The man is starving, that much is clear. He's tall, just a bit shorter than Sanji—maybe an inch or two, at that—but with wide shoulders giving off a sense of raw power and great strength. However, he's exhausted: his feet drag on the floor, his eyes barely stay open, and his hand shakes when it grips the spoon Sanji hands him.
"Eat slowly," Sanji snaps, glaring at the man over his shoulder. He's wearing a dark hoodie hiding most of his face and faded, torn jeans. His shoes are ripping at the seams and the backpack lying at the man's feet is mostly tape, the rough material patching up multiple holes and rips.
The man snorts, but obeys, moving to tear a piece of bread off with his teeth. He grabs the glass Sanji set in front of him and swallows the water, not waiting to first swallow the piece of bread.
"Who the fuck taught you manners?" Sanji growls, flicking his cigarette before taking another drag.
Again, the man doesn't answer, but he's more careful when he picks up his spoon again. At least this time, he doesn't pick up the bowl of soup and tips it over like he did at first. Sanji rolls his eyes and continues putting up the leftover food in plastic containers. Maybe he can give a few of them to the guy. He doesn't like wasting food, and usually he uses the leftovers to feed himself, but it isn't like he will go hungry if he gives them away.
No, Sanji isn't a bleeding heart, but he isn't heartless either. He hums a little tuneless tune, discarding his cigarette in the glass ashtray the old man gave him on his eighteenth birthday. Speaking of the old man, Sanji should probably let him now he's going to give away the leftover food. He's sure the geezer is going to harp about giving away the plastic containers, but he won't outright tell Sanji no.
"I'm gonna go upstairs," Sanji tells his silent guest. "Don't do anything."
No response, but he didn't expect one. He snaps on the last lid, stacking the container on top of another one, and smooths out his apron as he walks out of the kitchen and up the stairs that connect the restaurant to the top office. There is an employee's bathroom upstairs, as well as a couple of rooms Sanji and the old man sometimes use when the restaurant is too busy.
Zeff is in his room, seated behind the old desk he bought when Sanji was still young, while he pours over bills and paperwork.
"Hey old man, I got a guest," Sanji says, leaning against the doorframe. His foster father doesn't look up, but he grunts in acknowledgment.
"He was pretty hungry, so I gave him some of the onion soup that was left over," Sanji continues. "And I'll give him the scraps from today as well."
"Make sure he returns those containers. I'm not buying more Tupperware for you to give away to punks," Zeff growls, looking up to glare at his son.
"Yeah, fine," Sanji shrugs. "Go to sleep, old man. You're gonna go blind."
"My eyesight is far better than yours, eggplant."
Sanji frowns at the nickname, but doesn't comment. He doesn't want to push his luck, since the older blonde didn't make a scene about the Tupperware. He should probably grab some bags for the guy to put his food in—nah, he can put it in his backpack. They are running short on the brown paper bags with the Baratie's logo on them, and he doesn't want to use them up on the ill-mannered man.
"Hey, I'll give you some—." Sanji stops, staring at the empty table. His eyes snap to the sink where the spoon, bowl, and tall glass have been washed. Badly, but at least the man made the effort. His eyes move over to the counter, at once noticing the missing containers.
"This motherfucker," he growls, walking up to the counter. He instantly zeroes in on the paper that replaced his leftovers.
There, written in surprisingly clean lettering is a note:
Thank you for the food.
He doesn't stop thinking about the note for days. Who the fuck does that bastard think he is, stealing from Sanji Black, Sous Chef of the Baratie?! The guy must have a death wish. Sanji chooses not to dwell on the fact that he had already planned on giving the guy the food. That doesn't matter. The guy stole it, even after Sanji was kind enough to give him food and shelter in the first place. What kind of ungrateful, shitty bastard does something like that? Who bites the hand that feeds them?—literally!
Not only did he steal, but then Sanji had to buy new Tupperware from his pocket money! That guy is gonna fucking pay him back! Sanji is going to find him and kick him in his goddamn smug face until he throws up the few morsels he ate. Of course, he has no idea who the guy is. He didn't get a good look at his face, nor did the man give him a name. He doesn't even have a voice to go with him. The only thing Sanji knows about him is that he owns a pair of torn black jeans, ripped shoes, and a taped backpack. Not much to go with, he can admit, but it's something, at least.
"Sanji! Are you going to keep staring at that onion, or are you gonna fucking cut it?" the shitty geezer's voice cuts through is musings, bringing him back to the Baratie's kitchen.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm doing it!" Sanji yells, starting the clean, elegant slices.
"He's still moping," Carne snickers. "Cause the man got robbed blind!"
"Keep talking Carne, and I'll filet that ugly mug of yours!" Sanji snaps.
"Mr. Black! Compliments to the chef from table four. The patron wants to personally deliver," Olga exclaims excitedly, bouncing on her feet in front of the Sous Chef.
"Thank you, Olga!" Sanji smiles, all traces of irritation gone. "I'm right behind you."
The pretty hostess leads him back into the dining room, directly to table four. Not that he needs it: he knows the Baratie's layout by memory.
He's not surprised to see a black-haired beauty seated on table four, a blue-haired man accompanying her.
"Ah, Robin-chwan! Is such a pleasure to see you," Sanji smiles, bowing and kissing her hand.
