Disclaimer: One Piece is the work of Oda Eiichiro.
Genre: AU, Angst, MxM
Pairing: Sanji x Gin
Warning: Character Death, Mention of suicides
Soundtrack: Final Hours & Time's End (Theophany).
Notes: This is a translation of one of my fanfiction originally in French. As English is not my first language, I apologise in advance for the mistakes you'll probably find (I'm way to shy to ask someone to beta-read my fanfictions).
Also, I'm no scientist and it shows.
Inspirations are a heatwave ten years ago and a recurring nightmare I dream often. You'll find references to Majora's Mask, and probably some apocalyptic movies that are not necessarily intentional.
Happy reading!
A Story of the End of Times
.
Half of the tables at Baratie were occupied, which, given the situation, showed the success of the restaurant. Sanji stubbed out his cigarette butt in the ashtray next to the entrance, before entering the building. It was a little cooler there than outside, but the heat was still stifling. Pulling on the collar of his shirt, he advanced into the restaurant, while taking the time to greet the regulars, with a good word and a charming smile on his lips. Zeff grunted after glancing at the clock near the counter.
"Traffic problem?"
The joke indicated to Sanji that he was not really angry. Humor remains the best medicine.
"Nami."
And the chef seemed to understand, simply nodding his head with a vague gesture of the hand that Sanji interpreted without problem: to hurry to the kitchen.
Patty and Carne were already busy behind the stove, dripping with sweat. Despite the scorching temperatures, Zeff insisted that they each wear appropriate clothing, arguing that we did not cook in tank tops and swimming shorts.
Rolling up his sleeves, his blond hair pulled back, Sanji began preparing the first orders. The atmosphere of the Baratie remained surprisingly good. It's been a long time since they only sang Brook's songs, an Austrian crooner of whom Zeff was a fan and owned all the records. The last radio broadcasts were over two years ago, after all.
Like many people, Sanji had done his best to ignore it. Like many people, he preferred to continue living normally. However, it was very difficult to act as if nothing had happened when the end of the world was announced.
A deafening noise startled him, and he almost burned himself with the sauce he was about to pour on one of the last roasts in their stock. The panicked cries of customers alerted the three chefs, who rushed to the restaurant room.
"Everything's alright Chef?", Carne asked.
Zeff turned to his three employees. His wooden leg was crushing the cheek of a rickety man who was clenching his fists under the humiliation of having taken a beating by a crippled old man.
"Tell me, son, don't you think it's pointless these days?", asked Zeff, his eyes lowered towards the offender. A grunt answered him.
Sanji looked around the room. A lady was clutching her faded handbag from a luxury brand that no longer even had any value to her chest. The torn strap hung towards the ground.
"Did you seriously try to rob our customers, fart face?", shouted Patty with a burst of laughter.
The man let out a curse which earned him a kick in the shoulder from a wooden leg. Zeff liked politeness. Sanji observed the man, who seemed barely older than him. Thin, dark-skinned, he had drawn and tired features, like many people, in fact. The man's stomach manifested its famine. Unsurprisingly, Zeff stepped aside, looking serious.
"Get up, son. Sit down there and be good, will you."
Under the surprised gaze of the customers, but also of the young man, Zeff held out his hand to the latter. Only his three employees knew that the Chef would not let anyone starve.
"But honestly, what's the point today?", Carne asked indignantly, once back in the kitchen with his two colleagues.
"Even the apocalypse won't stop the criminals, that's how Man is made", Patty philosophized, to the surprise of the other two.
Sanji was the one responsible for preparing the meal and serving the man.
"Eat while it's hot. Bon appétit."
Not a glance raised towards him, not a single gesture. Sanji narrowed his eyelids slightly, wondering if he would dare refuse to eat under the pretext of having been humiliated by an old man. When he turned around and walked away, however, Sanji was reassured by hearing the frantic clatter of cutlery against the porcelain, and a satisfied smile lodged at the corner of his lips.
.
.
"Gin."
The raspy voice surprised Sanji. The man who had tried to rob the customers of the Baratie came out of the shadows of the adjacent building, while Sanji had just taken out the trash, last chore before finishing his day.
