Chapter Text
The echo of Sanji’s uniform oxfords clacking on the tile bounces off the walls of the empty hall. Everyone else is in their assigned seats, in their assigned rooms—he feels antsy for being out of his, but the pink slip in his sweaty palm minutely eases the pounding in his chest as he makes his way to Principal Tsuru’s office.
He’s allowed to be out of class, and not because he’s in trouble. If he were, one of the teachers would be escorting him, his knuckles burning from the smack of their ruler rapping against them.
The secretary scarcely glances up at him from her desk when he knocks timidly on the doorframe, busy flipping through a giant stack of papers.
“Go right on in, Sanji. They’re waiting for you.”
Sanji deposits the slip in the basket by the door, and eases the wooden, creaking thing open. There before Miss Tsuru sits his reason for being out of class.
A new student—his assignment, according to the slip. Short straw blond hair, a lean torso atop longer legs that sprawl in the space between Miss Tsuru’s desk and his seat. He tilts his head back at the sound of the creaking door, and Sanji quickly averts his gaze to the principal.
“Ah, there he is,” Miss Tsuru announces, beckoning Sanji further into the room. “Mister Vinsmoke, come meet our newest student, a transfer. Donquixote Doflamingo. Mister Donquixote, Sanji here will be your student guide as you acclimate to Saint Peter’s. And you will be acclimating, won’t you.”
"I was sort of hoping you would show me around, ma'am," Doflamingo says, rolling his head back to center, eyeing the woman carefully to catch her reaction. When she remains stone-faced, impassive, waiting for him to correct his own mistake, he fixes her with a wide grin.
Her poker face is better than the last one, he'll give her that.
The tang of iron bursts on his palate as the expression aggravates the split in his lip, and blood trickles down from the site to pool between his teeth. He runs his tongue through the mess, then slaps his palms heavily on the armrests of the chair to push himself out of his seat.
"I guess Sanji'll have to do then, won't he?" he drawls, turning his gaze on the baby-faced blond boy hovering near his flank.
Sanji eyes the split lip and the dark shadow surrounding one of Doflamingo’s eye sockets. It looks fresh, like the fight he was in happened yesterday. He frowns.
The guy looks like trouble. That’s the last thing he needs.
“He certainly will,” Miss Tsuru says, scooping up a folder and a loose sheet of paper from her desk. She circles it, handing the sheet to Sanji. He peeks, seeing a class schedule—many of which they’ll share. “Isn’t that right, Mister Vinsmoke?”
“Yeah,” Sanji says glumly as he reluctantly accepts his fate. He clears his throat when Miss Tsuru casts her stern expression back to him. “I mean, yes, Miss Tsuru.”
She nods, satisfied. “Your things will be waiting for you in the dormitory after classes.” She smacks the folder against Doflamingo's stomach. "Lunch period is next. Be good, boys.”
"For you, ma'am? Anything," Doflamingo replies, lobbing a conspiratorial wink in the principal's direction. When the older woman doesn't crack, he visibly deflates. He holds out the folder for Sanji to take and the other boy accepts it automatically.
Doflamingo strides past him through the open doorframe, then turns right to retrace his steps back through the office. Once outside it, he leans heavily against the wall, chin tipped towards the lofty ceilings of his newest home away from home, waiting for the other boy to catch up.
Sanji rushes out the door a few moments later, head whipping around as he looks for the direction his charge ambled off to. He catches a glimpse in his periphery and turns to see Doflamingo slouching by the door he just exited.
“Uh. You left this,” he says, holding out the folder of papers detailing the features of their school, various flyers and forms for extracurriculars and events for the year ahead. Not to judge a book by its cover, but he can’t imagine Doflamingo as the type to care too deeply about its contents. “Pretty sure it’s just a bunch of crap though, so you could throw it out on our way to lunch if you don’t want it.”
Doflamingo hums noncommittally, regaining custody of the thing in a loose grip. A brochure slips from its confines and flutters to the floor.
"Christian youth leadership," he says, tilting his head to read the title facing up at him from the glossy dark wood. "Are we joining, Sanji?"
The suggestion sounds about as appealing as any other extracurricular that the school provides to supplement the student body’s spiritual well-being. That is to say: not at all.
