their edges before they are extinguished in the shadow of Sanji's body.
He wields those long legs of his as effectively as any sword, in clean arcs with no wasted movement. The focused little furrow of his eyebrows pairs well with the slow smile spreading across his face—despite whatever they're fighting about, he and Zoro are friends, after all, and the swordsman bares his teeth in return. The twist of Sanji's torso shows off the striped pattern on his shirt, leading you to watch appreciatively until Nami clears her throat with a little grin and asks if you're quite ready to move on.
"Oh! Um, yes," you reply distractedly. It's difficult to avert your eyes for multiple reasons.
The two of you settle on the seating against the ship's mast. Nami crosses one leg over the other, leaning towards you with a conspiratorial smile, and calls out sweetly.
"Sanji, some drinks, please?"
The fight immediately ends. The shift is both surprising and funny to watch as the blond cook drops his outstretched leg and turns to face the two of you, ignoring Zoro's curses. He seems surprised to see you, but also pleased.
"And what would the lovely ladies like to drink?"
"Coffee sounds nice," Nami says, and you agree. Sanji sweeps into a dramatic bow, smiling at the two of you with an earnestness that makes you squirm a little. It's nice but also, somehow, embarrassing.
"Your wish is my command."
Nami tucks a lock of hair behind her ear as he leaves, utterly unaffected, and regards you with cool affection. "So, what do you think about Sanji?"
The question shouldn't be surprising, but it is. You lean back against the sun-warmed wooden mast, digging your nails into the crevices of the bench, and mull the question over.
"He's… nice," you answer feebly. Nami still looks expectant. "He's very attentive and thoughtful."
"You think he's handsome, don't you?" She grins as your face heats with embarrassment. "You could do worse than Sanji."
"He—" you stop as the man in question returns in record time with two white mugs of coffee, steam curling appetizingly from their mouths. Sanji warns you to be careful of their heat, not to burn your fingers or tongue, and smiles with heart-melting sincerity when you thank him.
“I’m going to start on dinner,” Sanji says, “I hope you’ll join us.”
“It’s hard to refuse when you’re cooking,” you say with a smile, and it’s gratifying to see the way he preens at the compliment as he walks away.
"He is very handsome," you admit when Sanji is out of earshot, and you studiously avoid seeing Nami's smug expression. "It just feels—I don't know. I need to know that we’re equal. I don't need to be treated like glass."
"I know what you mean." When you dare to meet Nami's gaze, it's gone soft and thoughtful. "He isn't always like that," she says eventually.
"Yeah." You think of his smile, of the way he changes around food. "Yeah, I know. I would like to see more of his other sides."
She thinks about that for a moment. You can almost see the gears turning in her head.
"Spend some time with him before dinner," Nami suggests. "Sanji won't let Luffy or most of the others into the galley while he's cooking, but I'm sure he'll make an exception for you."
The thought brings a little colour back into your cheeks. It's kind of embarrassing to envision being given special permission to sit there by yourself with him, but the thought is really very tempting.
"I don't want to be in the way…"
"Trust me," Nami says with a playful toss of her head. "You can't possibly be in the way compared to our captain." As if cued by her words, a thunderous crash emanates from somewhere below the deck. Usopp drops his fishing rod, face draining of colour, and sprints through a door at the other end of the ship.
She ushers you towards their small kitchen, her hand warm against your back as she pushes you lightly through the door. "Sanji," she says, "you have company!"
He turns from his position in front of the ship's massive fridge, a smile spreading over his face at the sight of you. "The company of two lovely ladies is always welcome," Sanji coos; there's something a little more subdued about it than usual, a little bit perfunctory as if his mind is elsewhere. It actually makes you feel better, and you return the smile with genuine warmth.
"I'm going back outside to check on my trees," Nami replies. "But enjoy your time together." She smirks at you with obvious glee and practically skips away as you attempt to burn her with your stare.
"I guess it's just the two of us," you say to Sanji, and take a seat at the bar counter. The blond hums absently in agreement, occupied for the time being as he continues to pull items from the fridge and cabinets.
"Sorry," he says eventually, focusing his attention on you for the first time since you entered the space. "I didn't want to forget anything. Luffy eats like a demon."
You wave off the apology. The counter itself is loaded with neatly laid out ingredients - freshly washed vegetables, meats, spices in organized little rows of bowls. It's an impressive spread just to look at.
"I'm usually in here alone," Sanji says. He sets down a cutting board and deftly plucks a knife from the wall, twirling it in a seemingly subconscious gesture before plucking a peeled onion from one of the bowls and getting to work. "Those morons always make a mess when they barge in here, so the galley is off-limits. Of course, ladies are an exception."
"Even messy ones? I'm sure I could cause quite the disaster."
"There's no way you could compare to Luffy," Sanji replies, pausing. A shadow passes briefly across his face at some memory before it clears again, and he looks at you with interest. "Do you like to cook?"
"I'm not very good," you admit, "I can make a basic breakfast, curry, easy things like that. Nothing I would choose to serve to others. I'm better with a needle than a knife."
"But do you like it?" He's giving you that earnest look again. "I wasn't always good either, you know. My first few tries tasted like shit, but there's nowhere to go from there except up."
"I- yeah, I guess so," you say cautiously. "It can be fun."
"Want to help with prep?"
"No way. My vegetable cutting is hideous."
"C'mon," Sanji says, a smile playing at the edges of his mouth. "I'll show you how to hold a knife. Promise it'll be worth it."
