They'd forced him awake, shivering in the hallway till the time of death had been ascertained. Smoker had been summoned as his reluctant alibi, stomping back up the long corridor to take in the state of him. Sanji'd been half sure he'd returned only to cast more charges, yet he'd nodded Sanji's alibi and disappeared back into the bowels of the prison.
Two grim faces had then dragged the body onto a stretcher to be hauled away, but no one returned for the blood.
The murder had stained more then just his pychee. The bed, walls and floor were grim. Bloody footprints led out into the corridor as if some part of him could escape this hell. Each time Sanji blinked another corner of the drenched cell flashed behind his eyes.
He'd pulled Helmeppo's duvet (His late roommate's name, only discovered post death) back onto his bed as a lid to pretend someone's life force wasn't underneath.
Exhausted, he'd curled up on the top bunk as close to the bars as he could, running on sleep deprived logic that the air coming in was free from the iron tang polluting the rest of the cell.
The white ceiling vibrated ahead as he shook himself awake. He swallowed, refusing to blink. The fuzzier vision alluded to an alternative reality where a murder hadn't occured below.
He was forced by his burning iruss to close his eyes, causing thoughts that had become temporarily paused by sleep to crash through him.
He could see so vividly, thin strands of golden blonde hair fanned out across a grey pillow, ombred a sticky red.
It should have been him.
Greasy blonde hair swung past his eyes, head twisting to shake the certainty of his guilt. Helmopo had been nuts, unlikable at best. Maybe everybody else had felt the same. Took him out independent of whatever was going on with him and the big blonde guy.
He was forcing ignorance over Helmopos actual qualities, as these were a mystery, and could be inferred favourably to add whatever attributes necessary to ease his guilt.
He bit his lips, then his nails as that failed to satisfy his creeping urge to destroy something. He craved a distraction. A TV, phone, he'd take a newspaper, the old school ones his dad reads with the vaguely suggestive pictures in the centre that became boring when he'd discovered the internet.
But this was prison, he was trapped in a crime scene with his thoughts.
The cells had opened at 0600 to release him back to the mercy of his fellow inmates. His primal recoil had been thoroughly tested getting out of bed, fighting to control his breath as his DNA insisted that the dried blood he was standing on meant life threatening danger.
He'd walked down to the showers in the grey sweatsuit he'd slept in. Hand sore from searching his bag for anything else to wear. Anything.
His nails picked at the fabric encasing his arms, monetarily raising the cheap material of his skin. Was it awful to say that the clothing situation was hitting him harder than the dead roommate. His jaw clenched, swallowing the shimmering image of a pressed blazer, silk blouse, beard oil, shoes not stained in someone's blood.
The guards he'd spoken to before being escorted to the showers, and he tried a few, informed him he was to only bring his toiletries. They'd be given another set of clothes after their shower.
Pulling the hairs on his chin soothed him somewhat. "What about razors," he asked. "To shave." He'd had to clarify at the concerned look. His goatee was sliding past fashionable into crack addict territory.
"You rent them from the wash manager then go to a supervised room."
He nodded in thanks. Striding off down the corridor on his own.
Prison showers were notorious. No good had ever come out of them in TV, Movies or Porn.
One small victory was that there didn't seem to be many people from his block of psychopaths. Showers were assigned randomly between the whole prison, so he appeared to be with an assortment of men from different blocks.
They were shoved into a changing area, silver shower heads just visible through a partition in front.
He worried for the health of his feet, less so from bacteria but more from what must be a thick bleach layer sat above the tiles. The air tasted toxic. He raised his sweatshirt to cover his nose as inmates pushed past, to throw their clothes off with little fanfare. Eyes down, his shirt fell back to his chest as he resigned himself to his fate.
He was dangerously close to pulling the string out from his sweatpants as a beefy arm swung dangerously close.
Snapping his head back. He followed muscles up to a broad blonde haired man. The smirking apology didn't sit right on his face. Eyes gleaming.
What did this cunt want?
