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"And the Lord said unto the wicked: 'Thou shalt not escape the consequences of thy sins!" Jajji's voice rose, his arms spread wide like he was embracing the entire congregation in his judgment. "The wages of sin are death, my friends. Death and damnation. And yet - yet - we see it every day."
The words about fire and brimstone hit Sanji's ears like a hammer. His father's voice booming from the pulpit, each syllable dripping with the kind of righteous fury that made the congregation shift in their seats. Sanji stayed perfectly still, his hands folded in his lap.
Yonji kicked him once under the pew - no doubt his brother was just as bored as Sanji himself - but Sanji kept his gaze fixed on the pew in front of him. The wood had been worn smooth by decades of restless fingers, the varnish long since rubbed away in patches.
"-the drunkard stumbling home, the thief with his sticky fingers, the fornicators in their bed of iniquity!"
Sanji's jaw tightened. He knew that tone. Knew the way his father's eyes would sweep over the crowd, daring anyone to meet his gaze. Knew, too, that those eyes would linger just a second too long on him, as if Jajji could see the thoughts inside his head, the plans he was making, the lies he was telling. Sanji kept his head down, his expression carefully blank.
"But there is hope, my children!" Jajji's voice softened, just a little, the way it always did when he was about to offer the carrot after the stick. "Redemption is within reach for those who seek it, for those who turn away from their wickedness and embrace the light of the Lord!"
Sanji's fingers curled into fists. Redemption. Like it was that simple. Like he could just decide to stop being who he was, like he could scrub himself clean of every thought, every desire, every person that didn't fit into Jajji's neat little vision of the world.
His father's sermons had a habit of overstaying their welcome. Especially in summer, when the sun was out longer, and everyone was impatient to get out of the windowless little chapel as fast as possible. When it was over, he filed out with everyone else, shook hands with people he didn't look at, stood in the driveway while his father talked with people who needed talking to. The sky had gone pink at the edges. Sanji put his hands in his pockets and just watched, and waited.
Dinner was leftover chicken and green beans from a can. His father said grace for longer than the meal warranted. Sanji ate without looking at him. Reiju caught his eye once across the table, her gaze sharp and knowing, and he immediately looked back down at his plate.
By ten o'clock, the house was quiet.
He waited another twenty minutes just to be sure, lying on his bed in the dark with his shoes already on, staring at the ceiling. His window was already cracked open, the night air coming through warm and thick with the smell of pine and red dirt. Somewhere down the road, a dog was barking at something. He listened to it until it stopped. Then he got up, lifted the window the rest of the way, and climbed out.
His bike was where he'd left it, propped against the side of the garage. He swung his leg over the seat and pedaled, the chain clinking softly in the quiet of the night. The gravel crunched under the tires, and the trees pressed in close on either side.
The motel sign became visible from the bend on the road, the neon pink of it bleeding out into the dark. He slowed as he came into the lot and leaned his bike against the ice machine around the side, the way he always did, away from the road. Most of the lights were off. The office window threw a yellow rectangle across the gravel. He made sure to give it a wide berth as he climbed the stairs to Ace's room. His blinds were drawn, but through the door he could hear the sounds of a stereo.
Sanji's pulse quickened as he knocked, his knuckles rapping against the door in a rhythm only Ace would recognize. The door swung open before he could finish. Ace stood there, shirtless, a cigarette tucked behind his ear.
"You're late," he said, in lieu of a greeting.
"It's not like we had a time," Sanji replied.
Ace held the door open anyway, stepping back to let him in. Sanji ducked under his arm and into the room.
Ace's room was a mess, his things spread across every surface. Clothes were strewn across the floor, half-empty bottles on his nightstand and next to it, and the bed was a tangle of sheets and blankets. He'd been in this room enough times that the disorder felt familiar, almost calming. It always smelled like tobacco with something else, a faint metallic or chemical scent, underneath.
Sanji barely had time to take it all in before Ace was on him, his mouth crashing down onto Sanji's, his tongue hot and demanding. Sanji gasped, his back hitting the door as Ace crowded him against it, his hands already working at Sanji's belt.
Ace's hands were rough as they yanked open Sanji's jeans, his nails digging into the skin of Sanji's hips as he shoved them down. Sanji's cock was half-hard. Ace paid it no mind, instead hurrying out of his own clothes and pushing Sanji towards the bed.
Sanji stumbled, catching himself on the edge of the mattress. He didn't have time to pull his shirt off before Ace was behind him, his body pressing Sanji into the sheets. His fingers were slick - when had he grabbed the lube? - and cold as they pushed inside him, stretching him open with quick, practiced movements.
"Relax," Ace muttered, his voice rough. "You know you like it."
Ace's cock was thick, the stretch almost painful as he pushed inside. Sanji's breath came out in a ragged gasp, his fingers clawing at the sheets. Ace didn't give him time to adjust. He just started moving, his hips snapping forwards with a force that made the bed creak, the headboard knocking against the wall. Sanji's body burned, the pleasure and pain twisting together until he couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. Ace's hand fisted in his hair, pulling his head back just enough to expose his throat.
"Fuck, you're tight," Ace panted, teeth scraping against Sanji's shoulder.
Sanji's cock was trapped between his body and the mattress, the friction almost too much yet not nearly enough at the same time. He was close, but Ace's rhythm was relentless, his thrusts deep and punishing against his prostate. Sanji's vision blurred, his body trembling as he came hard, spilling across the already ruined sheets with a choked cry.
Ace didn't stop. Didn't even slow down. His grip on Sanji's hips tightened, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise as he chased his own release. Sanji could feel him, thick and heavy inside him, could feel the way his body tensed, the way his breath hitched.