"You're so gonna be behind schedule," you say, but stand obligingly. If he's willing to teach you, then there's really nobody better you can think to learn from.
"I'm sure the crew won't mind," Sanji says, and looks pleased as you quickly pull your hair back and wash your hands. You approach the counter with some trepidation; showing off your average abilities in front of a professional chef isn't exactly where you were hoping this would go, but Sanji is so enthused that a flutter of anticipation wins over your nerves.
Luckily, he doesn't ask to see your technique before taking charge of the situation.
"May I?" Upon receiving your assent, Sanji steps close—closer than you were expecting, until you can feel the heat of his body behind you. He seems a little tense, a little nervous in how rigidly he reaches around to touch your hands.
"It's okay," you say, and lean back just enough that you're brushing against his shirt. His breath catches for a second before he exhales roughly, a short laugh escaping him.
"Sorry," he says, "I'm not used to being so close to such a gorgeous woman."
"This gorgeous woman needs help more than space right now," you reply, and he laughs again and relaxes against you. Sanji's body is lean and hard where it presses against you as he curls to better match your height. His breath stirs your hair and sends a shiver down your spine that, if he notices, he graciously doesn't comment on.
Sanji's hands gently grasp yours. His fingers are not quite calloused but not soft either. A little worn from work, a little scarred. Pale white lines stand out on the backs of his hands among a collection of mostly-healed wounds—a couple of raised, fresher cuts here, a burn mark there.
"I can be a bit clumsy," he explains when he notices you staring, "but I promise I won't let you cut yourself." His hands squeeze yours gently for emphasis as he adjusts your grip.
"I'm not worried." You grasp the knife as he shows you, close to the blade, secure and easy to control. Your other hand curls on the carrot, fingers tucked in for safety. "I trust you not to hurt me."
He inhales behind you, slow and a little shaky. "Oh," Sanji says faintly. "Okay."
You try not to think too hard about that. It was just the truth, after all.
“Can I take you out for dinner?”
The question comes out of left field for you. Sanji has taken to visiting your little shop frequently. Sometimes he makes a little show out of browsing or buying a new tie, but deception isn’t his strong suit; it’s hard not to notice the way he watches you.
You don’t hate it. In fact, over time he proves himself to be rather charming, if easily distracted, and he’s often willing to act as a model. He doesn’t even get the slightest bit angry if you accidentally stick him with a pin. Of course, it’s a different story if Zoro passes by, but you have to concede that everyone has their weaknesses.
He watches you now, as well, waiting for a response as you surface from your thoughts. His eyelashes are long and fine, nearly glowing in the sunlight streaming in through your shop windows, and the timing seems just right, and something about it all makes you decide to dispense with caution for a bit. It’s been a while since you had a real date anyway—one or two of your regular customers like to flirt, but nobody has ever been this bold about their interest in you.
“Sure,” you say, to Sanji’s obvious delight. “Whenever is good for you.”
“Tonight?” He leans in, excited, and then seems to remember himself. His body twitches, almost jerking away from you but then aborting the movement as if he doesn’t quite know what kind of impression he wants to give. Too deliberately to be casual, he sways back in the opposite direction and settles himself. “I mean. If you’re free, of course.”
“I am,” you say, “You can come back around seven.”
☆☆☆
He does, arriving at seven pm sharp in polished shoes and a three piece suit. Thankfully, you had anticipated the dress code, and don’t feel out of place next to him in your long, shimmering dress and soft coat.
“You look beautiful tonight,” Sanji says, and raises your hand to kiss it. The motion feels a little antiquated but also makes your heart beat faster. You pull back, suddenly feeling shy, and count yourself lucky that the night is dark and cold enough to mask your flushed cheeks.
“Thank you. You look great too.”
He is noticeably pleased at the compliment as he offers you his arm. The gesture is a little stiff and unpracticed, but endearing. From there, your date progresses with a routine you might have expected straight out of a romance novel. Sanji takes you on a brief walk, making companionable conversation; to a live performance in the city square; and then down to the wharf, where he has set up a table for two.
You stop for a moment to take in the sight. It’s certainly picturesque, with a bottle of champagne chilling in a bucket on the table (and you have to wonder, who filled it with ice, and when?), candles, and a floral centerpiece.
The docks are silent and deserted at this hour, leaving you with the stars and the soft sound of the ocean as your only other company.
Sanji pulls out your chair and seats you with a smile. He pulls the silver covers off of your dinners and reveals a work of art. Herb roasted lamb and vegetables, a risotto, an assortment of sauces… Your mouth waters at the sight.
“I made it myself,” he says from across the table. Something in his energy changes when he presents or talks about food; a certain relaxing of his shoulders, a sparkle entering his eye. It’s easy to tell that he’s confident in the quality of his work and that he’s passionate about it.
It’s an attractive quality. You taste the food and all of it is delicious, a fact you relay to him with enthusiasm. When you look up from the food, you find him looking at you with a fondness in his eyes that makes your stomach flip. Just as quickly, he drops his gaze back to his plate, a smile still growing on his lips, inching wider and wider.
“I seriously think this is the best meal I’ve ever had.”
“That’s high praise. I’m very glad.”
You finish eating in comfortable silence, and it’s when he’s reaching to refill your glass that you hear an echoing shout in the distance.
The voice is unfamiliar to you and indistinct. Sanji’s hand jerks a little with surprise—miraculously, he doesn’t spill the champagne—before he pulls back quickly and forces a laugh.