"I hope you learned your lesson, Gin", Sanji replied simply, bringing a cigarette to his lips.
Gin got closer in silence. Sanji stared at him without moving, finally squinting when the flame of a lighter flickered under his nose, igniting the tip of his cigarette.
"Sanji."
"Pretty name."
"Is this your way of flirting?"
"Does it work?"
The chef burst out laughing. Gin gave him a first smile.
"Your pilaf... It's the best meal I've eaten in a long time", admitted Gin, who was definitely no longer scary.
"You're welcome", Sanji replied with a smirk. He had always been proud of his cooking skills.
Leaning against the restaurant wall, Sanji looked up at the sky. It would be soon. In his chest, his heart would always beat faster, when he thought about it. Beside him, in the same position, Gin remained silent. His gaze lowered to Sanji, staring at the latter's features.
"What are you planning?"
"Nothing special."
Sanji did not return the question, because he did not want to know. He had not asked anyone, neither his relatives nor his colleagues. Yet it was the most common conversation. The most depressing, even if people said it was reassuring. Sanji did not really understand how anyone could be optimistic in this situation. Himself simply claimed to want to face death, even if it came in the form of a large cosmic stone.
Gin's voice, however, broke the silence that was settling in again.
"I'm thinking of going to the seaside."
Sanji stood up without looking at him. Throwing his cigarette butt on the ground, he returned inside the restaurant without a word.
.
.
It was late when Sanji hung the apron in his locker. The break room was deserted and silent. Only Zeff was still in the restaurant, leaning on his bar. He made it his mission to drink all the bottles of alcohol there before the end. Sanji wondered if he could do it. After greeting him, he left the Baratie.
The heat was no longer as terrible as in broad daylight. The clear blue sky hid most of the stars. It's been four years since he last saw certain constellations. The almost deserted streets gave him the impression of living in a ghost town. It was, in some ways.
Like every time he approached his building, his heart sank. The shattered windows of several apartments bore witness to the dire fate his desperate neighbors had chosen. The one of his apartment was intact, and he felt immense relief each time. He did not want her to end up like that.
"I'm home!"
To his cheerful tone answered only a vague grunt. Nami was, as usual, lying on the couch. With one hand, she fanned her face with an old magazine. Her lips barely printed a kiss in return for the one Sanji gave her on hers. On their TV screen, the same film was playing in a loop, over and over. Superstitious, Nami feared that if she turned off the television, it wouldn't turn on again. Which was probably true.
"Are you hungry ?", he asked, opening the cupboards.
No answer. Nami no longer made great efforts when she found that discussion was pointless. The huge stock of pasta she had made no longer interested her, who had been so proud of herself three years before.
"A guy tried to rob the restaurant's customers."
Sitting on the little space that his girlfriend had deigned to leave him on the sofa, Sanji was not impressed by her silence. He had seen, out of the corner of his eye, that for a brief second, her gaze had turned away from the television screen and rested on him. And in that brief second, Sanji recognized the curious woman he had fallen in love with ten years ago.
"Zeff knocked him down so easily, the poor guy didn't see it coming."
Nami sat up slightly, one strap of her white summer dress slipping over her shoulder.
"We served him a meal, you know how Zeff is. Even today, he feeds those who need it."
Eating some pasta, Sanji didn't immediately notice that Nami was watching him.
"Sanji?"
His eyes met hers. The cook felt his palms becoming clammy against the warm bowl they held.
"Make love to me."
.
.
In the clear blue sky, the immense celestial object was approaching day by day. Calm and silent, it was magnificent in all its promise of the end of the world. At very rare times, it hid itself from prying eyes thanks to the beneficial rotation of the Earth. No one counted the days anymore, and nights no longer existed anywhere on the globe. No one understood why, but in the seven years since it had appeared, no one understood much anymore.
Sanji had forgotten whether it was a comet or a planet. It didn't matter to him. Dragging on his cigarette, he couldn't take his eyes off the splendid cosmic threat. Naked, he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. Temperatures did not drop any further, approaching those of a scorching summer of a time when global warming was still a concern.
