A/N:
This chapter is... EXTRA long to make up for the shortness of last chapter. I also just have way too many words about these two? And I'm pretty sure exactly none of you asked for this, but here you go. A massive helping of SanNam flangst from the past. A wild Nami POV appears.
TW: child abuse/discussions of child abuse, and... bad childhoods? Can that be a general warning here?
A blur collides with her the moment she turns the corner.
Maybe it's her own fault for tiptoeing around, but that's kind of the point of breaking into someone's house. You're not supposed to be loud.
Still, she can't help but squeak in alarm as she falls on her back, scrambling upright and getting to her feet. Quick enough to run if necessary. Whatever she smacked into groans, still sprawled on the floor, and—
It's a boy.
Dammit.
Nami clutches the handful of stolen necklaces tighter, expensive jewels biting into her skin. She should have stashed them before anyone could catch her red-handed. It's too late to claim she'd broken in on a dare, or for the thrill of even stepping foot inside a mansion— anything. But it's been a challenge to stay on track when everything looks like it's worth more than her entire life.
She counts herself lucky that it's only the third Vinsmoke son, Sanji, and not either parent or staff member. Her employer's brief run-down of the family when they went over the mansion's layout seems a lot more helpful now. Up against a kid her own age, she might be able to weasel her way out of this.
"So..." She tilts her head as he stands up, giving him her most bashful, charming smile. "How do you feel about pretending you never saw me?"
His eyes— eye, actually, because one is obscured by his mop of blond hair— narrows on her. It flickers between the glittering necklaces and her face. He opens his mouth, drawing her gaze to the bloody split on his lower lip.
Whatever he means to say gets drowned out by three other voices booming down the hallway.
"Sanji!"
"We're going to find you!"
"We just wanna play!"
A chorus of mocking laughter echoes toward them, though Nami can't see who it's coming from.
Sanji's eye blows wide. "Oh no."
Nami knows her face mirrors the terror she sees in his. She won't be able to get a handle on this if more people show up. "What? Who—"
She yelps when he launches toward her, snatching up her wrist with a pleading look. "I never saw you if you never saw me, okay?"
She nods, firm yet disbelieving. He's— letting her go?
Evidently not, as he books it down the hallway and yanks her along with him.
"Fantastic," he hisses. "Now move your fucking legs before I drag you by your carrot-top hair, Princess!"
Nami sputters, shocked beyond speech at his crude words. It comes out of nowhere. Aren't rich kids supposed to be well-spoken and somewhat polite, if only to keep up appearances?
Then again, appearances aren't worth much anymore considering he knows she's a thief.
They run, flying down flights of stairs and even more hallways. She crams the jewelry into her pockets at some point, tired of fumbling it as they go. Her lungs and legs burn, but she lets Sanji tug her where he must've been headed before they crashed into each other.
"You're slow as fuck for a thief."
"Shut up!"
He's an asshole.
Sanji is barely eleven years old, but this observation is absolute. She comprehends this in the same way she can't trust a gun-strapped man in uniform. Those are assholes of a more criminal sort.
Above all else, she finds Sanji is kind.
The first thing he does after he's sequestered them away in a closet that locks from the inside is ask, "Are you okay?"
It's not even the question that cements her assessment of his kindness. It's the look of genuine concern on his face, for someone he met two minutes ago.
She nods again, still reeling from the chase. "Uh-huh."
Sanji doesn't seem to hear her, visible eye raking her up and down for— what? The things she stole? Except he says, "They didn't catch you before, right? I mean, I wouldn't put it past them to beat the hell out of a girl for no good reason."
She almost laughs. They would have a reason, had they caught her. Jesus, she's becoming more and more grateful Sanji found her instead. Ideally, she'd have gotten away without a confrontation, but if she had to pick someone—
He waves a hand in front of her face, then cuts it out and steps much too close to her. "They did, didn't they? You won't even fucking talk to me, must have brain damage or some shit..." He gasps. "Should I be dragging you to the hospital instead? I'm so terrible at this, what the hell—"
"Sanji!" She claps her hands down on his shoulders, and he flinches into silence. "I'm safe, I swear. I don't even know what you're talking about. Just... calm down."
