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1. THEY MEET
Sanji meets Nami because of Zeff.
Actually, Zoro says Sanji meets Nami because of Luffy, since Luffy is their common denominator, but Zoro also probably thinks the sun shines out of Luffy’s ass and he wasn’t there when Zeff kicked him out of the house the Friday night they all went out, so Zoro doesn’t know what he’s talking about. They meet because of Zeff, and when Sanji tells Zeff about the most beautiful girl in the world the next day, divine intervention tells him to cut that shit out.
“She says you’re a pick-me boy,” Usopp says over the phone, three hours after Sanji asked him to ask Nami what she thought of him. “Also she thinks you’re gay.”
“Dude—” Sanji nearly drops his phone as he rushes to take it off speaker. Zeff raises an eyebrow, cutting into another onion. “Is that a bad thing?”
There’s a stretched moment of silence before Usopp speaks.
“Well—I mean—I wouldn’t say it’s particularly great if the girl you’re into assumes you’re not into girls—“
“Not that!” Sanji barks. “What’s a pick-me boy? Is that a bad thing?”
“I don’t know. I can ask.”
“No, don’t,” Sanji says, then immediately backtracks. “Wait, yeah. Ask her.”
“Okay.”
“And tell her that I would also love a pick-me girl,” Sanji waxes. “Tell her I would love any girl. Make sure you stress that I love girls. No, wait, that I love one girl. Her.”
“I’m… not telling her that.”
“And don’t tell her about that one time in Marbella. It doesn’t count.”
“What? When we went with Luffy and Zoro?” Usopp asks, and sometimes he’s pretty good at lying, so he sounds convincing. “Did something happen in Marbella?”
“Atta boy,” Sanji says, and hangs up, and continues telling Zeff about how the most beautiful girl in the world could have seriously just implied to a mutual friend that she’s going to pick him. He might as well look for expensive wedding venues while he waits.
2. THEY CLARIFY
It’s one day later while Sanji’s aimlessly rearranging the cups at work for the fifth time, as the only two customers are already drinking their coffees and are also men therefore uninteresting, when Usopp calls him again.
At first, he thinks it may be Nami, and hits his head on the edge of the counter in his rush to pick up. His eyes end up crossing in a way that kind of makes the caller ID look like her name. If he really crosses them. If he crosses them so hard that the text goes super blurry and illegible. It looks like it says Nami, then. Sure.
“Mellorine,” Sanji whimpers into the phone, rubbing his crown and blinking back the tears collecting in his eyes. One of the customers is looking at him funny and it’s embarrassing. Sanji turns away so he can let one stroll down his cheek.
“All okay? Is this a bad time?” Usopp says. “I spoke to Nami.”
Sanji sucks the tear back into his eye, his brain recovers, and he hunches over his phone urgently. ”What’d she say!” He could feel his heart in his throat, and Nami in his head – but that much is customary. He’s been thinking of her for as long as he’s known her.
(Three days.)
“It took a little convincing, but she doesn’t think you’re only into guys anymore!” Usopp says, triumphantly.
“Good, Usopp!” Sanji cheers, delighted, until he fully processes the information. “Eh, only?”
Usopp skirts like the professional he is. “I still don’t get what a pick-me boy is, though.”
“You probably didn’t listen to her properly,” Sanji says. “She’s very eloquent. She’s really, really well spoken, actually.”
“Right,” Usopp says, and proceeds to explain to the best of his abilities what a pick-me boy is. Apparently, he repeats the description verbatim, so calling Usopp an idiot would effectively be calling Nami an idiot. Sanji would rather die.
“That makes sense,” Sanji says instead, even though he’s lowered the volume of his phone so he can put it on speaker and Google a more sensical definition.
“Does it, though?” Usopp asks, doubtful. “It’s not really a definition if you have to use the word you’re defining to define it.”
“Not to you maybe, but I can read between the lines Nami-san is drawing.” Sanji grins contentedly once the page he clicks loads, a precise definition showing up. “She’s trying to say I’m—hah?! Manipulative?!”
No sooner does the phone slip out of his fingers than Sanji falls to his knees and drops his forehead on the ground, defeated. Prepared to repent for such vicious crimes done unknowingly. He has never recalled himself to deceive a woman, let alone one that he’s in love with. One that he’s officially picked a wedding venue for. He already knows what colour tie he’ll wear; mauve looks excellent next to Nami’s orange hair, they’d be perfect against the beachy sunset hue of the background.