With a groan, Ace came, burying himself deep and staying there, shuddering through his release. They stayed like that for a long minute, breathing hard. Ace finally pulled out and collapsed beside him, one heavy arm slung across Sanji's back. The room felt too warm, the air thick with the scent of sweat and sex and cigarette smoke.
Ace was never much of a cuddler. Sanji knew that, and yet, he still tried to ignore the pang of disappointment in his chest as he watched him roll off the bed, his movements lazy as he grabbed a towel from the floor and tossed it at Sanji.
"Clean yourself up," he said, rummaging through a pile of clothes in search of his cigarettes.
Sanji did, his body still humming, his mind already drifting to something else. He lay back again, one arm behind his head, watching the ceiling fan spin in lazy circles. Ace finally stopped moving around, walking over to flop down next to Sanji. He stretched out beside him, close enough that Sanji could feel the warmth of him without them actually touching. He didn't look at Sanji, his fingers busy working tobacco into a rolling paper with more patience and focus than Sanji had seen him bring to anything else he did.
The ceiling fan kept spinning in an uneven rhythm, rattling with every move, and doing almost nothing about the heat. The sheet was twisted somewhere at the foot of the bed, and he could still feel his pulse in his throat. He thought, distantly, that he should probably get dressed. He didn't move.
"You ever think about leaving?" Sanji asked quietly, his voice still a bit hoarse. He didn't know why he said it. Maybe because the silence was too loud. Maybe because he just wanted to hear it out loud.
Ace's hands didn't stop moving. "Leaving where?"
"Here. This town." He paused. "Just- anywhere else."
Ace ran his tongue along the edge of the paper. "Sure," he said. "I think about it."
"Where would you go?"
"I don't know." He sealed the cigarette, turning it in his fingers.
Sanji stared at the ceiling. The fan turned.
"You gonna stay?" Ace asked after a while, voice lazy with satisfaction.
"Can't," Sanji said quietly. "Have to be back by dawn."
Ace hummed, not arguing. He took a long drag, then offered the cigarette. Sanji took it, the filter still warm from Ace's mouth. The smoke burned his lungs in a way that felt grounding.
"I can't wait to leave this town," Sanji tried again after a moment, smoke slipping between his lips.
Ace was quiet for a beat, watching the smoke drift. Then he smiled that crooked, dangerous smile that always made Sanji's chest tighten.
"I'll take you," Ace said. "When I go."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." Ace took the cigarette back, flicking ash into a chipped mug on the nightstand. "Give it a little time."
Sanji searched his face in the dim light. Ace looked almost sincere, eyes soft, voice steady. It was the same promise he'd made before, but tonight it felt different. Sanji wanted to believe him so badly it hurt.
"Yeah," he whispered, pressing his face into Ace's shoulder. "Sounds good."
The final bell rang like divine judgment, sharp and merciless through the hallways of the old brick schoolhouse. Sanji shoved his books into his bag and slipped out of the classroom before anyone could drag him into conversation. The late afternoon sun hung low and heavy in the sky, turning the asphalt in the parking lot into a shimmering black sea. His shirt was already plastered to his back, the humid Arkansas air thick enough to chew.
He kept his head down as he cut across the parking lot towards his bike, weaving between clusters of laughing students. The words from last Sunday's sermon still echoed in his skull - fornicators in their bed of iniquity - every time he closed his eyes. The words had burrowed in like ticks.
He took the long way to the Flamingo. It wasn't for any particular reason, at least, so he told himself. The afternoon was slow and thick, the kind of heat that made everything feel suspended, and he had time. He cut down Pruitt Street instead of taking the highway shoulder, past the row of houses with their screen doors and their porch chairs and their sprinklers turning in the yards. The trees were heavy with leaves, and the light came through them in pieces. Somewhere, a radio was playing a song he couldn't quite make out.
Zoro was outside the Kozukis' house, which wasn't unusual for him, sitting on the porch steps with his elbows on his knees, talking to a couple of guys from the football team. He had his shirt off, which also wasn't unusual for him, and Sanji had to swerve fast to avoid crashing into someone's bins waiting for pickup. Zoro was laughing at something - a short, unselfconscious sound that Sanji heard before he saw him - and the laugh was unguarded in a way that the rest of him usually wasn't.
Sanji looked. He couldn't help it. He always looked. Zoro didn't look back.
He never did. In three years of passing each other in hallways and parking lots and the occasional shared class, Sanji could count on one hand the number of times Zoro had actually registered his existence, and each time it had been incidental - a nod, a move out of the way, nothing. He existed in Zoro's peripheral vision and nowhere else. It should've been a simple fact he had made his peace with and moved on from. Mostly it was. It was only on days like this, when the heat was heavy and his skin felt too tight, that it snagged on something.
He looked away fast, heart stuttering, and pedaled harder.
The Flamingo's lot was half-empty in the midafternoon, a few cars baking in the sun. The motel had a way of looking worse in the daylight. The sign needed repainting, the gutters along the second floor were pulling away from the eaves, and the landscaping around the office was a collection of scraggly junipers that looked like they hadn't been touched in years. At night, the neon made it look like something surreal. In sunlight, it just looked like what it was.
The office lights were on. Sanji usually slipped straight up the stairs to Ace's room, avoiding the front office like it was contagious. Today, the door stood propped open, and voices drifted out into the warm air.
"- probably stopping by for a few days next week. He's bringing his brat." Doflamingo's voice was unmistakable, smooth, amused, and laced with something that always made Sanji's skin crawl. "You're in charge of entertaining her. Just keep her occupied. Shouldn't be too difficult."
Sanji froze at the bottom of the stairs. He could see them through the window - Ace leaning against the counter, easy grin in place, and Doflamingo towering over him in that ridiculous pink coat despite the heat. The man's sunglasses reflected the fluorescent lights like twin mirrors.