A guard broke through Sanji's red haze. Heavy eyebrows over intense eyes, focused straight on him. A purple tattoo leaked out from the collar of his shirt to spread across his neck, some sort of flame insignia.
Sanji's lip curled but he stared forwards. Weight shifting to his left foot so he'd be able to turn quickly, the little shit would be dead if he started something here.
He kicked his shoes off, reaching out to the bannister in front. As his eyes followed his hands, he froze. Emerging from a sweatshirt, which was subsequently thrown against the bench below, was mint green hair. Locks flopped down over one bored brown eye.
His mind was tinder, cells quick to catch fire. "You!"
Zoro blinked, head snapping up. "Huh." He sounded like an engine, the sound vibrating deep within his chest. His eye focused, eyebrows arching. "You're still alive?"
"Yes," Sanji snapped, forehead furrowing. "Zoro right?" Despite the placid and slow nature of Zoro's gestures he could still sense the innate underlying aggression.
Zoro grunted in answer, hands gripping the bottom of his shirt. "How are you still-." Zoro bit his thin lips. Hand darting down. Attracted to the quick movement, Sanji watched as his t-shirt got stuck around his wide shoulders, stitches popping till it was loose enough to slip over his massive pecs and over his head. It hung from his long fingers a rag.
"Oi, Perv."
He rocked back, blinking tired eyes up to meet Zoros. Oh. He'd been caught staring at another man in the prison showers. Fuck his life.
"I am not-." His eyes zoomed out on red scars stark across smooth skin. To add to his already impressive collection Zoro was bisected from chest to hip. "It's not often you come across someone cleaved in half."
Zoro stiffened.
Sanji smirked. Somebody's sensitive.
His sweatshirt was a scarf around his neck, awkwardly waiting to be pulled off, but the thought of blinding himself even for the second it would take to pass over his face felt fatal.
"Stop staring at me dart board." Zoro growled, kicking his shoes off with a thunk.
Someone whistled. They were drawing attention. "Hey! You were the one staring at me."
Zoro frowned, his rough hands paused, thumb tucked under the waistband. "I don't give a shit." He snapped.
The sound hit Sanji's ear like a gunshot. Causing irritation to buzz through him. How was Sanji supposed to undress with Zoro's terrifying brown eye locked on his, he could barely breathe. "I know you got moss for hair, but how about you go photosynthesis on the other side of the room."
Zoro's thin eyebrows jumped at his words "Huh."
Sanji whistled, giving into the urge to lean closer. "Dumb too."
"Are you sure you're ready to start shit with me?"
"I swear to god dick, walk away." His brain cells were jumping ship, any articulate arguments gone from his head. They were like dogs jumping to bark in eachothers faces.
Zoro bared his teeth, taking his hand from his waistband to clutch at the bannister between them. "You make a habit of picking fights, Curly. Ain't it your first day?"
"Second." He snapped, stepping round the division into Roronoa's space. "Curly?"
"Your eyebrows," Zoro motioned up towards his face. "They are curly, Get in an accident?"
His eyes crossed, eyeballs rolling in a fruitless attempt to see what Zoro was seeing. Oh. His eyebrows. "Shut the fuck up cunt."
Zoro's nostrils flared, Biceps flexing. "I'm not some gang bitch like Diamante, you won't walk away from a fight with me."
"Yeah, unlike him you're not much of a challenge." To emphasise his point his eyes trailed over Zoro's deep scars. His teeth clicked together as a late attempt to shut himself up. How many murder attempts would it take for him to learn. Two. Probably two.
"You don't even use your hands-" Zoro's own hand was balled up.
The sound of a baton against the wall knocked them apart. "OI, oi, oi. Get undressed, Roronoa that side, Black the other, now!"
He wanted to push it, energy bubbling up with nowhere to go. He eyed Zoro's shampoo wondering if kicking it into the wall would soothe him, but the slender guard looked serious, baton tapping against the brick. The adjacent guard with the purple tattoo leant forwards, cutting off the others stare.
"Later." Zoro spat, sweatpants dropping to the floor.