“Oh, that sucks,” Usopp says from the floor, where Sanji’s phone lays flat. “Hey, man, for what it’s worth, I don’t think you could ever manipulate a girl. When all is said and done, I can tell you really like Nami, and in your heart you’re a good guy, you know. Listen, it’ll be fine, I’m sure she just needs to—“
“Sanji-san?”
“Gotta go.” Sanji ends the call and jumps to his feet, leaning towards the register with feline-like flexibility, moulding his body onto the edges of the divider. “Your usual, Robin-chwan? Or a snack, perhaps? I made it special for you, spent all night on it – see the heart in the centre? With the raspberry jam? It represents my chest lighting ablaze whenever I have the honour of serving such an exquisite lady such as yourself…”
3. THEY SET IT UP
They keep discussing it. Usopp’s the only bearable guy in the house.
“Wait,” Sanji stops him mid sentence, because some things really are more important than women. For one: Sanji’s sanity, ideally kept sane so he can keep thinking about Nami without distractions. “Why is he here.”
Zoro doesn’t look up from his DS. “Luffy invited me.”
“This is my house,” Sanji says. “I’m the host.”
“Luffy invited me.”
“This is my house?” Sanji says to Luffy this time, but Luffy’s too busy groaning while trying to pick a popcorn kernel from between his molars so he doesn’t respond in the face of indictment. “Fine, whatever, he can stay. Usopp, conti—why are you here.”
Trafalgar Law blinks a few times in rapid succession and his shoulders shrink as his cheeks bloom with a rosy pink colour. This is the second time Sanji has ever met him, and he blends into the patterned throw pillows. God knows what a college student has to do in Sanji’s house on a Friday night.
“Luffy…” Law trails off, pointing weakly.
“Oh for god’s sake,” Sanji grabs one of the pillows behind Law and smacks Luffy’s head with it, the latter’s hand flying out of his mouth. “Luffy, damn it! Who else did you invite to my house!”
“No one!” Luffy whines, his saliva-covered finger crawling over the couch and into his mouth again. “Choppa’… Coby… Chicke’-head…”
Who the fuck is Chicken-head! Sanji wants to scream, shake Luffy by the shoulders until whatever is remaining of his brain falls out of those two huge nostrils he loves to pick so much. Who the fuck is Coby! Doesn’t Chopper have an eight PM curfew?
“Usopp, just—“ Sanji collapses back onto the couch and sighs. “Just. Continue.”
“Basically, she said—oh, urgh—“ Usopp hands Sanji his phone, a chat screen open. “There, read it.”
NAMI
Did u finish my history hw
Just bs it the prompt is easy anyway
Sanji’s a great guy btw
But ur so good at bsinnnnbgggggfuhhhhhhd
Will Sanji do my history hw without telling me how easy the prompt is
Probs
K
Send him my #
K
4. THEY INITIATE
NAMI ❤️❤️❤️💕💕💕💕❤️😻😻😻🥰🥰😍😍😘😘
I’m ready to be at your service, Nami-san!
This is Sanji, we met last weekend!!! <3
Please reach out whenever you may need help <3 <3 <3
I’m honoured that can trust me in me!
You can trust me*
Ooos
Oops*
Sorry, I was writing ‘that you have faith in me’ and then decided to write ‘can trust me’ instead but forgot to proofread my own message ahhahaha
I will, of course, proofread your essays with much more discretion.
Let me know if you need any help, Nami-san! <3
Yh
[HISTNAPOLEONI_040815.pdf]
Help
5. THEY “TALK”
“What am I looking at.”
Sanji flips his phone back to himself to make sure the screen is still open. It clearly is. Zoro is just an idiot. The sky is blue.
“Nami-san and I have been texting,” Sanji says, shoving the phone into Zoro’s face again. “I’ve been helping her with her homework, so we’re talking.”
Zoro leans back a bit and squints at the screen, his eyes skimming through the messages before meeting Sanji’s again, unimpressed.
“For free?”
“Obviously,” Sanji scoffs and pulls his phone back. He can’t help but smile again when he glances at Nami's last message. Thanksss, with a small double-heart emoji floating next to it. She’s so cute. Everything she does is so cute, Sanji might just explode. “Would you charge an Angel to get you through the gates of heaven?”
There’s a curious expression that casts over Zoro’s face as he looks up at the ceiling and attempts to process the analogy, giving up after a mere few seconds to lean back in his chair and snort.
“She’s using you,” Zoro says in a know-it-all tone, yet his eyes are glued to his DS again, gravely uncaring.