"You too, Sanji," she answers. "Today's entre was delicious—not that it ever isn't."
"It was super good!" the blue-haired man agrees.
"Thank you, Franky" Sanji says.
"It's good seeing you again, Sanji," Robin says, extending her hand for him to kiss again.
"Likewise," Sanji smiles, leaning back to place his hands in his pockets. "The meal is on the house. Except you, Franky. You pay."
"Not cool, bro!"
Sanji snorts, leaving the couple alone. He stops at a couple of other tables, greeting the customers warmly and offering recommendations to new patrons. He grabs the platter of dirty dishes from Apis hands, offering to deliver them to the dish boy himself, and then steps out for his cigarette break.
He takes out the small note Robin handed him, frowning at the message. Then, he lights a match and lights a cigarette, before catching the note on fire. He watches it burn, cigarette firmly held between his lips, until the ashes blend with those of his cigarette. Soon, there is nothing left.
Sanji likes to use his days off to try out new recipes. A good cook is always learning, and Sanji is a hell of a cook. He started with the neighboring business, picking out each thing from the menu every time he went, then retrying them at home. Sometimes—far and few in between—he doesn't make any changes. More often than not, he has to add his own little flair to it, making it a thousand times better.
His newest target is a little coffee shop a couple of miles away from the Baratie. It isn't much, but it serves pretty good pastries, and Sanji has already recreated a couple of them. This time, he's planning on trying the pie, since it's often advertised in the little blackboard they keep by the entrance. Shells Coffee Shop is nestled between an insurance company and a thrift shop, so it doesn't get much traffic. It has a cozy atmosphere, though, and Sanji actually enjoys eating there.
When he arrives at the small coffee shop, one of their employees is outside writing the day's specials. The man has shocking green hair, the color contrasting sharply with the bright magenta collared shirt and tan pants that is the coffee shop's uniform. With three plain, black studs on his left ear, as well as an angry scowl that ruins his face, the man looks more like a thug than a barista.
Sanji snorts, earning a glare from the man, and walks inside the shop. Instantly, he's greeted by the pretty black-haired waitress.
"Hello, sir! Would you like a seat?" she asks amicably.
"Why, thank you, mademoiselle," Sanji smiles, making the girl smile. She's probably about fifteen, but she's an efficient worker. At least, she doesn't make as much a mess as Apis.
"I'll give the apple pie a try today," Sanji says, waiting for the girl to write down his order before he adds a coffee for a drink.
"Right away, sir!" she says, saluting before rushing to relay the order to the kitchen.
The bell above the door rings, but it's only the green-haired employee walking in, so Sanji ignores him. Soon, the girl is back with a slice of pie and a steaming cup of coffee, setting it in front of Sanji with a bright 'enjoy!'
He takes the first bite, expecting the ripe sweetness of apples, but instead almost chokes as bitter saltiness overpowers his tastes buds.
"Holy shit," he curses, taking a large gulp of coffee to get rid of the taste—but the same thing was done to the cup, and Sanji is unable to stop himself from spitting out the bitter liquid.
"Dude! What gives? I just moped," the green-haired man complains, his voice deep and low.
"Oh my god!" the waitress exclaims, gaping at Sanji and the mess he made.
"I'm so sorry!" Sanji apologizes quickly, blushing bright pink. "It's just—I mean, I was surprised!"
The waitress gasps, instantly slapping a hand over her mouth as the action causes the punk to turn to her, eyes narrowed. "Rika…did you use salt instead of sugar again?"
"I'm sorry!" the girl—Rika—exclaims. "Oh gosh! I'll bring you something else really quick, sir! I'm so sorry! It's just…they look so much alike!"
"That's okay," Sanji says stopping the girl before she can take his plate away. "It's lovely. I was just surprised by the taste, really. I'll finish it."
Rika stares at him, surprised. She glances back at her coworker, who shrugs, then back at Sanji. "Are you sure?"
"Definitely. It was cooked with love, so not a morsel shall be wasted," Sanji says firmly, taking another bite. It tastes like shit, but it's totally worth it when a bright smile appears in the girl's face.
"Thank you! It took me a long time to make the crust, too! I'm really glad you like it," she smiles, then rushes back into the kitchen, a bounce in her step.
"You didn't have to do that," the green-haired man finally says, moving to start moping the coffee Sanji spilled.
"I don't waste food," Sanji says firmly. The man gives him a sidelong glance, but doesn't say anything else. He goes inside the kitchen when he's done, probably to help out in the back, and Rika comes back outside when more customers start walking in.
Sanji is somehow able to finish his slice of pie and his cup of coffee. He pays for it, and even leaves a tip for the girl—her service is great, even if her cooking isn't. She waves goodbye when he leaves, and he smiles and waves back. He glances at the little blackboard, noticing it is advertising the pie and laughs, thinking of the other customers' surprise when they taste the saltiness. He hopes no one will insult the food, though. It's truly a great sin for a chef's food to be insulted. Sanji can't see how—
He stops, body frozen in the middle of the street. Some guy curses him out, but Sanji ignores him, turning around to face the little coffee shop again. He takes a couple of steps forward, just enough to read the writing, the lettering surprisingly neat.