"Jesus!" Sanji recoiled to the left. Waiting till tan passed in his peripheral to drop his own.
His world went black as he flipped his sweatshirt over his face before once again becoming blinded by the fluorescent lights. Guided to the clothes bin he dropped everything inside, reluctantly parting with his socks as his last defence to stepping down on the terrifying tile floor.
"Patch! 119, take the patch off first." The inked guard shouted, voice horse.
Arm fishing in the bin of foul smelling clothes he contemplated allowing himself to die instead of inhaling, he thankfully found his identification number patch before he passed out. Throwing it towards one of the benches before storming into the shower.
Forcefully ignoring swinging phalluses, he slapped the metal button on the wall in front, barely feeling the lukewarm water rain from scum coated shower heads.
Addrenalyn forced him stiff, blowing air out slowly as he eyed the space either side. No guards had entered the showers so the space went unobserved.
He bit the shampoo cap open. The taste that stuck to his teeth was surprisingly pleasant. Yet he still spat, flem disappearing down the drain in front as the uncertainty built as to what the substance he was about to rub over himself actually was.
It oozed out, the texture of sand. It quickly disappeared into his hair, unwilling to foam. He leant forwards, shivering as the water hit the back of his neck.
A foot connected hard with his calf.
He lost his grip on his shampoo, watching it and his knee slap onto the dark tiles below. Through the water now pouring into his eyes he looked up at blonde.
His toes slipped, scrambling to get to his feet.
Could he not have one day.
It was the same guy who'd been staring at him earlier.
"And who might you be?" Sanji's shower stopped, button pushing out.
"Bellamy, remember my name." The blonde said, pointing with a red bottle towards himself. Huh, That bottle was red, not blue. Sanji recognized the logo from an actual shop. His tongue wet his lips.
"Yah got a lucky shot with Diamante."
He tried to concentrate on what Bellamy was saying, eyes flicking between his dark pin like eyes and his shampoo. "Kid, I could knock you out on one leg." Unconscious people were easy to steal from.
"Look at you! Good to hear you still got fight in yah, Boss says whoever takes ya out gets the whole commissary."
Water gathered from his hair fell as ice down his spine. "Is that what last night was?"
The man laughed, slapping his button for water to reign down. "ya should have seen Diamante's face when the boss told him you were still walking."
He suddenly felt rather far away, sinking back into his thoughts, his guilt. It wasn't random. They'd tried to kill him.
"I live to disappoint," His mouth felt numb, unsure if what he was saying was legible.
He couldn't freak out. Not here.
Inmates were leaking out of the shower back into the changing room, space was freeing up. He looked down at his shampoo, flat against the toxic floor. He'd dropped his soap. Oh my god he'd dropped the soap.
"Oi Zoro-." Bellamy had taken his attention away from him, allowing him to strategize.
"Get fucked Bellamy, it's over." Green hair strode away, barely turning to acknowledge Bellamy's existence.
"Gonna bend down princess."
Sanji looked up. With Zoro gone Bellamy had turned back towards him, arms folded over his wide chest as he looked between him and the bottle. He had rather strange nipples Sanji thought, failing to find much else about him intimidating.
One option was to start the fight he so clearly wanted. Eh, he might as well try the other option first. With feel alone he rocked the bottle back onto his foot to kick up into the air. He lost the cool he was maintaining, jaw dropping with Bellamy as they stared. A slap resounded off the tiles as his fingers snapped around the bottle in front of Bellemy's startled face.
"Bye then."
By lunch it was clear he was a public target.
As he ate, multiple groups around the cafeteria turned towards him to openly discuss his bounty. His long torso hunched over the steel table, eyes jumping between hopeful stares.
In irritation he'd checked the commission to find his life was worth the contents of a very poor hotel vending machine and still none of that shampoo Bellamy had. He leant forwards on vibrating elbows.
He raised his head to stare down at his fingers shaking in the air. It could just be the lack of nutrients. As the son of a chef he hadn't eaten this bad in years.
