Chapter Text
The streets of Verona pulsed with life, even as the sun dipped low. Narrow cobblestone alleys twisted through the city, cluttered with parked Vespas and clusters of people savoring the sticky warmth of a late August evening. The heat clung like honey, seeping into the crevices of ancient stone walls. It was the kind of weather that made fabric cling to skin, made the air itself feel thick and unbearable. Women in flowing skirts twirled past, their bare shoulders glistening. Men in half-buttoned shirts fanned themselves lazily with worn menus. A faint breeze teased at the scent of espresso and sizzling garlic, but it did little to ease the humidity.
And there stood Sanji, glaring down at his stiff waiter uniform like it had personally offended him. Long black slacks, a fitted button-up that felt like it was stitched from molten lava, and the cursed apron he wasn't even allowed to wear. The fabric stuck to his skin, damp with sweat. His golden hair clung stubbornly to his forehead, strands curling in the heat. He tugged at his collar in a futile attempt to let the air in.
“Two weeks,” he grumbled under his breath, the words like smoke curling from his mouth. “Two bloody weeks.”
His uncle Zeff had made it perfectly clear — no kitchen privileges. No chopping, no sautéing, not even a miserable garnish. Just endless laps around the dining room, weaving through half-empty tables and balancing trays like some overgrown circus act. All because of one incident.
It had been a stupid tourist. Some half-wit with a sunburn peeling down his shoulders and a laugh that grated like nails on a chalkboard. Sanji could still see him, hunched over his plate of pasta, shoveling in rigatoni like a feral dog. Gross. But the real cherry on top had come when the man, in all his clumsy glory, knocked over his cocktail. A full glass of Aperol Spritz went flying, dousing the unfortunate woman seated beside him. The bright orange liquid had spilled all into her purse, her shoes, even the silky waves of her hair. And Aperol? That stuff stuck. It clung with a vengeance, its bitter sweetness lingering like a bad memory.
Then the bastard had the audacity to laugh, to offer her a halfhearted apology before his hand wandered to her thigh, pretending to ‘help.’
“Disgusting,” Sanji spat, jaw tight.
He hadn’t hesitated. Words flew, sharp and pointed, laced with venom. A chair scraped back. Hands might have been thrown. The restaurant erupted into gasps, silverware clattering to plates. And now? Now Sanji was paying the price.
Banned from the kitchen. Stuck waiting tables like a glorified servant. He could still hear Zeff's gruff voice ringing in his ears.
"You wanna act like a hothead? Fine. But you're not touching my stove until you learn some control."
The bastard.
The restaurant tonight was quieter than usual. Even in the humid haze, the absence of the usual bustling tourists was noticeable. Maybe it was the looming end of summer, or maybe the Americans had finally decided to retreat to their air-conditioned hotels. Only the occasional chatter echoed from the tables, laughter mixing with the distant hum of vespas sputtering through the alleyways.
Sanji leaned heavily against one of the folded umbrellas, its fabric cool against his back. He tilted his head skyward, watching as the clouds swirled in soft pastels.
Not that he could see the actual sunset, just the colors it conveyed onto the clouds. If he wanted to see the sunsets, he definitely had to go to a higher floor.
The sky was painted in hues of pink and lavender, delicate strokes fading into the first hints of twilight. He swore there was a flicker of green in there somewhere—or maybe that was just the lingering sting from the wine he’d accidentally splashed into his eye last week.
Not that he’d ever admit it.
A chef of his caliber? Making a mistake like that? Unthinkable.
His thoughts wandered as a breeze swept through, rustling the fringe of his apron. Somewhere across the square, a street performer plucked lazily at a guitar, the twang of the strings mingling with the distant clink of glasses. The scent of grilled seafood carried through the air, mingled with the sweetness of roasted tomatoes and fresh basil.
“God,” Sanji sighed, running a hand through his damp hair. “Two weeks can’t be over soon enough.”
As Sanji gazed into the sky, a soft trail of diluted smoke curled across his vision, delicate and slow like a ribbon unraveling in the breeze. His eyes instinctively followed its path, tracing it back to its source.
A girl.
She sat perched on a windowsill across the street, a couple of floors up. Auburn hair sat short on top of her shoulders, strands glowing like burnished copper in the golden light of the setting sun. The breeze toyed with her hair, lifting it gently as though the evening itself couldn’t resist her.
She was watching the sunset — probably actually seeing it too, Sanji thought.
Then, with an absent grace, she brought her hand down from her mouth, releasing the cigarette from between her lips as a thin stream of smoke forms above her. She tapped it against the edge of the window, the embers tumbling down like tiny stars to the cobblestone street below.
"Wow."
The word was barely a breath.
The sunlight stretched across her face, highlighting the delicate angles of her jaw and the soft curve of her cheek. Shadows pooled beneath her collarbone, the amber light fading as the sun dipped lower.
Sanji didn’t know how long he stood there, watching. Long enough for the shadows to creep higher. Long enough to feel the heat cling heavier to his skin.
And long enough to know he wanted to see her again.