Today's Special:
Homemade Apple Pie
He waits two days. He figures that is enough time for the green-haired punk to forget his face. Sanji doesn't want to cause any trouble for Shells Coffee Shop, but that shitty bastard is going to get it, one way or another. He doesn't exactly know what he's going to do to the guy—maybe kick him around a little, maybe demand that he pay for the food he stole—but he's going to do something. Nobody steals from him, he's Sanji fucking Black, Sous Chef of the finest restaurant in all of Paradise!
With his half-thought out plan of revenge, he decides to follow the guy. Better to beat him up in his own house than in the middle of the street where some cops might see him. But the green-haired bastard is tricky. He must've noticed that someone is following him, because he tries to shake Sanji off, going around in circles for almost half an hour, then taking side streets and useless shortcuts. At the end, it takes close to two hours to get to his apartment.
The man lives in the poorer side of town, in a twelve-floor apartment. It's the kind of place where the walls are shared. There is an elevator, but the man walks completely past it, so Sanji decides not to risk it. He makes sure to keep at least a floor between himself and his target, climbing up to the fifth floor before the man disappears behind a ratty door labeled with a large 5B.
Despite the late hours, he can still hear a couple arguing somewhere on the lower floor, the heavy clanking of cooking pots, a child crying over a stressed mother, and the slick and wet sounds of sex from the door closest to him. He decides not to pay attention to that, especially since both moaning voices are disturbingly low and grating.
He discards his cigarette and immediately lights another one, taking a deep drag as he walks up to the once blue door. He let the smoke out in rings as he knocks politely.
"I'm coming!" Sanji recognizes the gruff, husky voice and rolls his center of gravity to his right leg, tapping the floor lightly with his left shoe. "Hey, Usopp! I'm—fuck!"
The man answers the door with a small frown, before recognition flashes behind dark green eyes. The man makes as if to slam the door close, but Sanji had expected the reaction and strikes quickly, his foot connecting squarely with the door and sending the man flying.
"Nice place you got here, marimo," he says conversationally, giving a quick once over. The whole place smaller than his living room. There is a scrappy kitchen—if it can be called that—taking up most of the far left wall. It has just the basics: a fridge, a stove, and a sink. Sanji guesses the man is using the bar that separates it from the main floor as a dining table, because he doesn't own one. There is a ratty couch facing Sanji and an antenna TV resting on one of those metal, foldable chairs. There is a door on the back wall, which probably leads to the bedroom and/or bathroom. Sanji doesn't know or cares.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" the man snarls, getting to his feet in the two seconds it takes Sanji to sweep his gaze over the entire room.
"What? I missed you," Sanji says sarcastically, stalking inside the apartment.
"Get the fuck out of my—oof!" Sanji cuts off the man with a well-place kick to the sternum, shoving the man back to slam against the yellowing fridge. Fuck, this place is really small!
"Don't fuck with me," Sanji growls, leaning in close to spit the words into the man's face, foot still pressing painfully into his breast bone. "You shitty thief."
The punk glares back, his mouth twisting into a scowl that is half pain, half embarrassment. "What do you want?" he finally spits out, his glare demanding.
"I want my damn Tupperware back," Sanji snarls, ignoring the surprise that flashes behind the thief's eyes. "And you're gonna pay me back for that food you stole, you ungrateful little shit. That would've been 150 Beri if you had ordered it at the restaurant."
"Are you fucking kidding me? They were fucking leftovers!" the man complains, pushing back against Sanji. The cook is surprised that the man manages to make him stumble, but he has yet to lose in a battle of strength where his legs are concerned, so he simply pushes back harder, enjoying the little gasp of pain that escapes the man.
"I don't give a fuck. Pay me back or I'll fucking have your ass arrested," Sanji threatens. "Is this how you fucking say thanks, you shitty moss? I fucking feed you and you steal my food? What kind of shitty person does that?!"
That strikes a nerve. The man tenses underneath him and his scowl deepens even as he looks away from Sanji. "Fine," he grits out. "I'll fucking pay you back. Take your goddamn foot off my chest first, you shit cook."
"Like that wasn't the best food you've ever had, bastard," Sanji scoffs. He drops his leg, but not before blowing a mouthful of smoke into the man's face just to be spiteful. The man coughs, glaring at Sanji, but doesn't say anything. Serves him fucking right.
"Turn around, curly. I'm gonna get my money," the man snaps.
Sanji rolls his eyes. "I bet I can buy your whole place with what I have in my pocket right now," he snorts, but obeys. It gives him the chance to study the place more. He's no stranger to poverty, but it has been a long time since he last experienced a lack of anything.
The place is surprisingly clean, considering that state of the entire building. At least, there is no junk food or dirty clothes littering the floor. The only thing that does look out of place are a couple of books stacked on the coffee table in front of the couch, and a woolen blanket thrown over the back of the couch. Though poor, the guy is not doing that bad, all things considered. Sanji has definitely gone through much worse. At least the shitty moss has food in the house—he does have food in the house, doesn't he?
His eyes fall on the fridge in front of him. It had once been white, but the rough surface is now a darkening, yellowish color. The handle is missing and the rubber suction that keeps the cool air from escaping is starting to peel off. The man has a couple of bills held to the freezer door with a ladybug magnet. He smiles at the oddly endearing object, noticing the other matching pair. A smiling bee is holding up a bright pink slip, the bold last notice warning instantly catching the eye. A pink and blue butterfly is holding up a white slip, this one with a bright 'Good job!' sticker taped to the right top hand corner.