"It's my— my brothers. They like freaking me out, and I don't— you know, if they catch us again..."
"We're safe. Whatever they want, it's fine now." She doesn't know that. It's naive to assume anything at all about the Vinsmoke family dynamic, but she wants it to be true.
He shrugs, breathing heavy through his nostrils and— god, what are they even doing? What is she saying? He doesn't actually give a shit about her, and she doesn't care if he decides to have a panic attack over nothing. Especially when out of the two of them, he looks like the one that needs a hospital. Like he rammed his face into a wall or something. His busted lip keeps dribbling blood, and god only knows what else is wrong with him.
Stop fixating on things that don't matter. The job matters.
Nami blinks, shaking her head. "I need to get out of here."
"No," Sanji snaps, moving to block the door. "They might still be running around."
"I don't care."
He rolls his eyes. "Look, Princess, they aren't going to be as nice as me, so—"
She shoves at his shoulder, ignoring the part of her that feels bad for making him flinch a second time. Despite that, he doesn't budge. Her arms drop back to her sides. "I don't care! I got what I came for, and I'm leaving."
Sanji frowns. "Katherine's stupid necklaces?"
"Don't try to stop me, or I'll tell your brothers exactly where you are on the way out."
She won't. Well, she can't, because running blindly through a dark mansion is a surefire way to get lost. She's not even sure what the threat means to him, but he looks at her like she's slapped him.
"So, what, this is just about a little money?"
Nami resists the urge to gape at him. A little money. A little. As if the couple thousand each of the necklaces are worth is just a little money. "I need these for a trade."
"Oh." He laughs, digging through his pockets with a grin. "I can give you something way better. Something that bitch won't even miss."
It takes her a second to realize 'that bitch' is how he refers to his stepmother. Sanji is such an asshole.
"What?" She snorts, hands on her hips. "Got a spare two grand lying around?"
It'd be a dumb trade regardless. She's making more than that on this job. She finally found someone who will pay her a fair share for doing all the leg-work.
"No, but I've got a little under half of that. Those assholes were trying to take it, but that's just their excuse."
He sticks it right under her nose, and it— holy shit. It's real. He's serious. The stack is thin, but it's definitely real, and she's reminded again that Sanji is... kind.
Even when he's cussing in her face.
Even to someone who snuck into his house and tried to rob his parents.
Nami grits her teeth, nails biting into her palms as she stares. Takes in his silken pajamas and softer slippers. If it weren't for the split lip and bruising cheek, he'd be the picture of luxury. His skin still glows clean underneath it, actually, and she— she's a street-rat next to him. In a fine layer of protective dirt and stolen clothes too big for her, hair stringy with oil from infrequent washing.
So, yes, Sanji is kind.
Even though she doesn't want his kindness. His pity. His charity.
She wants to take the crumpled hundred-dollar bills he holds out to her and rip them in half. Rip them into confetti and throw it back in his face.
But the blank, bored look he wears tells her he won't even blink if she does.
The fact that it matters so little to him disgusts her beyond measure. Because she meant it. She needs what Sanji has very obviously always had, what he considers literal pocket-change. She needs it for the sake of her own survival. It's hard now, but it was harder back when she still had Nojiko to think of. Two mouths to feed, two growing children to clothe. It's damn near impossible when the only people who want to hire her are thieves. They're the only ones who don't care about hiring a child. They see the merit in being small enough to slip in and out of places without drawing too much suspicion.
Sure, she's only known him for about fifteen minutes, but his nonchalance speaks volumes. Sanji doesn't understand a goddamn thing about saving and pushing a meager amount of money as far as it can go. For him, there's always more to fall back on. Has he ever looked at a price tag and felt his stomach drop to his toes because why is everything so expensive?
Hell no.
He probably doesn't even look at the price tags.
She sneers at him, slaps his hand away from her. The money flutters to the ground between them. "Take your charity and shove it right up your privileged ass."
