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Koby’s first birthday at Baratie passes without fanfare, mostly because he doesn't tell anyone when it is. It's not until a few weeks later than Sanji, making notes on the calendar for the upcoming month, glances over at Koby.
“When’s your birthday?” he asks. Koby, humming softly to himself as he folds napkins, looks up with a confused blink.
“Sorry?”
“Your birthday,” Sanji repeats. “We've got everyone else’s written down; I’ll add yours to the calendar so we can celebrate when it comes up.”
“You don't have to celebrate my birthday,” Koby protests. “I already had it this year, anyways.”
“We're absolutely celebrating it,” Sanji says firmly. “We'll have a party next year. When was it?”
“May 13th,” Koby says, like he's embarrassed to admit it. Sanji goes to mark it down, then frowns.
“Koby, you've been here since April,” he says, and Koby nods. “And you didn't tell anyone that it was your birthday?”
Koby shrugs. “I never celebrate it. I didn't think it was a big deal.”
“All birthdays are big deals,” Sanji says. He can't believe this. It's the same way he felt when he found out Koby had never had chocolate. And he sounds so casual about it, like it's perfectly normal that he doesn't take advantage of a day that everyone is required to be nice to him and give him cake and presents. “How– oh my god, how old are you?”
“Sixteen,” Koby says. “Are you–”
“Sixteen!” Sanji repeats, voice strangled. “You had your sweet sixteen and we missed it. Koby! You have to tell us these things!”
“I'm sorry,” Koby says. He looks more confused than upset, but Sanji forces himself to calm down anyways. Koby doesn't do well with raised voices. “I didn't know you would want to know.”
“Of course I want to know,” Sanji huffs, turning back to the calendar and marking down when they're expecting different deliveries. “Birthdays are–” He pauses, then glances back at Koby before he marks it down. “Is there a reason you don't celebrate? Or you just haven't before?”
“No reasons,” Koby says. “Just, you know. Alvida didn't really care.”
Sanji nods. “Right. Well, next year, we're gonna throw you the party of the century to celebrate.”
Koby laughs like he thinks Sanji’s joking. Sanji doesn't correct him, because if Koby doesn't take him seriously, it'll make the surprise party next year that much more of a surprise.
The surprise party this year will already be a surprise, considering he's going to be throwing it two months late. That's what he explains to Zeff, anyways, when he asks if he can shut the restaurant down early in a few weeks to throw Koby a belated birthday party.
Zeff frowns at Sanji’s planned menu and list of supplies. “Please tell me he can eat all that,” Sanji says. “I tried to keep it simple.”
“Mostly fine,” Zeff says, not looking up. “That much chocolate might turn him inside out.”
Sanji grimaces. “Okay, fair. A little too rich, that's fine. Vanilla with a strawberry cream filling, then.”
Zeff grunts. “If he doesn't eat too much, yeah, this shouldn't kill him. What's all this other stuff?”
“Oh, just ideas,” Sanji says. “I mean, he turned sixteen; he should get to have a big party. I know we can really only invite the staff, and there's probably not much we can do in terms of big presents, but everyone would love a day off, and you know they love Koby already, they'd be happy to come–”
Zeff clears his throat. “Eggplant. Use your head.”
Sanji’s hopeful smile fades. “But you said the menu’s okay for him.”
“Yeah, the menu’s fine,” Zeff says, rolling his eyes. “But think what the kid'll do if you try to throw a big party for him, especially without telling him first.”
Sanji frowns, then sighs as he realizes what Zeff is getting at. “Probably hide under a table,” he admits. “Fuck.”
“He'll hide under a table if you get lucky,” Zeff says, amused. “He's more likely to disappear somewhere we can't even find him.”
“Okay, but he should have a party,” Sanji says, and he's only a little bit embarrassed about the edge of a whine creeping into his voice. “It's not fair that he can't have a party.”
“Didn't say he can't have a party,” Zeff says, pushing the menu back at Sanji. “Just not one like this. This is the kind of shit you like, getting to prance around and be the center of attention. What sort of stuff does he like?”
Sanji frowns at the paper, running through every interaction he's had with Koby, all the tiny things he's learned and pieces of personality that Koby is only just starting to feel safe enough to show. “He likes making bread,” he says slowly. “Likes reading. I think he does actually like doing dishes, but I'm not letting him celebrate by doing chores.”