Oh god. No…fuck no. Sanji shudders, feeling his breath stutter in his lungs, his heart hammering a thousand beats per second. His hands, suddenly clammy and shaky, reach out to open the refrigerator door, his eyes instantly scanning the inside for essentials. The man has a half-gallon of milk, a couple of rotting tomatoes in the bottom drawer, multiple take out containers stacked in the corner, an opened bag of ham, two beers, a two gallon of coke, a large jar of mayonnaise, and a 10 pack carton of eggs with only three eggs inside.
The door suddenly slams close, and Sanji jumps back, narrowingly missing a fridge door to the face.
"Here's your fucking money," the man snarls, shoving a stack of money into his hands along with the Tupperware containers. "I can't find one of the lids, but I'll buy you another one and drop it off at the restaurant. Now get the fuck out of my house."
Sanji stares at the money in his hands, feeling bile in his throat. It's a large stack, since most of the bills are ones with the odd ten thrown in. The containers have been washed, the lids stuck inside one of the bigger ones.
"Take it back," Sanji croaks, shoving the money and containers back into the man's hands. "J-just—fuck—forget it."
"Hey, what's your goddamn problem?" the man snaps. "Just fucking take it!"
"N-no," Sanji stutters, eyes falling back on the bright 'Good Job!' sticker. The man follows his gaze, and Sanji feels rather than hears the sharp intake of breath.
"I don't need your fucking pity," the man snarls, anger palpable. "Take your goddamn stuff and leave me the fuck alone!"
"Fuck you," Sanji says automatically, moving in autopilot. He snatches the Tupperware from the man, striking out with a quick kick to push the man back and makes his escape. He hears the man curse behind him, but ignores him and rushes out of the apartment, almost fleeing.
"Hey, you fucking bastard! Come back!"
Sanji ignores the angered screaming, running down the stairs and skipping steps in his haste to get away. The churning in his stomach is going to make him sick, and he can still feel his hands shaking as they grip the Tupperware to his chest. His mind has shut down in an attempt to drown out the memories that threaten to resurface, and his heart is hammering like a hummingbird, almost as if reminding him that he's alive.
He remembers the frantic eating of the man with a new light, and he finally stops in his mad rush to get as far away from the apartment complex as he can. He squeezes his eyes shut, squatting down and curling into a protective ball, his stomach twisting painfully.
"Come on Sanji," he whispers harshly, digging the heel of his palms into his eyes angrily. "Get a hold of yourself."
He finally opens his eyes and stares at the ground, forcing is body to calm down as his mind replays the events in slow motion. Entering the apartment, demanding his money, seeing that slip of paper—he curses and digs into his breast pocket for another cigarette. The hit of nicotine instantly calms his frayed nerves. With the smoke clearing his mind, Sanji makes his decision.
He stands up slowly, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles as he does, and drags his fingers through his hair. He takes in a deep breath of clean air, flicks the end of his cigarette, and begins walking again.
He has a breakfast to plan.
Sanji wakes well before sunrise to prepare breakfast. He usually only prepares a light and fruity oatmeal for himself, sometimes going for an energizing banana smoothie, but this time he needs something more substantial. He works seamlessly, checking the croissants he has in the toaster, before pulling out the blueberry muffins from the oven. He places them in a rack to cool, then grabs a cutting board and begins cutting apples and watermelon into star-shapes. He grabs his blue bento box, one of his favorites, and scoops a little egg salad on top of the lettuce boat taking over one of the square slots. He hesitates before adding two chocolate cookies, but most of the bento box is vegetables, so they won't do much harm.
His toaster dings, the croissants popping up nice and crunchy. He slices a couple of slices of smoked ham and cheddar cheese, making a sandwich with his croissants. Next, he blends some banana, pineapple, mango, ice, orange juice, and chia seeds into a healthy smoothie and pours it inside two thermos. Next, he grabs the already-prepared freshly squeezed orange juice from the fridge.
Done. A nice and healthy breakfast and lunch box. Years of practice make it easy to maneuver the multiple containers into his car. He does have to drive a little bit slower to make sure the liquid containers don't spill, but the moss only lives about forty-minutes away, so it isn't that bad.
The apartment complex looks even worse in the rising sun light. There are a couple of kids playing in the empty lot next to the building, and two older, heavy women sitting on rocking chairs by the main doors. They eye him curiously as he makes his way inside, platter of food held precariously in one hand.
"Hey, blondie! Bring that over here!" someone shouts, but Sanji ignores them. It seems like the early morning doesn't bother many people here, since the halls are busy with tenants going about their daily business. Most doors are open, probably to allow a little breeze in, and Sanji can see that most apartments share the same layout as the shitty moss'.
The door marked 5B is closed. Sanji steps in front of it, hesitating for only a second, before sharply knocking. There is a loud groan, a muffled thump, and then the sound of locks unbolting.
"What do you—fuck off!" the talking moss spits, sleepiness disappearing at the sight of Sanji.
"Good morning," Sanji says, pushing past the man and walking inside the apartment. He doesn't want to show the man how nervous he is, and the debonair attitude always seems to throw people off. "Delivery from the shitty restaurant. Where's the kid?"
"Wha—? You—! Get the fuck out of my apartment!" the man yells angrily, pointing an accusing finger at Sanji.