Lowering his shaking hand he focused to the far left of the cafeteria towards Doflamingo. He didn't seem to see him, looking in the wrong direction.
Sanji had been feeling pretty confident, taking in the five men sat with him, and this included that scumbag from the showers, Bellamy. But then more inmates had turned up, then more and more until his kingdom spanned three tables.
Doflamingo wasn't just a charismatic guy with some friends. Oh no, these were underlings, barely worth a glance of his attention. Underlings that have and would kill for him. The table he was lounging on might as well be a throne.
He bit at his tongue. He was going to die here. He'd die in this shit hole with the last time he saw his father held back by his chefs, face bright red as cuffs snapped closed around Sanji's wrists.
It wasn't just fighting, there was no game of skill. Doflamingo had numbers, no matter how many he knocked down there would be someone ready to replace them. He did smile slightly at the lack of Diamante's presence in the cafeteria, perhaps he'd done more damage than expected.
He flipped the fork, balancing peas along its stem, yet they fell, bouncing down as his hand froze in front of his mouth. Perhaps Doflamingo had a chef in his crew?
He arched his neck to look towards the kitchen. No chefs stood out but then he'd only been here a day. Poison could be near indetectable, you didn't need bravery or strength to poison.
His fork hovered before stabbing down on a overcooked pea and choking it down, fork clinking against his teeth. He wouldn't waste food for an irrational fear, well, rational fear.
Pepper seemed to spring from inside as he chewed, tongue instinctively trying to run to the back of his mouth.
Wait. His fork dropped to his plate. The chefs were inmates?!
His smile nearly broke his face, eyes squeezing shut with the pure energy of knowing he could still do what he loved in prison. It wasn't as hard to take another bite. He wouldn't have to wait 15 years to touch a stove!
Finding he had time to spare before his first work shift and no ill effects from the potential poison, he discarded his plate to walk over to the kitchen. The counter was quiet. One large chef infront of empty basins.
"You can't have more, you get your lot." The chef didn't look up, thick arm wiping over the counter. Sanji pursed his lips, basking in the home comfort of a chefs temper.
"I know," Sanji licked his lips, watching black cloth stutter against dried food. "Look, I wanna work transfer, I've got good experience. I've worked in a kitchen my whole life."
Two other chefs came in then, looking at them quickly as they hauled a large crate of tomatoes between them.
"He wants to work here?" The shorter one asked, grey hair swooping down as he stopped walking. They lowered the crate down onto the floor.
"You can't just-" He bit his lip, tearing into the skin to prevent the lecture from coming out. Tomatoes on the dirty floor! Fresh produce should never touch the floor! THE FLOOR. Ants were under his skin.
"WHAT WAS THAT?" The chef he'd been speaking to barked. "Spit it out."
"Arlong, There's a space open, Hobb's just got Parol." The taller chef said leaning against the partition to listen in.
"No, what were you going to say?" Arlong snapped
"You're fucking up the tomatos, moron." Is what he wanted to say, what almost slipped out. "Look, I worked in a four star restaurant, we won a michelin star." Sanji interjected, his attempt at being nonchalant fell flat. Cringing slightly at his own boast.
"And I was a builder, nobody cares. Can you open a can? That's what it comes down to." The taller one said.
"Cooking is not opening cans-"
"Can you? Its okay if you can't, Arlong taught me" The short grey haired man insisted.
He leant back on his hip. Unsure if lowering himself to make canned food was worth the joy of being in a kitchen again. Blue eyes flicked back to the tomatoes, there was fresh produce, he could work with that. "Yes." He answered reluctantly. He had opened cans before.
"Go talk to your officer, they'll apply for a transfer." Arlong said.
"Okay." He wasn't sure that this kitchen would fulfil the raw bloody hole in his heart, but for the first time since arriving he had hope. Hope that it was possible to experience something close to contentment here. He smiled "I'll do that. It's Sanji by the way."
He had a spring of his step as he left, nearly blind to the rage fueled stares at the other end of the room.
Had a prison ever won a Michelin star?