Sanji’s nose scrunches at the offer, and he shoves his hands in his pockets. “Pretty sure only the PKs go to that.” His head tilts down the hall, in the direction of the cafeteria where Wednesday’s mid-day meal awaits them. He hopes they can beat the rush while everyone else is counting down the final minutes of their class time. “You a pastor’s kid?”
Doflamingo is, but that's beside the point.
"I'm a godless heathen," he replies, licking at the leftover blood staining his lip. He studies Sanji's face intently, silent as the boy shifts awkwardly beneath his scrutiny.
The principal had introduced him as Mr. Vinsmoke, hadn't she?
Sanji is nearly the spitting image of an old classmate of his, Reiju, only with shorter hair. There were brothers too, he remembers now, drawing on vague recollections from years past; the first in a handful of schools that have since closed their doors to him.
Why, he wonders, wouldn't this one simply attend Saint Saturn's with the rest? Perhaps he's a cousin—though he doesn't look like one. Or maybe there are Vinsmokes running amok at every institution in the country. The two most logical explanations given that this boy in particular doesn't strike Doflamingo as a troublemaker. He isn't here because he's been shunted from one school to the next. His attendance at Saint Peter's is deliberate.
All things worth knowing reveal themselves in time. That, or Doflamingo will be on to the next school none the wiser. He pushes off the wall and draws himself up to his full height, looking down at Sanji expectantly.
"I take it that you're not?"
Sanji shrugs, leading with his shoulder down the hall, Doflamingo’s lackadaisical steps following behind.
“Kinda depends on separation of church and state,” he says absently. He doesn’t want to dwell on his father’s political ambitions and how poorly he fits into the mold he was made for. Instead he turns down another hall leading to an exterior door. Pivoting to a short backwards walk, he uses his lower back to push the bar that opens the door, shuffling to hold it open for Doflamingo as they escape the confines of the stuffy main building.
“That’s the Grand Hall, by the way,” he says as the door slams shut behind them. “Most of our classes are there. We’re heading to Totto—the cafeteria.” He points out the building across the small campus with a veranda covered in tables and chairs. “And the dorms are that way.” His hand arcs in the opposite direction, then he subtly eyes Doflamingo’s build, silently wondering if he should show the sporting fields after lunch.
Doflamingo catches Sanji's sideways glance in his periphery, lips twisting into a private smile as he faces straight ahead.
"So," he starts, drifting from the other boy's side to dunk his folder into the very first trashcan they happen upon lining the broad pathway. "You're stuck with me all day, huh?"
He wonders how easy it would be to get the boy to show him to his room after lunch given that he has no designs on attending his afternoon classes—at least not for the day. It's only his first, after all, and he's decided to give himself a bit of a grace period. Now, whether Tsuru will or will not extend him the same courtesy remains to be seen.
“For the week, at least,” Sanji guesses aloud, sheepish. It sounds like Doflamingo might prefer to be left alone. “I think that’s usually how long student guides are assigned for. They basically want you to bother me with questions instead of teachers since it’s middle of term.”
He bites his tongue. That’s not how he’s supposed to say it, but it’s kind of the point of the whole program. And if Doflamingo doesn’t want to be stuck with him as his shadow, then he’ll leave him alone as soon as possible.
They reach the Totto Dining Hall just as a murmur of voices raises in the distance. Classes have released and the other students are now en route to lunch. Sanji holds the door open for Doflamingo and he steps inside the hall. Quiet now, save for the sounds of running water and clattering cookware. Not for long, he imagines, given the hoard of ravenous teenage boys hot on their heels. They bypass the indoor dining area to head for a series of food stations and Doflamingo mirrors Sanji, grabbing a tray and circling around to each one, loading whatever dishes look most appealing onto it. By the time they're finished, the rest of the pack have caught up. Groups of boys jostle each other as they make their way deeper into the cafeteria, snatches of enthusiastic conversation shared between them. Everything from lighthearted to mean-spirited teasing, information about common teachers and schoolwork, the gossip of the day.
As Doflamingo follows Sanji back through the throng of incoming students towards the outdoor dining area he notices that, although there are more than a few curious looks thrown his way, nobody seems particularly interested in catching up with Sanji.
They eat in relative quiet, people-watching as the line for food extends beyond the dining hall’s entrance. The portions on their plates shrink in time with the crowd waiting to get theirs.
