Chapter Text
At twenty-three, high school had become just a vague, unpleasant memory in Sanji's life. A strange time, one he hated remembering, but he had gotten over it. At least, more than before, when merely thinking about those days was enough to make his hands tremble in search of his anxiety medication or a cigarette — whichever was closer.
There was no one to blame for this misfortune except himself. Well, maybe his biological father also bore some of the blame. Either way, Sanji had his high points back then — he could even say he'd nearly stamped every possible experience: academically, he'd gotten perfect grades and won the regional olympiads; in sports, he'd been part of the track team and brought the gold trophy home to his school.
Socially, he'd made friends there he still kept close to his heart to this day. That was where he met Nami, his most beloved flower. How could he not be grateful?
In matters of the heart, he'd been with girls. Many girls. Perfect maidens who charmed his heart and made him fall in love every time. And every single time, he gave his heart away, not caring whether it would end up broken later.
And that was exactly what usually ended up happening, since only a few of those crushes ever actually turned into a relationship. Things were made harder by his dedication to his studies, his work in the kitchen, and... a certain other problem.
Those high points, however, were now remembered with a certain anguish, thinking about how much — behind the perfect performance that was his life — it had all come paired with severe anxiety attacks.
“Maybe you don't need to be good at everything,” was what his therapist suggested when, right before graduating, he'd finally sought help. The simple answer had nearly made him burst out laughing at the time.
The real question was: five years had already passed, and he had gotten over the terrors of high school, like a good grown man who'd done plenty of therapy — which didn't change the fact that when Nami called him that morning — oh heavens, what had he done to deserve the voice of an angel sweeter than his own morning pancakes? — he wasn't ready for the invitation:
“So, our old senior class is getting together this afternoon for our five-year reunion! We're going, right?”
A wave of dizziness hit him instantly, just from the thought of reliving certain memories — which he had gotten over — and he'd had to make the excuse that he needed to take something out of the oven, just so he could put a cigarette in his mouth. It's only after the nicotine works through his body, and he repeats to himself that “for the love of god, you're a grown man, cut it out,” that he's able to answer in a softened voice:
“Nami, my love. I could never turn down an invitation from a goddess.”
He knows it's a bad idea, but through the whole process of putting on decent clothes, fixing his hair, and catching the bus that would take him to the stop near his old school — god, how long had it been since he'd taken that route? — he tries to convince himself that, maybe, it could be something interesting.
For instance, if he told his old therapist, would she congratulate him for facing his trauma?
Either way, it had been a few months since he'd had time to see his friends — who, even after high school, still got together every now and then. Adult life had been leaving little room for going out lately, especially with the restaurant's success after the renovations. There was no shortage of work. Thankfully, his friends were quite understanding about it, each of them also busy with their own responsibilities.
Still, the feeling of seeing them again was always like coming home. As if time had never passed at all, unable to shake the strong bonds formed over the years.
When he gets off the bus, he realizes he's the last to arrive, which strikes him as rather odd. Sanji was punctual, always liking to arrive early to size up wherever he'd be, mentally prepare himself to see his friends, and fix his hair one last time before meeting his beautiful female angels.
The disruption to his routine is enough to bother him, even knowing it's his own fault after spending countless minutes agonizing over whether he should make an excuse not to go — but how could he do that to Nami?
His group was already a few yards ahead of the bus stop, their faces lighting up with affection and joy at seeing him get off. Instantly, his heart warms, and he feels glad he came. Maybe he should make more of an effort to see them, after all.
The shortest of the group is the first to jump and hug him.
“Sanjiii, it's been forever! How are you? How's the Baratie? Please tell me you quit smoking!” Chopper asks, arms wrapped around him, and Sanji can only laugh breathlessly as he frees one trapped arm to ruffle the top of his head.
The years went by, and Chopper still had that cute, childlike look. No one who didn't know him would ever guess the guy was a prodigy medical student.
“Well, I'm trying to cut back on cigarettes...” he answers with a small lie, citing an attempt that never actually happened.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees his long-nosed friend approaching too.
“Long time, Sanji! You look good, man. Bet you missed me like crazy. You know, I was thinking about swinging by the restaurant this weeke—”
“Namiii, Viviii, I've missed you so much!” he cuts his friend off at once at the sight of the ladies beside him, looking splendid as always. Oh, heavens, he was such a lucky man just to have the happiness of seeing them.