Behind him, Nami moaned. She was crying every night for a little over a year. Sanji no longer asked her about the nightmares she was having. The young woman's silence had occurred around the same time as these terrible unknown dreams. Yet at first she had been so strong. If they still had reserves of food and other useful items for survival in a world that was experiencing its last days, it was thanks to her.
Tossing his cigarette butt over the railing of his balcony, Sanji took a deep breath. His gaze swept over the city at his feet, so calm despite the latent panic. Somewhere in the clear night, a gunshot rang out. Someone else did not want to wait.
Sanji returned to their bed, staring at the ceiling.
What was he going to do?
.
.
It was the commotion that woke him up. Sanji never knew if he had slept or not, if several hours had passed, or if he had slept only a few minutes.
"Nami?"
Realizing that his fiancée was no longer by his side, Sanji panicked. Usually, she only got out of bed once he had gone to Baratie.
"Did you sleep well, darling?"
Stunned, Sanji remained leaning against the door frame. Nami was standing by the coffee machine, stirring eggs in a pan.
"I wanted to surprise you."
Sanji smiled slightly, finally moving into the kitchen. In his haste, he had not put anything on, and Nami threw her apron at him in a laugh.
Sitting face to face, as before, the young couple enjoyed a welcome breakfast. Nami asked him about Baratie, and how his days went. She did not apologize for her apathy, Sanji did not raise her silence about it. He could not take his eyes off his partner, and remembered their meeting, when his heart had fallen in love with the beautiful redhead.
They spent the morning talking about this bygone past, before the announcement that had shaken all of humanity. And in fact, they only evoked memories that went back more than seven years.
When the time to leave for the Baratie came, Sanji hugged Nami, inhaling the scent of her hair. He would miss his tangerine shampoo. His embrace grew stronger when he felt her return it.
"See you later my love!"
He gave her a wide smile, and she gave him one in return.
As the door of the building closed behind him, Sanji looked up at the celestial object, his vision blurred with tears. He did his best to ignore the stain that Nami's tears had left on his shoulder.
.
.
"Hi."
Sanji raised a confused eyebrow.
"What are you still doing here?"
Gin just burst out laughing, following the cook inside the Baratie. The restaurant was less busy than the day before, just as the day before it had been less busy than the day before.
"This restaurant sure is popular," Gin remarked.
"Some come out of habit and because they don't know what to do. The Chef doesn't close the doors, so there are some who are there in the morning."
Gin looked at Sanji, a smile on his lips.
"There's no point in robbing the restaurant, we told you," Sanji warned.
Again, Gin burst out laughing, raising his hands in a gesture calling for innocence.
"Hey, what are you doing in the kitchen?", threatened a loud voice.
Gin barely spared a glance at Carne, who was already raising a threatening fist at him. Patty's hand forced him to lower it.
"Well, that's not how we treat customers, eh, Mr. Herringhead?"
Sanji rolled his eyes, heading towards the locker room. Gin followed him.
"Did you fall in love or what?"
"Will you make me some pilaf?"
Shooing him away with a wave of his hand, Sanji shook his head. However, a few minutes later, he set about preparing the meal ordered by Gin. The latter had sat at a table directly facing the kitchens, and if Sanji glanced out the window, he could see that piercing gaze he felt on him when he was not looking.
"Did you stock up seven years ago?"
"The world did not stop then and kept spinning. Food has been scarce for only a year."
As surprising as it may seem, there had been men and women who continued to make life (at least, what was left of it) pleasant to those who wanted to hold on until the end. When scientists announced that any attempt at survival would be doomed to failure, even the most stubborn gave up.
"You still haven't told me what you plan to do."
"Cook. By the way, I have to go back."
Gin put down his fork, and Sanji could feel his black irises following him to the kitchen, from where he did not come out until the end of his shift, strangely uncomfortable.
.
.
"You got a girlfriend? Boyfriend?"
"A fiancée."
Gin whistled admiringly, and somewhat exaggeratedly, followed by a sneer that the cook did not really appreciate.
"What is she doing?"
"She survives."
