Chapter Text
The world kept spinning.
That was the sad truth Sanji had learned at the ripe age of nine. He managed to finish the school year with good grades, so, as a reward, his parents bought him a brand new kitchen set. It had a kid-safe set of knives, his very own cutting board, a little stool to reach everything and smaller versions of every other kitchen appliance. Needless to say, he was spending all his time cooking and feeding results to the guests of his fine establishment.
"Thank you, dear," His mother, a beautiful woman with dark brown hair and tired eyes, smiled at him as she accepted what felt like a tenth dish this morning. He smiled back and hugged her leg, waiting for the reaction. There was a slight hesitation to her movements he didn't notice and another tired sigh he completely missed, but soon enough she was tasting the muffin he made, "Oh! Sanji, this is wonderful!"
"Right? I knew you'd love it!" He beams, excitement bubbling inside. What should he make next?
"This is fantastic. But, honey, I think I'm full... My belly will explode if I eat more."
"Your belly will explode?" This was horrifying news.
"Well, not literally, but... How about you go play in the garden? And then you can help me with lunch."
"Okay! Love you," Sanji pats her on the belly, hoping it won't explode - but maybe he'd get a little sister if it did? Teacher said last week that's where all babies come from.
"Love you too, sweetheart. Be careful, alright?" She leans down and plants a soft kiss to his temple, smiling as the kid runs off to the door.
Their garden was rather modest. Honestly, Sanji preferred grandparents' house: it was close to the sea, so he could go to the coast anytime. And wasn't that something! He could play in the waves, build sand castles or look for pretty shells. If he was lucky, he would watch little fish swimming around, and if he was extra lucky, he might just catch one. He lets out a quiet sigh and walks around flower beds, trying to come up with a game. Not much he could do on his own. Every nook and cranny of the garden was already explored by him and he couldn't trespass the fence.
Maybe he can find a butterfly if he's really careful. Nodding to himself, Sanji slowly creeps through the bushes, checking every flower for the insect. He saw them in the picture books often.
"Hello," He quietly greets her once his search ends in success. She really was beautiful: long wings littered with intricate lines and rich colours. Can he look closer? He slowly approaches the butterfly, remembering his previous interactions with animals, and slowly extends his index finger.
That's when he feels it. Thin, stiff legs digging into his skin, long black antennas moving around, and no less terrifying body hidden under the beautiful wings.
Sanji all but screams, stumbling backwards and desperately trying to shake off the creature, screaming louder when it simply holds on stronger. Why can't it just leave? Why can't someone scare it away? He feels tears swelling in his eyes and swings his arm harder. This is just like the Skypeia! Stupid good-for-nothing fucking insects! Zero nutritional value! Useless!
Finally the butterfly gets tired of his trashing and releases his finger. Sanji falls to the ground and holds up his hand to his chest, as if he was bitten. He was a cook, goddammit! He can't let some questionable shitlings touch his hands!
"For fucks sake," Wait. Something isn't right. What is Skypeia?
An island in the sky, obviously. He was there with Luffy and everyone years ago.
"Luffy!" He scrambles back on his feet and that's when it dawns on him. He's a fucking nine year old in a backyard of a small house in a small city.
"What's wrong, honey?!" His mother - not his mother, his mother was Sora! - runs out of the house, alarmed by his screams. Even more she is worried by his tears, "Oh, dear, what happened? Did you hurt yourself?"
He's fucking nine years old and alone.
In truth, he wanted to run and look for his family right there and then - he couldn't have been the only one, right? But what if they were born into a different time? What if they never remembered? For all he knows, his past life could've been centuries away. It almost felt like a dream now; sailing at the sea with them, being able to walk through the sky and kick enemies harder than anyone ever could.
If he had a choice, he would choose to be Zeffs son again. He still was. He might hold soft feelings for his new biological parents, who did their best to take care of him even after the drastic change in personality, but as long as he had those memories, he would be Zeffs kid. Hell, even without the memories! He picked up the knife before he remembered how to use it.
And that certainly was a great advantage. He had all guarantees of a safe and fulfilling life - he could become the world's greatest chef again, if he wanted to. He would never have to worry about money nor attention ever again.
