Chapter Text
There have been many times in Sanji Black’s life in which he has found himself helplessly smitten. In fact, he could recall all his past heartbreaks like he could recite every intricate ingredient in his father’s Tiramisu, with surprising ease.
Seven years old, near the kiddie end of a public pool, he’d offered his melting ice cream to a crying pink haired girl in a ruffled yellow swimsuit. Sanji made her laugh by blowing bubbles in the water, and sat next to her at the pool’s edge kicking his feet for about five minutes — until her father found her. He hadn’t even gotten a chance to compliment her plastic pearl necklace.
Eleven, a transfer student named Conis had recently arrived, speaking most only in Polish. Sanji had picked flowers with her upon the school’s courtyard during break periods, and held one out as a gift one day with trembling fingers and a reddened face. She’d smiled politely as she accepted the flower, but whatever she had said in response, Sanji couldn’t understand.
Age fourteen, waiting tables for the Baratie on a busy Friday. He’d mostly gotten the hang of his spindly limbs at this point, rarely dropping anything even when Patty would start throwing plates. That was until he saw the pretty blue haired girl seated near the kitchen. Before he knew it, he’d dropped a whole tray of dirty dishes, shattering them. Sanji’d been so busy frantically picking up the pieces he hadn’t noticed his company until their fingers brushed while reaching for a glass shard, and his eyes widened upon the same blue haired girl.
In that case, he’d only had time to apologize profusely and thank her kindness before Zeff was grabbing him by the collar and dragging him away for scolding.
Yes, there had been many times in Sanji’s life in which he would’ve fully proclaimed to be madly in love — despite how short lived the moments always seemed to be; but now, at sixteen, he could say for certain that this love was like no other.
Nami wasn’t just a spectacle to behold in terms of looks. Which were, for the record, beautiful. The orange halo of her hair within the afternoon light never failed to remind him of a beautiful sunset. Her deep brown eyes were like freshly churned hazelnut and cocoa beans. Even her uniform was worn perfectly in Sanji’s view, correctly tucked in or not.
But, there was more. Like the colorful stickers she’d neatly place upon the corner of all her school folders to tell them apart. The way she dotted all her i’s with a tiny circle. The tangerine she carried in every morning, freshly picked from her mother’s farm. Her bubbly laughter…
Sanji swooned every time she crossed his mind, dedicated every new recipe he concocted to her, and wouldn’t be caught dead arriving at school without a cutely wrapped dessert to go along with her lunch; which he woke up early every morning to make, of course, no matter how many times Zeff called him a love-sick idiot for it. (Did the old bastard even know what love was?)
He loved Nami, he was sure, who sat next to him in their history class and sometimes idly sent him exasperated looks when that kid Luffy made another scene. He would be melting into a puddle at the very idea that she even spoke to him — said his name — if that was humanly possible.
That’s why she was the first person he asked for help. With the announcement of a surprise test from Ms. Nico, Sanji had turned his hopes to the chair beside him after rummaging through his book bag and finding himself eraser-less.
“Nami-saan,” He’s whispering sweetly, smiling — though his nerves annoyingly seep through. He’s not exactly prepared for this test, and it could impact his usually good grades if he fails… not to mention his spot in the kitchen. Anything below a C and it was back on dishwasher duty. Sanji’s smile wavers slightly. “Can I borrow an eraser?”
He can’t help the pink flush which decorates his cheeks when her brown eyes turn towards his in acknowledgment — accompanied by a welcome tugging in his chest. Contrary to him, she doesn’t appear worried at all, and Sanji revels in her aptitude for a moment.
Nami curls her lip to the side thoughtfully, chin propped against her arm which rests leisurely upon her desk. A second later she’s reaching into her orange pencil case and coming up with a heart shaped eraser, of all things. “Sure,” she whispers back, smiling herself as she places it into his hand.
Sanji’s palm feels so light it might not even exist anymore, smile spreading into a dopey grin. He could just faint right here — in fact, if he died now, he would most certainly go happy. “You truly are an Angel—”
“Sanji-kun, listen.” Nami cuts him off, muttering seriously. “You’ll have to pay me back for all of the eraser you use, plus 20% interest. Got it? I want it all by tomorrow.”
Sanji is pulled from his melting state, mouth popping open. “Oh, yes, of course.” He nods vehemently. Nami smiles again, gives him a thumbs up, and turns towards the front of the classroom.
The blonde sinks back into his seat with a heavy sigh, gazing at the ceiling dreamily. Ah, love. Such a strange and beautiful thing. He holds the eraser close to his heart, squeezed between his fingers.