Laundry was self explanatory. This didn't save him from an induction by the inmate appointed supervisor. He listened disinterested, to the same speech most young boys get from their parents, tapping his foot against the floor as it dragged over ten minutes.
"Enough! I get it." He'd burst.
A perk different from his previous locations was that this room was free from Doflamingo's cronies. He didn't even recognise anyone from his block. Not to say he was left in peace.
Since his foot passed the threshold he'd been watched by this slim, heavily tattooed man with stiff black hair. After initially keeping his head down in his new era of passivity he'd crippled under the constant glances, glaring back which had spurred the man into crossing over into his section.
He leant forwards, eyes quick to survey the room, no guards were close. He might not end up in a box if he had to knock this guy's teeth out.
His dad would understand he had to protect himself, he thought, as the guy strode closer.
"What is the relationship between you and Doflamingo?"
Oh good, more gang shit. He blinked slowly, conveying his complete lack of interest in the subject. "There isn't one."
"I saw yah fight, pretty impressive. Was it seriously all for food?" His small goatee reminded him that his own that was completely out of control, he still needed to find the wash manager-. Not the time. He licked his lips, tapping his teeth together.
"Food is the currency of life, I don't support wasting it. Look, It's personal, the guy had it coming." He folded a t-shirt, taking his eyes briefly from the man.
"And you're in A block right?"
Sanji glared, fisting the basket till it creaked. Did everyone know where he slept?
"I overheard Smoker-yah, I'm in B block myself and my name's Tralfalgar Law, but call me Law. See now you know something about me."
Sanji released the basket, he clearly already knew. "Sure, I'm in A block, but don't come sniffing around, I will kick your ass."
The man's face lit up. "You're perfect." Glazed eyes created the assumption he was talking only to himself but he barely lowered his tone.
Sanji felt his eyes widen, skin feeling tight. "Are you hitting on me?"
"No," Law snapped. "You're dead, right. You're in a lot of trouble but I can help sort this all out if yah help me in return, all ya have to do is join me and my friends."
After double checking he was picking up from the clean pile, he grabbed the next t-shirt avoiding placing his fingers on the yellow stains. "I am not joining a gang."
Law rolled his eyes, leaning back against the counter. "Even to save ya life? Ya wouldn't be the first one he's killed, bodys have piled up under his feet."
"A friend of yours?"
The guy's eyes lost their spark, customer service smile dropping from his face to assess him. "This might be ya only opportunity," He breathed out, hot air sliding across Sanji's face "Take it or leave it."
"I'll leave it." He spoke quickly. "I'm not joining a gang." It'd be putting out the fire with gasoline. When he got what he needed from Law he'd be stuck. From what he'd heard you couldn't just leave a gang. He shook the feeling off, ignoring the looming presence to his left.
Law continued to stare. Two of his washing machines stopped, spinning slowly to a halt. He glanced behind, then back to the guards just out of sight.
Sanji raised an eyebrow. Skin prickling at the continued attention.
A tattooed hand came down on the counter to creep closer. "If this gets out what we've discussed, ya won't have to worry about Doflamingo."
Sanji laughed in a way only a chain smoker could laugh, raspy on the ears "I'd love to see it." His teeth bared, pulling back from his gums.
Observing Law's obvious discomfort, he added "But sure, whatever." No point torturing the poor man, he wasn't interested in more trouble.
Law nodded, closing his mouth before his boots echoed to finally return to his station. Toned back flexing to pull open the washing machines that'd stopped.
Sanji watched. Wishing the tight feeling of doom would clear from his lungs.
That pink guard, Koby, was the only guard he'd seen actively talking to the prisoners making him his only choice to stop and question.
"Hiya Koby, right? How do I get to my Japanese class?" He asked, moving out the way as inmates pushed past him. They were in the corridor between the cafeteria and C block
"Oh I'll check." Kobi thumbed through a wad of papers he'd pulled out from his belt pocket. "Down here" His thin arm extended, hovering to point down the adjacent hallway. "It's the class furthest along."
