Chapter Text
Sanji taps his foot as he waits for the elevator, holding his husband’s lunch loosely in his hand.
The “up” arrow flickers red as the elevator opens, and Sanji steps into the blessedly empty carriage, looking over the directory as his finger hovers over the elevator buttons.
Dr. T. Law, Floor 5.
Sanji presses the 5, leans against the railing as he ascends, and sighs. Idly, he wonders how pissed Law’s going to be about this.
Law had had a “don’t come to the hospital” policy for him for as long as they’d been married, but he figures he’ll forgive him this time. He’d been eating his plain chicken and broccoli lunch for years, and Sanji knew he wouldn’t eat anything else. Even if things hadn’t been the greatest lately, the thought of him going hungry still gives Sanji pause. And anyway, he reasons, it's his fault Law had forgotten it. If they hadn’t gotten into that argument this morning, he wouldn’t have stormed off without taking it.
Sanji owes him this, at least.
The elevator dings as Sanji reaches Floor 5, and he steps off, trying to figure his way around based off the hospital’s chipped, outdated signage and the signs on the doors. Eventually, he finds the door that he hopes is Law’s office. He takes a deep breath, steadying himself before rapping twice on the door.
“Honey?” Sanji calls, cringing. He knows Law hates being called any pet names. But here, holding his little bento lunch, draped in designer and looking well cared for, he feels the pressure to play the “good husband” more than anything, even if neither of them were any good at it.
He waits half a heartbeat, before turning the handle and letting himself in. Law’s busy, he tells himself. He’s probably not around. He’ll just leave the lunch in his fridge, get the hell out of here, and treat himself to an espresso at that cafe he saw on the way here for his troubles.
Instead, Sanji opens the door to Law eating out the pre-med student who’s been shadowing him on his desk.
Even in this, Law is strangely elegant looking. His lashes flutter, his eyes closed and near peaceful looking. The moment is almost cinematic, the whole thing feeling so absurd, so off-kilter that Sanji is almost able to pretend it's not really happening until Law lifts his head and they lock eyes.
Sanji slams the door shut, head ringing, spinning on his heels as he tries to get the hell out of here as fast as humanly possible. He takes a sharp left, making a beeline towards the stairs, digging in his pocket for a lighter as the other brings a Kings Ground to his lips, smoke detectors be damned.
Annoyingly, Law catches up with him somewhere around floor three, pursuing him with far more dedication than he had shown in their entire relationship.
“Sanji!” Law calls, feet thudding on the stairs. “Sanji, wait!”
“Oh, spare me,” Sanji sneers, rapidly flicking his lighter as he prays for a spark. Of all the times for his lighter to stop working. “I’d hate to get in the way of you two’s shadowing hours, Doctor.”
He pumps his feet, willing him
“Come on! You’re not even going to hear me out?”
“What’s there to hear? I’m”—Finally, the lighter produces a flame. Sanji takes a grateful, greedy inhale—”What was that word you used this morning? Oh, right!”
Sanji snaps his fingers, as if really trying to remember.”
“I’m frigid, so you ate your fucking student’s pussy, right?” Sanji spits. “Makes perfect sense!”
They burst onto the first floor in a cacophony of noise, to the curiosity and shock of the various providers in scrubs and the patients on the floor. Law’s volume climbs with each response, like the louder he is, the better he’ll convince him.
“You’re embarrassing me,” Law grits. “Fuck , Sanji, what do I need to do for you to stay and let us have a conversation like adults?”
“Have a heart attack,” Sanji snaps. He forces his way through the revolving doors with Law still hot on his heels, making his way to the parking lot as he fumbles for his keys.
“Don’t do this,” Law begs. Sanji nearly turns around that time. He sounds raw like he’s been flayed, more vulnerable than Sanji thinks he’s ever heard him sound. The sound floods his mind with the memories of days gone by, and Sanji has to dig his loafers into the ground to stay strong.
“I think you’ve already done enough ‘this’ for the both of us,” Sanji says flatly. The Rolls Royce beeps twice, and Sanji lets himself in, locking the doors before Law can try and get in himself or, god forbid, drag him out of it.
“My lawyer will call yours,” He tells him, cold and impersonal, because if he says the word “divorce” right now he’s going to break down in this stupid fucking parking lot, and he can’t handle that right now. “Don’t bother coming home.”