Sanji cocks his head. "Why? My parents are literally richer than god. This is just a bit of revenge for all the birthdays they forgot and the things they turn a blind eye to." He picks up a couple bills, waving them in her face like a dog with a bone. "Seriously, you'd be doing me a favor if—"
"Birthdays they forgot?" Nami shoves him before she can stop herself, hard enough that his head cracks against the wall. "Oh, god, I can't even imagine the horror." Her sarcasm drops, making way for disdain. "Cry me a river! Stop trying to give me your petty revenge money."
Sanji clutches at the side of his head with a wince. "Fucking ouch. Je-sus. And does it really matter? It's just money, Princess." He dabs a finger at his freshly bleeding lip and groans. "You didn't have to add injury to insult!"
Princess, this. Princess, that. She never has been and she never will be. Nami doubts she looks like a princess to him at all. Rage rolls through her, head-to-toe. She's trembling with it. With the disparity between Sanji and herself. Filthy rich and dirt poor.
It's just money.
Bellemere used to say the same thing for drastically different reasons. She'd said it when she bought meals for them and only pretended to eat her share. When Nami got offended by the hand-me-down dresses and screeched, "Nojiko isn't even my real sister, and you're not my real mom!" When Bellemere slapped her for it and Nami sobbed, "I wish a rich family had adopted me!"
A family like the Vinsmokes.
Sanji gasps when she grabs him by the front of his fancy pajama shirt. "H-hey! Don't—"
He swallows his protests and pushes at her hands, his chin tucked to his chest to keep minimal distance between them. She doesn't relent. The softness of the silk grates on her last nerves.
"My name is Nami, you asshole. I want the money, but I don't need your charity."
And Nami has worked damn hard to make sure she didn't need saving. Especially not from the kind of people Bellemere wished she could've been until her last breath. The kind of person who could have thrown a thousand dollars in her face just for that stupid goddamned dress.
"It's just money, Nami, but I'm sorry for falling short. I'm sorry I couldn't buy you everything you girls wanted."
"...all of it."
She's so wrapped up in regret, his voice so quiet, that she almost misses it entirely. "What?"
"Just fucking take it! All of it! The necklaces, the money, whatever the fuck else you want, Nami. Tell my brothers where I'm hiding, even. I don't care." He lifts his head, voice bordering on a shout now, and she's horrified to see that his eyes are wet. "What does it matter? What does money do? It never stopped my brothers from beating on me. It didn't save my mother, it didn't make my father or step-mother give a shit about me. What is it good for?" His face scrunches, pulled into a glare as he gives a halfhearted push at her hand. "You want it? Take it, it's just fucking paper."
He trembles in her grasp like a leaf in the wind, caught in a tempest of emotion like she'd been when she first grabbed him. Nami's stomach plummets as his words hit her, demolishing thoughts of Bellemere. As she takes in the bruises, the stark terror underneath them, and realizes what she's done. She didn't know. Her mind races through what got them to this point, and she can read between the lines now, but she didn't know.
Nami grits her teeth.
Asshole or not, rich or not— it's not enough of an excuse even for her.
She tries to let him go, disgust with herself curling tighter at the bloodstain she sees on the collar in her grip. Sanji pushes away again at the same time and winds up overcompensating. He bangs back into the wall, dropping to the floor with a sharp grunt.
The guilt washes over her like a tidal wave. "I'm sorry, I was just—"
"It doesn't matter. This is pointless. In fact," he pushes himself to his feet with a grunt, "might as well suck it up and go out there now. Let you escape while they push me down the motherfucking stairs or something."
"Sanji—" Nami stops, standing frozen. She doesn't dare touch him again.
"See you around, Princess," he throws out over his shoulder.
Without another word, he undoes the lock and disappears into the labyrinth of hallways.
She doesn't care.
Her eyes, trained on the discarded money, aren't stinging.
She doesn't spend an entire hour curled against the closet wall, waiting for him to come back.
She definitely doesn't swallow her pride and leave with a pocketful of charity and stolen jewelry.
Once she's traded them into her gleeful employer, she has more money than she's had since the orphanage. Since she cracked open their safe, took Nojiko, and ran like hell before they tried to separate them. CPS caught up when Nami was out one night anyway.