"I didn't know what time school started, so I might be a little early," Sanji continues, ignoring the angry man in front of him. He looks through the cabinets on top of the stove until he finds a couple of plates and glasses and begins pulling out the breakfast he prepared. "Are you allergic to anything? Lactose intolerant? No? Well, go on and get the mini moss. Breakfast will get cold, shit head!"
The man stares at him, slack-jawed, hands held helplessly in front of him as if to physically stop Sanji. "You—."
"Dad?"
Sanji's eyes snap to the door he saw before. A small, straggly-haired boy with huge, round brown eyes stares at Sanji from the door; Sanji cocks his head in confusion.
"Aren't you hiding the wrong way?" he asks kindly. The boy jumps with a tiny gasp and instantly rushes to correct his stance, brown eyes staring at Sanji over the edge.
The moss head sighs, rubbing at his temple. "Come out here, Chopper. This is…er…"
"Sanji," the cook says helpfully.
"Yeah, Sanji." The moss head rolls his eyes, but he seems to have given up in trying to get rid of him. "He brought breakfast."
"Is it candy?" Chopper gasps, forgetting about his fear of strangers in his rush to see the food.
"It's not candy. These are blueberry muffins," Sanji says, helping the kid settle in the tall chair in front of the bar where he laid out plates. "And a smoothie. Do you like pineapples?"
"What are pineapples?" Chopper asks, staring wide-eyed at the food. "Does it taste like apples?"
"Uh, not really," Sanji shrugs. "Go on, take a sip."
The kid obeys, eyes growing even wider at the first taste of the bitter-sweet drink. "Wow. Dad, come drink some! It's so good."
"Here, marimo. You get a cheese and ham sandwich," Sanji says, nodding to the plate he made for the other man.
"My name is Zoro," the marimo mutters, but the fight seems to have left him. He sits down next to his son and Sanji stares at the odd couple in disbelief.
They look nothing alike. Chopper is small and slender, his hair a sandy brown and eyes tender and dewy. He has the frame of someone who will grow up to be long-legged and nimble and will probably never lose his childlike naivety. Zoro is the complete opposite. His gaze is penetrating, deep-set green eyes seemingly darkened with perpetual suspicion. His body is muscled, but his movements are light and graceful. His skin is tan and rough, proof of years of hard labor and physical strain. His sharp, strong facial features are overlooked, the deep scowl that seems permanently etched in the man's forehead taking front and center. This is a man who is harsh and calloused, a man that has no business being the father of such a tender-looking child.
"There's blue candy in my muffins!" Chopper exclaims, staring at his food in awe.
"Those are blueberries," Zoro says and smiles. Ah…there it is. The smile lessens the scowl—Sanji doubts it will ever leave the man's face—giving him a much younger appearance. It's not tender, such a word can never be used to describe the man in front of him, but it's…softer.
"I made you a lunch box, too," Sanji says, opening said lunchbox for Chopper to inspect. "Cherry tomatoes and baby carrots, chocolate cookies, egg salad, and strawberries and cream. He's not allergic to anything, is he?" he asks, turning to Zoro.
"No," the man answers, giving him a look the cook is unable to scrutinize.
"Yay!" Chopper squeals. "You're the best, Mr. Sanji! This is even better than the food Dad brought before."
Sanji smirks and Zoro winces at the theft reminder. "Yeah. If you're done, go get ready for school, Chopper. Your teacher will kill me if you're late again."
"Okay," Chopper says readily, jumping from his perch. "See ya' later, Mr. Sanji!"
"Bye, bye Chopper," Sanji smiles.
Zoro waits until the wooden door is closed to turn on Sanji, glaring at the man who invaded his home. "What the hell is your deal, shit cook?"
"What do you mean?" Sanji smirks, purposely evading the question.
"This! First you demand I pay you back for the food I took, then you come over and feed me? Are you touched in the head or something?" Zoro snarls.
"First of all, I came to feed your son. You're just in the way," Sanji snaps. "And second of all, you didn't just take the food, you stole it."
"Fine, whatever. Still doesn't explain the sudden one-eighty." Zoro crosses his arms and glares, making sure Sanji understands he won't budge until he gets a satisfying answer.
Sanji sighs and grabs the dirty dishes. Honestly, he doesn't have an answer for Zoro. He isn't a person of introspect, doesn't like delving too deep into his own thoughts. The biggest stranger in his life is himself, so he can understand Zoro's confusion. He's a man known for his ever-changing emotions, being able to switch from one end of the spectrum to the extreme opposite in seconds. His reasoning is simple: he doesn't like seeing people go hungry.
Seeing Zoro eat like a drowning man breathing that night in the restaurant had sat wrong in his mind, brought out too many memories best left alone. If he's being honest with himself, it's probably the reason why he had gotten so mad at the man for stealing his food. But he could've keep lying to himself if there had been no child involved. Seeing that report card on the freezer door, facing the possibility of a kid going through the same hell he had—he can't accept it.
"I'm a cook. I feed the hungry." Sanji finally settles his thoughts, a little annoyed at the green-haired man for making him take a deeper look at his thoughts. "You have a problem with that?"
"Yeah. I'm not some charity case; I don't need your fucking pity," Zoro growls, hands tightening around the back of his chair.
"It's not pity," Sanji begins.