His eyes catch on his proposed dessert menu. It's not that Koby particularly likes bread, Sanji’s pretty sure. He likes being in the small kitchen upstairs, away from the hustle and bustle. He likes the methodical, familiar motions. And Sanji doesn't want to flatter himself or assume he's more important to Koby than he is, but he's pretty sure that half of what Koby likes so much about it is getting to spend time with Sanji.
“I could… ask him to help make the cake?” he says, rolling the idea around in his head. “Wouldn't be much of a surprise party, but you're right, he wouldn't want one anyways. He'd like helping with that, and the recipe isn't too complicated.”
“Better not be,” Zeff snorts. “Kid burns water.”
“I kind of wanted it to be a bigger deal,” Sanji says, disappointed. “He's got birthdays to make up for.”
“Does he not celebrate on purpose?” Zeff asks. “He might not want to do anything at all.”
“No, I checked,” Sanji says. “It's not a bad day for him. He just doesn't think it's special.”
Part of him bristles at Zeff asking, like he doesn't think Sanji did already. Most of him is touched the old man had the same thought as him, that Koby might be the reason he hasn't celebrated his birthday before.
There's a reason Sanji doesn't celebrate his own birthday, after all. What he and Zeff dubbed Sanji Day nearly a decade ago is four months later than it should be. He'd been ready to let Koby pick a new day for himself, just like Sanji had as a kid.
“Well, let me know when you want to do something for him,” Zeff says. “I've been meaning to get him some new things anyways, now he’s growing a little. I'll get them wrapped and leave them in the prep kitchen.”
“You don't want to help?” Sanji asks, blinking in surprise. He wasn't kidding before; the staff adopted Koby as one of their own immediately, none more so than Zeff. The old man is more of a bleeding heart than he'll ever let on, but Sanji hasn't seen him take to anyone as quickly as he did Koby since… well, probably not since Sanji. Hell, he'd kicked a woman for the kid on Koby’s second day here, not to mention given him his own dumb nickname right away. Sanji can't imagine him wanting to skip Koby’s makeshift party after everything else he's done for him.
“Ah, well.” Zeff clears his throat and busies himself with shuffling around the papers Sanji handed him, making a show of rereading them like he hasn't already done that. “I know I make him nervous. Not much of a party if he's too busy trying to keep you in between us.”
“Oh.”
Sanji’s stomach sinks. Zeff’s not wrong, as much as Sanji hates to admit it. Koby’s skittish on a good day, and Zeff is intimidating to people who aren't used to him. The kid’s gotten better at hiding it, but Sanji hasn't missed how twitchy he gets around Zeff, like he's actively reminding himself not to flinch when the old man gets too close.
He had kind of hoped Zeff hadn't noticed. He probably should have known better.
“It's fine,” Zeff says, waving a hand dismissively. “At least someone on this damn boat still respects me. The way he's been copying you, I'm sure he'll get just as mouthy soon enough.”
“I do love to be a bad influence,” Sanji muses, then easily sidesteps the halfhearted kick Zeff throws his way. He doesn't say that he's working on getting Koby more comfortable here, just like Zeff doesn't say how much it bothers him that he's not yet. They're not the type to say things like that out loud.
“Is two weeks enough time to get him presents?” Sanji asks. “If all I'm doing is making cake with him, I can do that any time.”
“Yeah, two weeks should be fine,” Zeff says. “Let me know what day you want to do it and I'll make sure you two have an evening free.”
Two weeks and two days later, Sanji leads Koby to the kitchen upstairs. “So it's a few months too late, obviously,” he says over his shoulder, “and it's not much of a party, but I cannot allow you to completely pass up on celebrating your birthday, so come on.”
“I told you it's not a big deal,” Koby protests, but he follows all the same. “You don't have to do anything.”
“Too late, I already did it,” Sanji says cheerfully, whipping the door open and ushering Koby inside. “Ta da!”
It's not much. Sanji had to remind himself at every step that he was doing this for Koby, which meant he'd had to tone it down at every step. There aren't decorations the way he would have liked, no balloons or streamers, just the ingredients already set out on the counter and a stack of presents on the table in the corner.
Koby, for all that he's painfully mature for his age, is still a kid. His eyes shoot straight to that stack, face lighting up with shy excitement. “You got me presents?”
“No, those are for a different birthday boy,” Sanji says, rolling his eyes. “Of course we got you presents. Some of those are from me, some are from the staff, and a few are from Zeff. I'm sorry in advance if he got you boring shit like socks.”