She hasn't seen her sister in a year.
But now she has enough money to carry her for several months if she's careful. She can save up to look back into where her sister might be.
Hot, sticky guilt dampens any true excitement.
Here's the thing.
Nami does think about Bellemere. All the goddamn time.
About the love and warmth and care she received from a woman who hadn't shared blood with her or her sister. Sunnier days ripped away by violent force. She thinks about Sanji in that frigid, full-but-empty house. Full of empty people who don't bat an eye seeing their own sibling or child bloody-lipped at breakfast. Siblings who create that situation.
Revenge for all the things they turn a blind eye to.
She thinks what Sanji's step-mother must be like, for him to say that— to call her that.
Nami hopes the neglectful bitch chokes on her own silent tongue.
Sneaking back in is going to bite her in the ass, but call it morbid curiosity.
(She doesn't care. She doesn't. Sanji can't be her problem along with everything else. Getting on a bus and riding a whole hour to see him means nothing.)
Nami has to see if they pushed him down the motherfucking stairs.
She goes in half-cocked and stupid, with no plan except slinking her way around until she either finds Sanji or stops caring. Until the shock and novelty of her once-having something Sanji, even with all his money, seems to be sorely missing wears off. Or maybe he's missing it because of all the money.
Her lips curl into a frown as she draws toward another door, the crack at the bottom aglow with a faint light. She twists the knob slowly, careful to make as little noise as possible.
By some cosmic miracle, Sanji is sitting right there, off to the side of the door. Like he's waiting for something to burst through, and he might escape if he's close enough to the exit already.
God, he's weird.
She slips into the room, silent enough that he doesn't realize she's done it until the door clicks shut again. Sanji goes still as a statue, eye wide, and it mirrors the way they'd met the other night. A single, dim desk lamp lights the room, washing them in muted color. The not-quite darkness calms the nervous energy threatening to break out of her skin.
Nami waves. "Hey."
Sanji softens, posture drooping. The tension travels to his face, brow wrinkling in confusion. "Hi?"
Jesus. She has absolutely no clue what she's doing here, besides—
"So did they push you down the stairs?"
"No." He shakes his head. "Niji and Yonji just dangled me over the banister by my ankles again 'til they got bored."
Nami's chest goes cold, breath catching. Again, he says. How lovely. "Bored? They didn't drop you, did they?" She realizes how much that sounds like concern— like she cares and adds, "It wouldn't be healthy for you to lose that many brain cells when you're so short on them already."
Sanji huffs a small laugh, shaking his head again. "Not really. It was just no fun after I got too dizzy to keep fuckin' screaming."
"What?" She balks at his statement. "Didn't your parents hear you?"
"Maybe." He shrugs, then seems to pause and reevaluate before he nods. "Probably. But anyway, they didn't drop me. Not really. They slid me down until dropping me was less likely to break my fucking neck. That's not what it means to be actually dropped, you know? Because they did that for real once, and it broke my nose instead of my neck. But then dad got all pissy because, like, blood on the tile stains, didn't you fucking think of that beforehand, right? Trips to the hospital are inconvenient, he said, but so are possible concussions. And then our step-mom started getting all teary-eyed over her goddamn Persian rug right next to it, so—"
Nami has no idea what her face looks like, but it stops him short when he finally bothers to glance at her. Her brain buffers in her skull, trying to absorb the words he's saying, but they don't make any sense at all. They don't fit. The boy in front of her screaming his head off and his parents caring more about replaceable, material things than their concussed, bleeding son. Because that's not what parents do.
That's not what Bellemere did.
Bellemere patched up and tended to her skinned knees, mother henning her about being more careful. Bellemere picked out the deep splinter in Nojiko's foot and winced in sympathy when she screeched like she'd been stabbed. She gave them both a stern lecture when they'd gotten a bit physical during a minor squabble between sisters.
The novelty of Nami knowing a love that Sanji goes without has officially worn off.
He raises a curly eyebrow. "Are you okay?"
Is she— is she okay? A laugh bubbles out of her, that cold pit of rage yawning wide inside her chest.
"What the fuck, Sanji."