"Thanks." Sanji said, squinting to try and see to the other end.
Koby nodded minutely, looking down again at his boots.
Sanji stepped, but as his weight shifted he stopped himself, leg jolting at the abandoned movement. "Hey, are you okay?" Now he was looking properly Koby looked awful. Pale clammy skin with the body language of a depressed peace lilly.
Koby looked up at his question, blinking slowly. "Oh, I'm fine thank you."
"Clearly," Sanji said sarcastically. Koby's quick smile turned into a puff motion, barely reaching his cheeks. "Is someone giving you trouble?"
Koby did have the look of the perpetually bullied Sanji decided. How in the hell had this guy become a prison guard
"Oh no, I'm fine. Well, I guess I'm a little upset, lifes been a bit shit lately as a friend of mine has died."
Sanji swallowed, suddenly feeling the uncomfortable urge to run whitch he quickly swallowed down, making his face appear open. Koby seemed like a good guy who needed someone right now. "That's rough, I'm sure they're at peace now and all that."
Koby smiled briefly, clearly more from politeness. "Thank you. Please excuse me."
Sanji watched him go, ripping more skin from his lip. Should he of said something different?
He walked down the corridor, noting the handmade posters with curling corners. The education block felt different to the others. Inmates slowly filtering by, clutching textbooks and notepads. It could be a scene from a poorly run college. Wide eyed adults broadening their knowledge through education. It was a pity he'd despised school. He shivered, this atmosphere was giving him hives.
Beginer Japanease A dirty creased sheet of paper on the door proclaimed.
It mirrored the other classrooms in appearance, four white walls with an old school grey projector at the front. But none of the other classrooms had contained a man as noble as this one striding immediately towards him.
"Konnichiwa, I am Koushirou, I havent seen you before. Have you spoken much Japanese?"
Sanji froze. Dumbfounded expression reflecting back at him from the man's circular glasses. This teacher had more passion than he expected for a prison educator.
The man patiently waited for his response.
"Besides restaurant dishes, I am sorry to say I haven't." He answered slowly.
"A new pheasant. Well we have some time before the class starts so give the first few pages of the textbook a read. The class hasn't been together long, so don't worry about being behind."
He sat on the back row, flicking open the well used textbook placed in front. It flopped, spine collapsing to allow both pages of the textbook to lie flat. The first few pages were a basic dictionary of sorts. Hello, Goodbye, Thank you. He mouthed the long awkward words allowing hair to fall further over his face as he slouched over the book.
Blood rushed to his cheeks at the thought of trying to say any of this outloud. Why hadn't he picked french?
A group of three inmates passed by his table sliding into the chairs at the front of the room. A man with closely shorn hair then walked in. Not long after passing his table he'd performed a dramatic turn to scowl at him. Maintaining brutal eye contact he'd then collapsed into an unoccupied chair in front.
Koushirou began to greet the class, flicking on the projector to show some sort of dancing moon image. Reminiscing about his own scholarly days he zoned out keeping an eye on his new friend in front, who'd turned to study his own textbook.
Movement caught his eye. He squinted in disbelief as Zoro stepped into the doorway.
"Oh its you." Zoro rumbled, crossing his very broad arms as he stared down at Sanji. The teacher hadn't seen him, continuing on undisturbed.
"I picked this to not have to see you. I thought you did workshop." Sanji whispered.
"You think I wanted to see you either. I do, do workshop."
"What are you doing here then?"
"Roronoa?" Koushirou walked down the aisle to peer at the green interloper. "Ah it's always a pleasure to have you in my class, but your class is in the eastern block."
"This is the east block."
"You got lost?" Sanji burst out, unable to reign in his volume. He thought back to the first time they'd met in the courtyard, when Tashigi escorted him to woodshop like a child.
"Baka." Zoro snapped at him, before turning back to the professor to respond in quick Japanese. Of course the idiot knew Japanese. Sanji quickly flipped the textbook to the B's in the dictionary. Oh. Baka meant Idiot.
This was war.