He'd trade his hands for a chance to meet his nakama in an instant though. He missed them like hell. He wanted to grow old with them again. Hear Luffys laughter one more time. He still remembered holding a funeral for him - their captain was the first to go, body exhausted by the gears. Fuck, almost everyone died before him. He had to bury them, one by one, and the only comfort he had was knowing they died happy, died from being old and not in the midst of some stupid battle. And they had a new generation ahead of them.
Nostalgic smile tugged at his lips. His sous-chef must have cried when he had to bury his old wrinkly body. The kid was already past twenty, but Sanji will always remember him as a tiny plum, washed up on the shore. He wanted to use it as a nickname, as once Zeff did for him, to continue tradition of sorts, but it didn't stick despite purple hair. Instead, the kid was called a "cookie" his entire childhood: like a cook, but a smaller one. Cookie. Out of pure spite, Sanji usually called him just a crap-kid, but he had to admit that the nickname was good.
His thoughts are interrupted by a bell chime, informing him of a new customer. Right, it was almost lunch time now, so the little cafe was bound to get busy.
Initially, he was hired just as a barista, but the owner quickly threw more and more responsibilities at him, while providing little raise. Sanji didn't mind as he had chosen to lead a quiet lifestyle and the pay was enough to cover all of his expenses and even save up a little. If he needs more for whatever reason, he can always find another job.
“Welcome, milady,” He smiles at the girl who has just walked up to the register. She looked young, younger than him, not by much however - high school, perhaps? Then she wouldn't have time nor money for high-quality coffee and needed something filling to last her till the last period, “Are you a "fish" or "meat" person? We have the most delicious salmon croissants, but if that's not your style, I'd recommend something more simple. How about ham and cheese?”
“Ah…” The girl blinked at him, probably not expecting such a high level of attention. Old habits die hard. Luckily, she collected herself quickly and gave him a guilty smile back, “I'm vegetarian…”
“How beautiful! I should've guessed. A person with a soul as pure as yours wouldn't be able to eat an animal,” He beams. What bullshit. As long as you raise and kill the animal ethically, what does it matter? Well, his personal opinion didn't matter when it came to dietary restrictions of other people, “Then might I recommend this salad? It has added protein to make up for the lack of meat. Or if you prefer to stick with sandwiches, we only have simple cheese in stock... That's not an option. Dear, would you mind waiting just a second? I'll whip something up just for you.”
The slowly growing queue behind her be damned.
“Ah! C-can you not add tomatoes?” Guilt was even more prominent on her face now, but he just waved her off.
“Of course! Would you like anything else with that?”
“No, thank you.”
Sandwich barely takes two minutes to make and soon enough Sanji is back from the kitchen, handing it to the girl. He gives her another smile and slips a coffee can in her direction.
“On the house. It's better to wash down the food, right?”
“Th-thank you so much!” And just like that he's positive he just gained a new regular.
“Can I have the same?”
“Do I look like a personal chef?” Well, this guy is probably never coming here again. But it's not Sanji's fault. Why would he ever assume he'd get the same treatment as a lady?
“Well! Aren't you supposed to be polite to customers?” The man, probably in his thirties, furrows his brows, clearly trying to intimidate him. This would have riled Sanji up forty years ago, but now he just laughs in his face.
“If you're not ordering, then get the hell out. You're holding up a line.”
“Yes, hurry up!” someone at the end supports his sentiment, likely tired of waiting. Sanji's smile grew as the man's face flushed and head lowered. Automatic win. He didn't spend years in customer service for nothing.
“Ice latte and caesar salad.”
“Eight hundred yen. Don't choke.”
At least the world had the decency to give him a smoke break after the rush hour. It would come back full force as evening hit though: children will get free of school, adults will elope from their bosses, friend groups will look for a place to gossip and couples will stare lovingly into each other's eye over their desserts. He honestly enjoyed watching over them - wouldn't have stayed this long on job otherwise. Part of him was jealous. He couldn't let go of his past life and, subsequently, couldn't form any meaningful connections in this one. No one waited for him at his apartment, no one was texting him to schedule a branch or simply check in. Well, this-life-parents sometimes did, so did his boss, regulars sometimes stopped to chat about life and he was pretty sure some of his schoolmates were reaching out to spend time with him. So he wasn't really jealous, just sad. And a bigger part of him found comfort in it. If he reincarnated, so must everyone else, right? Maybe he had another life before the last one as well, he simply didn't remember. Neither did any of his customers. Could the person across them be the same one they once chose to marry? Or were they mortal enemies? Maybe one was a marine, the other was a pirate and that was it. They never even met and now they did. Maybe they'd remember it next time and search for them again. What if by then the world succumbs to chaos again? Luffy would have to save them again. Nobody else could. That means, at least Luffy has to be born again sometime, right? Or maybe some kid will eat the human-human fruit and Luffys legacy will live on through him, like Ace's legacy lived through Sabo. Shit, was Ace reincarnated too? What if he's an old man by now? He died when Luffy was barely twenty! Would Sanji even recognise him should they meet? He saw him once in Arabasta and in the news, but...