“Awfully rude to be yelling at this hour.” His ears are turning a bit red, and you begin to get an inkling of the situation.
“Sounds like maybe someone else is having as good of a time as we are,” you reply, and watch something like relief enter his gaze. A relief that is immediately ripped from him as you hear another, much clearer scream.
“ARE YOU GONNA KISS YET?”
“KISS HER! KISS HER!”
The chant is rapidly taken up by a few other voices. Sanji opens his mouth as if to yell something back at them. Then he pushes his plate forward and folds against the edge of the table, hiding his face in the cradle of his arms.
“I’m gonna kick their asses,” he says, muffled. You can’t help but laugh. His head lifts a little at the sound and then immediately thumps back down as you hear renewed hollers and cheers.
“I think it’s a bit early for a kiss,” you say, just to watch his ears get even redder, “but I’m having fun.”
With what appears to be a concentrated effort, Sanji lifts himself upright again. He looks mortified and a little bit sweaty; he pulls restlessly at his tie to loosen it and then rakes a hand through his hair.
“That,” he says, and then has to gather himself again for a moment. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“Yes, I kind of gathered as much.”
"I didn't even tell them about this…"
"It's okay, really. I honestly had a great time. Ask me again sometime." You laugh and move to stand as he perks up. Sanji immediately jumps to his feet, hurrying to take your hand and pull your chair back. His skin is still flushed and hot against yours.
The sound of pirates yelling fades out as you conclude your dinner. You are surrounded by the murmur of the sea as you step a little closer and take Sanji's arm. He smiles at you in response.
"Walk me home?"
"Of course, my lady."
October brings with it some restlessness as the temperatures begin to dip. The ocean today is in turmoil, rolling the Thousand Sunny such that you worry for its contents.
In spite of this, you brave the conditions to spend the evening with Nami and Robin.
You can hear Franky and Usopp shouting from below you. Robin tells you they have workshops on the ship, and that the movement is probably causing them no small amount of havoc. As for herself, she simply sprouts some extra arms to steady her bookshelves and laughs off your surprise.
“The last month went by so much faster than I thought it would. I wish we could bring you along,” Nami says. “It would be so nice to have another woman on the ship, and I’ll miss your tailoring. The boys are actually wearing clothes that match , for once.”
“I’ll miss you as a client too,” you reply. “Thanks to you, I should look into expanding!”
“Ah, then can I get a discount as a VIP client?”
“Ask me again next time and we’ll see what I can do.” You both laugh.
“You seem happy here,” Robin remarks. “It’s a lovely island.”
“It is. I love hearing about where you’ve been, but I don’t think I could leave home for that long.”
The three of you while away a few hours chatting about family and past adventures. Robin is quiet and insightful; when she asks about you, it feels like she genuinely cares, and it’s easy to get caught up in talking.
By the time your conversation ebbs, the weather has gotten much worse. Nami suggests you stay the night; there’s not a lot of space, and the ship is just a little drafty, but it’s survived much worse than this.
“I’ll be fine,” you assure her, “it’s just down to the docks and then a short walk home. I think I might throw up if I spend the night here.”
She giggles as you open the door and step out onto the deck. The ship is rocking from side to side in nauseating motions that have you stumbling across the deck like a drunk. The wind howls around you. The deck is empty and soaked, the grass soggy beneath your shoes as you inch towards the gangway. A particularly violent roll almost takes you off your feet; you stumble, tipping towards the railing and the ocean that is suddenly much more visible than before—
You lose your balance and there's a heart stopping moment where you are suspended in the air, gravity pulling at your limbs and leaving your stomach behind as you plummet with your heart in your throat. The water hits you with a brutal snap, shocking your skin past pain and into numbness, and the inky waters are so much void enclosing you that you can't tell which way is up.
You kick, hoping it's the right direction, blind with panic and aching lungs; it's no use. You aren't surfacing. This is it, you think, and isn't it cruel to die before you could make a masterpiece or even get married?
The darkness tumbles violently around you again and suddenly there's an arm around you, strong like steel and secure, and it takes an effort of supreme will not to panic and try to free yourself from the unknown grasp—an effort that pays off as your rescuer kicks and breaches the surface like an arrow shot straight and true, launching the both of you onto the deck and landing with you held securely against his chest.
It's Sanji, your irritated eyes confirm, but you already kind of knew. A silly little part of your brain thinks about how only his long legs could have that kind of power, and you suppress the hysterical laugh that bubbles in your throat in favor of breaking into a fit of coughing.
He deposits you within reach of the main mast and someone drapes a towel over you, which promptly soaks through. You halfheartedly pull it tight but it does little to combat the chill of the air, and then Sanji is drawing a blanket over your shoulders. He holds the edges close in front of you and you are frozen, shivering from cold and nerves, but held in place under the weight of his concerned gaze. He proceeds to check you artlessly from head to toe for injuries, going so far as to kneel at your feet and lift your legs one by one, gently rotating your ankles.
When he looks up at you, eyes dark and troubled like the restless waters, your heart settles a little. It looks like he wants to scold you, but the impulse is overpowered by sheer worry.
Usopp is hovering nervously at your side with another towel, and obligingly hands it to you as you reach your hand out. The material is soft and finally, blessedly, warm against your aching hands.
"You should change your clothes," Sanji murmurs. His voice has lost the sweet lilt of when he flirts with you, but this is better; his honest concern settles in your stomach like hot cider on a cold night, toasted marshmallows from a campfire. Maybe the sweets he's been making are growing on you, or maybe it's just him.