Then Sanji presses the ignition button, starts the engine, and he puts the car in reverse. Then he waits. He waits for Law to say something drastic, do something drastic, to jump in front of the car or say, “I can’t live without you!” Something that said he had loved Sanji the way Sanji had loved him, that the last nine years hadn’t just been an exercise in futility. If he knew how little it would truly take for Sanji to stay right now, he’d probably lose what little respect for Sanji he had left.
But despite everything, it’s still Law. Sanji pulls out, and drives off, and he fixates on Law’s shrinking figure in his rearview mirror until he disappears.
He makes it all the way home before he lets himself cry.
The weeks that follow pass by at a snail’s pace. The movies always make it seem like romantic anguish makes time blur, but if anything, Sanji’s misery just makes the day drag on even more. He changes all the locks, smokes until he’s sick, throws up around the clock for a week, and in an ill-fated attempt at a rebound, makes and deletes a Tinder account six times.
He’s not even sure what he’s grieving. He’d accepted the fact that he and Law didn’t love each other anymore roughly three Valentines Days ago. Still, he yearned for the predictability of their dynamic the way an addict craved a fix. Sanji had been heartbroken countless times when his lofty expectations and romantic daydreams had been crushed by the cold truth of reality. Law’s aloof, formulaic treatment of him was like a fire blanket thrown over the flames of Sanji’s passion, tamping them down to manageable embers that he’d convinced himself were for the best. He’d been lukewarm to any real affection Sanji had shown him, but he told himself that didn’t matter.
As fucked up as it felt to say out loud, Sanji longed to go through the motions with him.
It gets bad enough that his beloved Nami and Robin come and stay with him for a little bit. They flit in and out of his room around the clock, like the moment they look away he’ll put a razor to his wrist. When they weren’t watching him to the point of it feeling Orwellian, they were breaking out casseroles and biting insults about his ex-husband the moment they sensed him getting worse, like a high school pep team if they had HOA memberships.
Robin, as always, has mostly let him figure things out himself. She’s never said anything about his ex besides what’s happened, and she seems set on letting him grieve and process things the way she thinks is best.
Nami, on the other hand, has made her opinions on Sanji finding closure pretty clear.
“You need to get with someone else,” Nami mumbles around a slice of tangerine. She breaks the tangerine in her hand in half, and hands Sanji one of them.
Sanji accepts it gratefully, but his nose wrinkles.
“That’s not going to help,” Sanji sighs, breaking off a slice and popping it into his mouth. “I’m not grieving Law, or a warm body next to me at night. I’m grieving the relationship, Nami.”
“Well, if you’re not going to go out and try and meet someone, you should at least go out, period.”
Nami gestures outside to the backyard, where the porch, the grass, and especially the pool are covered in a layer of debris.
“The pool looks terrible,” She points out, making a face. “Didn’t you say you wanted to throw a pool party for the Fourth?”
“Yeah, about two months ago.” Sanji cards a hand through his hair, digging through his pocket for a stick as he weighs whether or not he wants to go out for more cigarettes. “You don’t think people are still waiting for that thing, do you?”
“Of course they are! Why wouldn’t they be?”
“Because I got divorced?” Sanji questions incredulously.
“You still have the pool, don’t you?”
Sanji groans, letting his head fall onto the table.
Nami frowns, tapping her manicured fingers on the table as she weighs her options. Then she perks up.
“You know what?”
She pulls out a newspaper and tosses it onto the table, tapping a section that says “HELP WANTED” with the tip of an acrylic.
“You should hire a pool boy!” she says excitedly. “Now that the weather’s turning, everybody’s getting one. You’ve got to snatch one up quick before everyone gets the good ones.”
Nami needles him, waving the paper in his face, and Sanji pushes it away.
“Come on, sweetness. What’s the point? I don’t even use the damn thing.” He waves the idea away. God, he needs a cigarette. He found a Zyn pouch at the bottom of Law’s office trash can once, and he has half a mind to tear the place up and try and find his pack, even if the pouches always made his teeth feel sticky.
“The point is that he can help you with the pool and around the house!” Nami counters. “I saw the president sniffing around here the other day. If we don’t figure something out, you’re going to get fined like crazy, and lord knows none of us are going to figure it out any time soon.
She leans in.
“And,” she raises a sly finger, her voice lowered conspiratorially, “you can fuck him after.”