Sanji finishes off the last of his lunch, sneaking another glance across the table to see Doflamingo staring right at him, not for the first time during their silent meal. “So,” he starts. He doesn’t know why, but something about Doflamingo’s searching stare unsettles him. Resisting the urge to squirm under the scrutiny, he chooses instead to bounce his heels beneath the table. “Probably about 30 minutes until next period. Anything you wanna see? There’s the other buildings, the sports fields, the gym—”
"The dorms," Doflamingo interjects, sparing the other boy from anxiously rambling his way down some arbitrary checklist. He tilts his head in the direction Sanji indicated earlier, then he slides out of his seat. "I'd like to make sure my shit got here safe if it's all the same to you," he says, attention shifting from Sanji to just over his shoulder where a hulking boy with an obnoxious laugh is holding court, clearly talking about him.
"—with his face all fucked up like that, but I guarantee you whoever he fought with kicked his scrawny ass."
The table of sycophants erupts in a fit of laughter and Doflamingo catches the boy's eye, blows him a kiss. The laughter disperses and confused murmurs ripple through the students seated around him. Doflamingo's cheeks ache with the strain of his wide grin.
Unwise to make an enemy out of him without first knowing his strengths and weaknesses. The boy will find out soon enough. Doflamingo's marked him.
"Coming?" he asks, redirecting back to Sanji and cocking his head expectantly.
He makes no move to pick up his tray.
Sanji finishes standing, turning back as Doflamingo’s attention lands on him again. He’d caught the tail end of that—the comments behind him and Doflamingo’s blown kiss, the hushed whispers of the guys on the receiving end. It’s a group he’s managed to fly under the radar of until now: Kaido and his cronies are loud-mouths, but a lot of the trouble they cause is superficial. Still, he hopes that doesn’t change after today.
Also—his face scrunches as he thinks about it again—what a weird thing to do, blowing a kiss at some guy talking shit. He’s not sure what to make of it.
“Yeah,” he says, scooping up his tray and ticking his chin at Doflamingo’s. “C’mon, I’ll show you where this goes.” He ferries his tray off to the plastic tubs on a cart just inside the door, tossing his trash and leaving the rest behind with a loud clatter.
“I dunno if they have your room assignment yet, so you could be in any of the dorms,” he says over his shoulder as he pushes back out the door to the campus. “Actually,” he mutters, digging in his pocket for the copy of Doflamingo’s class schedule that Miss Tsuru had handed him. Lucky thing too—Doflamingo probably threw his away with the folder. He smooths out a crease at the top, a proud grin spreading then faltering at what he finds. Doflamingo’s room assignment sits at the top of the page below his student ID number: North Hall, room 103.
The exact same as Sanji’s.
His steps slow at the realization, and Doflamingo’s long strides overtake his.
It takes Doflamingo a few steps to realize he's lost his little shadow. He slows to a stop and spins on his heel, an exasperated sigh traversing the sudden distance between them as he looks back at Sanji, eyes narrowed in irritation.
"You don't know where I'm staying," he says flatly. Not so much Sanji's fault as it is the administration's, but the administration isn't standing six feet behind him with a dumbstruck expression on its face. Sanji is.
Pulled from his worrying spiral, Sanji shakes his head to clear it. “No, it’s not that,” he says, folding the paper again as he catches up to Doflamingo. Maybe it’s a typo, and if it isn’t, maybe it’s not that big of a deal. The guy’s a little rough around the edges so far, but they can figure out how to cohabitate.
“You’re just gonna be stuck with me longer than a week, is all. According to this, we’re gonna be roommates,” he adds with a half-hearted laugh as he leads down the sidewalk to North Hall. “This way.”
"You're not happy," Doflamingo observes, falling in lockstep beside Sanji, previous ire melting away with the knowledge he'll be reunited with his things shortly; granted a modicum of privacy. Not the single room he was hoping for, but the devil he does know in the form of the apprehensive blond at his side is far preferable to the devil he doesn't.
At least for the time being. The quiet, insecure types don't tend to cramp his style. It's the goody two shoes and loudmouths looking for something to prove that very much do.
Sanji shrugs, peering up at Doflamingo’s neutral expression. He doesn’t seem too disappointed. “I guess it depends what kind of roommate you are,” he says honestly, like he’ll know what to do if it’s a bad match. Talk to the principal for a room swap maybe? More than likely, he’ll suffer in silence until the year ends. “Besides being a godless heathen, I mean,” he tacks on before they reach the North Hall’s front entrance. “You know they make us go to church services here, right? Like more than once a week. You’re not gonna burn if you walk into the chapel are you?”