Before Sanji could back away, Doflamingo's head turned. A slow, predatory smile spread across his face.
"Well, well. Look what the good Lord dragged in." His gaze raked over Sanji from head to toe, lingering too long. "Come to collect your nightly salvation, sweetheart?"
"He's here to see me," Ace said, completely unbothered.
"I know why he's here." Doflamingo looked at Sanji for a long moment. "You two make such a cute little pair," he continued, voice dropping into something sickly sweet. "All that pretty youthful energy. Makes an old man nostalgic."
Ace pushed off the counter. "I'll see you later," he said to Doflamingo, not quite a dismissal, but close enough, and he put a hand on Sanji's shoulder blade and steered him towards the stairs.
Doflamingo watched them go. Sanji didn't look back, but he could feel it anyway, the weight of his eyes, all the way up the stairs.
Upstairs, Ace shut the door behind the,. The room was dim, the blinds drawn against the afternoon sun. Sanji stood in the middle of the floor. He could feel the pulse in his wrists, his throat. He waited for it to slow down, and it didn't.
"What was that?" Sanji asked.
"What was what?"
"That whole-" He stopped, unable to express what exactly was bothering him so much. "The way he was looking at me. You know he creeps me out."
Ace tossed his keys onto the dresser, sat on the edge of the bed, and started unlacing his boots. "Doffy's just Doffy. He likes messing with people. Don't worry about him. You're not his type anyway. Once his nephew's back from college in a week or so, he's only gonna have eyes for him."
"What does that mean?"
"It means he's not into blondes." Ace looked at him as if that cleared everything up. "But I am."
Sanji searched his eyes. There was something Ace wasn't saying outright, like it was all a big inside joke Sanji wasn't part of, but the relief was stronger than the unease. He let Ace pull him closer.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." Ace kissed him, slow and coaxing. "Now come on. I've been thinking about you all day."
Sanji wanted to say no. The encounter downstairs had left him more shaken than he'd like to admit. His father's voice was louder than ever, screaming damnation. But Ace's mouth was hot and insistent, hands already sliding under his shirt, palms rough against his skin, and the promise of forgetting - even briefly - pulled at him like gravity.
"I... I don't know if I'm in the mood tonight," Sanji mumbled against Ace's lips, even as his body started to betray him.
Ace chuckled low, nipping at Sanji's jaw. "You say that every time at first. Then you fall apart so pretty for me." His hand slid down to palm Sanji through his jeans, squeezing just right. "C'mon, let me make you feel good. You need this."
He let himself be guided to the bed.
Ace eased him down onto the mattress, hovering over him with that lazy, crooked smile that always made Sanji's chest ache. The afternoon light filtering through the blinds painted stripes across Ace's skin, turning the room into something almost dreamlike.
"Ace, wait," Sanji said quietly, pressing a hand against Ace's chest before he could lean in.
Ace pushed him down onto the mattress with a firm hand on his chest. Sanji's back hit the tangled sheets, heart hammering like a trapped bird. The room felt smaller than usual, the afternoon heat pressing in through the drawn blinds, turning the air thick and stifling. Sweat already prickled along his spine.
"Ace, wait-" Sanji started, trying to prop himself up on his elbows. His voice came out thinner than he wanted.
Ace climbed over him anyway, knees bracketing Sanji's hips, caging him in. He kissed him hard, tongue pushing past Sanji's lips without waiting for permission.
"Shh. You're thinking too much again." His hands were already busy, yanking Sanji's shirt up and over his head, then attacking his belt. "You always get like this when something spooks you. Let me take care of it. Let me make you forget."
Sanji turned his head to the side, breath shaky. The ceiling fan spun lazily above them, doing nothing against the heat. "I'm serious this time. I feel like- like God's watching me right now. Like I'm damning myself more every time I come here."
Ace chuckled low against his throat, biting down just hard enough to make Sanji gasp. "God's not here. I am." He shoved Sanji's jeans and underwear down his thighs in one rough motion, freeing his cock. It was already half-hard despite everything. Ace wrapped a calloused hand around it and gave one slow stroke. "See? Your body knows what it wants, even if your mouth keeps lying. Let me take care of you. Let me remind you why you keep coming back to me. Because you love me, right?"
Sanji's breath hitched. The words landed like hooks underneath his skin.
"I do love you," he whispered, voice cracking. "That's why this feels so wrong sometimes."
"Exactly," Ace murmured, kissing along his jaw. "If you really loved me, you wouldn't leave me hurting like this. I've been thinking about you all day, baby. Need you." His hand slid down his body, palming himself through his jeans. He sat back on his heels, opened his own fly, and pulled out his cock - thick, heavy, already leaking at the tip. He stroked himself lazily while looking down at Sanji with that crooked, dangerous smile. "C'mere. Use that pretty mouth first. You're so good at it."
Sanji's stomach twisted. Part of him wanted to shove Ace off and run. The other part, the part that was stupidly, desperately in love, ached at the thought of disappointing him.
"I said no," he said again. "I don't want to right now."
"You don't really mean that. You never do." Ace's fingers threaded through Sanji's hair, gripping just tight enough to hurt. He guided Sanji's head down towards his lap. "Just let me make you feel good. Let me show you how much I want you. How much I need you with me when we finally get out of this shithole."
Sanji hesitated, tears already pricking at the corners of his eyes. But Ace was looking at him like he was the only thing in the world that mattered, and the promise of being needed, even like this, drowned out the thunder of his father's voice for a moment.
He parted his lips. Ace's smile returned, warm and rewarding. "That's my boy."
Ace pushed in slowly at first, letting Sanji adjust, then deeper until the head hit the back of his throat. Sanji gagged, eyes watering.