You open the towel and press it against him carefully, drying his face and then towelling his hair until it stops dripping seawater, and then hang it over his shoulders like a cape. His trembling fingers did not escape your notice, after all, and he must be just as cold as you are. Sanji is utterly still while you fuss over him, eyes wide with surprise.
Impulsively, you lean in and press a kiss to his cheek; it’s cold, a little bit rough with stubble, but not unpleasant. "Thank you," you tell your half-drowned knight, "You saved my life."
His face abruptly flushes scarlet, and his expression threatens elation before he buries his face in his hands; the gesture fails to hide his burning ears. It's terribly, indescribably cute. It also makes you want to tease him, but he is unfortunately right—you need to change your clothes before you catch a cold, and you’re not eager to spend more time risking another accident.
"I should go home and change like you said," you add, and although it doesn't seem possible he turns even redder as he makes a muffled noise of acknowledgement. "Make sure you change too! Please don't catch a cold because of me."
You manage to reach the docks this time and head home with an oddly light heart. He will later choose not to tell you how mercilessly the rest of the crew mocked him, but it's not something you need to know anyway.
“You aren’t really dating that pirate, are you?” asks Eichi, looking at you skeptically. The two of you met for lunch; a rare delight now that you’re busy adults, or at least it normally is when you aren’t being interrogated over your taste in men.
He doesn’t wait for you to respond, growing impassioned in his monologue and waving his spoon like some kind of conductor’s baton. “It’s never a good idea to date pirates. They’re just going to leave, you know, and they’re criminals besides! Are you going to be one of those poor wives waiting for her husband on the shore? That’s no way to live."
“There is so much wrong with what you’re saying right now.”
“But you are dating him? After rejecting that perfectly decent guy who frequents your store? What was his name? Masa? Maso? Something like that. He was so into you and has a respectable job.”
“You don’t even know his name,” you scoff, “why are you championing him? And I’m not looking for respectable, specifically.”
“So you admit he isn’t!”
“Sanji has a name,” you say, and watch Eichi roll his eyes before shoveling another bite of rice into his mouth.
“ He’s not good enough for you. Rejected."
“Since when did you have any say in my love life?”
“Since now, when you started seeing a criminal .” The word is emphasized with another jab of his spoon in your face. You bat the hand aside, properly annoyed now.
“Some of those marines are worse than pirates.”
“You’re not even denying it. Are you really going to let this random guy leave you here pining after him? You deserve better than that.”
The words sting a little, in part because it’s something you’ve been wondering yourself. You’re not suited to being a pirate, that much is certain; your whole life is here, your career and friends. The store you worked so hard for.
Is it worth it to chase a relationship doomed to end in separation?
“Think about it, that’s all,” Eichi says. “Not that you ever take my advice, but I just don’t want to see you regret this later.”
Sanji misses your dinner plans that evening.
That he would miss an appointment with you is unusual enough; but the fact that he didn’t even get in contact prompts you to ring up Nami and ask if anything is amiss.
“ He isn’t with you? ” she asks, sounding distant. “ That’s weird. He was talking about you all morning. ”
“Maybe something came up? Could he be with any of the others in your crew?”
Her voice rapidly gets louder and clearer, a sign that Nami is approaching the den den mushi again. “ No, the others are all on the ship. We just ate since Sanji was supposed to be out for the evening… ”
An uneasy feeling stirs in your gut. Could something have happened to him? But he’s a pirate, and a strong one at that; you can’t imagine anything on this island getting the better of him. “Okay, thanks.”
“ Maybe he’s just late, ” Nami suggests, as if Sanji hasn’t been on time or early to every meeting you’ve ever arranged with him. “ I’m sure that idiot is fine. Don’t worry too much! ”
“Yeah. You’re right,” you say, and hang up.
Your concern gets the better of you ten minutes later, and you’re out the door searching for him before realizing you didn’t so much as leave a note in case he really is late. But it doesn’t seem to matter as you circle the town and find it bereft of a certain blond haired cook; he isn’t anywhere you could reasonably expect him to be waylaid. You start to worry that maybe something actually did happen to him, and expand your search down to the beaches ringing the shore.
You find Sanji after almost 2 hours of searching, your lungs burning from the exertion of wandering so much of the island. He's sitting frozen on a rocky outcropping, his back towards you as he faces the ocean. A thin jacket hangs open on his frame, as if he forgot to zip it up; his fingers are bright red where they press against the damp rock. A bedraggled bouquet of flowers rests beside him, the blooms wilted and bent as if dropped. All in all, it's quite a forlorn picture, and your unease spikes.
"Sanji," you call out; he jolts and turns to stare at you, lips parted in surprise. It's clear that he didn't expect you to come looking for him.
It's also clear that he's been crying. His eyes are red-rimmed, a little swollen, his mouth soft with sadness.
“Sanji? What’s wrong?”
“Ah—” his voice comes out pitchy. Sanji stops and clears his throat. You watch his shoulders tremble slightly. You watch him scramble to face you, leg carelessly sweeping the bouquet beside him; he is heedless of it falling as he hurries to stand.
“I apologize,” he says breathlessly, “for missing our dinner plans.”
“That’s not important right now. Did something happen?” You’re a bit reluctant to point out that he’s been crying—he can be oddly hung up on his own masculinity sometimes and you don’t want to hurt him. “I was worried.”