What are you still doing here? she wants to ask, shake him until he snaps out of it. Wants to scream doesn't anyone care about you?
Nami does, whether she wants to admit it or not. She might have to because it's starting to look like nobody else will.
He shrugs. "They're dicks, Princess, what else can I say?"
"That's not normal, Sanji."
He considers her for a moment, seeming to roll the words around in his head. "Okay. Let's say it's not. So what?"
She can't believe she has to spell it out for him. "So stop letting them get away with it!"
"Well, shit, wish I'd thought of that one." Sanji's expression and words are bone-dry, sarcasm palpable. He scowls at her. "I have tried, okay? And dad goes punch them back or stop whining, and step-ditz goes yeah, we hear you, but you know how rowdy you boys get. Reiju giggles up a storm while Katherine sips her wine. Dad locks himself in his study and— hey, Nami, I just wanna know why the fuck you care when I'm so privileged?"
"I don't know." She doesn't, but a piece of her has latched onto this asshole and she knows herself if nothing else. She latches onto people and she can't leave well enough alone once they've hit that point. "Privileged or not, you don't deserve that."
His mounting anger falters, mouth drawing into a straight line. "Are we even friends?"
His voice is flat, but Nami can see the hope behind his eyes. See that lonely edge of desperation she's caught in her and her sister because they'd had nobody but each other.
Gulping down the weight of that, she mutters, "Well, yeah. Duh. I came here for you, idiot."
Her cheeks burn.
"Oh." He blinks, biting his lip against the smile she can tell wants to betray his giddiness. "Thanks, Princess."
She abhors the part of her that squirms in delight rather than annoyance at the nickname because he's staring at her like maybe she's a little bit magical. "Whatever."
"Sanji!"
Nami jumps, startled by the new voice bursting their quiet bubble.
"We've got a surprise for you!"
The shouts drift under the door, and Sanji's up like a shot to turn the light out completely. His voice hushes to a whisper.
"Dammit. You have to get out of here." He grabs her hand, pulling her toward the window, only to sigh. "I should've hidden on the first floor."
"Can't we wait it out and I'll leave when they're gone?"
"I don't want to risk that." He pauses. "Let's do what we did last time. I'll go distract them while you hop the damn gate or whatever you did to get in here."
"Stop it. You don't need to do that."
"It's going to happen either way."
Her stomach twists. "Well, don't go looking for it! That's just being stupid."
Sanji finally turns to look at her. "You got any better ideas?"
"Join the goddamn circus?" She throws her hands up. "I don't know! If it's that bad, just leave."
He blinks, and it's like a lightbulb flickers on somewhere in his brain. "Is that a dare?"
"No," Nami groans. "You're an idiot."
"I really think that was a dare."
She rolls her eyes. "Whatever. It's not like you'll do it."
She wants him to, but—
"The hell I won't! That is definitely a dare."
A bolt of genuine irritation hits her at his blasé attitude. Like being without a home is so easy. No skin off his back at all. He wants a dare? Fine.
She leans toward him, pointing a finger into his chest. "You won't actually do it."
You won't last a day in my world, rich boy.
Nami isn't sure she'd last very long in his, either, but that's not the point.
In the end, he grins at her, kisses the back of her hand like a massive fucking dork, and says, "Wait and see, Princess."
Ah, there it is. The urge to deck him. That's becoming familiar. "We're staying here, for now, asshole. I'm not letting you martyr yourself again."
"Fine," he sighs, all dramatic and put-upon as he pulls her along. "I'll play Prince Charming another time."
She barely restrains a loud bark of laughter. "I am not the damsel here."
They shove their way into the room's mammoth-sized closet, huddling back behind a set of bulky jackets. He squeezes her hand.
"That's alright. I'll let you save me this time, Nami."
She doesn't know how long they sit there, whispering and holding hands in the dark, but dawn has broken by the time she sneaks away a second time.
There is not an impulsively grabbed brooch in her pocket.
(It goes for a truly obscene price.)
She does not dump a bottle of red wine on the pristine Persian rug on her way out.
(It feels better than the money.)
Sanji is gone.