Sanji chokes on his tangerine slice, pounding his chest as she tries to process what she just said.
“Nami, come on!” He shakes his head, covering his face with a hand as his face warms. “I can’t do that.”
“Sure you can!” Nami laughs, leaning back. “You know Crocodile a couple streets over? The one who keeps getting married and divorced to that one mob-looking guy?”
Sanji looks at her blankly.
“The bitchy one with the hook?”
“Ohhh ,” Sanji says, the image of the man in question finally coming back. “Yeah, I remember him.”
“Last summer, he hired a pool boy, right?” Nami says. “He’s been like an angel ever since, I swear! He’s even teaching tennis at the Y this summer, he’s like Mother Teresa!”
“And you think that’s because he had sex with a pool boy?” Sanji questions, massaging his temple.
Nami rolls her eyes. “I’m not saying it's all that. I’m not saying it's a cure-all. I’m not even saying it's going to work. But I think it’s worth a shot.”
Again, she gestures to the pool with a thumb.
“And that pool’s not getting any cleaner.”
“You think?” Sanji says, pulling out both pockets of his robe in a last-ditch attempt to find a Kings Ground or two. Once again, there’s nothing, and Sanji begins to seriously consider going out, if only to see if someone from the walking club left a half-smoked butt on the ground.
“I could go for a walk,” Sanji ventures.
“Is that a yes or a no to the pool boy?” Nami says, looking at him expectantly.
Sanji sighs. “Well, I get that feeling you’re not going to leave it alone until I say yes.”
Nami whoops and embraces him.
“You know me so well,” She says, pulling out a sheet of paper and a pen as she begins to write. “Now, how’re we feeling for pay?”
The very first interviewee shows up at his house less than twenty-four hours after they put the ad in the paper. The response to it is quick enough to scare him, but at the same time, he’s grateful to be getting this over with quickly.
Or at least, he was until he laid eyes on the guy.
“I’m sorry, could you repeat your name for me one more time?” Sanji asks, clicking his pen and preparing to make notes on his clipboard.
The guy in front of him hardly looks like a college student, much less an aspiring pool boy. With his bright red hair, countless piercings (is that a tongue stud?) and the Ruby Woo on his lips, the guy looks less like a country club pool attendant and more like a drummer at an underground rave, and he’s looking at Sanji in a way that seems more than curious.
“Eustass Kid,” The man rumbles, his eyes undressing Sanji with each passing moment.
Sanji writes his name down at the top of the paper, and squirms a little. “So what are you doing with yourself? You out of school, working, in training?”
“I’m on break from college,” He elaborates.
“Oh, wow,” Sanji says before he can stop himself, and quickly tries to recover by adding, “And what are you studying?”
“Mechanical engineering.”
He picks up the glass of lemonade Sanji poured for him earlier and takes a generous sip, all while keeping eye contact with him. Sanji looks away.
“So, do you have any prior experience cleaning pools or housesitting or anything like that?”
“A little bit,” Kid says, tracing the rim of his glass. “I worked for this guy last summer. Said I did a pretty good job.” Kid tilts his head, shooting him a grin that seems less than innocent. “I can get you some references if you want.”
“That’s fine,” Sanji assures him. “Now, if I were to go for a trip or leave the house for an extended period of time, would you mind helping me around the house a little, watering plants, putting food out for the cat, that kind of thing?”
“I can help around the house any way you want, princess,” He says salaciously. Sanji swears he licks his lips. “You married?”
Sanji pauses, wondering if he’s just heard him correctly.
“Um, not currently. I’m in the process of getting the divorce finalized.”
“Perfect .” Kid rubs his hands together. “You free after this?”
The second interviewee shows up thirty minutes after Sanji scheduled the interview, with a McDonald’s bag big enough to feed a family in tow.
“Hey, do you mind if I eat in here, Sanji?” The guy (Luffy, he thinks he said his name was) asks. But before Sanji can say anything, he’s already pulling out a Big Mac and unwrapping it.
“So,” Sanji begins, struggling to keep his train of thought amidst the sounds of paper rustling. “You’re a student?”
“Yeah! I’m in college at the...”
Luffy pauses for a moment, snapping his fingers as if trying to recall something.
“Oh yeah! At The University of Grand Line,” he says finally.