He flipped through his book, stopping at the first smear of green. Perfect. He held up the textbook. Pointing his pencil hard at the green ball in the centre.
"You." He mouthed as Zoro caught his eye. It already had a goofy face drawn on in Biro. "Marimo." He craned his neck to look at the page. It was some sort of moss thing.
Zoro frowned, although this wasn't much of a change from his natural expression.
He chuckled under his breath, endlessly amused with himself, despite being painfully aware he was twenty five, not five. He hadn't done this since pointing at the ugly pictures in his picture books to call his brothers.
The professor coughed, talking again in quick japanese. Zoro broke eye contact, stiffly nodding. He gave Sanji one last glare before storming away.
His smile flatlined as he met Koushirou's amused eyes. He shrunk down in his chair, forcibly unfocusing his eyes to face the front.
He'd obtained the class's attention.
The man in front wasn't looking away. Stare intense.
"What?!" Sanji snapped, keeping his voice down at the last second.
"If you weren't with Roroana I'd eat you for breakfast twink."
His jaw dropped. "Excuse me!?" Twink!? Twink!
"Right, I want us all to watch this quick video on the importance of honorifics" Koushirou said as the projector clunked to life, bright light reflecting off the whiteboard.
Sanji barely glanced at the teacher, busy leaning over his table to get closer to the discomforted man."A twink? Are you kidding me!?" Spit flew out falling in the void between them. "I am 6ft 2." He leant in, further and further till he was hovering above his chair. The man shrunk back, eyes wide.
"Get off me, I don't fuck with the Straw hats alright,"
"Who? And with Zoro. You better pray to god you aren't implying what I think you are."
"Hey, listen up at the back!" Koushirou cheeks had flushed to a cherry red. Sanji swallowed, slowly sitting back down. "One more interruption to my class will be a strike, do I make myself clear."
They both stiffly nodded.
After judging that his nails hadn't magically grown back, Sanji bit the insides of his cheek as he glaring at the shaved head in front.
He stumbled back in a blur, quickly checking for his precedent psychopath Doflamingo as he entered the cell.
All his stuff had stupidly been left out in open sight. He didn't exactly like anything he'd been given, but that didn't mean he didn't need it. No time like the present, he stuffed his spare clothes and toiletries quickly under his mattress.
Plush fabric met his forehead, body curving over the top bunk to taste dust and iron, doom won the battle for the first time since it started its war at Bellemay's words.
Fingers through his hair, it felt greasy despite his morning shower, sticky strands against his skin. He pulled till enough hair fell over his eyes to blind him.
Soon interrupted, he was made to stand in the hall as guards called for a cell check. Pens scratching to count them. He looked down at blood stained shoes. There was only one tick for his cell.
Lights out were called as soon as they were satisfied and their cell doors were soon clunking shut as the hallway lights flipped off.
A wash of loneliness drowned him, body collapsing back onto the top bunk. He choked air, the noise echoing in the dark bloody cell, deeply pitiful to his own ears.
His hands wormed past his shoulders to claw at his back, holding himself in a rough imitation of a hug. In the dark he imagined a beautiful women wrapped around him, legs worming through his like a snake.
He slept better with someone near, their warmth, the scent of their skin.
Now he was just surrounded by men.
He frowned and sat up slightly to peer across at the adjacent cells, falling back down at the lack of light. He'd always had a reluctant appreciation for men. Usually expressed unconsciously like by picking fights. His childhood had been a shamble of violent hormones. However he didn't think this was always the case, Diamante came to mind. That certainly wasn't misguided attraction, he'd rather fuck a toaster. Zoro either.
He turned over to face the wall, palm reaching to trace the grout. His fingers flexed, picking out crumbs of stone. He tried to bury his optimism, unable to face further disappointment, but a job in the kitchens, a cute boy under his arm. If he played his cards right and survived, prison had the potential to be quite bearable.
There was that orange haired boy who hung out with Zoro, he was cute, small and delicate. He hid his smirk in his pillow. Daydreaming of thin arms peppered with orange.