“I lost track of time while I was thinking.” He laughs awkwardly. The sound is a bit wet, somehow.
“About what?”
“Us.”
Sanji is prone to comments like that, silly little romantic throwaways and little gestures of thoughtfulness, but the word is cold out of his mouth this time. He watches you, his nose and ears steadily reddening, and something in your expression must betray your unease; he looks down quickly and turns away.
“I don’t think we should do this anymore. I’m going to be leaving soon, anyway. Just a few more weeks and it’ll be like I was never here.”
“Huh?” You’re thrown for a loop. It's almost embarrassing to ask, but the words are so unexpected that you can't help yourself. "Are you breaking up with me?"
He flinches and stays silent.
"Sanji." It's not like you to beg, but your pride is taking a backseat to your confusion. "I thought—Did I do something wrong? I'm—"
"No," he says hastily, "of course not. You could never." He takes a moment to collect himself while you stew in bewilderment. "It's just… It's easier if we stop now." He gives you a tremulous smile, trying valiantly to hold himself together. "Before things get too serious."
That's an amusing thought to you, although the situation doesn't really make you feel like laughing. As if he hadn't already saved your life, as if you hadn't spent months in each other's company. You're already close with his family—really, the crew is as much his family as any blood relatives could be—and he's charmed your neighbors. Sanji, for all of his sweet words, doesn't seem to do casual.
"Things are already pretty serious," you say patiently. It's unclear why he's had the sudden change of heart, but he doesn't seem happy with his own decision, so you decide not to accept it. "At least for me."
He gets even more agitated upon hearing that, running a hand through his already somewhat damp and disheveled hair. "You shouldn't be wasting your time on a relationship with someone who's not going to stay. In fact, I shouldn't have wasted your time. This is my fault, so just—"
"Is that what you think? We were wasting our time?"
The words are just an excuse to buy some time as the pieces fall into place for you. Sanji must have overheard your lunch conversation; he's often in the area, especially if he thinks you'll be there, so it wouldn't be surprising.
He curls in on himself a little, like a withering flower. "I can let go," Sanji says, voice hoarse and soft. It would be heartbreaking if it wasn't also so frustrating.
"Nobody is asking you to do that."
“You should .”
"Yeah,” you sigh, “well, I’ve never been that good at following advice."
"This is for your own good."
You scoff at that. "Sure. Whatever. Do you really want to stop seeing me?"
His mouth trembles briefly and then he presses his lips into a thin line.
"Yes."
Something in you had expected him to give in there and admit that he was lying. Your irritation swells.
"Fine," you snap, thunder in your voice. Sanji recoils from the sound. If you could lightning strike some sense into him with your glare, you would. "If that's what you really want, I suppose I won't be seeing you again."
You turn and stomp away. He doesn't follow.
Sanji doesn't come by the next day, or the day after that. It's Nami who opens your door, her expression sympathetic; you wonder if you really look that bad.
She doesn’t ask what happened. You expect that the entire crew knows you got dumped. It’s one of your more humiliating break ups, to be sure.
"Sanji tries, you know?" she says, and of course you do. "He has such a big heart. He's always overdoing it like this, but that's one of his good points."
"Yes," you agree, softly, and think of his face as he watched you eat the sweets he had made for your sake. Your throat burns, just a little. "Yes, it is."
☆☆☆
Nami swings by two days later with a savage expression in her eyes and a bottle of wine in hand; it’s so unlike her to come to you in such a state that you immediately flip the sign on your shop door and offer to go home instead.
“I wish I could knock some sense into Sanji, but no amount of beatings works when he’s like this. He’s just so dumb ,” she sighs as you retrieve wine glasses from your kitchen cupboard. You hum in agreement. Truth be told, you had already cycled through most of your emotions over the past few days, and were left somewhere in the realm of exasperation when you thought about him. “Honestly, we should just give up on men. Zoro and Luffy barely have a brain cell between them, too. It’s only thanks to my intellect that we even made it to the Grand Line!”
“It’s unfortunate,” you agree amiably, “but at least they’re nice to look at?”
“Where?” She scoffs. “Men are nothing special. They don’t put in half the effort that women do. It’s a battle just to make sure Luffy bathes.”
“They’re not all that bad,” you say, and the words slip unbidden from your lips, “I know Sanji ba—”
You stop, the words catching in your throat. The hurt doesn’t come, but the rest of the sentence doesn’t either. Nami looks at you for a moment, a fleeting softness in her eyes, and then pretends she doesn’t notice. You take the lifeline and try to save some face. “I know some of them like baths. C-Chopper’s a doctor. He’s always clean.”
“Chopper doesn’t count,” Nami says. She sips at her wine and then holds her glass up to you in a half-hearted toast. “Let’s forget about them and just drink to our hearts’ content! You can do better anyway.”
You laugh. “Maybe I should date a woman next?”
The look the navigator gives you in response is just scandalous enough to make you forget about your problems for the night. You send her home in the wee hours of the morning and, for the first time in days, fall into a blissfully dreamless sleep.
The door bursts open, startling you, and Luffy stomps into your shop with an embarrassed Usopp in tow. He sticks a finger in your face accusingly.
"Fix my cook," says Luffy.
"Excuse me?"
"Sanji! Fix him!" his face is set into the most exaggerated pout you've ever seen in your life. Usopp looks a little like he wants to die; when you look at him in askance, he simply shrugs.
"He's making SWEETS and not MEAT," Luffy says, and then waits expectantly for you to, presumably, be horrified.