“So what?” Sanji huffs. “It’s an honour. There’s no one else I’d rather be useful to. Besides, she’s not just using me. We talk.”
“Ok.”
“We talk! We talk about all kinds of things! We—look, I’ll show—Eh!? No! Damn you! I don’t owe you an explanation! I don’t owe you anything! I don’t have to prove myself to you, and I certainly don’t have to prove Nami-san’s intentions with me either, regardless of what they are! Sorry you’re so undesirable that you can’t fathom a world where anyone’s interested in whatever you have to talk about. Whatever the hell it is. Fuckin’—what, iaido, wow, so interesting, a sport no one knows about. Dick. Go… draw a sword or someth—will you mute your stupid game!? I’m trying to tell you something!”
“Do you have snacks?” Zoro asks casually, flipping his DS shut and throwing it on the couch as he stands up with a stretch. “Is Zeff gonna yell at me if I ask for lunch?”
“Are you listening to me?!”
“No.” To say Zoro confesses would imply some shred of guilt. He heads toward the kitchen, scratching his stomach. “Wanna make me lunch?”
“Stop thinking with your stomach for one fucking second,” Sanji snarks, following after him. “Even if she’s using me, we still talk.”
“Didn’t she call you a pick-me boy?”
Dear lord. “Who told you that?”
“Forgot. Usopp, probably,” Zoro smacks his lips after shutting the utensil drawer shut. “I’m sure she’ll pick you if you make lunch, though.”
“Enough of that!” Sanji whips shut the next drawer Zoro tries to pull out. “I want to ask her out!”
Zoro’s filtering through their cupboards instead. “So do it.”
“I don’t know how to.”
“Just ask her out,” Zoro says uselessly, grabbing a chocolate bar, reading the label, then putting it back with a grimace. “As if you have much care for your dignity when it comes to these things.”
“No, it’s—“ Sanji shakes his head and pulls out one of the dining chairs to slump on. “I really like her and I don’t want to mess this up. If I fuck it up and we stop talking because of it, I’ll be devastated. You wouldn’t get it. She’s charming, she’s cute, she’s funny… She’s my dream girl, and I knew that at first but I’m more certain of it now than I’ve ever been before. It’s different, I want this to work out.”
Some part of this seems to mellow Zoro’s indifference out a little. He turns his head to look at Sanji with a softened expression – as softened as it can get for Zoro, anyway – and frowns, dropping his hand from the cabinet handle.
It’s not easy getting along with Zoro, but their friendship is effortless, and it always has been. Sanji frowns back, but he knows his eyes reflect hope for whatever advice Zoro has to offer, even if they’re both mostly inept when it comes to experience in the dating field.
“Curly,” Zoro starts, glancing at the cabinet then back at Sanji. “Did you guys stop buying those raisin granolas?”
There’s a lesson to be learned here, really. If Usopp is busy, under no circumstance should Sanji bother seeking consolation from someone else ever again.
6. THEY… TALK?
It happens unexpectedly. Not in a million, billion, trillion lifetimes would Sanji have ever predicted that the first phone call made between them would have been incoming from Nami’s end. But it is, and Sanji has approximately a solid thirty seconds before he’ll be called back onto the field from his water break, so he should just let it ring and call back at a more suitable time.
He should, of course, but Sanji can’t recall the first or last time he has ever acted rationally on decisions pertaining to women, so he picks up, breathless.
“N—Nami,” he stammers, and clears his throat of phlegm, which produces a disgusting noise he will apologise for later. “San! Nami-san!”
“Ah,” Nami’s voice crackles in, and Sanji’s chest soars. He feels his muscles loosen a little. “Sanji-kun! How are you?”
“How are you?” Sanji answers. His heart beats faster now than at any point in the past hour’s worth of playing football.
“I’m good, thanks! Listen, I wanted to ask you something.”
Oh. Oh God. His vision is blurring. He might have to take a seat. Or lay on the ground. Or pass out while standing, or—
“Oi! Black Leg!” The coach calls out, looking furious. “Get off the phone! Now!”
“Oh, bad time?” Nami asks.
“No!” Sanji shouts, his face wrinkling harshly as soon as he does. “Ah! Er, no, Nami-san, now’s a great time. Your timing is perfect, actually. How did you do that?” The laugh falls out awkwardly from his lips.
Nami pauses. “Do what?”
“Black Leg!” The coach calls louder, sharper.
“Find the perfect time to call me!” Sanji laughs again, his entire head whipping around violently from the bench to the field as he considers how feasible it is to have this conversation while sprinting and kicking.