He then proceeds to swallow the burger he’s holding whole. If he chews or masticates or anything, Sanji doesn’t see it. It’s just open, then close, like a fucking boa constrictor. Sanji’s so distracted by it he takes a while to even speak.
“And, uh, what are you majoring in?”
“I just picked whatever the first one on the list was,” Luffy yawns, before going into the bag and pulling out another burger.
He sucks down that one too, and within the next fifteen minutes, Sanji watches him mow down every last food item in that god-forsaken bag. He’s barely paying attention to how he’s responding, too transfixed by the display of gluttony before him.
“And what made you apply for this job?” Sanji asks wearily.
Luffy launches into an intricate, lengthy story, occasionally digging into the bottom of the bag and licking at his fingers, and it takes a while for Sanji to realize that he’s licking the salt.
Midway through the story, his stomach starts to growl like crazy, as if he hasn’t just housed down enough food for a dinner party.
“...If you’re still hungry, I think I have some pork chops in the fridge.”
Luffy stands up so fast he knocks over the glass in front of him (thankfully, he hadn’t made five minutes in the house before he’d emptied it), jubilant.
“Seriously? I love meat. How’d you know?”
Before Sanji can say anything else, he disappears into the kitchen.
Even before a single word leaves his mouth, Sanji has high hopes for the third interviewee.
He seems relatively put together, wearing khaki shorts and a nice (if unbuttoned) shirt, on time, and when Sanji opens the door, he greets him with a smile and a handshake.
“Sanji, right?” The man grins. “I’m Ace.”
He has a nice, strong handshake, and it only fills him with more confidence. Here, Sanji thinks, is his pool boy,
He lets him in, and they get right to business. No flirting, no eating, no nothing. Ace’s answers are great, his interview etiquette is impeccable, and his schedule is open. What more could a guy ask for?
“Well, I’m going to be completely honest with,” Sanji says near the end. “You’ve interview great, these references are great, everything’s great.”
Ace perks up, but Sanji doesn’t want him to start celebrating before the match is over.
“Now, nothing’s definitive,” He warns, wagging a finger. “But if I’m being honest, you’re probably going to get it.”
Ace smiles, a big, wide genuine smile, and Sanji can’t help but smile back.
He looks closer, and notices his lemonade is nearly finished.
“You want any more of that?” Sanji questions.
“Oh, definitively, it’s delicious!”
Ace hands Sanji the cup with a “thank you.” Sanji goes into the kitchen and quickly refills the cup, only to return to the dining table to find Ace slumped over the table, motionless.
“…Ace?” He says, his voice hardly above a whisper.
He places a hand on his shoulder, patting him, before eventually escalating to shaking him.
In a panic, he grabs his phone off the table, punches in 9-1-1, and starts dialing them.
“Yes, hello? The man I was interviewing just collapsed, I don’t know what to do,” He pleads desperately. He can feel his heartbeat in his ears, and his hands are shaking so much he’s struggling to hold the phone steady.
It’s then that Ace lifts his head. He yawns, scratching the back of his neck as Sanji looks on in muted horror.
“You…”
The operator on the line asks if he’s still there, and Sanji proceeds to awkwardly explain that the man who he thought just collapsed on his dining table was actually just taking a little nap, or something.
Sanji offs the phone with a beep, before turning around to confront Ace.
“What the fuck was that?” He demands.
Still blearily blinking sleep from his eyes, Ace looks up.
“Oh, man, I’m sorry Mr. Vinsmoke,” Ace yawns. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I, um, have a bit of a condition.”
“And does this happen often?” Sanji asks.
“...What do you mean when you say ‘often?’”
After six more failed interviews, Sanji doesn’t think much about the whole pool boy thing again for his own sanity until about a week later, when his ancient house phone mysteriously begins ringing while he’s sweeping the entryway.
“Sanji speaking,” Sanji answers, balancing the receiver between his ear and shoulder as he picks his broom back up.
The static crackles soundlessly for a bit, and Sanji begins to wonder if this isn’t some prank call or something, before the person on the other end finally speaks.
“Is this the...Vinsmoke residence?”
A man with rough, sonorous voice, speaking hesitantly like he’s reading off a piece of paper, fills Sanji’s ears. The sound sends a little prickle down Sanji’s spine.
“Depends,” Sanji responds, his curiosity undeniably peaked. “Who’s asking?”
“Saw the ad in the paper,” The man explains. Briefly, the line goes quiet. “This isn’t the wrong number, is it?”