Koby's lip wobbles. Before Sanji has time to panic about having already messed this up, he asks, “They all got me things?”
Sanji’s shoulders relax. “I told you. We celebrate stuff like that here. You're one of ours.”
Koby looks up at him for a moment, eyes wide and wet. Then, before Sanji has time to react, he darts in close and wraps his bony arms around Sanji’s middle in a quick, awkward hug.
He dances away before Sanji has time to hug him back, face going as pink as his hair. “What's all this stuff?” he asks, looking at the ingredients Sanji set out earlier.
Sanji’s throat feels thick for some reason. He wonders if he's coming down with something; he has to blink a few times to clear his blurry vision and clear his throat before he can say, “Uh, we thought you might want to help with the cake. Well, okay, I thought that, but Zeff gave me the idea, so he gets partial credit.”
“But he didn't…?”
Sanji frowns when Koby trails off. “Didn't what?”
Koby goes even pinker, and he shrugs. “No, it's that just, um, I would have thought he'd… He didn't want to help with, you know, with this part? With actually making the cake?”
Sanji tries not to let on how surprised he is. “I think he didn't want to… overwhelm you?” he says uncertainly, desperately trying not to blurt out you're obviously still scared of him.
“Oh.” Koby scuffs his foot against the floor, and he makes a show of examining the bag of flour as he says, “I wouldn't get overwhelmed. I mean, if he wanted to come. He doesn't have to, obviously, I know he's got better things to be doing, and the restaurant to run.”
“It's not exactly busy down there tonight,” Sanji says. “I can go see if he's got some free time. I'm sure he could make an appearance.”
Koby peeks at Sanji over his shoulder. “Yeah?”
“Only if you want him to,” Sanji says. “You don't have to, I know the old can be—” Big and loud and angry, just like every pirate Koby learned to fear for the last two years. “—an annoying old bastard.”
Koby snorts. “No, I like Zeff. He's nice.”
A ringing endorsement. Sanji grins. “Yeah, I'll go see if he's free. Go wash your hands and grab an apron.”
He's down the stairs a moment later, setting his face in a scowl and storming into the kitchen. He wasn't kidding; it's a slow day, but that doesn't mean it's not busy. Sanji weaves through the space with practiced ease until his eyes land on Zeff, and he stops and places his hands on his hips, glaring in his best imitation of the old chef himself.
“Old man!” he barks, and Zeff glares seemingly on instinct as he looks up, then his expression twists in confusion.
“What're you doing down here?”
“What am I doing down here?” Sanji asks incredulously. “What are you doing down here? I can't believe you'd try to skip Koby’s birthday party, you heartless geezer.”
Zeff’s frown deepens. It's rare to catch him off guard like this; Sanji’s going to treasure this memory. “I've got a restaurant to run. Kid doesn't want me stomping around up there.”
“He absolutely does,” Sanji says, trying to maintain his scowl when he just wants to grin. “Your presence is requested upstairs. Koby is heartbroken that you didn't come. He's weeping, old man, he's inconsolable–”
“Shut your mouth,” Zeff says gruffly, but he's paying pointed attention to whatever he's got simmering on the stove, stirring carefully. “If this is one of your shitty jokes–”
“Of course not,” Sanji says, genuinely offended. He’s too old to try to pull dumb pranks like this on Zeff, and he'd never do something that might inadvertently upset Koby. He's not a complete idiot. “He really wants you to come help with the cake.”
Zeff still hesitates. Carne snorts and steps up beside him, holding his hand out for the ladle. “Go celebrate with the little tomato, boss,” he says, exasperated. “We can handle things down here.”
“You fuck up this soup, you're on the menu tomorrow,” Zeff threatens, but he hands over the spoon.
“Yeah, yeah.” Carne waves him off, just as familiar with Zeff’s threats as Sanji is. “Wish him a happy birthday from us.”
Zeff mutters something uncomplimentary, then stomps after Sanji towards the stairs.
“Play nice,” Sanji reminds him, gleeful.
“I'll drown you,” Zeff says, but he takes a deep breath and slows down.
The old man’s nervous. It would be funny if it weren't disgustingly sweet.
Koby’s got his apron on and he's looking over the recipe when Sanji comes back, Zeff in tow. “Found a party crasher,” Sanji announces. “Don't suppose you want to take pity on him and let him stay?”