She's been back to the mansion a dozen times in the last couple of months. And, after she searches for hours and finds no trace of him during the last four visits, it dawns on Nami that he is gone.
Seven weeks since she last saw him, long enough for anything to have happened.
The worry crawls under her skin until she almost doesn't hide from Sanji's brothers. Almost tackles Yonji to the floor and screams where is he, what did you do?!
Did they finally snap and kill him? Drop him from the highest banister they could? The balcony, this time, for a harsher splat?
They don't call his name anymore. They stopped two or three weeks ago, giving up when they received no answer and their searching turned up nothing. His parents go on, as usual, like not even a fraction of their lives have changed without Sanji.
But Nami keeps obsessing, going back, because it's Nojiko all over again. She's kicking and screaming in the background as someone takes a baseball bat to the last support she has. This time, she doesn't even get to watch them wreck it, know who's done it. She only feels the ache that confirms her world has shattered afterward.
He can't be gone.
He can't have left her like this.
The thought niggles at her, like a cough in the back of her throat, but she doesn't dwell on it. She doesn't want to. If she considers the possibility, he's as good as dead. Because there's no way kind, clueless Sanji can make it out there by himself. Not for seven goddamn weeks.
And why wouldn't he have come to her if that's it?
But she knows, the minute she sees him again, it's because she pegged him right.
Sanji is an asshole.
She's digging through the bins in the alley beside Baratie's, a snobby restaurant with a rowdy kitchen. Lately, they tend to leave food in halfway decent condition when it's thrown out. Weirdly, suspiciously decent condition. She thinks Zeff, the head chef, might've seen her out there one night and started caring about the quality of his trash instead of calling the cops. He stops just short of plating it and bringing it to her, it seems like.
Nami isn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth on this one. She can afford to pay for food right now, but that's exactly why she saves the money instead. It works out just fine.
But then some rich dickface stomps out of the restaurant, sneering at her, ostensibly on principle. He pauses as she stares back at him, scrutinizing her. His eyes light with terrifying recognition.
"You."
She knows him, too, recognizes that stupid pinstripe suit even though it's drenched in... soup? God, she hopes it scalded him, but more importantly, he knows her.
Something childish possesses her to do it. Something reckless and on-edge enough to poke the hornet's nest, instead of cutting her losses and booking it out the other end of the alley.
Nami opens her smart mouth and it all promptly goes to hell.
"Oh, hi!" She grins at him, feral rather than sweet. "I met you last year, I stole your diamonds."
His face goes purple with alarming speed, arm lashing out and grabbing her in a bruising grip. "You aren't getting away this time, you thieving little street urchin!"
She doesn't think, just screams long and shrill like he's stuck a knife in her. Maybe Zeff's kindness won't stop at free meals and he'll hear it.
As if that thought alone wills it to happen, the kitchen door bangs open. A golden glow spills through the alley, but a silhouette smaller than she expects steps out of it. Another kid. She curses her own bad luck. So much for a quick rescue.
(Nami doesn't need saving, but she does recognize when the balance tips out of her favor.)
She's just about to sink her teeth into Pinstripe's hand when the other kid tuts like a disappointed mother.
"My, my... wasteful and unsophisticated." He rushes forward, rendering Pinstripe a wheezing ball on the pavement after a swift kick to the balls, followed by a vicious shove. "That's not how you treat a lady, assface!"
The grip on her arm is abruptly gone, and Nami stumbles backward, right into the boy.
She spins around, eager to say a quick thank you and vanish before Pinstripe gets his second wind. The words die on her tongue, and all she can say in place of them is a name trapped in her brain, behind her teeth, for weeks on end.
"Sanji."
His eye widens as she pulls him into her arms, a long-lost friend found, and this— this is them. Her clinging on and him shocked that she's still there. He had that look on his face every single time she visited him. Like he expected her to stop coming back each time she left. His shoulders are bonier, waist cinched thinner when she puts her hands there and pulls away to look at him. Same dumb eyebrow and dumber haircut dressed up in a chef's uniform.
"Guess you missed me, then?"