"Okay," you say.
"He should be making meat ," Luffy says. You're clearly missing something here.
"Sanji bakes when he's upset," says Usopp. "A lot more than usual, anyway."
"Fix him!!"
"No."
Luffy looks shocked, then offended. He gears up to yell at you when Usopp slaps a hand over his mouth and says, "You're not going to win this one."
Luffy bites him. Usopp lets go with a curse and Luffy jabs his finger at you again.
"I'll be back if he isn't fixed tomorrow! This isn't over!"
"He can come apologize to me ," you say, "That'll fix things."
Luffy stops. He considers for a moment.
"Why didn't you just say that," he all but hollers. "I'm gonna go make him apologize!" He turns and bolts out of the shop. Usopp covers his face and takes a moment to collect himself.
"Okay," he says, "You know what? This is normal anyway." And then he leaves too.
You’ve just about reached your breaking point when Zoro comes in the following day.
“Right,” he says, looking at you, “come on then.”
“Where?”
“Come hear that idiot cook’s apology.”
It smells like a scheme, and you tell Zoro as much. He looks completely unconcerned by the accusation.
“Of course it’s a scheme. You think that hard-headed dumbass is going to come back here himself? Nami and Usopp planned it all out, so just come with me. Otherwise Luffy will come back and carry you, and trust me , you don’t want that.”
You go with him. You had played it all out in your head over a few late nights. You’ll give him a piece of your mind, you’ll make him beg to get back together, you’ll reject him and move on; any number of scenarios. Honestly, it doesn’t matter which one of them you end up in. This window of opportunity just strikes you with the refusal to let go of this good thing you've worked so hard for—wouldn't it be foolish, after all of this, to let him slip through your fingers like sand? Your castle is made of stronger bricks than that.
You’ll give it one more shot. You can do that much.
Zoro takes you to the Thousand Sunny and leads you directly to the galley, where you can hear muffled voices. Nami is saying something indistinct as you approach, and you hear Sanji’s voice drift through the door, a bit sharper than you’ve ever heard him speak to her.
“I can’t do that,” he says. Both of them fall silent as Zoro opens the door just enough to show his own face.
“Usopp is asking for you,” he lies with a bland face.
“This isn’t over,” Nami says. She slips outside as Zoro holds the door open and lights up as she sees you.
“In fact,” she continues cheerily, shoving you through the door, “it’s only just begun!”
The door shuts and clicks behind you.
“Well,” you say softly, “hello.”
Sanji looks worse than you expected. His hair is greasy and his facial hair is toeing the line between stubble and beard. He looks stunned by your appearance, eyes wide; in the dim lights of the galley in mid-afternoon, they’re the colour of rain clouds. There are deep shadows nesting under his eyes that make you wonder if he’s been sleeping at all.
Sanji pales, then colours blotchily and turns away from you to scrub a hand over his face. “ Fuck, ” he says, with feeling.
“Typically, one responds with a greeting when someone says hello.”
“Shit, sorry,” he blurts. You wait patiently as the cook has what looks like a miniature internal breakdown in front of you before he collects himself and turns back to you, still avoiding your gaze. “Hello. What, uh, what brings you here?”
It occurs to you that nobody has explained to Sanji that he is going to apologize to you.
“You,” you reply mildly. He cycles through happiness, confusion, and misery in a handful of seconds. Your heart squeezes a bit at the sight.
“You shouldn’t have—”
“Alright, I’ve had about enough of that,” you say. There’s no real force behind your words, but Sanji falls silent immediately in the face of your interruption. “I came here for the apology that everyone seems to know you owe me.”
He winces. “I’m sorry for causing you pain,” Sanji says obediently, “that was never my intention.”
“That’s not what you should be apologizing for.” You step towards him. Sanji tenses as you approach, but doesn’t put any more distance between the two of you.
“I’m… sorry for leading you on.”
“Getting colder.” You take a few more steps towards him. He still won’t look at you. “You seem to be having trouble, and I’ve already waited a week, so I’m just going to tell you. Apologize to me for deciding all of this on your own.”
He nibbles at his lips, which you notice are chapped and pale. “A rela—” his voice cracks, and he clears his throat before continuing, “a relationship is only going to hurt when I have to leave.”
“Maybe,” you say. Sanji wilts a little further under the weight of that word. “But I think we’re hurting anyway. At the very least, I want the good part first, so you’re not allowed to break up with me yet.”
Sanji looks up at you, blinking wet lashes, and you offer him your best smile. It’s only a little shaky. You’re not sure you can keep your composure if he rejects you again. “I can take care of myself, you know. Whether it’s carrying boxes or choosing who I want to date. I’m making my own decision, and it’s that I want you. I want you .”
His face twists and then crumples. Sanji nods jerkily, eyes watering, and you feel relief flood your system. Honestly, it’s hard to believe you chose such a crybaby; the thought is coloured with fondness as you reach up to brush the tears from his cheeks.
"I don't want to leave you," Sanji whispers.
“I know.”
“I was lying when I said I could let go.”
“I know.”
He sniffles and then lets out a wet hiccup of a laugh, reaching up to gather your hands in his and then brushing roughly at his face with his sleeve. The tears keep leaking out of him, some great dam torn to shreds in his heart. “I don’t know why you still want this.”
“Silly,” you murmur, “because it’s you. We can figure the rest out.”