“I asked you to go get him,” Koby says, exasperated, then turns a shy smile on Zeff. “If you're not too busy?”
Zeff shrugs. “I can make some time. They'll call me down if something blows up.”
“That's great!” Koby grins, then ducks his head over the paper in his hands. “I mean, fine. That's nice. Thank you.”
All right, so Sanji’s going to have to play translator for them. Not the first time. He's fluent in angry old man, and he's quickly picking up chronically anxious teen boy. Since Sanji is, as ever, the most well adjusted one in the room, it seems like it's up to him to take point on this.
He gets them started on the cake. Zeff is clearly relieved to have something to do with his hands, and Koby is forever fascinated by the process and eager to learn. He might not have the same passion for cooking that Sanji and Zeff do, but he's more excited to try it than half the line cooks that come through.
He's also a kid at what Sanji’s pretty sure is his first ever birthday party. His eyes keep straying to the stack of presents. By the time they get the pans in the oven, he's nearly vibrating in place with curiosity.
“Well, those are gonna need to bake for a while,” Sanji says as he sets the timer. “I wonder what we could possibly do while we wait.”
Koby’s eyes dart between Sanji and the table. “Um.”
“Should probably get started on the icing,” Zeff says. “Make sure it has time to set before we try to use it.”
Sanji nods. “Or the other decorations. We're gonna have to plate it, too, so we should check that–”
“Sanji,” Koby whines.
Sanji can't keep up the joke for too long; he grins as the kid’s obvious annoyance—it's funny to see him all huffy, and it's a good sign that he's actually willing to show when they annoy him—and says, “Or I guess you can open a few presents.”
Koby beams. He beelines over to the table, and Sanji and Zeff make a show of following at a more sedate pace, even though Koby’s excitement is contagious. Sanji wants to bounce in place, eager to see Koby’s reactions to the things they got him.
“This one first,” he says, sliding over a soft package carefully wrapped in butcher paper and twine. He taps his hand on the table as Koby carefully picks at the knots to undo it, hoping the kid can't feel the way Sanji’s leg is bouncing under the table. Zeff does, if the look he throws Sanji is any indication, but Sanji can hear the tell-tale thumping of him knocking his peg against his chair leg. The old man can't say shit.
Koby finally gets the knots untied and the paper unfolded, expression bright and curious as he reveals dark fabric. “What's this?”
“Okay, so.” Sanji drums his hands against the table a little more forcefully, half nerves and half dramatic flourish. “It's one of my old suits. That’s just one I've outgrown, but consider it an IOU. Next time we're near a city, I thought I'd take you to a shop and see about getting you some nicer clothes.”
Koby lights up. “Really?”
Sanji relaxes, relieved at Koby’s obvious excitement. He hadn't been sure exactly how this would come across, if Koby would take it as Sanji insulting his usual clothes or recognize it as what Sanji meant for it to be. The suits matter to him. He doesn't know if they'll matter as much to Koby, but he deserves to have some nice things that are just his own, not hand-me-downs or shared with other people.
“Every man should have a nice suit,” Sanji says sagely, while Koby runs his hands over the blazer like its woven from gold. “Even Zeff’s got one mildewing in his closet.”
“Do you really?” Koby asks curiously, and Zeff shrugs.
“Had to play nice with bankers and businessmen to get this place built,” he says. “Rich bastards won't give you the time of day if you don't also look like a rich bastard.”
“I had to tie his tie for him,” Sanji stage whispers. “He couldn't ever get it.”
Zeff scowls. Koby stifles a snicker.
“Why would I want to wear a damn noose around my neck if I don't have to?” he grumbles, then nudges over two messily-wrapped packages before Sanji can answer. “These are from the boys downstairs. Better get it out of the way now so you have time to come up with a lie about how much you like it.”
Koby laughs again. “I'm sure I will. I didn't expect them to get me anything at all, this is– ooh.” His eyes light up as he uncovers two books: one a small sailor’s guide to different knots, one a thick collection of folklore and fairytales from around all four Blues. Sanji had been reluctantly impressed with that find when Carne showed it to him: the perfect intersection between Koby being a nerd and Koby being a kid.
The rest of the presents don't take too long to go through; two weeks is still short notice when it comes to gathering non-essential supplies, and they hadn't wanted to overwhelm him with gifts, anyway. Zeff’s gifts make up the bulk of it, and Sanji guessed correctly that it would be mostly boring, functional things.