"That's it," Ace groaned, voice rough with pleasure. "Fuck, your mouth is perfect. Relax your throat, baby. Breathe through your nose like I taught you."
Sanji tried. He really did. Spit dripped down his chin as Ace started rocking his hips, fucking his mouth in shallow thrusts that gradually grew deeper. The taste was salty and familiar, the weight of Ace on his tongue both humiliating and intoxicating. Every time Sanji tried to pull back for air, Ace's grip tightened.
"Don't," Ace muttered, almost affectionate. "You can take more. Good boy. Just like that. See how hard you're getting? You were made for this."
Ace fucked his face for what felt like forever. Long, deliberate strokes that left Sanji's jaw aching and his throat raw. He tapped Ace's thigh once, a silent plea, but Ace only groaned and pushed deeper.
"Almost there. Keep going. You're doing so good for me."
Finally, Ace pulled out with a wet pop, breathing hard. Strings of spit connected Sanji's swollen lips to the head of his cock. Sanji gasped for air, coughing.
"On your stomach," Ace ordered, already flipping him over like he weighed nothing. "Let me take care of the rest."
"Ace," Sanji pressed his face into the pillow, voice muffled and hoarse. "I don't want to. Not right now. Please."
Ace laughed softly, almost tenderly, pressing warm kisses down his spine as he reached for the lube on the nightstand.
"You say that every single time, and every single time you end up coming harder than you ever have in your life." He slicked his fingers generously and pushed two inside Sanji without any more warning.
Sanji hissed sharply at the burn, fisting the sheets. "Wait- it hurts. Ace, slow down-"
"Relax," Ace muttered, scissoring his fingers roughly, stretching him open with impatient efficiency. "You always fight it at first, and then you fall apart so fucking pretty." He added a third finger, curling them deliberately until they dragged over Sanji's prostate.
A broken moan escaped Sanji despite himself. Pleasure sparked white-hot up his spine, clashing violently with the sermon still roaring in his head. "Please- I can't. I shouldn't-"
Ace pulled his fingers out, lined up, and pushed inside in one long, unrelenting thrust. Sanji cried out into the pillow, the stretch brutal and overwhelming. Ace bottomed out with a deep groan, hips flush against Sanji's ass. "Fuck. You're always so tight. Like you were made for my cock."
He didn't give Sanji time to adjust. He started moving immediately. Hard, deep thrusts that made the old bed creak loudly, and the headboard slam against the wall. Each snap of Ace's hips punched the air out of Sanji's lungs. Sanji gasped at the stretch, fisting the sheets. The burn melted into deep, overwhelming pleasure as Ace started moving. Long, rolling thrusts that dragged perfectly against that spot inside him.
"Ace-"
"Shh. Just feel it." Ace's hand wrapped around Sanji's cock, stroking in time with his thrusts. "You love me. You love this. Say it."
"I- I love you," Sanji choked out, voice breaking on a moan. The guilt was still there, sharp as ever, but Ace's words, his touch, the promise wrapped around every thrust, it all made the shame feel distant.
"You love it," Ace panted, one hand gripping Sanji's hip hard enough to bruise, the other reaching around to stroke his cock in rough, perfect strokes. "Look how hard you are. Leaking all over my hand while I fuck you raw. Your daddy would have a heart attack if he saw his perfect little son like this, taking dick like a whore in a cheap motel."
The degrading words should have made Sanji recoil in horror. Instead, they sent a twisted jolt through him. He sobbed, hips pushing back involuntarily to meet Ace's thrusts.
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Forgive me. The words repeated in his head like a mantra.
Ace's pace turned punishing, relentless. The room filled with the wet slap of skin, Sanji's broken moans, and Ace's low grunts. He fucked him like he owned him. Deep, grinding strokes that dragged perfectly over his prostate on every thrust. Sanji's cock throbbed in Ace's fist, leaking steadily.
"Tell me you want it," Ace growled, slowing just enough to tease. "Tell me how much you need my cock."
Sanji shook his head, face buried in the pillow. "I can't- I don't-"
Ace slammed in hard, making him cry out. "Say it."
"I- I need it," Sanji whispered, shame flooding him. "Please-"
Ace rewarded him by picking up speed again, fucking him harder, faster. Sanji came with a broken cry, spilling over Ace's fist while his body clenched tight. Ace cursed, pace turning erratic and brutal.
"Gonna fill you up. Gonna leave you dripping with me." He buried himself to the hilt and came with a low, guttural groan, pulsing hot and deep inside Sanji. He stayed there for a long minute, grinding lazily through the last spasms, groaning Sanji's name like a prayer before finally pulling out.
They stayed locked together afterwards, Ace's weight comforting and heavy. He pressed soft kisses to Sanji's shoulder, murmuring, "See? Told you it'd be okay. I've got you."
Sanji didn't answer right away. But Ace was warm against him, pressing a quick kiss to his temple. Ace lit a cigarette, exhaled toward the ceiling, and ran lazy fingers through Sanji's sweaty hair.
Sanji stayed on his stomach, aching everywhere, leaking Ace's release down his thighs. The guilt crashed over him immediately, heavier than the humid air. His body felt used and raw, but his chest still fluttered when Ace flopped back down beside him and pulled him close.
"Who was Doflamingo talking about? Is Yamato visiting again?" He tried to keep his voice casual. The question had been gnawing at him since he overheard the conversation.
Ace went still for half a second, then exhaled smoke toward the ceiling. "Yeah? Probably just business."
Sanji turned his head to look at him. "You used to date her, right? Before me?"
"Ancient history," Ace said easily. He reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind Sanji's ear. "There's nothing between us anymore. You know that."