Sanji gives you a somewhat doubtful look but doesn’t protest as you lean in to kiss him. He tastes salty, with a hint of peppermint. You kiss him until he retreats and presses his face against your neck, calm enough to become embarrassed by what happened.
You wrap your arms around him; Sanji is stiff, awkward in the way of one unused to physical affection, but he doesn't pull away. You feel his eyelashes flutter against your shoulder, ticklish, as you stroke his hair—and then he embraces you just as tightly.
“I’m sorry for...” he gestures vaguely, “this.”
You reach up to rub gentle circles against his back. “I’ll forgive you if you actually listen to me from now on. Anyway, it’s not like we’ll never see each other again. You’ll write, won’t you?”
“Yes,” he mumbles, “as often as you’d like.”
“Even if I say every day?”
“Even if you say every hour.”
You laugh, finally pulling a smile from him that you can feel more than see. “That’s a bit too much.”
“I would do way more for you,” Sanji says.
His words spark a feeling of love strong enough that you’re not sure how to convey it; but honestly, it seems silly to waste any more time when you have so little of it, so you just tell him.
You take Sanji home for the night. You’re craving a little more privacy and warmth than the ship offers. Sanji is too cold and unsteady from whatever he’s put himself through over the past few days, and you’re worried that he’ll get sick despite his assurances that he’s never once gotten ill in his life. He follows you like an overgrown puppy, obediently allowing you to strip off his coat and order him into the bathroom, where you leave an extra towel and a pair of pajamas. Sanji gives you a hesitant little smile as he closes the door and you occupy yourself with your own bedtime preparations, trying not to think too hard about having him in your bed.
He slides into your sheets some time later, skin warm and flushed from the shower, smelling of lavender and honey. The pajamas are in need of alteration and hang loose on his frame, hips and toes peeking out of either end of his pants, collarbones shadowed in the dim light of your bedroom; and when he catches you looking, Sanji curls a little closer, pleased and pink with a hint of self-consciousness at the attention. His nose brushes against yours fondly, intimately, and the two of you pause to savor each other as his lips meet yours.
He pulls back to breathe, "I love you" against your lips, the air warm and minty on your face before his mouth is seeking yours again, pressing pliantly over and over until your lungs are burning again but this time in such a good way.
“I love you too,” you whisper, and watch the glow of affection light him up from the inside out, a small flame burning his indecision away.
Christmas preparations go more smoothly than ever before.
The tree takes a few hours, what with digging out your decorations from dusty boxes and untangling piles of lights and garlands, but you manage.
Sanji comes over to help, but he lacks the artistic vision you have for your Christmas tree. (When you tell him this, he rolls his eyes playfully and concedes.) Instead he putters around your kitchen for a bit and comes out with hot chocolate and little round cookies dusted with cinnamon. He settles himself on your couch and passes you ornaments, chatting with you about whichever ones catch his eye. Progress is slow, and you endure his light teasing with dignity—decoration placement is crucial, after all, and must not be rushed—until the boxes are finally emptied and he holds your last ornament.
"I got that one when I first opened my shop," you say, gently lifting the object from his grasp; it's a heavy ceramic depiction of a reindeer in a shirt. "My neighbour gave it to me."
"How long ago was that?"
"Two years now. It hasn't been long, but I'm doing pretty well. Maybe this brought me luck."
He hums in agreement and watches you wind the string carefully on the branch, nestling the ornament deep in a cradle of pines so that it doesn't fall.
"That's the last one!"
You turn to smile triumphantly at Sanji and find him right behind you, hands in his pockets, watching you with what can only be described as a completely besotted expression. He smiles back at you, eyes soft, and you feel a flush starting to spread up your throat and across your cheeks.
He notices, if the way his smile widens a touch is anything to go by, but is content to wait and watch you.
"There's only the tree topper left," you say, scooping a small star off the floor and unwrapping it. "Would you do the honors? I can't quite reach, and I don't feel like getting out the ladder."
He takes the star from you with one hand on the decoration and the other pressed over your own, lingering deliberately until you laugh and wiggle free. Sanji reaches up easily to settle the decoration on the tree and then turns back with an impish look on his face.
“I think I deserve a reward for my efforts.”
“Oh really? What kind of reward did you have in mind?”
He pretends to think about it for a second before grinning at you. “You know, I think a kiss from the beautiful woman in front of me just might do it.”
“You’re asking for a pretty high price, good sir,” you reply, “I don’t come cheap.”
Sanji reaches out and pulls you into his arms, nipping at your ear. “Then I suppose I’ll just have to earn it.”
He takes you to the beach in early January. It’s unseasonably sunny and both of you agree to take advantage; you pull a fur-lined cloak close around your neck and dig your toes into the cool sand, tracing meaningless shapes as you watch Sanji wander along the shore. He turns up in a bright red sweater and blue jeans rolled up tight around his calf muscles, which you admire freely while his back is turned. Despite the bright sunlight, the temperatures are still arctic, and a swim is out of the question. The cold doesn’t seem to bother him as much as you expected; Sanji lets the frigid surf wash over his feet and claims it’s just fine even as his feet start to redden.
“You’re going to get frostbite,” you say, winding a thick scarf around his neck. He bends to help you reach and watches you loop the cloth with a heavy-lidded gaze, a contented smile curving his lips. This close, you can smell the tobacco and cologne on him, a blend that can’t make you think of anything other than Sanji.
“I’m pretty strong, you know? They call me Black Leg Sanji.”