Nami fists the material of his chef's coat, a silent yes, knows he feels it by the sheepish grin he gives her. Her eyes are burning, but she doesn't know if the tears are from anger or sadness. Happy that he's here, or angry that— that he's so obviously been here.
Pinstripe groans behind her, scuffling around and banging bins together. Out of the corner of her eye, she watches him grapple to use one to stand back up. "I swear I'll kill you brats!"
Sanji is two steps ahead of her, taking her hand like it's precious. "Time to move those legs, Princess."
That's all the warning she gets before he's pulling her past brick buildings and storefronts, across streets and into another alley. It's familiar. Letting him whisk her away, hand fitting hers like a glove. Run and hide.
This time, they're both street-rats.
They pant at each other until one of them has enough breath to speak.
"Looks like I got to play Prince Charming after all, huh?"
"Oh, so charming!" Nami can feel her nostrils flare.
Her foot connects with his shin, making him yelp and pitch backward. She catches both of his wrists in either hand to stop him, fighting to keep her face blank after she touches him. She feels nauseous. Sickened by the easy reunion of her fingertips around the circumference of skin and bone.
It makes her pause, and reexamine more closely.
His cheeks aren't quite gaunt, but they aren't as full as she remembers either. She resists pushing a finger through wiry strands of blond hair, no longer gold-spun silk. His skin doesn't glow anymore, but that could be the lighting.
Seven weeks.
Seven fucking weeks.
It looks like he'd starved at least half that time.
"You're so—" God, the tears are coming back strong, no matter how hard she tries to swallow them down. "You're so stupid!"
"What?" Sanji lets her continue to strangle his wrists. "No prize for taking the dare?"
"I thought you died or something, asshole! How could you? How could you just—" leave me?
She refuses to ask him. Refuses to let him know exactly how big the hole he'd punched in her grew to be.
"All I did was take the damn dare. So, really, this is your fault."
"My fault?"
"The truth hurts, Princess."
It does. The truth that he abandoned her, that is. "Good thing you're lying, then."
Sanji stiffens for a second before rolling his eyes. "I'm not! You don't know how convincing you are w—"
"I looked for you!" She relinquishes her hold, crossing her arms over her chest. "This whole time, I've been looking!"
"Well, you found me. Want a gold star?"
Nami can't believe she hasn't decked him yet. "Stop being such an asshole!"
"It's clearly genetic," he states, tilting his head in consideration.
"Clearly." She snorts, her frown deepening. "I thought we were friends."
She wants to take it back immediately, feeling exposed the second the words leave her mouth. Sanji makes his ridiculous how are you here face, though, and it makes her feel a little better. Both of them relax a fraction.
"Fine." His gaze drops to the ground, tracking tar-lined asphalt. "Wasn't really planned, I just couldn't deal with all the bullshit anymore."
"Why didn't you at least tell me before—"
"They locked me up, Nami."
She stops, cowed by the devastation in his expression and the use of her name.
"Three weeks." His hands curl into fists. "I was in the basement for three weeks. Got beat to hell for two of them once my brothers figured out where dad hid their punching bag. It was— they found it so fucking funny. I think my dad might've just kept me down there forever if Reiju hadn't let me go."
"Creepy, fake-cheery, ice block Reiju? Why would she do that? I mean, I'm glad she did, but..." Nami blinks at him, and it's a testament to how horrible the Vinsmokes are that she isn't even shocked about the first half of what he said.
Sanji shrugs, refusing to meet her eyes anymore. "Guess she has a heart in there somewhere."
She sighs, figuring she's pushed him about as far as she can for now, and pulls him back into her arms before he can think to protest. He remains a tense, rigid mess of bones wrapped in too pale skin for a moment. Slowly loosens up against her. Like he's remembering she's a safe spot more often than she's not and—
Nami takes a deep breath and tries her damndest to suck the tears back into her eyes. Doesn't want them to drip down her chin and soak into Sanji's shirt. Let him know what a baby she's being about all of this.
He's here.
After seven weeks alone, it's enough.
Do y'all have as many feelings about them as I do sometimes because— oof. Was this enjoyable or just... me being dramatic as hell?