"Kids?"
"Go home."
"You first."
Sanji grimaced. He did not want to. There was a reason why he was hanging around, despite Zeff assuring him that the floor did not need to be mopped a fourth time. The old man had not even been kind enough to invite him for a drink. Or two, or ten. It was his time of day, the one that lasted all night. Sanji always wondered how Zeff managed to work without a hangover.
"What did you do before?"
"I worked on a cargo ship."
"Do you miss the sea?"
"That's why I want to die admiring it. I imagine this thing crashing into the sea, and the waves engulfing me before the fire wipes it all out. Yeah, I think it's a nice ending."
The die was cast, everyone knew their future. No one would survive. There had been rumors of wealthy people having managed to leave Earth in the hope of establishing a colony elsewhere, but Sanji little believed them. Just as everyone suspected that all the bunkers hidden underground would not help anyone. Maybe it was better if everything vanished.
"Gotta go home."
"See you tomorrow."
Sanji did not really know why these words reassured him.
.
.
The apartment was quiet. The television turned off reflected his baffled expression as he sat down on the sofa. Empty.
Nami had not left a letter. It was better this way.
.
.
Sitting on his balcony, Sanji looked up at the clear night sky.
And him, what did he intend to do? Now he could ask himself the question. Now that Nami was gone, he had nothing to hold on to. What was he going to do?
The Baratie was not a good enough reason to stay, Zeff had told them that several times. Even if they were united and loyal, Patty and Carne would not stay until the end.
Sanji had cut ties with his family for years. And anyway, the phone no longer worked.
Stubbing out his cigarette on the concrete next to his thigh, Sanji angrily threw its butt over the railing. For the first time in years, he began to cry. And to curse that celestial body that had ruined everything.
The next morning, the first earthquakes shook the city.
.
.
"Gin? I thought you were by the sea."
"Nope, I had some things to sort out first."
It had been several days since Sanji had last seen the man with the drawn features, who seemed more exhausted than ever. He would not admit it, but he missed him. Without him having to order it, Sanji prepared his pilaf for him with an enthusiasm that he had lacked in recent days. Patty and Carne noticed, but contrary to their habit, they just smiled and they refrained from making any comment. For a few days now, a worried expression had taken over their features, and they tensed each time the earth shook. Sanji was even sure they were holding back from crying.
Gin pushed the plate empty of all crumbs in front of him with a satisfied sigh. Across the table, Sanji had just sat down with the dish placed on the table a few minutes earlier, and had watched him devour his rice while enjoying a glass of wine.
While the atmosphere was good-natured, a man arrived in the restaurant in tears. Zeff grabbed him by the shoulder and supported him to a table. He wore an army uniform, the Marine. Those who had sworn to remain in the service of citizens at all costs, until the end. All the customers could hear what the officer confided to the chef with the wooden leg.
"That's it, it's official. It was the last news. It's due in three days."
A deathly hush fell in the restaurant. Zeff was the first to break it, solemnly announcing a round that was not acclaimed, but welcomed.
.
.
"Are you leaving this evening?".
"I dunno. Nope. But soon."
"Wanna come to my place?" Sanji took out a cigarette.
Surprised, Gin glanced at him. Sanji just puffed on his cigarette. The man who brought them the news of the imminent end of the world was still in tears, collapsed on the table he had occupied since, Zeff keeping him company with his best bourbon. All the other customers had gone home, as had Patty and Carne.
They walked in silence. Sanji did not live far from the restaurant. Where Gin lived would remain a mystery. The latter was humming a popular song which made the cook smile. A drinking song that the Baratie drunks knew well. His cigarette thrown on the sidewalk, he began to sing with him.
Yohohoho, yohohoho.
.
.
"Oh, wow, you're rich, aren't you?"
A laugh answered Gin, who visited the apartment without waiting to be invited. Sanji searched the cupboards for alcohol. He knew Nami had stashed a few bottles.
"Is this your fiancée?"
The cook looked up. Gin stood in front of a photo hanging on a wall. Nami and Sanji were posing in front of a windmill. A souvenir of their first romantic holiday.