“Yeah, black with frostbite ,” you retort, and he laughs as he makes a show of stepping away from the water. “It’s warmer than usual today, but still cold. Why on earth did you want to come here?”
“My old man used to say that women like this kind of thing,” he says. His voice is a little distant and he fishes in his pocket for a cigarette; you don’t begrudge him the smoke, and he turns to make sure the smoke doesn’t blow into your face. “You know. Long walks on the beach and shit. I just thought it would be nice.”
“Did he teach you a lot of romantic techniques?”
“He taught me everything,” Sanji replies. Your question had been light-hearted, but his eyes glaze over with nostalgia. “For better or worse. I miss that old geezer and the rest of the assholes on the Baratie sometimes. They made me into who I am today.”
“For what it’s worth, I think they did a pretty good job,” You nudge him lightly. Sanji smiles and wraps a hand around your shoulders, pulling you close.
“I think they’d like you too.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he says, “because I sure as hell do.”
In the grey morning light, when everything is cold and still outside, he asks you to help him with his tie. You are coaxed out of the warmth of your covers by his delightfully messy hair and low voice, awake but not quite presentable, malleable to your touch.
You're not the only one to have seen him like this, but you are the only one to have seen him like this.
He sways close to you as you fiddle with the fabric around his neck, standing on your toes to minimize contact with the frigid floor. Close enough to be a little bit of a nuisance, were it not for the fact that you love him.
"It's cold," you say with a small laugh, "stop getting in the way. I want to get back in bed."
"Ah, but I like where we are now," Sanji purrs, and presses a kiss to your forehead. His arms envelop you and the chill of the air disappears along with your efforts to straighten his collar. The two of you stand there for a long moment, or perhaps several moments, before he reluctantly loosens his grip.
The shudder than runs up his spine as your fingers brush his lower back is almost enough to make you drag him back to bed, but it's his last week and you want to make the most of it.
“I need to make breakfast before those cretins start saying I starve them,” he says, “but I’ll come back later.”
“I’m holding you to that.”
The words earn you a wide, lingering smile as Sanji disappears outside. You take a moment to imprint it in your memory before shaking off the temptation of returning to sleep. There’s not much time left, after all.
☆☆☆
He comes back just after lunch with a flower arrangement in hand and a cheerful look on his face. “For my darling,” he says, presenting the bouquet with a flourish. “You were on my mind all morning and I simply couldn’t help myself.”
“Sweet talker,” you reply. The flowers are gorgeous and fresh . They’re a luxury in the colder months of the year and must have cost him a pretty penny. “Actually, I have something for you too.”
He looks excited now, eyes sparkling with so much anticipation that you feel almost self-conscious. “I would be happy to receive anything you want to give me.”
You present him with a rectangular box; it’s a little on the larger side, and neatly wrapped in blue paper with a golden bow.
“It’s a going away present, I suppose,” you say. “I was going to wait to give it to you, but I thought maybe earlier would be better in case adjustments needed to be made.
“Can I open it now?”
“Sure.”
He unwraps it carefully, long fingers tugging at the bow and prying at the taped-down edges of the wrapping paper. The lid comes off to reveal a grey overcoat, soft leather gloves, and a deep blue scarf.
“You don’t dress warmly enough, you know,” you say; he’s silent as he unfolds and examines the clothes, and it’s making you a little nervous. “Like coming to the beach in just a sweater. I know you can take care of yourself, but I hope that you’ll actually wear—”
He envelops you in a hug before you can finish, pressing your face gently into his shoulder and cradling your head with a warm palm.
“Sorry,” he says, “just give me a minute. I’m a bit too happy right now and it’s embarrassing.” There’s a faint tremor working its way through his body, and you can feel his heart thudding in his chest.
“So it was a success.”
“Yes,” he replies. You feel him press a kiss into your hair. “Thank you. I’ll wear them often.”
He dons the garments a minute later. The coat fits like a glove, thankfully, and doesn’t need any adjustments. You watch his slouch disappear as his back straightens under your gaze, and think to yourself that you’ve both come a long way.
The log pose settles all too soon, although Luffy is raring to go. The captain of the Straw Hat pirates is practically rabid. He sprints across his ship and stomps his feet, demanding an immediate departure once the sun is up.
You’re sleepy and cold as you approach the docks, stifling a yawn as you observe the beehive of activity happening on deck. Usopp and Chopper are fussing over some boxes as Nami supervises, and you watch Sanji approach her briefly. His gaze shifts towards you a moment later and you can see him light up even from this distance, hurrying off the ship towards you.
“You really came.”
“I couldn’t miss saying goodbye to my boyfriend,” you say just to watch his ears redden a bit.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Sanji says uncertainly. “I mean, I don’t know when exactly, you know how Luffy can be, and I still have to—”
“You’ll call, right?”
“Yes, of course.”
“And you’ll answer my letters.”
“Every one of them. I promise, mademoiselle .”
“Then don’t worry about it. I’ll wait for you.”
His breath hitches. Sanji smiles and leans in to kiss you tenderly. You ignore Zoro gagging loudly in the background.
“I love you,” Sanji says. “Thank you for choosing me. I have to go kill that grass-haired idiot now.”
Luffy snatches him and drags him back onto the ship before you can even reply; the Thousand Sunny makes a hasty departure under its captains orders, the crew waving at you as it does. You wave back until your arm hurts and their faces are no longer visible.
"I love you too," you say into the salty breeze, and hope the words will carry on the wind to him when he misses you terribly, “so make sure to come back someday.”