It sounded funnier in Sanji’s head.
Doflamingo's lip curls in amusement at the other boy's attempt at a good-natured jab. He hinges forward at the waist, turning his head to shoot Sanji a crooked grin. "I guess we'll find out soon enough, won't we?"
He follows Sanji up the stairs and down the hall to the right. Room 103 is on the left hand side, two doors down. Too close to the masses for Doflamingo's liking, but at the very least it won't be hard to find on his own. He leans against the wall displaying the brass placard engraved with their room number while he waits for Sanji to fish his key card from his pocket.
"So what do we do if we need a little privacy," he asks as Sanji swipes the card over the handle. The locking mechanism lights up green and the handle clicks, waiting to admit them inside the room. He watches closely to gauge the other boy's reaction. "What's our 'sock on the door,' Sanji?"
Ears burning, Sanji pushes open the door more heavily than is warranted. He hadn’t even thought that far ahead yet—his lazy mornings fondling himself before breakfast are surely over now that he’s saddled with a roommate. He’s heard enough of the locker room talk, had one too many stilted conversations with the boys on his floor waiting outside their figuratively—or in some cases, literally—socked door.
The thought of being barred from his own room while some other guy tugs on his dick inside it is humiliating. What if Doflamingo is the kind of guy to drag it out? Or worse, what if he’s quick, and Sanji is the one who has to broadcast to the entire floor using a sock on his knob—the doorknob—that he takes his sweet time fucking his fist?
“I’m fine with whatever,” he lies, evading the luggage that has been piled in their shared entryway. “Sock, text, just don’t hog the room for hours or anything. And don’t be shitty about it, like right before curfew or test days.”
Pretty red in the face for someone who's "fine with whatever," Doflamingo notes as he steps inside, letting the heavy wooden door slam shut behind him.
Based on his soft, youthful features alone, Doflamingo already assumed the other boy was a year or two younger, and his reaction to what could be a fairly innocuous question further cements his belief. Young and inexperienced both, his little tour guide appears to be. More in touch with a cultivated sense of shame than he is his own dick. A tragedy.
"Lighten up," he teases, fingers dipping into his hip pocket to retrieve his phone. He unlocks the screen and opens to his contacts, speaking absently to the room at large while he sets up a new contact with Sanji's name. "If God didn't like us doing it he wouldn't make it feel so nice, now would he?" He extends his arm out from his side, passing his phone to Sanji as his gaze roves around the room.
There’s not much to see: while half the room is bare in anticipation for a roommate assignment, the other half isn’t exactly decorated. A clothes basket between the bed and the desk, papers covering the wooden surface, deep blue bedding that matches the curtain draped over the slatted blinds of the window, and a poster of an ocean wave sticky tacked to the wall are the primary signs of life. Some books line the top shelf of Sanji’s desk that is otherwise void of any knickknacks.
Sanji spots his name on the screen and accepts the phone, dutifully plugging in his number while he avoids thinking about how to respond to Doflamingo. Before saving it, he clears the last name field, leaving it blank—just Sanji. He hands it back, sitting on his bed to wait, conceding to his new roommate with a vague, “Yeah, I guess so.” Truth is, he doesn’t think much about what God does or doesn’t want them doing, not outside of knowing the answer to get the passing grade he needs for his religion classes. Though he’s still a long ways off from claiming the godless heathen title as easily as Doflamingo does.
Doflamingo's brow raises. Curious that Sanji would go through the trouble to alter his contact in such a way. It's not like he's going to up and forget the other boy's last name, nor will he be granting Sanji unprecedented access to his contacts. What's it to him how he's saved in Doflamingo's phone?
Interesting.
In place of a last name, Doflamingo adds a wave emoji inspired by the poster hanging beside the other boy's bed. He taps the message icon beneath his contact, firing off a brief text with how he prefers to be addressed in order for Sanji to save his number in return. Or not. Unlike some guys in room 103, Doflamingo doesn't give a shit what Sanji does with his contact information.
He pockets his phone and strides to his largest suitcase, hefting it with a quiet grunt as the motion aggravates his bruised rib, then tosses it onto his barren bed.
If Saint Peter's is anything like every other school he's attended—and so far it seems like it very much is—his things will have already undergone a cursory check for contraband. A violation of privacy if he's ever heard of one. Depending on how stringent the staff are in their searching, he might be starting from square one.