“Are you being sarcastic?”
Sanji’s mind slips, and he struggles to pick up on her tone, watching as his coach begins storming over to him.
“Never, Nami-san. Not with you,” he says, beginning to waddle away from the benches, away from the game. From his coach. “What was it that you wanted to ask me?”
“Wait, if you’re busy just let me know, because I’ll be asking about dates—“ Dates! Dates?! Dates!!! “And I’ll need you to check your schedule.”
There is no schedule if Nami is involved. He would move his own death forward if she asked him to be free that day.
“I’m not busy! Really, I’m not! I know my schedule like the back of my hand, you can ask.”
“Black Leg Sanji! Get back here!”
Sanji picks up his pace.
“Oh, alright,” Nami says sweetly. “Would you be free this weekend? Sunday afternoon? I have a test on monday for the stuff you’ve been helping me with and I’d appreciate a final rundown of it all.”
“Yes! I’m absolutely available!” Sanji just about cheers into the phone. His head whips over his shoulder to see his coach gaining on him, so he breaks out into an appropriate run, the man shrinking smaller and smaller behind him. “Whenever you want, Nami-san! You’re going to get a two-hundred percent on this test, watch!”
“I’m going to let your father know about this, boy! We are in the middle of a damn game!”
“Oh, Sanji-kun, I really appreciate it! Thank you, thank you!” Nami chirps.
He can start to feel his body melting away with her words, his eyes fluttering shut and his legs stuttering under his suddenly realised weight as he pushes through with each quick stride.
“Mellorine,” Sanji sniffles quietly, his mouth quirking up into a wobbly smile. “Anything for you. Nothing in this world would make me happier than being able to lend you a hand with whatever you may need it for—“
It’s not too soon after Sanji eats dirt, tripping and rolling violently in the mud with the momentum of his prior speed as he feels something in his arm make an alarming pop! sound, that his coach catches up to him, yanking him up by the collar of his shirt and yelling deserved profanities right into his ear.
Sanji doesn’t care. His mind is far too busy. He heard his phone reach the concrete a mere few metres away and shatter on impact, ceasing Nami’s voice instantly.
Imagination isn’t a powerful enough tool to try and predict how Nami would have responded. How her voice might have perhaps done a little sing-song tone as she said goodbye. Maybe, she would have even said something like thanks again, Sanji-kun. By the way, I really hope you ask me out soon, because I’m super into you and I want to spend the rest of my life kissing you and eating your food and hanging out with you and having you hold my stuff for me when I ask you to, forever and always! Kiss kiss, love ya! Talk soon!
Sanji can dream. It’s the only thing distracting him from the debilitating jolts of pain shooting up his arm. Preferable to the even worse pain of remembering he never got to fit in his apology for the phlegm.
7. NO, SERIOUSLY, THEY TALK THIS TIME.
It’s a miracle Sanji’s allowed to have any guests, still, because Luffy was turned away and he’s been stopping by unannounced for as long as Sanji has known him. Zeff’s particularly strict these days. Even Usopp – who cleans up after himself – tells him Zeff is too scary. Is Sanji not worth the fight? He asks Usopp that, and Usopp leaves him on read since he’s a coward and also correct in his intuition. There was little bite on Sanji’s end when Zeff picked him up from the hospital and immediately grounded him for two weeks. Despite his arm cast. Despite his practised pout. No such thing as pitifully cute at eighteen, it seems.
Just pitiful.
“Is it Zoro? Send him away,” Sanji throws his left hand over his eyes, shrivelling back into his pillows. “I’m on the phone.” With Usopp, who is currently being told off for being a coward and also correct in his intuition as well as being informed on the long superfluous details of why having a broken arm sucks. And also, why did you leave me on read? My arm is broken.
“It’s not Zoro,” Zeff grumbles. “She says she’s a friend. Sit up straight.”
Sanji hangs up and throws his phone aside.
“She?”
Zeff doesn’t elaborate and retreats his head from the gap of Sanji’s bedroom door, only to be replaced swiftly by a face much smaller. Kinder. More strawberry pink, in an innocent way, not Zeff’s old, sweaty, working man way.
“Sanji-kun,” Nami walks in, a basket in her hands, and rounds the bed to set it on the bedside table closest to Sanji. “I would ask how you’re doing, but…”
Sanji somehow, despite laying in a bed, nearly trips over himself while throwing the covers off of him, trying to decide between sitting up straight and standing completely. He chooses to stand, and his height over Nami becomes apparent. The mirror behind her lets Sanji know it’s a stupid difference, and how dishevelled he looks supersedes any type of attraction that could have been derived from the three inches he has on her. With an attempt to fix his hair, the edge of his hard cast bumps into his forehead and the vertigo sends him right back down.