"Okay." Sanji wanted to believe him. Needed to. The way Ace looked at him right now - soft eyes, lazy smile - made it easy.
Ace pulled him closer, pressing a kiss to his temple. "You're the only one I want around here. Didn't I just show you that? Don't go worrying that pretty head over nothing."
Sanji didn't think about where he was going. He just kept pedaling. The night air came at him warm and indifferent, the trees blurring on either side of him.
His face still hurt. He could feel the shape of his father's hand on his cheek like a burn.
The fight had been building for days, like storm clouds slowly gathering over the pine trees. It started, as their fights so often did, with something small. Sanji had been careless, allowing Jajji to find the pack of cigarettes he had hidden in the inside pocket of his jacket. One raised eyebrow became a lecture, which became shouting, which became the kind of righteous fury that always left the whole house holding its breath.
"You think I don't know what you've been doing?" Jajji's voice had boomed through the kitchen, bouncing off the faded floral wallpaper and the linoleum floor. He held the crumpled pack like it was evidence of murder. "Sneaking out at night like a common delinquent. Lying to your family."
"I'm not lying," Sanji had said, knowing fully well that it was futile.
The slap landed before Sanji had time to process it. One second, he was standing in the study, his father's voice a low, venomous hiss - "You think you can speak to me like that? After everything I've done for you?" - and the next, his cheek was on fire, his head snapped to the side, his ears ringing. The taste of copper filled his mouth. He must've bitten his tongue.
Jajji's chest heaved, his face flushed with a fury that made his eyes look almost black in the dim light of his reading lamp. The Bible lay open on his desk, its pages splayed open like the wings of a dying bird.
"Disrespectful. Ungrateful. A sinner under my own roof." His voice was a growl, each word a lash hitting Sanji right under his skin.
Sanji's fingers flew to his face, his skin still stinging. He could feel the imprint of his father's hand. His throat burned. He wanted to scream. He wanted to hit back. But all he could do was stand there, his body locked in place, his heart hammering against his ribs like it wanted out.
"I-" His voice cracked. He swallowed, tried again. "I didn't-"
The slap came again, harder this time. Pain exploded across his face. For a moment, the world went white. When it cleared, his father was breathing hard, eyes blazing with that terrifying mix of love and disgust Sanji had known his whole life.
"Get out," Jajji hissed, voice low and trembling. "Get out of my sight. Don't come back until you've fallen on your knees and begged the Lord for forgiveness. Until you've purged whatever filth has taken root in your soul."
Sanji didn't wait for more. Tears burned in his eyes - from pain, from rage, from the crushing weight of everything he couldn't say. He grabbed his jacket off the chair and stormed out the back door, slamming it so hard the frame rattled. The night air hit him like a wall, thick and humid, carrying the scent of pine and red dirt.
His bike was where he'd left it, propped against the side of the garage. He swung his leg over the seat, his hands shaking as he gripped the handlebars. The gravel crunched beneath his tires as he pedaled away, the sound too loud in the quiet. His face was still wet. He hadn't even realized he was crying.
By the time he skidded into the Flamingo's parking lot, his legs ached, and his face felt swollen. The pink neon sign buzzed overhead, casting sickly light across the half-empty lot. Most rooms were dark, but Ace's room still had a warm glow leaking around the blinds. Relief hit Sanji so hard his knees almost buckled. Ace was there. Ace would understand. Ace would pull him close and tell him everything was going to be okay, that they'd leave this town together like he kept promising.
He pressed the back of his hand to his cheek. The skin was warm, tender to the touch, not quite pain but more the lingering memory of it.
Sanji took the stairs two steps at a time, heart hammering with desperate hope. He could hear music playing behind the door. His knock went unanswered, but Ace rarely locked his door even at night. He turned the kob and pushed the door open, the words already forming on his lips.
And then he was standing there, frozen, his breath stolen from his lungs like he'd been punched in the gut.
Ace was on top of Yamato, his back to the door, his hips snapping forwards in a way Sanji knew all too well. Yamato's legs were wrapped around his waist, her fingers clawing at his shoulders, her head thrown back against the pillow, long white hair fanned out behind her. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, wet and obscene. Ace's grunts were low, rough, the same noises he made when he was inside Sanji.
For one endless second, everything stopped. The world narrowed to the wet slap of skin, the smell of sweat and sex and Ace's cigarettes, the way Yamato's nails dug into Ace's back.
He didn't realize he had made a sound until Ace's head snapped towards the door. His rhythm faltered, then stopped. For a heartbeat, his face was slack with pleasure. Then the realization hit.
"San- fuck- wait-"
Ace's face went pale. He scrambled off Yamato so fast he nearly fell, his cock still hard, glistening in the dim light. Yamato sat up, her expression shifting from pleasure to confusion to horror in the span of a second. She fumbled for a sheet, yanking it up to cover herself, but the damage was already done.
Sanji took one stumbling step backwards, hand still gripping the doorknob like a lifeline.
"Sanji, wait-" Ace's voice was raw, almost desperate, as he yanked his jeans up over his hips. "It's not what it looks like, baby."
Yamato's voice cut through the haze, sharp with guilt. "Ace, what the hell-"
"Shut up." Ace interrupted her with a snarl. He didn't look at her. His eyes were locked on Sanji, desperate, pleading. "Sanji, please-"
"Please, what?" Sanji's voice was a rasp, barely a sound at all. He could taste bile in the back of his throat. Anger burned hot inside his chest, choking him. "Please forgive you? Please pretend I didn't just walk in on you fucking your ex?"
"It's not- Sanji, it's not what you think-" Ace's eyes were wild, his chest heaving. He took a step forwards, his hands outstretched like he could somehow fix this. "It was an accident, I swear to God, I didn't-"
An accident. Like he'd tripped. Like he'd spilled a drink. Like this was something that could be undone.
