Chapter Text
Sanji woke with a shiver crawling down his spine.
The room was unfamiliar—too cold, too quiet—and the weight of the blankets felt wrong against his skin. He groaned softly and pushed himself upright, blinking through the haze of sleep. His body ached in that dull, heavy way it always did after too much alcohol.
He stretched, ran a hand through his hair—
—and froze.
Bare skin. Everywhere.
Sanji’s eyes flew open. He sucked in a sharp breath and looked down, panic blooming in his chest.
Oh no.
No, no, no.
He was completely naked.
His heart slammed against his ribs as a horrifying thought hit him all at once.
Did I really—?
Movement beside him.
Sanji went rigid.
His pulse thundered in his ears as he very, very slowly turned his head.
A broad back filled his vision. Muscular, scarred, unmistakably male. Green hair spilled messily across a pillow.
Sanji stared for a long second, his brain short-circuiting.
…Well.
He leaned on his elbow, squinting slightly.
Not too bad, he thought weakly. At least drunk me still has standards.
The man shifted again, letting out a low, sleepy huff.
Sanji shot upright so fast he nearly fell off the bed.
“Oh—shit,” he whispered.
He held his breath, heart in his throat, waiting—listening—for any sign that the stranger was waking up.
Nothing.
A soft snore escaped him instead.
Sanji sagged with relief.
Okay. Good. Fine. Crisis postponed.
He moved quickly after that, gathering his scattered clothes from the floor like evidence of a crime. Shirt. Pants. Jacket. Sock under the chair. Sock under the bed.
“What a mess,” he muttered under his breath.
He slipped into the bathroom, barely glancing at his reflection. There was no time to think, no time to process. He splashed water on his face, tugged his clothes on, and was gone before doubt could catch up with him.
At the front desk, he leaned casually against the counter, forcing charm into his tired smile.
“Good morning,” he said smoothly.
The clerk looked up and smiled back. “How can I help you, sir?”
“I need to pay for room 502.”
She flushed instantly.
Sanji smirked, already pulling out his wallet.
A few moments later, he stepped outside into the winter air. The cold bit into his skin, sharp and bracing, and he welcomed it. Anything to cut through the fog in his head.
He shoved his hands into his pockets and headed home.
~
The shower was scalding, but it didn’t help.
Sanji scrubbed at his hair, water streaming down his face as questions chased each other in tight circles.
“Who the hell was that?” he muttered. “And how did I even end up there?”
No matter how hard he tried, the night before was a blur—flashes of noise, alcohol, heat. Nothing solid enough to hold onto.
By the time he dressed and rushed to class, he was already late and bracing himself for the inevitable.
Zeff was mid-lecture when Sanji slipped into the kitchen and tugged on his uniform. He kept his head down, sliding into place beside Nami.
“Where the hell were you?” she hissed. “I called you four times!”
“Good morning, Nami, my sweet,” Sanji replied lightly, ignoring the question entirely.
She rolled her eyes.
Class passed in a blur of knives and heat and stress, and when it finally ended, Sanji leaned against the counter and exhaled.
Nami didn’t waste a second.
“You disappeared last night,” she said, arms crossed. “Where did you go?”
Sanji opened his mouth—
“Sanji.”
Zeff’s voice cut through the room.
Sanji swallowed hard and immediately bolted after him.
~
The office smelled like smoke and coffee.
“You were late,” Zeff said flatly.
“First time in a long time,” Sanji replied, lighting a cigarette.
Zeff didn’t soften.
“Your food lacked flavor. Your cuts were sloppy. Your plating was shit.”
Each word landed like a blow.
“I—” Sanji started.
A crumpled paper hit him square in the forehead.
“Get your shit together, kid.”
“Yes, Chef,” Sanji said tightly.
Dismissed.
He barely made it outside before Nami was on him again.
“You asshole! You left me alone last night! You didn’t answer any of my calls!”
Sanji crushed his cigarette under his shoe and turned to face her.
“Honestly?” he said quietly. “I don’t even know myself. So I can’t explain it.”
She studied him for a moment.
Then she grinned.
“You drank a lot,” she said slowly. “Did you wake up somewhere… weird? Maybe with something—or someone—unexpected next to you?”
Sanji flushed.
“Stop,” he snapped, clapping a hand over her mouth.
Her laughter told him everything.
“Come on,” she said. “We’ll be late for Robin’s show.”
~
The venue was elegant, buzzing with excitement.
Sanji settled into his seat beside Nami just as Franky introduced himself.
“These are my friends—Luffy and Zoro.”
Sanji stood, smiling politely.
The green-haired man stepped forward.
Their eyes met.
Something flickered in Zoro’s expression—surprise, maybe confusion—but Sanji felt nothing but vague politeness.
“Sanji,” he said warmly. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“…Zoro,” the man replied, gripping his hand a little too tightly.
The lights dimmed.
The show began.
Sanji watched, enchanted.
Zoro couldn’t focus at all.
His leg bounced, eyes drifting back again and again to the blond two seats away—laughing softly, clapping, utterly unaware.
Was he wrong? Zoro wondered. Did he imagine it?
By the time the show ended, the crowd swept them apart.
Zoro searched the room desperately—
and lost him.
~
That night, long after the lights dimmed and the music faded, Zoro still hoped he’d see him again.
He didn’t.