“Nami-san!” Sanji says, trying his best to sound cheerful. And he is. He’s so cheerful. He’s literally never been this cheerful in his life. His head really hurts. Shuffling up on the mattress, Sanji gestures vaguely around the room. “Please, sit wherever! I’m really sorry for the, ah, state, you’ve caught me in. Had I known you were coming, I would have made this place much more presentable. Oh, well, my room is always tidy, it’s just—”
“You’re fine. This is way cleaner than my room. I can be a real slob sometimes,” Nami says and sits on the bed beside Sanji. “Usopp told me about your arm, I made you cookies.”
Sanji’s eyes whip directly towards the basket and reach out with his good hand to pull it into his lap. About a dozen round cookies stacked neatly in a line. If she weren’t in the room right now, Sanji would be calling everyone in his contacts to cry. In front of Zeff, too, just so no one can evade the fact that Nami, objectively the coolest and prettiest girl in the world, made Sanji cookies. Handmade. By her. Just for him.
“I mean – I bought the dough frozen, but I put them in the oven and took them out at the right time.”
Which would imply Nami went out of her way to do something she doesn’t often do, just for Sanji. “You’re too kind,” he mumbles. Too perfect, too everything. Sanji struggles to meet her eye.
“Hold on, now.” Nami grins and points a neatly manicured finger inside the basket. “The cookies are for helping with my assignments, but you still owe me.”
Unperturbed, Sanji looks up at her with a delighted expression. More of an excuse to spend time around Nami if he owes her, sounds like an unequivocal win to him.
“Happily,” Sanji says. “What do I owe you for?”
Nami sighs, leaning back on her hands. “I took the test today. Went okay. Could’ve gone better, probably, if I had someone who knew what they were doing to help me study for it.”
To this, Sanji shrinks, wanting to hide his face behind the basket. He resorts to frowning instead.
“Nami-san, please accept my sincerest apologies, I should have been there—“
“You should have!” Nami agrees enthusiastically, punching the base of her fist into her palm. “But you weren’t, so now you owe me to be there next time.”
“Happily,” Sanji repeats, feeling his head might fall off from how frantically he’s nodding. “Yes, I’ll be there next time. Whenever you need me.”
Nami smiles, and it’s a radiating thing. “Whenever I want you to be there,” she corrects, to which Sanji’s heart jumps and feeezes all his movement, hitches his breath. “Being there when I need you is a given.”
“Okay,” Sanji exhales. “Okay, yes, whenever you want me.”
8. THEY PLAN
“Don’t send it!”
Usopp is startled for half a millisecond until he realises Sanji’s on the verge of being on the verge of tears, it’s that important to him. Rolling his eyes, he takes the phone out of Sanji’s hand and reads the message.
“Are you drafting on the app?” Which sounds a lot like he’s really asking ‘are you a sociopath’ and ‘have you ever owned a phone before’ and you know what, Sanji’s tired of being judged by virgins.
He claw-machines his phone back, indignant. “Is it good or not?!”
“You didn’t let me see!”
“Read faster then!”
The message was simple. Straightforward, but kind. Nami-san, I hope you’re having a lovely day <333 I’ve been thinking at length about what you told me the other day, in my room <3 Your fruit-scented perfume still lingers when I walk through the door, it’s such an incredible smell. It reminds me of your hair, with this citrusy, tangerine sort of appeal to it <3 I wanted to ask you, once all is said and done with your upcoming test, would you be willing to do me the honours of letting me take you out on a date? I’ll take you to wherever you want to go, we can do whatever you want – my dad recently topped up my allowance for the month so the world is your oyster. Granted, I think he felt bad I broke my arm so this additional allowance might be a one time thing in case we date in the future—
“Dude, this is insane,” Usopp stares right into Sanji’s soul, not a shred of jest in his tone. “Like, straight-jacket shit. For the sake of our friendship I genuinely cannot read the rest of this.”
“What would you have me write, then?” Sanji snaps, as desperate as he is irritated.
“First, delete…” Usopp gestures vaguely at the air. “All of it, actually.”
Sanji takes his phone back and does as he’s told, frowning.
“Alright, now write hey Nami, are you busy this weekend?”
Sanji does as he’s told, and takes the creative liberty of adding a heart afterwards. “That’s it?”