He unzips the front pocket, fingers gliding along the inside lining, finding by feel that everything he's taken great pains to bring with him made it. He locates the small hole in the stitching and tugs. The fabric gives way with a soft rending sound and he slips his hand inside, recovering a loose cigarette and a lighter. He pockets the lighter and tucks the cigarette behind his ear.
"Where would you go if you didn't want to be seen?" he asks Sanji, making a mental note to relocate his stash now that the boy has an idea of where it is.
Sanji looks up from checking the time on his phone and the text reading “Doffy,” warily glancing at the cigarette. He hopes being on a nickname basis means that Doffy wouldn’t throw him under the bus if those cigarettes are sniffed out by the staff. That’s a call home he wants to avoid at all costs.
“The chapel bell tower,” he says, thinking of how no one would smell the smoke up there compared to some of his other hiding places. “It’s a pain to get to, because of the ladder, but that means it’s usually empty.” He stands, remembering the time. “Next class is supposed to start soon though and Garp’s kind of a hard-ass about punctuality. I could show you after school.”
At Doflamingo’s withering look, Sanji scratches the back of his neck as it warms in embarrassment. “Or…not? Look, Doffy—” the name sounds too familiar for only knowing the guy for an hour, “neither of us want to be here, but I’m not trying to get in trouble, okay? Can you just—” he can hear his voice falter more the higher that Doflamingo’s eyebrow raises, “save it for when I’m not your student guide, at least?” he finishes, knowing full well that his discomfort is bound to linger if Doffy keeps up this act as his roommate.
The kid looks like he's about to cry. The same glassy-eyed imploring look that usually tempts Doflamingo's stomach to turn in disgust produces something of an opposite reaction when faced with Sanji's splotchy red cheeks and watery blues. Something about the boy reminds him of his little brother. Whether its his age, the similar mop of blond hair, or the insistence on doing the right thing, he's not sure. Probably a combination of all three.
Doflamingo heaves a sigh as he tamps down his urge to go for the jugular. "What happens to my student guide if he can't manage to shepherd me to class on time?"
Sanji’s hunched shoulders shrug, then relax at Doffy's initial acquiescence. “A demerit, maybe?” It sounds pathetic to think it, so he already knows it’ll be humiliating to admit aloud, but— “I can’t really risk a call home.”
Like the guy who showed up as a trouble-making transfer with a black eye and a split lip will care if Sanji faces any consequences for his actions. He sets his jaw, suddenly determined to stand his ground.
“No, I’m not risking a call home,” he says stubbornly, sticking his chin up as he stares down Doflamingo. “After this week, I’ll look the other way for almost anything and I won’t rat you out. But I’m not a scapegoat and I’m not gonna take any heat if you get caught. Not this week, not ever.” His heart is pounding thunderously in his chest. “They try to rope me in, you say it’s not my fault. Deal?”
He thrusts his hand out into the space between them for Doffy to shake. Or to get the upper hand on kicking his ass. Whichever.
Doflamingo eyes the proffered hand with equal parts amusement and irritation. After a beat, he extends his own, engulfing Sanji's in it and squeezing firmly.
The hand in his grip is trembling. It must've taken quite a lot for him to say all that. Not a bad little speech, misguided as it was. That Sanji would automatically assume he's the type to throw someone else under the bus to save his own skin says more about Sanji and the kids he must hang around with than it does about Doflamingo. The fact does little to quell his annoyance at the implication.
He can feel the tension in Sanji's hand release when he assumes their contact should naturally come to an end. Doflamingo doesn't let go. A deal works both ways, regardless of how easy his end of the bargain will be to hold up.
"Have a smoke with me in the bell tower after class and we'll call it even?" His raises his brows, gracing the younger boy with a cutting grin.
“Okay,” Sanji agrees cautiously. He doesn’t smoke but if that’s what it takes… Doflamingo probably just wants to laugh at him coughing up tobacco.
His hand is finally released now that he’s agreed to his end of the bargain, and Sanji reaches for his phone to check the time.
“Shit,” he says. Five ‘til, but that’s when Garp starts counting people tardy. “We gotta go.”
They slide into open seats a minute before the hour, just as Sanji’s name is called for roll. Garp eyes them both, begrudgingly marking him as on time and Doflamingo as late.