"Bullshit," Zoro says flatly.
"Call it what you want, then," Sanji snaps. He doesn't need to scrutinize this. He doesn't want to scrutinize it. Why can't Zoro just leave it alone? He's getting free food out of the deal. "Messiah complex, extreme narcissism…whatever you wanna call it, it's feeding your child."
"I'm feeding my kid, I don't need your help," Zoro growls. "You can say whatever you want about me, but I take care of my kid!"
"The poor kid doesn't know what a goddamn pineapple is, you shitty moss!" Sanji yells, fed up. "Shoving crappy takeout down his throat isn't feeding him. You might as well blend every fucking disease in the world and force feed it with a tube down his throat!"
"Fuck you!" Zoro shoots back, hands grabbing Sanji's upper arms, pushing him back until his back hits the counter painfully. "Who the fuck—? You don't know—fuck!" His arms are shaking, his teeth gnawing at his lower lip painfully. Sanji can see fury and helplessness swirling behind his dark eyes, and he takes a moment to muse at the fact that he's able to read this man better than he reads himself.
"I just want to feed you," Sanji says softly, meeting Zoro's gaze unwaveringly. "I can help. I just—I can't let you go hungry."
Zoro's gaze lowers, fixing on a spot somewhere on Sanji's shoulder. His jaw is locked painfully, his hands bruising on Sanji's arms. "Why?" The question is almost silent, a slip of the tongue.
"Huh?"
"Why help me?" Zoro asks, dark eyes snapping back to meet Sanji's. It's a gaze that locks you down, holds you down and demands honesty.
Sanji is bound to comply. "I don't know."
The answer doesn't satisfy him, but Zoro seems to get what he wanted from it, because he nods and steps back, finally loosening his grip. "Food. That's it. Got it?"
"Whatever, marimo."
Zoro snorts, and the sound seems to break the tension. Sanji hadn't realized how hard it had been to breathe just a moment ago. His hands scramble for a cigarette, silently asking Zoro's permission before he lights it inside the house. The rush of nicotine is calming, slowly bringing back the cool and aloof image he had worked hard to create.
"What time does Chopper get off school? I can pick him up and—."
"He stays at a friend's house until I get off work," Zoro interrupts, busying himself by drying the dishes Sanji unconsciously washed during their little tiff. "We'll both be here around seven."
"Well, I can give you both a ride to—."
"We'll ride the bus."
Sanji opens his mouth, to say what he doesn't know, but is interrupted a third time by Chopper.
"I'm ready!" he exclaims, hands on tiny hips. He's wearing navy pants and a bright, white shirt. The tail is tucked in, his pants held up by a thick, leather belt. His backpack, unlike his father's, looks almost brand new. It's clear that Zoro cares more about his son's appearance that he does his own.
"You combed your hair?"
"Yup."
"Washed your hands?"
"Twice."
"Teeth?"
"Squeaky clean."
"Homework?"
"Backpack."
"Good job. C'mon, we're gonna miss the bus," Zoro says, patting his son's head. "Let's go, cook. I'll walk you out."
"Don't forget your lunch box, Chopper," Sanji tells the excited little kid as he follows them out, handing him the brown paper bag containing the lunch and juice he prepared. Zoro locks the door behind them.
"Are you going to come back tomorrow, Mr. Sanji?"
"Just call me Sanji, kid. And I'll be back tonight to give some dinner," Sanji promises. The kid's smile is infectious; he has no idea how Zoro can keep a frown on his face at all times.
"Really?! Are you gonna bring me candy?"
"Well, you already got some chocolate cookies in your lunch, so no. I'll get you some candied grapes tomorrow, alright?"
"Okay!"
"Any requests from you, Marimo?" Sanji asks, glancing back at the green-haired man. He has his hands buried in washed out jeans, deep scowl settled on his face as he glares at the few people still out in the hall.
"Food," Zoro says flatly, and Sanji rolls his eyes.
"Chopper! Hurry up!" a tall kid with short-cropped black hair calls from the street corner, where a dozen or so other kids stand waiting for the bus.
"I'm coming, Biyo!" Chopper shouts, waving at his friend. "Bye, Sanji!" Chopper says to the cook. "Thank you for the food. It was really good."
Sanji laughs. "Thanks Chopper. Have fun at school."
"Listen to your teachers!" Zoro yells after his kid. "And don't let Chip and Dip talk you into any more trouble! And if that Timmy kid keeps bothering you, punch him in the face!"
"Dad! I'm not gonna get into fights!"
"At least kick him when the teacher's not looking."
"No!"
Sanji snorts, watching Chopper join his friends to be instantly enveloped by an overexcited group of kids. "Figured your kid would be the sensible one."
"That Timmy kid keeps pushing him around," Zoro mutters. "Chopper doesn't want me to get involved, but…I don't care how fucking rich his parents are, if he keeps messing with my son, I'll beat that whole fucking family up."
Sanji drops his cigarette, killing the flame with the sole of his shoe. "He's a smart kid. I'm actually surprised, I expected some tiny annoying mini you."
"He's more like his mom," Zoro murmurs.
Sanji wants to ask about Chopper's mom. He didn't see any sign of another person living in Zoro's apartment, but maybe he had missed her? Had Zoro and her divorced? Is she dead? Where is she now? He feels Zoro won't answer if he asks, so he keeps quiet.