Zoro decides then that he’s suddenly proficient on the matter.
“Just tell her you want to take her out on a date.”
“And if she says no?” Sanji asks.
“Then you’re not going on a date.”
“You’re useless,” Sanji drops his gaze instantly back to his phone and deletes the message again. “I’m rewriting this.”
Ten minutes after he’s done drafting and staring lengthily at the new message, Sanji feels his shoulders weigh his whole body down. There’s no point – all of these texts are woeful. His world as he knows it is crumbling. He can feel a very justified and valid panic attack incoming as his thumb hovers over the send button. The same depressing scene replays in his head until all he can do is cover his face and groan into his palms. Wedding cancelled, everyone go home, the groom’s bride never existed. There’s only one option left.
“Kill yourself?”
“Jesus, Zoro,” Usopp says, the same time Sanji throws himself back to sprawl on the floor and wail at the ceiling.
“No, what? I’m asking,” Zoro’s immediately on the aggressive defensive. Yeah right. “I’m not saying he should, I’m asking. What, he says it a million times and it’s okay, but the one time I repeat it suddenly I’m the—”
“Sanji, just show us the new text,” Usopp circles back.
They set the phone up on the floor to make sure no one touches it, and also because Luffy’s fingers are still sticky from refusing to wash his hands after begging to eat dinner with them today, under the condition that he wash them later. Dadan appointed Sanji to make sure Luffy saw to it but even Sanji has to concede that some things are impossible.
Besides, it’s Luffy’s carpet that’s getting dirty.
“Dude, the carpet’s gross, go wash your hands.” Ace walks in and chucks his gym bag on the ground, then asks what everyone’s looking at, so Usopp tells him, and now there are five heads bumping against each other, staring at the message.
Ace disapproves with a wince. Which hurts extra because he’s the first non-virgin to enter this room. Told them the story when they were thirteen and he was fifteen. The girl was apparently a seventeen year old junior from a different highschool and had big boobs and a beauty mark on her stomach and Ace wasn’t even dating her. It’s not worth getting jealous over because, well, yeah, if only everyone could look like Ace, then no one would even need to fulfil formalities like asking people out on dates. The whole world would just be one big orgy, probably.
“Can I try something?”
“Just say it.” Sanji blocks Ace’s hand, covering the phone. “I’ll type it in.”
“Write dinner on Saturday, pick you up at 6. No wallet, just bring that pretty smile of yours. Happy face emoji. No. Winky face emoji,” Ace pinches his chin between his fingers, staring intently at the screen, then clicks brightly. “Happy pout with the cute eyes emoji. You know the one I’m talking about?”
Lord above.
“No, Ace, I don’t,” Sanji is losing his patience. “I actually have no idea what you’re talking about. Not all of us look like you, okay? Not all of us can say shit like that and use weird emojis to get what we want.”
Usopp pitches in. “Yeah, man, I don’t really know if that works for people without, like, abs.” Preach. Abs and whatever else you get from winning the genetic lottery. You can ask Ace and find out if he doesn’t happy pout with cute eyes face at you first.
“Wouldn’t work for Zoro, he has abs,” Luffy says as if it will distract from the fact that he has resigned to using his shorts as a napkin, now.
“Like you even know what we’re talking about!” Zoro snaps hotly.
Enter, Sabo. And then there were six. “What are we talking about?” Movie like-timing to match the movie-like accent. “Oh, what happened to your arm, Sanji?” Movie-like manners to boot, he’s the first one to ask about it out of his own volition.
“We’re flirting with Sanji’s girl,” Ace supplies unhelpfully.
“Sanji has a girl?” Sabo’s eyebrows fly to his hairline.
No! That’s the issue! “She’s not my girl,” Sanji tells him. “And we are not flirting with her.”
“A crush?” Interest piqued, Sabo leans over to glance at the phone on the ground. “You’re asking her out?”
Yes, exactly. Sabo gets it, and Sanji understands now. Ace was the wrong person to expect valuable advice from, he may know how to get someone in bed but has no discography of telling people I love you, I think we should be together; don’t worry, babe, I’m just sneaking out because I didn’t want to wake you, I was just about to bring you breakfast.
Sabo, on the other hand, has been loyal to one girl since middle school, and seven years later, he still comments on her social media posts with more than just a row of hearts. Movie-like romance. They attend the same university and even match their dates to leave for the holidays at the same time. Sabo might just be the main character, after all.