"Yes. Nami."
"She gone?"
"A week ago."
Gin looked back at Sanji. For a few seconds, he said nothing. Was he struggling to find compassionate words? Was he going to offer his condolences? The blond grimaced at the idea. And finally, he spoke.
"Hell of a pair of tits."
"Wanna die?"
"In three days."
.
.
Gin had been a sailor. After a failed stint in the army, he had fallen in love with the sea, and sailing had been his dream. He had nevertheless found himself mixed up in stories of smuggling, and had ended up a pirate of modern times. His story had made Sanji laugh without him explaining why, laughing ever more under the offended gaze of the other man, until he joined him in his fit of laughter.
Sitting on the balcony, they felt the earth shake once again. The phenomenon was becoming more and more frequent, and from the information they were able to obtain, it was coming from the sky. Sanji did not understand anything, having just understood that the approach of the celestial body to their planet was making the latter unstable. Or something like that.
"Come with me."
"Where?"
Gin let out an annoyed sigh. Sanji responded with a smile. Gin jostled him slowly with his shoulder. Sanji returned the playful blow. Gin kissed him. Sanji did not push him away.
.
.
"When are you leaving?"
"Not cool. Not even breakfast?"
Sanji rolled his eyes, Gin chuckled, and finished getting dressed. He turned around to observe the cook who seemed immersed in thought, cigarette in mouth and gaze turned towards the window. Obviously he liked being naked.
"Dunno," Gin finally replied, who seemed to be waiting for something.
"I have to say goodbye."
"So you're coming?"
"Dying alone scares me."
To his surprise, Gin did not respond, he who always seemed to joke around. Sanji finally looked at him. After all, just because they had slept together did not mean he was supposed to know him by heart.
"Me too. We'll leave when you're ready."
Sanji could see Gin's cheeks flush when he replied with a smile.
.
.
No customers were seated in the Baratie. No noise came from the kitchens. Patty and Carne had not shown up. Zeff had already put his favorite Brook record on.
"What are you doing here, little eggplant?"
It has been a long time since he last called him that. Sanji hid his tears in the locker room, before running off into the kitchen without a word. Gin had accompanied him, but suggested staying outside.
"What, a last meal for the doomed men?"
"Yeah. And you're going to give me the pleasure of eating it, shitty geezer."
In response, Zeff hit him on the head before getting up towards the bar. He came back with his best bottle of sake in his hands.
"Tell your boyfriend to come in. He's going to die under this scorching sun."
A single bottle of sake was obviously not enough. With the three of them, they almost succeeded in emptying Zeff's bar, who would still have to take on his challenge alone. The day flew by with anecdotes and memories told and retold. Little by little, they began to talk about the last seven years, and each realized that the other two were just as afraid of the predicted cataclysm. This was the first time Sanji saw Zeff cry; the last one would be a little later.
"Do you want to come with us, Zeff?"
"And leave the Baratie? Certainly not."
"Forget it, Gin. This old geezer is as stubborn as a mule."
"What did you say little eggplant? Try to cook a decent soup of the day first!"
Under Gin's bursts of laughter, the two cooks began to giggle too. An earthquake more violent than all the others put an end to this day.
"Go. I still have bottles to empty. It's me who needs to get dead drunk, not the floor."
Sanji placed the broom he had grabbed to collect all the shards of glass in a corner of the restaurant. Gin picked up one last chair. Zeff observed them with a fatherly look which made tears appear in the corner of the blond's eyes which, this time, he was unable to hide.
"Take care of yourself, little eggplant."
"Thanks for everything, shitty geezer."
Their farewell embrace lasted longer than both men had imagined.
.
.
"Tomorrow, eh…"
"Hmhm."
Sanji puffed on his cigarette, his free hand tenderly stroking Gin's hair who was lying on top of him. The different tones of their bare skin fascinated him. The earth had shaken often, and as confident as he was of his skills in bed, Sanji knew it wasn't the result of their lovemaking. The end of the world was near.
After the farewells with Zeff, the two men returned to the apartment, with the aim of preparing their things. But what do you put in your suitcase for the apocalypse?