He barely remembered what he looked like. He recalls thinking Ace was Luffys blood brother, that's how similar they were, and he had freckles. He also had a huge ass cross on his back, so it was hard to confuse him with someone else. He wouldn't have the tattoo in this life, however.
It was cruel, in a way. Even if Ace reincarnated, he wouldn't know. Maybe. Probably. System has fucked up once, it could fuck up twice. Oh, hey, there's another customer.
“Jeez, is it five already?” He glances at the clock after noticing another promising line that stretched all the way to the street. He sure was in a mood today.
“Can I please just have a velvet cake?”
“Cash or card?” Sanji shrugs, noting how pitiful the customer's voice sounded. He didn't care, and that was exactly why he was willing to entertain the request, “Next! I don't have all day!”
“Good evening! Sorry, I'll be quick.”
“Absolutely not! Take all the time you need, dear,” A woman apologizing to him! In what world! His reputation was clearly lacking. This wasn't acceptable! “Anything I can help with? A recommendation, perhaps?”
“I should be the one calling you ‘dear’!” She laughs, waving a hand, and Sanji only now notices she was already in her sixties, gray hair starting to show, “But sure thing. I'll go with the chef's recommendation”
“Excellent choice, madam! I promise you will not regret it. Now, tell me, do you prefer strawberries or blueberries? If your lovely purse is any indication,” The purse was littered in a ‘strawberry’ pattern, but sometimes people only liked the looks and not the taste, “I have just the right thing for you…”
This was a cafe, not a bar. You'd think no one would want an iced tea over a pint of beer at nine o'clock in the evening, but somehow there was always a line just before closing. Sanji couldn't complain, though, since it meant less food being leftover. All he had to do was sell the damn sandwiches, mop the place, close it and then it was just him and his apartment. Maybe he'd watch a TV show or maybe he'd go straight to bed. Probably should have dinner first, either way.
- Come back soon! - he sang praise after another lady, waving her goodbye before turning to the next in line.
- Hey.
Sanji felt his heart drop. He knew this voice.
- Latte. Salmon sandwich.
The doors closed after a customer. He was too scared to look. He knew this voice.
- Hey?
Slowly, Sanji turned his head. There was no oxygen in his lungs.
He didn't notice how thin the man seemed, how a gray hoodie seemed just a size too big on him. He didn't notice how his hair already started growing out of a buzz cut, despite that not being bound to happen for another two years. He didn't notice how tired he seemed, how dark circles started settling down under his eyes, both of them, how bandages were peeking out from under the hoodie, how he lacked the signature frown. There were just too many things missing, if he started to count, and just as many new unfamiliar things appeared.
- Are you... Ok?
At the back of his mind Sanji knew he was crying. Just staring dumbly at the stranger and dripping tears, but he couldn't give a single care at the moment.
The thing is, he accepted not being Zeffs kid anymore. His new parents were good, they were decent people, they gave him love and raised him best they could. He spent eighteen years under the same roof as them, sharing meals at the same table. He had new memories of lullabies sung and words shared. His father hugged him when he woke up crying and his mother cheered on him during exams. It wasn't quite the same, but he accepted it. He accepted he would never meet his older sister. He accepted his captain will never storm into his life again, whisking him away on another adventure.
There was one thing he would never accept.
He promised so on his wedding day.
“Are you going to take my order?” Zoro cautiously asks, clearly unaware of what to do with a crying server. Because this was Zoro. Swords on his hip or not, it was Roronoa Zoro right in front of him.
Roronoa Zoro.
His late husband.