Did he even have the strength to use it? Actually, scratch that, he needed to use it. Still, it was so thoughtful… one of Nami-san’s precious school supplies, offered to him! …And heart-shaped. Suddenly, the beating in his chest stammers to a resounding halt, body seizing in place.
Was there… a reason why she’d given him an eraser shaped like that?
Carefully, his eyes find the ginger again, but she still sits adamantly facing the front. His gaze drops to where the eraser in question is still squeezed protectively within his palm. A cold sweat suddenly dusts his neck. Nami…
Sitting up properly, Sanji slowly turns his hand, unwrapping his fingers around the synthetic rubber to examine it further. There, written in ink upon the heart-shaped eraser’s pink surface, is where his own dies.
Zoro
Something in his chest shatters, accompanied by a painful twist deep in his stomach. Like… like he’s been stabbed through the gut, left curled up in a ball upon the ground, mouth dripping blood. And when he painfully looks up at the shadow towering over him, attempts to lift his trembling hand, there he is, that green haired brute, laughing, grinning, a— a hand around Nami-san’s waist.
No… no! This has to be a joke— a waking nightmare. His absolute worst nightmare. There’s no way in a million years—
Nami-san is sophisticated… she… she has class. Respects herself! Of all the guys in school… How the hell could she ever— would she ever fall for—
His eyes snap to the seat right in front of him, that ugly green head, always half way blocking the stupid whiteboard when he isn’t slumped over like the dead in the middle of a lecture — him.
Again, at the eraser. Zoro. Heart. Sanji feels nauseous.
It’s then that Zoro’s arm swings back, causing a startled Sanji to jump in his chair — and the eraser — the eraser breaks loose from his trembling grip. In a frantic moment he goes grabbing for it as it bounces from his desk, but is too late. It’s already rolled away, landing right next to Zoro’s foot in a horrible twist of fate.
The green haired crush-stealer, who’d been trying to pass Sanji his test sheet, unceremoniously drops the papers onto the blonde’s desk as he bends over to pick up Nami’s very soul.
‘No!’, Sanji wants to hiss, but he can’t find his voice, and the asshole has already snatched the eraser up, glancing at it idly— before freezing upon, Sanji is sure, his own shitty name.
He’s never seen Zoro’s eyes blown open so wide, his face suddenly comparable to the overripe tomatoes Zeff keeps stashed away for slow roasting. Sanji’s fingernails dig into his palms harshly, frozen, crumbling slowly into his seat. But no — he can’t give Zoro the satisfaction of staring into Nami’s heart much longer. He won’t.
“Give it back.” Sanji forces lowly.
Zoro’s wide stare is immediately transferred to Sanji, and his face seems to grow impossibly redder. It contrasts his hair so deeply it’d almost be humorous — in any other circumstance. Still, he’s not budging.
Sanji’s teeth grit in irritation, attempting to put as much anger into his glare as he can manage. “Idiot… are you slow? I said give it back.”
Zoro balks, “This… is yours…?”
Sanji chokes, mouth popping open before decidedly closing as his own skin is suddenly reddening horribly too at the implication. It’s almost stupid that he hadn’t anticipated that question in the midst of his despair. And now, here he is, standing upon a horrendously cruel forking path.
His first option, betray Nami’s trust, announce her crush, and give Zoro all the satisfaction that elicited. The bastard knew Sanji liked her, everybody did. No doubt he’d have a good laugh at Sanji’s expense… maybe even Nami’s.
His second… saying it’s his….
Sanji can see it now. Zoro, refusing to let the instance go for the rest of the year; the blonde reduced to a laughing stock amongst the mosshead’s teammates and friends at best… a liability, at worst. A target on his back. An inescapable weakness…
Sanji’s eyes find Nami again, where she still sits just a few feet away, head turned towards the classroom’s window. His chest aches, cries out despairingly, but she can’t sense his inner turmoil. He clenches his fingers tighter.
He can’t do it. He can’t— won’t— betray her secret. Not only because it is Nami’s love to share, but her own precious heart bobbing in the center of his struggle. Even with what it entails, if he was the one to bring her this strife…
Averting his gaze anywhere but the desk in front of him, Sanji takes a deep breath. His face is burning when he swallows hard and murmurs a quiet, “Yeah.”
Zoro stares, and his eyes feel so heavy that Sanji might buckle under their weight — even looking pointedly away; hair obscuring his vision; but after a moment more of this his classmate finally seems to come to his senses, and he’s fumbling with the eraser until it’s pressed back in front of Sanji.
“Students, turn around. The test is about to begin.” Ms. Nico announces calmly.
When Zoro’s back is finally facing him again, Sanji slams his face into his hands.
Shit.