“I think you’re being too wordy,” Sabo dismisses coolly before collapsing on Luffy’s bed and shuffling up until his back settles against the wall. Sanji suddenly feels a wash of relief that he didn’t see the first draft of the message. “You don’t need all that. Just ask her to be your girlfriend. Not on text, either. Face to face.”
“That’s—that’s way too fast!” Sanji shakes his head like a wet dog. “We haven’t even gone on a date yet! There’s no way she’ll say yes!”
“Yeah, Sabo!” Usopp proves consistent with his allegiance to Sanji, and if Sanji didn’t know him so well, he might have been less suspicious about it. Rightfully. “Didn’t you know? It goes wedding planning first, and then asking them out—”
“What’s the issue?” Sabo interjects before Sanji can defend himself. “You know you can just go on dates after she’s your girlfriend, right?”
It’s hopeless. Sanji’s actually going to die alone, and Ace knows it too. He looks at Sanji and sighs; sad pout with the pitiful eyes face.
“Oops.”
The bell of everyone’s Pavlovian response goes off and they all look to Luffy with wide, panicked eyes. In his dried-saliva covered hands, Sanji’s phone, and the hammer to nail the coffin of Sanji's idyllics. Carved in stone, Sanji’s future: a single recluse dead at age eighteen and a half of a broken heart.
Bona fide irreparable.
9. THEY SET A TIME
Law’s car is a piece of shit, but it’s also a piece of shit that appeared in Sanji’s driveway at 5:30 on a Friday afternoon on late notice to take him to the grocery store, so Sanji’s not going to tell him it’s a piece of shit.
“Have you… considered getting it fixed?”
“This is it fixed,” Law grinds his teeth, refusing to glance at Sanji through the car-door shaped hole in the side of the shotgun seat. “Not my damn fault the repairman is a jackass. What time do you have to be at hers?”
“At seven,” Sanji says, sliding into the back seats. His free hand shoots out instinctively to pull at the seatbelt, but his tug proves too much to handle and the strap snaps off.
Law’s car is not a piece of shit, Sanji is just really strong, and the rest of the ride is silent.
10. THEY MEET
Nami drops her fork, and Sanji’s heart stops.
And it was going so well, it was going so well, too. He made all the right jokes, complimented all the right – well, everything, and even managed to guess what her favourite dish might be based off of the few times she apologized for snacking during calls when her crunching would get too loud to hear what Sanji just said.
It was all going well, and now it’s ruined.
She hates it. She hates the dish. She hates Sanji. She hates that Sanji cooked this meal. His hand reaches for his phone; he has Usopp on speed dial for emergencies, and now more than ever he needs to climb onto the back of his bike and sob into his friend’s back as they drive the bumpy road back to Usopp’s house.
Nami hates Sanji’s food. His food! Zoro says that it’s one of his only two redeeming qualities! And the other quality isn’t even something Sanji can help, so it doesn’t really count.
(His ability to pick out good jeans for specific men simply by glancing at the fit, unworn. No one has any use for it except for Zoro. And Zeff.)
“Sanji,” Nami says, bending down to pick up the fork. Her hand covers her mouth, but the expression is clear in her eyes as they widen. “I mean, I knew you liked cooking, but…”
It’s terrible! It’s terrible!
“This is amazing. You made this with a broken arm?”
It’s amazing! It’s amazing!
“You like it?” Sanji chirps, and he smiles so wide his cheeks hurt.
“Like it? It’s—what the fuck,” Nami dips her fork in – unwashed from having fell on the floor, but Nami is so cute that Sanji can only find it to be a practical decision – and takes another bite of the duck. “What the fuck.”
“In a good way?”
“No, in a terrible way.” She takes another bite. “Dude, what the fuck. This is French?”
Sanji nods. “Canard à l’orange. Literally translates to duck with orange.”
“Shit,” Nami tuts. “I’ll be damned. I think I like the French now.”
“Hourra!”
There’s a coy look that casts over Nami’s face, not quite as confident as it usually is. Her cheeks tinge pink when her eyes meet Sanji’s and linger. And then, sweeter than anything Sanji’s ever had, a small smile spreads across her lips, stained lightly with the sauce from the dish.
“My mom grows tangerines on our balcony,” she starts, setting the fork down for a moment. Her fingers stay on the handle. “Do you think you could make it with those, if I gave you a few? I think she’d really like this.”
Words fail to come out of Sanji. He just gapes at her, blinking.
“I mean, I’m not a cook so I don’t know what’s possible and what’s not, you know?” She laughs, waving her hand flippantly, and her cheeks deepen even further with colour. “I’m not going to argue with, like, the chemistry of the kitchen, so I’ll just take your word for it.”