.
.
Gin had a bumpy van (probably stolen), and Sanji could only burst out laughing when he saw it. He was surprised that he was still capable of it, when in less than twenty-four hours they would no longer exist.
The sea was a little over two hours away. Sanji had not left his neighborhood for two years, but was surprised to recognize everything. He had expected ruins, but everything was strangely still in good shape. Certainly, there were broken signs, shattered windows, abandoned cars, but the chaos had been swept away. By emptiness.
They saw few people in town, and once outside, there was no one there. Animals, sometimes. Stray dogs that howled in the moonlight that they couldn't see, cats that no longer even chased away the rats that ran past them. Sanji noticed that there were no birds.
But in the sky, threatening, this cosmic ball which would soon crash on them, annihilating all life.
On the beach, not a soul in sight. And that was so much the better. Gin had mentioned the possibility that his idea would be shared, but no one had dared to face death, it seemed.
Abandoning the vehicle in the deserted parking lot, the two men reached the burning sand. The sea had dropped enormously. An unpleasant smell hit Sanji for a moment until he got used to it. He did not want to know where it came from. Gin spread a towel on the sand, pulling Sanji towards him.
They made love one last time.
.
.
"It's beautiful," the cook finally spoke again.
"It's terrifying."
"One does not prevent the other."
Gin was crying. Sanji sympathized. The lukewarm beers they drank did not help them accept their fate.
"I would have liked to meet you sooner."
"I wouldn't have gone out with you."
"Would we have slept together?"
"It depends, would you have robbed the restaurant?"
"Probably."
"So no."
"What a killjoy."
Gin drank the rest of his beer. Sanji lit a cigarette.
"I always thought that would be what would kill me."
The silence that followed was only disturbed by yet another earthquake. In front of them, above the sea, the celestial body advanced with fanfare, a strangely purplish trail of fire burning the sky. The view was as spectacular as it was magnificent.
"Sanji, I have a favor to ask you."
The cook turned a curious look towards Gin who was searching the bag in which he had brought the beers, having nevertheless assured that the previous ones had been the last. He pulled out a gun. Sanji felt his blood freeze, and he got up, panicked.
"No, Gin... You can't ask me that. You have no right!"
To his greatest stupor, Gin looked up at him with a pleading look, filled with sadness.
"I won't make it, Sanji. I can't!"
Sanji heard what he himself couldn't admit until then.
"I'm scared."
Falling to his knees in front of Gin, Sanji took him into his arms. Tears mingled with cries of terror, those screaming the injustice of a horrible end. His fingers tightened on Gin's clothes, and the latter confessed his love in a series of confused words. Sanji remained silent, but hugged him tighter.
The gun ended up in the blond's hands. They shook, like the earth, like the world. Like everyone who waited for the inevitable. The end of all things.
"Thank you, Sanji. See you in another life."
Gin closed his eyes. The barrel against his temple shook a little.
His body fell stiff, just after the shot.
.
.
One more cigarette. A last one. Sanji stared at the celestial body until his eyes burned, even if the tears there did not dry. He no longer had the strength to swear against it, to curse it. The sky was stronger.
In his mind, images of his loved ones flashed one after the other.
First Nami, when she was still smiling. Their first kiss, the first time they made love, the marriage proposal. Then the Baratie staff. Patty and Carne to whom he had not been able to say goodbye, then Zeff to whom he had not wanted to bid farewell.
And finally Gin, whose body lay beside him, the blood from his fatal wound mixing with the sand. A story of the end of times.
Sanji threw his cigarette butt in front of him. The heat would soon consume him. Tears that no longer needed to be held back rolled down his cheeks. Alone in a world doomed to disappear, he looked down at the body of his last lover. The one he had assured he wanted to stay until the end, the night before.
"I'm sorry, I lied…"
His trembling hand groped for something on the sand. His fingers grabbed the gun and guided it to his temple. Sanji lay down facing Gin, took his hand.
There was a second shot.
And a few hours later, the impact.
.
.
Cross-posted on Ao3 with an additional part as FFnet does not allow MA rated stories.
Thanks for reading!