Sanji's throat burned. He wanted to scream. He wanted to hit something. He wanted to disappear. But all he could do was stand there, his body locked in place, his heart hammering so hard he thought it might crack his ribs.
Ace reached for him again. Sanji jerked back so violently he almost fell through the open doorway, but it was enough to put him in motion.
Sanji turned on his heel, his shoulder slamming into the doorframe as he stumbled into the hallway. The wood bit into his skin, but he barely felt it. He could hear Ace behind him, the sound of his bare feet slapping against the floor, his voice calling him back.
Sanji didn't stop. He took the stairs two at a time, his boots slipping on the worn wood. He didn't look back. He couldn't. If he did, he'd see Ace standing there, half-naked, his face twisted with regret, and Sanji didn't know if he'd be able to resist the urge to go back and hurt him.
His bike was where he'd left it, propped against the ice machine. He swung his leg over the seat, his hands shaking as he fumbled for the handlebars. The tires skidded on the gravel as he pedaled away, the sound of Ace's voice fading behind him.
He didn't stop until his lungs were burning and his legs were lead. He pulled over at the side of the road, his bike wobbling as he came to a halt. The trees loomed overhead, their branches a tangled mess against the moonlit sky. He bent over, his hands on his knees, and vomited into the ditch, the bile leaving behind a sour taste in his mouth.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his body trembling. The night was too quiet. Too empty. Sanji closed his eyes. He didn't cry, just sat there, his cheek still stinging, his chest feeling hollow, and waited for the world to stop spinning.
The next few days passed in a haze of numbness and rage, a cycle that left Sanji's chest tight and his stomach in knots. He went through the motions like a ghost in his own life. He woke up, ate what was put in front of him without tasting it, sat through classes with his head down, and helped with chores at home in silence. But it all felt distant, like he was watching his life through a fogged-up window.
At night, he lay in bed staring at the cracks in the ceiling. He missed Ace. God, he missed him - the rough hands, the lazy smile, the way Ace made the world feel smaller and less suffocating. He missed the promises whispered in the dark, the lies that had felt like salvation.
But every time the longing rose, the image crashed back in: Ace's hips moving, Yamato's legs wrapped around him, the same sounds Sanji had thought were only for him. The betrayal sat like a stone in his gut, heavy and sharp. He'd trusted Ace. He'd let Ace have every piece of him, body and shame and desperate hope, and it had all been cheap.
But worst of all, he had no one to talk to. Reiju would listen, but she'd also judge, her sharp eyes missing nothing. Ichiji and Niji were too dense to understand, and Yonji would just laugh and call him a dramatic little bitch. So Sanji kept it all bottled up, letting it fester until even the thought of Ace's name made his hands clench into fists.
By the third day, he felt like a live wire - raw, frayed, ready to snap.
School was its own kind of torture. The hallways were too loud, the fluorescent lights too bright, the whispers and laughter of his classmates grating against his nerves like sandpaper. He kept his head down, his shoulders hunched, like he could make himself invisible if he just tried hard enough.
He was exhausted. Not just from the lack of sleep, though he hadn't slept more than a few hours a night since the last night at the motel, but from the constant effort of pretending he was fine. Pretending he wasn't falling apart.
It happened between third and fourth period. Sanji was rounding the corner near the gym, his books clutched to his chest, his mind a million miles away. He wasn't watching where he was going. He didn't care where he was going.
A solid, warm body slammed into his shoulder, knocking him sideways. His books slipped from his grip, scattering across the linoleum with a series of loud, embarrassing thuds. He stumbled, his back hitting the lockers with a metallic clang that echoed down the hallway.
"Shit- sorry-"
The voice was deep, rough, and familiar. Sanji's head snapped up, his heart lurching into his throat before he could stop it. Zoro. Of course, it was Zoro.
Standing there like a deer in the headlights, gym bag slung over his shoulder. His green hair was slightly damp, like he'd just come from the showers, and his green eyes were wide with surprise and concern as they locked onto Sanji's face.
"You okay?" Zoro asked, already crouching to help gather the scattered books. His fingers brushed against Sanji's as he handed him one, and Sanji flinched like he'd been burned.
For a second, he just stared. Zoro's sleeves were pushed up, revealing the corded muscles of his forearms. His shirt was stretched tight across his chest, the fabric clinging to his skin. He smelled like soap and something earthy, like the outdoors after a rainstorm.
Sanji's mouth went dry. It should have been nothing. It was nothing, the kind of small hallway collision that happened a dozen times a day and was forgotten within a minute. Any other week, Sanji might have felt something about it - the strange luck of finally being looked at, even by accident, even over something this small.
Instead, something in Sanji just went hot and ugly all at once.
"Watch where you're fucking going, mosshead," he snapped, snatching the last book out of Zoro's hand harder than necessary. His voice came out sharper than he intended, edged with everything he'd been swallowing for days. "Don't need some fucking baboon running me over."
Zoro's expression flickered from apologetic to surprised in less than a second before his usual temper took over, a vein pulsating between his brows. "You bumped into me, dumbass. Maybe get that hair out of your face, so you can see where you're going."
Sanji didn't wait for more. He shoved past Zoro, his shoulder clipping the other boy's as he stormed down the hallway.
He didn't make it far.
He ducked into the nearest bathroom, the door swinging shut behind him with a bang that made the echoes ring. He pressed his back against the cold tile wall, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
What the hell was that?
He slammed his fist against the wall, the pain sharp and grounding. He hated himself. Hated that he'd taken his anger out on Zoro, of all people. Hated that he'd ruined what might have been his only chance to actually talk to the guy he'd been mooning over for years.
But God, it had felt good.