Koby’s still obviously touched by them, too. Sanji doesn't have to ask why, because he'd felt the same way when the old man had bought him new clothes and shoes as a kid. It's obvious Koby’s realizing the same thing he once did: Zeff wouldn't go to this much effort for someone he wasn't planning to keep around.
Koby’s fingers are just barely trembling as he smooths them over a soft, thick coat, too warm to wear right now but perfect for a few months in the future, when Zeff obviously expects him to still be here. “This is all really nice,” he says, choked. “Thank you.”
“Next year, I'm hiring a band and setting off fireworks,” Sanji says, and Koby laughs a little wetly. “But I suppose for your first party here, this isn't bad.”
The timer goes off before they can get any more unbearably sappy. Sanji and Zeff busy themselves with taking the cakes from the oven and transferring them to the racks to cool, letting Koby take a moment to wipe his eyes and clean his glasses. He joins them a moment later, and Zeff walks him through how to make the frosting. Afterwards, Sanji takes a sharp knife and demonstrates how to slice the strawberries into roses with thin, delicate petals. Koby obliterates three strawberries and nearly loses a thumb before he gets the hang of it, but knowing that the cake isn't going to a customer takes some of the pressure off. He only laughs as he eats the leftovers, then helps ice and decorate the cake.
It doesn't come out as picture-perfect as if Zeff or Sanji had done it themselves—not to mention Patty, who wields a piping bag with surgical precision—but it tastes just fine, and Koby’s nearly glowing with pride at the end result. His blush goes from a pleased pink to a furious red when Sanji sticks a candle in the top and insists on making him blow it out before they cut it, but he plays along.
Sanji and Zeff don't sing. He wouldn't subject Koby to that, not at his birthday party; he'd rather it end on a high note.
It looks like it's going to end soon, anyways. Koby’s healthier than he was when he arrived, but he's still recovering. A full stomach, combined with the excitement of a three-person party, has him nodding off at the table into his second slice of cake. Sanji nudges him awake before he faceplants into the frosting, then helps him gather up his gifts and tote them down the hall to their room while Zeff puts away the rest of the cake to be finished later.
Koby moved in with Sanji last month to clear up the spare room for a new chef Zeff is working with. Sanji was more excited than he would have expected to have a roommate. The roommate being Koby probably helped; he's already trying to figure out how to ask if Koby wants to stay there when the chef moves on.
Koby looks so pleased to have more clothes to put in the small chest of drawers Zeff got for him, and even moreso when he carefully hangs up his new suit next to Sanji’s in the closet. The books go on his bedside table, his new boots get lined up at the foot of the bed next to his current pair, and he sighs happily as he changes into clean pajamas and curls up in bed.
Sanji doesn't point out that it's barely 8, just snorts out a laugh as he plucks Koby’s glasses off his nose and drops them on the bedside table. “I'm gonna go help Zeff clean up, then head down to the kitchen,” he says. “You need anything before I go?”
Koby’s struggling to keep his eyes open, poor kid. The stress and exhaustion from the last few years have taken as much a toll as the lack of food; he's got plenty of sleep to catch up on, now that he's not being forced to run on fumes.
“No, ‘m good,” he yawns, curling around his pillow. “Hey, Sanji?”
Sanji’s already halfway towards the door, but he twists around on his heel at the sound of his name. “Yeah?”
“This was the best birthday I’ve ever had,” Koby says, soft and sincere. “I really appreciate it. I've never had a party before.”
Every time Sanji thinks he's started to get a handle on Koby, the little terror goes straight for the jugular with something like that. “Well, just you wait,” he says, and if Koby notices how thick his voice is, he doesn't say anything. “We pulled this together in just a couple weeks. I've got almost a year to plan the next one.”
Koby ducks his head. “I'm still gonna be here next year,” he says, halfway between a question and a statement.
“‘Course you are,” Sanji says, valiantly pretending he's not about to cry. “Where else would you be?”
Koby yawns again and snuggles down into his blankets. “Just here,” he says, drowsy. “Night, Sanji.”
“Night, birthday boy,” Sanji says, flicking off the lights on his way out the door. “Sweet dreams.”
“Like frosting,” Koby says nonsensically, and Sanji laughs as he closes the door behind him, leaving Koby to his dreams.