“I could definitely do that,” Sanji croaks out. Finally. Starts nodding frantically to compensate for the few seconds he was broken. “Tangerines, oranges. With anything. Canard à la mandarine. Totally possible.”
Nami brightens. “Great!” She goes for another bite, and covers her mouth as soon as she starts chewing, raising her fork as if she just recalled something. “Hourra!” And back to chewing.
Oh God.
Sanji holds his hand up to his chest, feeling his heart hammering against his ribcage. Oh God.
“I really like you, Nami.”
Nami is unphased by the news, but she grins anyway.
“Good! We’ll get along great, then.”
“I think so as well.”
Nami points her fork at the dish. “Have you had any?”
“In parts, just to make sure they taste how they’re supposed to.”
“You should try some,” Nami set the fork down and propped her chin up on her fist, expectant. “It’s rude to make a lady eat alone. You’ll make me seem greedy.”
Oh, right. Obviously. Nami is so smart. Sanji mulls over this fact when he nods and glances at the kitchen cupboards, leaning out of his chair beside Nami to retrieve a fork of his own.
But he doesn’t get to. Doesn’t need to, rather. The familiar flavour of the orange sauce is suddenly on his lips, and a firm but small hand clamped at his jaw, making sure he tastes it.
And Nami, as always, is right. It tastes really, really good.
To quote her testimonials, in fact: what the fuck.
She pulls back, barely even two inches; Sanji can still feel her breath against his tingling mouth when she speaks.
“So? How’s it taste?”
“Really good,” Sanji inhales sharply. “Really good.”
“Show-off,” Nami laughs before closing the gap between them again.
The kiss is not as firm, now that both of them know to expect it, but there’s something far more intense about how gentle it is. It’s almost overwhelming enough for Sanji to admit that he needs a moment to wrap his head around this – he had imagined this exact moment in a million and one ways, and in none had he ever expected it to be like this. So good. So real.
But, frankly, he would rather shoot both of his feet and break his other arm than stop kissing Nami, so his performance anxiety can wait until after the show. He has a very important lady to attend to, and she’s not getting nearly as much attention as she deserves.
Sanji brings his hand up to cup her jaw and pulls her closer, allowing more movement in the kiss as Nami lets out a delighted sigh at Sanji’s sudden initiative and parts her lips open, waiting for Sanji’s curious tongue.
Some may question the wisdom of dipping your tongue into the mouth of someone who was eating no less than, at best, a few seconds ago. But Sanji would question the wisdom of anybody who wouldn’t turn the world inside out for Nami. So he does it, peeks his tongue out to touch hers and then concedes the extent of his leading capabilities there. Nami throws her arms over his shoulders and wraps around his neck, and they make out until Nami decides she’s hungry again.
“You know, you’re not a bad kisser, Sanji,” she says all too casually.
“I can get better.” Sanji doesn’t even realise the implication until it’s already out of his mouth.
“Hah, flirt,” Nami taps his foot under the table with her bare one. “Get better with me, then.”
Sanji can feel his face heat up, and he didn’t know it was physically possible to cook on human skin, but he could certainly test that theory in his current state.
“I haven’t had—I’ve not done this much. Sorry.”
“Pick me!” Nami sings in a teasing tone, huffing at her own joke. Her attention is so focused on the food in front of her, she misses the way Sanji’s eyebrows rise to his hairline.
For the better. It lets him question it, inconspicuously.
He huffs a laugh of his own, a little forced. “What’s that?”
“Like a guy who’s kinda cringey,” Nami shrugs. “But I picked you, so it doesn’t matter.”
“Ah!”
Sanji is certainly due for a lengthy apology from Usopp, stressing him out like that! And over nothing, no less. Nami doesn’t even know what that means, damn it.
Then again, Usopp is the reason for the domino effect that allowed for Sanji to see Nami today. To be told that Nami picked him. Wait, hold on. Nami picked him—
Nami interrupts Sanji’s thoughts completely, raising her fork to the ceiling and loudly announcing her own contemplation.
“Now I have a question.”
“Then I will find an answer.”
Nami squints at him. “Are you into guys at all?”
“Whaa—haaa ha ha— me? Into—bwuh. Me. I’m not—“
“It’s fine if you are,” Nami tells him openly. “I was just curious.”
Sanji swallows the ball in his throat, staring at the honeypot of her big brown eyes. A mistake, he knows, but being honest with her never would be.
“Well,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “There was this one time, when I went to Marbella…”