"I need to go, or I'll be late for work," Zoro says, awkwardly looking everywhere but at Sanji. "See ya, I guess…"
"I'll be here at seven," Sanji says firmly. Zoro gives him another look, one of those that Sanji finds hard to interpret, before walking away. Sanji bites his lip, fighting the urge to shout out an insult. Zoro has some kind of unshakable calmness around him that irks Sanji, makes him want to rile him up. The man is obviously younger than him, maybe a year or two, but despite his poor living conditions and money problems, he seems to have life already figured out.
He's Sanji's antithesis in every sense of the word, and Sanji has not failed to notice the thinly veiled contempt the other man seems to hold against him.
He returns to the Baratie, taking a peg leg to the head for coming in late. The old man seems to notice something is bothering him, though, so they keep their arguing to the bare minimum. It's in moments like this, when he's in his element—hands mindlessly grilling, sautéing, braising, frying, or whatever it's that he's invested in at the moment—that his mind is able to settle, mirroring a distorted image of what Zoro is so easily able to accomplish.
He doesn't stay until closing, calling it a day before happy hour hit. He wants to do some grocery shopping for Zoro, but he still has the small favor Robin asked him to do.
Luckily, it doesn't take long, and the sun is still in the sky by the time he hits the local grocery shop. He still has a little over an hour until he has to get back to Zoro's, but he's planning on cooking in the man's place, so he doesn't have to rush.
He filled his shopping cart with vegetables and grains, his mind instantly providing him the health and dietary advantages of each produce that goes into his cart. Rye for baking, oats and quinoa for whole grains, maybe some amaranth. Leafy, green vegetables and citrus for vitamin C; yogurt, milk, cheese for vitamin A and D, as well as calcium. Add some lean meat, a variety of nuts, don't forget the peanut butter and bananas. Olive oil, peanut oil, sesame oil, canola oil, plenty of kale, two cartons of brown eggs, maybe some fish, turkey and ham.
He will definitely need new cooking pans, a couple of baking pans, some pots and lids, a new set of knives, a hand mixer, a blender—does the marimo own a toaster? Add that too.
In the end, he ends up with two carts, one holding all of his grocery and the second one with enough utensils to stock a new kitchen. He doesn't want to waste any time cooking the food at his house, then driving it to Zoro's. And he can't very well keep his stuff at Zoro's either. Besides, maybe if the moss head has quality pans, he won't hesitate to cook an egg or something in the morning if he ever needs to.
The acne-faced teenager rolls his eyes and sighs when Sanji rolls up to his line. "You sure you got everything?" he asks sarcastically.
Sanji narrows his eyes. "Better fucking keep scanning before I shove those carrots up your ass, buddy."
The boy jumps, blushes, and smartly keeps quiet this time. Sanji hands him his credit card when he's done and steps up to help the pretty bagger. He accepts her offer to help him get the second cart to his car, if only to keep praising her beauty.
His mustang's trunk is too small to fit all of the groceries, so he places the second half in the back seat, with the eggs and loafs of bread in the seat next to his. The clock on his dashboard already reads fourteen 'til seven, and by the time he parks in the apartment complex's parking lot, it hits 7:09.
"Shit…how am I gonna get all of this upstairs?" he muses, glancing at the bags on his backseat through the rearview mirror. "That shitty moss better be here already."
Zoro is not at home, but Sanji only has to wait a couple of minutes before the familiar green-hair is seen climbing up the stairs, chatty Chopper in tow.
"Sanji!" Chopper exclaims, jumping excitedly. "Hi!"
"Hey, Chopper," Sanji grins, butting out his cigarette before he greets the kid. "Help me bring some stuff from my car, moss head," he says to the father.
"Eh? Can't you do it yourself, curly?"
Sanji's eyes narrow at the quip about his eyebrow. "Run that by me again, you shit moss?"
"I said, can't you fucking do it yourself, dartboard brow?"
"Oi, who the fuck you think you're talking to, you shitty punk?"
"You, crap cook!"
"Wanna fucking go, fuck face?"
"Anytime, jackass!"
"Dad!" Chopper yells, stopping the arguing adults. "No fighting in the hallway! Mr. Morgan already said that if you keep fighting, he'll raise the rent!"
"Listen to your kid, marimo. Kid's smarter than you," Sanji smirks, watching with glee as Zoro struggles to regain his calm composure. So something can rile him up, huh? "Come help me out. You too, Chopper."
"Okay!"
"So how was school?"
The kid almost chats Sanji's ear off as they head downstairs to his car. Sanji doesn't know how anyone can talk that much, but the kid just keeps ranting off about what Chip and Dip did, or how Sugar brought her toys for the whole class to share. By the time they see Sanji's car in the parking lot, he knows that Gina's brother is the coolest guy in the world, Momo strongly believes he's a dragon, Chimney dyed her cat blue (which is actually a rabbit), and Ginko has a crush on Momo.
"What the hell is all of this, Cook?" Zoro gasps when they sees the pile of groceries inside Sanji's car.
"Food. It's easier for me to cook in your house," Sanji shrugs. "Shut your mouth and help me out. I got perishables in there."-
"This is too much," Zoro hisses at him, but begins grabbing bags.