His heart was pounding, his skin burning with a mix of shame and satisfaction. He was tired of feeling like shit. Tired of missing Ace. Tired of wanting things he couldn't have. Tired of pretending he was okay when he was anything but. Letting the anger out, even for a second, felt like breathing after days underwater.
For that one brief, stupid second, when he'd snapped at Zoro, he'd felt something other than pain. He'd felt powerful. In control. Like he wasn't just some pathetic, heartbroken mess of a person.
And now he was right back to feeling like shit.
He slid down the wall until his ass hit the floor, his knees pulled up to his chest. The bathroom was empty, the only sound the drip-drip-drip of a leaky faucet and the buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead.
He buried his face in his hands, his fingers digging into his scalp.
He hated Ace.
He missed Ace.
He was so fucking tired of missing him.
Missing Ace, it turned out, was like missing weeds - both always came back sooner than expected. Sanji was half-asleep when he heard something hitting his window.
At first, he thought it was the wind. The old house groaned in the night, the branches of the pine tree outside his room scraping against the glass like skeletal fingers. He rolled over, pulling the thin sheet up to his chin, and squeezed his eyes shut against the flickering streetlight that bled through his curtains.
Then it came again.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Not the wind. Too deliberate. Too urgent.
Sanji's heart hammered against his ribs. He swallowed hard, his mouth dry, and slowly sat up. The room was pitch black, the only light the faint glow of the moon through the curtains. He reached for the lamp on his nightstand, his fingers trembling.
THUD.
A sharp, heavy sound, like a body hitting the side of the house. Sanji flinched, his breath hitching. His pulse was a roar in his ears.
Then, a voice.
"Sanji." Ace."Sanji, open the fucking window."
He crossed to the window on shaky legs and eased it open just enough to see out. Ace was crouched on the narrow ledge outside, eyes gleaming wild in the moonlight, breathing hard like he'd run the whole way.
"Sanji," Ace whispered when he saw him, voice tight. "Let me in. Now."
Sanji hesitated. He was still furious. The image of Ace and Yamato was burned behind his eyes every time he closed them.
"What the hell are you doing here? Go away," he whispered, hoping that no one else had overheard Ace's ruckus.
"Finally," Ace muttered, and before Sanji could react, he hoisted himself through the window, his boots thudding onto the floor. He stumbled, catching himself on the edge of Sanji's bed, his weight making the frame creak.
Sanji stumbled back, heart pounding. "Ace, what the fuck-"
"You need to get your things," Ace cut him off.
"What?"
"Your things. Clothes, whatever you can't leave behind." He was already moving, low and restless, like he didn't know what to do with his hands. "We can be over the state line by morning if we leave now."
Sanji stared at him. "What are you talking about?"
"We have to go," Ace said, a desperation in his voice that Sanji had never heard before, his hands grabbing Sanji's shoulders. His grip was too tight, fingers digging in. "Right now. Tonight. I've got my motorcycle parked down the road. We can be halfway to Texas by morning if we leave now."
"Ace, what the hell-" Sanji's voice was hoarse, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. "It's the middle of the night. My dad-"
"Your dad's asleep," Ace snapped, whirling to face him. "And he's not gonna wake up if we're quiet. Come on." He grabbed Sanji's wrist, his grip bruising, and yanked him forwards. "We can start over. Somewhere new. Just you and me, like we talked about."
"Ace." Sanji kept his voice very quiet. "What happened?"
"There's no time to explain." Ace was already moving, grabbing clothes from Sanji's chair and shoving them into his arms. "Just pack light. We'll figure the rest out on the road. You and me, baby. Like I promised. We're finally getting out of this shithole."
Sanji's stomach twisted. Part of him - the stupid, lovesick part - wanted to say yes. Wanted to grab a bag and run. But the other part of him remembered the night at the motel, Ace's body on top of Yamato, his shocked face as if he hadn't expected to get caught.
"Ace, stop-" Sanji's voice cracked. "You're not making any sense-"
"I told you I'd take you away," Ace growled, his patience snapping. "This is me keeping my promise. Now move."
Something was very, very wrong.
Ace didn't seem to notice Sanji's hesitation. He was too busy rummaging through Sanji's dresser, yanking out clothes and tossing them onto the bed. "Pack a bag. Now."
Sanji swallowed hard. His fingers trembled as he reached for the light switch.
Click.
The sudden light was blinding, casting harsh shadows across the room. Ace froze, his back to Sanji, his shoulders tense.
Then Sanji saw it. The blood. Ace's shirt was soaked in it, the dark red spreading across his chest and sleeves, smeared on his hands. It was everywhere. Sanji's stomach heaved. His knees nearly gave out.
"Jesus Christ," he choked out.
Ace turned slowly, his face pale under the harsh light. His eyes were wide, wild, like a cornered animal. For a second, he just stared at Sanji, his chest rising and falling too fast.
"Ace…" Sanji's voice was a rasp. "What the fuck happened?"
Ace wiped his hands on his jeans, but it only smeared the blood worse. "I told you. We have to go."
"No." Sanji's hands clenched into fists. "No, you tell me what the hell is going on. Now."
Ace finally stopped moving. For the first time, he seemed to register how he must look. His expression shifted - desperate, almost pleading. "It was an accident. I swear to God, Sanji. I was making a drop. Some fucking cop pulled me over. He found the stuff. He was gonna arrest me, ruin everything. I panicked. I didn't mean to-"
"You—" His voice broke. "You killed someone?"
Ace didn't flinch. "It was an accident. He drew first. Or- fuck, I don't know. It doesn't matter." He took another step forward, his hands reaching for Sanji. "What matters is we leave. Now. Before they-"
"No." Sanji shrank back, his voice shaking. "No, no, no. You- you can't-" His mind raced, his thoughts spiraling. "You killed a cop. Ace, they're gonna- they're gonna find you-"
"Not if we go," Ace snapped. "Sanji, listen to me. I've got money. I can get us money. We can be gone before sunrise. No one has to know."