“No!” Sanji says quickly. He clears his throat. “Uh, no, it’s not.”
Both men go silent, this time.
“You want to come in for an interview, some time?” Sanji asks.
The man makes a noise that sounds vaguely affirmative, and Sanji pulls upon the drawer of the table beneath the phone and takes out a notepad.
“Alright,” Sanji says, bringing pen to paper. “Tell me what your name was again?”
Roronoa Zoro is 5’10, has three swords strapped to his back, and is so shiny Sanji feels like if he touches him, his hand will come back soaked.
The white shirt he’s wearing is soaked all the way through, so transparent that Sanji could probably count the sparse hairs on his chest if he tried.
He seems aware of what a mess he is right now though, because he’s sitting precariously on Sanji’s white couch. He’s balancing himself with a hand on the cushion while the other holds the lemonade cup loosely without drinking it, all while holding the most intense eye contact Sanji’s ever received in his life.
He’s also quite possibly the most attractive man Sanji’s ever laid eyes on.
“Listen, I don’t want to be stuffy, but if those couch cushions get ripped it’s going to be a pain to replace them. Could you…?”
He gestures towards Zoro’s back, and Zoro stares blankly at him before he realizes what he means.
“Oh. Sorry.”
He shrugs the sheath off in a smooth, practiced motion, placing the swords with unexpected gentleness to lean against the coffee table.
“So, you’re in college, still?”
Zoro nods.
“…And you’re studying…?”
“Sports science,” Zoro answers.
Not much of a talker , Sanji notes.
“Where were you before this?” Sanji questions warily, his curiosity getting the better of him
“Dojo,” He says gruffly. “I train there in the mornings.”
Thank God. Sanji was starting to worry that he might have just let some sword-swishing maniac into his house.
“Oh, you take swordsmanship classes? Do you compete?”
Zoro nods.
“…You’re not going to elaborate?” Sanji says drily.
This time, Zoro sits up a little straighter and puts his glass down.
“I’m part of my school’s sword fighting team, and I compete around here in the summer.”
“Yeah?” Sanji’s hit something here, and he’s tempted to explore it. “You like sword fighting alright?”
For the first time this whole interview, Zoro’s eyes take on a fire so great it scared Sanji. His grin feels just on the edge of dangerous.
“I love sword fighting.”
Sanji’s so startled by the bluntness of the admission that he can’t help but laugh, much to Zoro’s displeasure. It’s the first time he’s laughed in ages.
“What’s so funny?” Zoro demands.
Sanji, still laughing, wipes away the tears in his eyes. “You know, most employers won’t be thrilled to hear about how much you love to fight.”
“Well, it’s the truth,” Zoro grumbles. “And anyway, it’s not about the fighting, it’s about the sword.”
“Why don’t you go do it professionally, then?” Sanji counters.
Sanji seems to have hit a sore spot. Zoro withdraws a little, looking away for half a second before taking a sip of lemonade.
“Old man won’t let me. Not until I’ve beaten everyone else.”
“Like at your school?” It was a lofty goal, but Sanji supposes that if he had a kid, he wouldn’t want them running off to go pro until he was sure of their skill.
“In the country.”
Sanji nearly chokes on his lemonade. “Seriously?”
“In terms of everyone ranked,” Zoro explains, scratching at his temple. “I’m number five in the country right now. All I need is to beat the four above me and I can go pro.”
“So you’re just cleaning pools until then?” Sanji says, smirking.
“Something like that,” Zoro mutters.
He looks up at Sanji with something akin to a challenge, a smirk tugging at his lips.
“If you’ll have me.”
Sanji doesn’t really have a good reason to hire this guy, and he hasn’t interviewed him very well. But he doesn’t have a good reason not to hire this guy, and he thinks that if he has to deal with one more bad interviewee, he’s going to go crazy
And anyway, besides the swords and the crazy eyes, this guy doesn’t seem so bad.
What’s the worst that could happen?
“You’re going to have to keep the swords in the entryway when you come over,” Sanji warns.
Zoro thinks it over for a bit, before saying, “Deal.”
Sanji wonders if it’s ethical to hire someone you’re attracted to. Still, he learns forward and takes Zoro’s warm, work-calloused hand in his. To his credit, he only semi-feels like he’s making a bad decision here.
“When can you start?“