Hi! This is my first fanfic and I'm not so proud of it so I would greatly appreciate it if you could point my mistakes out or tell me a way to fix anything. This one-shot is in an AU in the cannon setting(i guess?), as the only difference is our favorite shitty cook and marimo know each other as they're awkward teens. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own One Piece or the characters. And also the image.
Adoptive father watched closely as his scrawny son walked up to him. The chibi-eggplant looked nervous, if possible paler than he's ever been. Zeff had never seen him like that, not when he kicked him, not when the precious lady customers "forcefully" pinched his cheeks, not when he was caught smoking. All of that, and also the look in his eyes, something of fear, he thought, awfully familiar, and acted as if he didn't notice him approaching. It was painfully obvious that the boy had something eating him up, Zeff had dealt with shitty kids before, so he knew that look. When the eggplant stopped just a steps away from him, he used his will to the core not to kick or insult him. He would try to wait until his shitty son decided he was ready.
Sanji chewed on his lower lip slowly. He had been think a lot, and hard, but still he couldn't find the answer to the question swimming in his mind. He hated it that he had to ask the shitty geezer and probably ridicule himself, but it was better than losing his sleep every night, searching for the answer he didn't have. Minutes passed as the boy battled with himself, standing awkwardly next to the chef. His little tense being fixed his posture a bit as he decided to man up and ask away, and in those seconds Zeff's patience ran out.
"Oi, you chibi-eggplant, are ya going to spill the beans or are you waiting for your beard to grow out?"
Said boy jumped slightly, his braveness wavering. No, he thought angrily, and the ignored the shitty excuse for a joke, I need to know. So he took a deep breath and let his worry out.
"Do men always marry women?"
Zeff blinked a few times before groaning inwardly. Was it "birds and bees" already? He could swear that he pulled the eggplant out of water just yesterday.
"Tch, mostly," he answered before grinning, "if they can find one to accept their smelly ass! You see, eggplant, when one man and one woman love eachother..."
"STOP!" yelled Sanji, the tints of his ears getting redder every second. He definitely did not need to hear Zeff explaining those things to him. Ew. "Who asked you about that, you old fart? Are you some kind of pervert?"
It was Zeff's turn to shout this time. He was trying to end this awkward conversation faster, dammit, what was his shitty son's problem?
"If you know all that shit, then what the hell are you getting at, you scrawny shortie?!" He gritted his teeth.
Sanji paused for a moment before fixing his eyes to the ground and trying to his blush behind his golden bangs. It was hard to enough to talk about it, and to his father especially, did he really have to make it harder?
"I meant, is it always women that men like?" said Sanji in a small voice, turning his eyes away. He regretted this conversation already.
It didn't take Zeff one second to understand what he meant. His shitty son was now something like what, thirteen? and already troubled with love. Zeff couldn't stop the smile tugging at his lips as he watched the eggplant turn redder and redder, waiting for his answer. So that was it, huh?
"Who is it, Sanji?" he asked softly, suppressing his chuckle. He knew the answer very well, and there weren't many options anyway. He watched in amusement as the boy whipped his head up at his name, blue eye wide with surprise. The elder chef never called him Sanji, because it was simply too fun to mess with his son. But even he needed to get serious once in a while.
"None of your business," he replied after a while, not commenting on the usage of his name. His talented little hands balled into fists. "Just tell me, is there something wrong with me? Am I sick or something?"
Zeff placed a calloused hand on his head and ruffled his hair before snickering. "No. Definitely not." And without any other word, he returned to his cooking.
Sanji didn't move for a while. Was that normal? Was he normal? The men coming to the Baratie always had women with them, and Sanji was sure one day he would be like them too. Or he used to be sure. The lady customers were always nice to him, always gave him attention and complimented him. He enjoyed their words a lot, but there was a feeling in his chest that those compliments could be never be compared to. He was terrified once he found out that thing was called love. Sometimes just one look would make him happy and nauseous, sad but bubbly. He didn't know how he could feel so many, so different things all at once, but the shitty thing was there, despite all his protests and things he did not to feel it. This thing grown-ups called love had anchored itself in Sanji, and no matter how many pretty ladies he saw, his heart would go crazy at one moss-headed shitty bastard.
He gave a loud sigh before turning on his heels and leaving the kitchen, on his way to steal cigarette somewhere. He hoped, no, he knew, that the marimo would come again that night, all sweaty and smelly after his training, like a neanderthal who didn't know what soap or water was, a scowl plastered on his tanned face. And they would fight again, call each other names and he would come back to eat again, no matter how many times Sanji would tell him to fuck off. He would kick him, only to smile after he's out of the doors. It was his routine after all, to kick the shitty bastard and to wait for the soon-to-be-the-best swordsman return.