Sanji shook his head, tears burning in his eyes. "No. Get out. I'm not going anywhere with you."
Ace's expression hardened. The desperation cracked, revealing something uglier underneath. "You're really gonna do this? After everything? After I told you I loved you? After I made you feel something for once in your pathetic little life?"
"You're a fucking murderer, Ace. You're going to hell."
"And you? You're a fucking coward," Ace spat. The words landed like another slap. "Just like your old man said. You let me fuck you, always begging for attention, but the second things get real, you run back to daddy's house like a scared little bitch."
"Get out." Sanji's voice was trembling but firm. "Get the fuck out of my room. Now."
Ace stared at him, his chest heaving, his hands clenched into fists. "Or what?"
Sanji swallowed hard. His heart was pounding, his palms sweating. "Or I scream."
For a second, Ace didn't move. Then his lips curled into a sneer. "You wouldn't." He stared at him for a long, ugly moment. Then he laughed - low, bitter, and mean. "Fine. Rot here then. Keep sucking up to your preacher father and pretending you're not just as filthy as the rest of us." He turned toward the window, pausing once to look back. "You'll regret this. When you're old and still stuck in this shithole, you'll remember what I offered you and hate yourself for being too weak to take it."
Sanji didn't move. Didn't breathe. He watched, his body tense, as Ace hoisted himself back onto the ledge. For a second, Ace paused, his back to Sanji, his shoulders rigid.
Then he jumped down.
Sanji flinched at the thud of his boots hitting the ground below. He rushed to the window, his hands gripping the sill, his knuckles white. Ace was already moving, his figure disappearing into the darkness of the yard, his bloodstained shirt a dark smudge against the night.
Then he was gone.
Sanji stood frozen in the middle of his room for a long time after the sound of Ace's footsteps faded. The lamp cast long shadows across the walls. His hands wouldn't stop shaking.
He slammed the window shut, his hands trembling as he fumbled with the latch. Then he turned, his back sliding down the wall until he hit the floor, his knees pulled to his chest.
His whole body was trembling. He closed his eyes, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts.
Ace was a murderer.
Ace had wanted him to run with him.
And Sanji - stupid, foolish Sanji - had almost said yes.
He hadn't been sleeping well. He'd lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind racing with the echo of Ace's voice and the sight of the blood on his shirt. He'd flinch at every creak of the house, every rustle of the wind, half-expecting to hear Ace's voice again, begging him to run. Or worse, hearing the police, their knocks on the door, their questions about the bloodstained boy who'd climbed through his window.
But the days passed. And no one came.
His father didn't mention the strange noises that night. If he'd heard anything, he didn't say. Sanji wondered if Jajji had chosen not to see, if he'd decided that ignoring it was easier than confronting the truth.
That morning, Sanji dragged himself to the breakfast table, his body heavy, his eyes burning from lack of sleep. The smell of coffee and toast made his stomach churn, but he forced himself to sit, to pretend he was fine.
Jajji was already at the head of the table, his newspaper spread in front of him. He sipped his coffee, his eyes scanning the headlines with the same righteous focus he gave his sermons.
Sanji poked at his eggs, his appetite nonexistent. He could feel his father's gaze on him, heavy and judging, but he didn't look up. Then Jajji sighed, a low, disapproving sound, before putting the paper aside.
"Another one," he muttered, tapping the paper with his finger. "The world's going to hell, boy. You mark my words."
Sanji glanced up, his eyes flicking to the paper his father had discarded.
"ROBBERY GONE WRONG — SUSPECT IN OFFICER'S MURDER DEAD AT SCENE."
His breath caught. He reached out with a trembling hand and pulled the paper closer.
"Local authorities report that an unidentified male, suspected in the recent murder of Officer Sakazuki, was fatally shot during an attempted bank robbery in neighboring Lafayette County. The suspect, described as a white male in his early twenties, died at the scene. Police are urging anyone with information to come forward."
Sanji felt like he was going to be sick.
He pushed his chair back abruptly. The scrape of wood against linoleum was too loud. His family looked at him - Reiju with sharp concern, his brothers with vague annoyance, Jajji with narrowed eyes. He fled the room before any of them could say anything.
He barely made it to the toilet before he vomited, his stomach heaving until there was nothing left but bile and shame.
He sat on the cold floor afterwards, back against the tub, knees drawn to his chest. His hands wouldn't stop shaking.
It's my fault.
The thought came unbidden, clear and terrible. If he hadn't been weak. If he hadn't given in to temptation. If he hadn't been this way, Ace might still be alive. He might have made better choices. He might not have spiraled into whatever desperate darkness led him to rob that bank with a gun in his hand.
Sanji pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes until he saw stars.
This is what happens, the voice that sounded like his father whispered. This is the price of sin. You dragged him down with you. Your filth corrupted him.
He thought of Ace's blood-stained shirt. The way he'd begged Sanji to run with him. The cruel words when Sanji refused.
And the worst part - the part that made fresh tears burn behind his eyelids - was that some broken piece of Sanji still missed him. Still wanted to believe the lies. Still ached with the memory of being wanted, even if it had all been poison.
He stayed on the bathroom floor until the shaking stopped. When he finally stood, he looked at himself in the mirror. His eyes were red. His face was pale. He splashed cold water on his face, straightened his shirt, and went back downstairs like nothing had happened.
But inside, something had finally broken. And he didn't know how to fix it. He only knew he had to try. Because the alternative, the road Ace had taken, was hell. And Sanji was terrified he was already walking it.