But then —
A crash shattered the moment. Glass, sharp and sudden, echoed from behind him.
"Sanji!"
Zeff’s gravelly voice snapped him back to reality. Sanji flinched, his head whipping around toward the restaurant. He groaned, dragging a hand down his face.
"Coming!"
But not before he stole one last glance at the girl. Her cigarette was nearly finished, the smoke thinning. The sun had fallen further now, casting her in deeper shadow. Still, she remained there, unbothered.
Reluctantly, Sanji turned away.
Sanji made his way toward the source of the crash, stepping over the shards of glass scattered across the floor. A shattered tumbler, now nothing more than a sparkling mess.
"Great."
He grabbed a broom and crouched down, sweeping up the jagged pieces. Yet even as he worked, his thoughts wandered. That girl — the way the sunlight clung to her skin, the careless elegance in how she moved. She hadn't seemed like the tourists who passed through. No frantic gestures or exaggerated laughter. Just... stillness. Calm.
He wondered what she had been thinking about. What it would be like to hear her voice. Was she from Verona? Or maybe somewhere way cooler... judging based on her laid back appearance. Like London.
Was London even cool?
Sanji didn't know.
"Oi!" Zeff’s voice barked from the doorway, dragging him from his thoughts once again. The old man leaned heavily on his crutch, his thick mustache twitching as he scowled. "You planning on finishing that sometime tonight?"
"Yeah, yeah," Sanji grumbled. "Not like I got anywhere else to be."
Zeff snorted. "Well, maybe you do. Your sister said she might swing by. Reiju. Figured you’d want a little warning."
Reiju.
Sanji's brow furrowed at the mention of his older sister.
A striking woman — poised, elegant, and sharp enough to cut a man down with a single glance. She carried herself like she belonged in some grand ballroom, each step measured, each word deliberate. But beneath that polished exterior was a warmth, subtle but genuine. Unlike their father, she had never treated Sanji like a failure. Maybe that’s why he always kept his guard up around her. Even kindness could be disarming.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see her. In fact, a part of him did. But every time her face came to mind, it dragged those sour memories up with it. The bitter scent of antiseptic. Her careful hands bandaging his bruises. The thunder in their father’s voice. The shame. The humiliation.
Reiju had always been there, watching. Helping. And Sanji hated that she’d had to.
They hadn’t seen each other in years until two summers ago. Not since she’d helped him escape. Since she’d pulled him from the shadows of that house and set him free.
"Great," Sanji muttered, the sarcasm dripping from his voice as he brushed the last shards of glass into the dustpan. "And what’s the occasion?"
"Who knows. Maybe she’s checking to make sure you haven’t burnt the place down." Zeff gave a dry chuckle. "Anyway, once you're done, bike yourself home. It’s quiet tonight. I’m closing early."
Sanji blinked. "Really?"
"Don’t make me change my mind, brat."
"Yeah, yeah," Sanji replied, waving him off. The prospect of an early night wasn’t something he’d argue against.
Minutes later, the floor was spotless, and Sanji pushed open the restaurant’s heavy wooden door. The air outside was still warm, but with the sun nearly gone, the edge of the heat had softened. The street lamps flickered to life, casting golden halos onto the cobblestones.
His gaze instinctively lifted back to the window.
But this time, all he caught was the soft click of teal blue shutters swinging closed. The girl disappeared behind them, her silhouette briefly visible through the thin curtains before they too were drawn. The light inside was warm, glowing softly like the embers of her cigarette.
Gone.
Sanji lingered for a moment, his lips shifting into a faint, wistful smile. Maybe he’d see her again. Maybe not.
He’d hoped he'd see her again.
He took a deep breath, letting the freshness of the night fill his lungs, the oppressive summer warmth fading into a mild, almost refreshing breeze. The streets of Verona seemed quieter now, the late hour settling in, but there was something calming about the soft hum of cicadas and the faint murmur of distant conversations.
He swung his leg over the bike and pushed off, the wheels clicking into motion with a smooth glide. The rhythm of pedaling set a relaxed pace, the world around him blurring into soft shapes as he navigated the windy streets.
He was heading to his crabby little apartment — although it was kind of a welcoming thought after a long day of being stuck behind a counter and running errands. He deserved this little bit of freedom.
The cool evening breeze hit his face, tousling his blonde hair as he picked up speed. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the air rush past him. It was like the city itself was exhaling, giving him a brief moment of peace. He pushed the bike harder, the wheels spinning faster, the coolness of the night pressing in against the warmth still lingering in his skin from the sweltering day.
Sanji took his hands off the handlebars for just a second, feeling the wind on his bare palms. With a small, almost instinctive motion, he undid the top button of his shirt, the fabric loosening just enough to let the breeze cool his chest.
He was free in this moment, with nothing but the open road ahead of him and the city of Verona tucked behind him like a distant memory.
With his shirt slightly unbuttoned and the breeze cooling his face, Sanji let the night take him wherever it would, the hum of the bike’s wheels and the quiet song of the city his only company.