"This is the stuff you're supposed to buy, moron," Sanji gripes. "Now, put those muscles to use and load up. Chopper, I have a carton of eggs and a loaf of bread in the front seat. Get if for me, please?"
"Wow, Sanji! Is this all for us?" the little kid gasps, watching in awe as his father grabs bags full of green vegetables, bright fruits, grains, and spices he had never seen. "Are we gonna have a buffet? Shouldn't we invite Luffy?"
"No one's telling that damn glutton about this," Zoro snaps instantly.
"This is for the whole month, Chopper," Sanji explains to the little kid. "Tonight's dinner will be fish sticks with roasted potatoes and mac and cheese. Then we'll make some granola bars for you to snack on in school. Wanna help me out?"
"I love mac and cheese!" Chopper squeals. "Can we have ice cream for dessert?"
"Not tonight. I'll get you something light and healthy before you go to bed, but I'll make sure to make some vanilla ice cream for you to take to school and eat at lunch, okay?"
"You'll make some ice cream?" Zoro snorts. "Who even knows how ice cream is made?"
"I do, shit moss," Sanji snaps. "I know how to do anything you can ever think of, just try me."
"Wow! Can I learn how to make ice cream?"
"Of course, Chopper."
It takes them two trips to get everything inside. Sanji instructs Zoro on how to put up all of the groceries while helping Chopper prepare the meal. While it's just fish sticks, baked potato wedges, and mac and cheese, nothing Sanji make is ever simple.
The fish sticks he makes from white fish, coating them with a bran and almond mixture, before popping them in the oven. He makes the marinara sauce to go with them as well. The potato wedges are sprinkled with garlic and salt to add flavor, and for the mac and cheese he makes sure to use whole wheat macaroni and reduced-fat cheddar. He adds yogurt to thicken the sauce, and throws in some broccoli and spinach for something green.
"When you said fish sticks and mac and cheese, I thought you meant from the box," Zoro says, the barest hint of awe in his voice as he gazes at the finished meal.
"Excuse me? The day I make something out of a box, it'll be the day I swallow my hand whole," Sanji snaps. "Now sit down, marimo. Chopper and I worked hard on these."
"I crushed the almonds, Dad! And I poured the macaroni in the water, and I cut the broccoli and the potatoes, and I turned on the oven!"
"Good job, Chopper. You're not going to eat?" Zoro asks Sanji as he settles a plate in front of him.
"I need to start on the granola bars for Chopper," Sanji says, walking over to serve Chopper. "Don't worry, they don't take long. I'll eat while they're in the oven."
"Don't you think this is too much?" Zoro asks quietly. "I mean…snacking all the time isn't exactly healthy."
"Kids are supposed to snack three times a day, marimo," Sanji explains. "Their metabolism is fast, so they can process almost anything. The key is to make sure these snacks are healthy. These bars are full of protein and Vitamin A. The ice cream I'll make tomorrow will have his daily dose of calcium. His drinks are made from fresh fruit juice, and there's nothing processed in the food I'm giving him. He's gonna grow up healthy and strong. And you too, if you let me feed you."
"I'm already strong," Zoro smirks, trying to lighten the mood by flexing a—and here Sanji accepts it very grudgingly—perfectly muscled bicep.
"No, you're muscly, idiot," Sanji retorts. "You're always rubbing your muscles, as if you're sore—."
"I am sore; it's called working out."
"It's called Vitamin D deficiency, moron," Sanji snaps. "There's beer in your fridge, so you're probably a heavy drinker. Any light headedness? Rapid heartbeat? Easy bruising? That's B12 deficiency. And you need that, since it what helps your cells regenerate when you destroy them building up muscle."
"How do you know all of that, Sanji?" Chopper asks, mouth agape. "You're like a doctor!"
Sanji shrugs, trying to fight off a blush. "Nah…not really. I know nutrition. My old man kinda raised me to be a chef since I was little, so I grew up knowing these things."
"Dad! Dad, I wanna be a doctor when I grow up," Chopper exclaims suddenly, his dangling feet swinging excitedly. "I wanna help people be healthy and strong like Sanji does!"
Zoro laughs. "Alright, Chopper. But you need to be strong yourself first, so why don't you go ahead and eat all that broccoli you're pushing off to the side, buddy?"
"But Daddy!"
"And don't even start with the cuteness act," Zoro snaps, immediately looking away from his son's pouting face. "You're gonna eat that broccoli!"
"Fine," Chopper sighs, shoulders slumping in defeat.
"Wow, that's some powerful stuff." Sanji shakes off the need to feed the kid as much sugar as he wants.
"Tell me about it," Zoro mutters.
Chopper and Zoro eat everything off their plates. Zoro sends off his son to do his homework while he helps Sanji with the dishes. The two adults share a comfortable silence as they work, and it isn't until 9 o' clock hits and Zoro sends Chopper to bed, that tension begins to settle in.
"Well…um, thanks," Zoro starts, raising a hand to scratch at his hair. "For the food and stuff, I mean."
"Don't mention it." Sanji goes for nonchalance, trying to make this as comfortable for Zoro as possible. He's aware that the man has a strong and willful pride, and just accepting Sanji's help is already a great leap of trust from the man. "I'll be here tomorrow at seven. It's that fine?"
"Y-yeah. See you tomorrow…I guess."
"Good night, Zoro," Sanji says softly. He's already looking forward to the next day.