“Don't ignore me, you idiot!” He hears, from a distance, some uninteresting male voice — griping about something even less interesting — but he only has eyes for the princesses right in front of him.
“You really never change, Sanji,” Vivi replies with a fond laugh, used to the adoration, while Nami rolls her eyes and pats him on the back.
“Alright, alright, now that we're all here, can we start walking? I've got a bet to win,” the redhead hurries them along, fresh energy in her eyes.
Uh-oh, Sanji knew that look all too well. Once Nami took that stance, nothing could stop her. Something was going on.
“Ugh, if I'd known I was getting dragged into one of your games, I would've bailed,” Usopp groans, and Sanji makes a confused face, not understanding what's going on.
“Sorry, Sanji, let us explain,” Vivi sighs, looking a bit embarrassed.
Apparently, it all started as a joke a few months back. Nami and Vivi, girlfriends since high school, had been guessing what each old classmate was up to.
“That Kid definitely just became some kind of delinquent,” one of them guessed.
“I can easily see Hancock working as a model, don't you think?” the other pondered.
“I bet that Law guy became a tattoo artist.”
“Nah, he was weird, but smart. I heard him mention something about medicine once,” the other countered.
And so the conversation went on.
As it turns out, the two of them were, above all, extremely competitive. It was part of their relationship's charm, they said. And they loved to bet. Well, Nami loved it, but Vivi always went along too — one of the reasons the redhead had fallen for her.
And it was in their disagreements about their old classmates that a challenge was born: “I bet I can guess how everyone turned out better than you can!”
“Except we had no way to know who was right,” Vivi states, continuing the explanation.
“Right, and it'd take days to make fake profiles, stalk everyone's socials... I don't have time for that anymore,” Nami waves it off. “So then I had a brilliant idea! Why not just get all our old classmates together and ask them straight up? One afternoon and we'd know everything! And if we got our friends to help ask around...”
She gives the boys a fierce look. “Then we'd finish even faster, without raising suspicion!”
“Huh... So when you called me saying ‘our class is getting together,' you actually got everyone together yourself?” Sanji asks.
“Nah, that would've been way too much work too,” she laughs, tossing her silky hair and making Sanji melt. “What I did was call Luffy — remember him? And suggested that a party might be fun. He handled the rest, and here we are.”
Sanji found it adorable how resourceful his dear Nami could be when it came to winning a bet, but his brain froze for a few seconds at that first question.
Luffy. How could he forget him? Wasn't he the best friend of... ugh, better not let his thoughts wander in that person's direction.
“This has gotta be one of the biggest wastes of time in my life,” Usopp sighs, shrinking back under Nami's glare. “But hey, after all this, I'm curious. What did you two even bet, anyway?”
Nami and Vivi exchange a knowing look, giggling slyly, and don't bother explaining, leaving everyone curious.
Sanji was pretty surprised, to be honest. When he'd first heard about the reunion, he hadn't expected something this big to have been put together. Whatever murky purpose lay behind the celebration, neither he nor his friends could help gasping, impressed by the preparation.
A huge banner reading “HAPPY 5-YEAR GRADUATION ANNIVERSARY” greeted them at the entrance, followed by dozens of old photos taped along the wall, which he had no idea how anyone had found, but which warmed his heart.
The first few minutes were spent lost in nostalgia as they hunted for photos of themselves on the wall. Photos of Usopp drawing on the classroom board, photos of Chopper studying in the library, photos of the group hugging during the school games, and of them celebrating at some festival.
Nami's eyes were welling up, while Chopper and Vivi were already shedding tears. Usopp was moved too, though he was more occupied bragging to everyone about how he'd been “the most amazing guy in school.” It was his way of showing he cared.
And Sanji... wasn't quite sure how to feel. Moved, for sure, remembering fondly all the good times he'd had with his friends. But with every photo he saw, he felt his chest tightening harder around him. “Breathe,” he kept repeating to himself. A reminder to keep his restlessness in check.
But as he walked, his eyes landed on one particular photo.
It was him, with four gold and silver medals — from the school olympiads — being congratulated by the school principal. His vision blurred, and behind him, he could hear someone say, “Wow, I remember this! Sanji was so cool!” but the voice sounded far away.
He only remembered that day vaguely, like flashes in his mind. What he couldn't forget was how, right after the exams, he'd thrown up everything in his stomach and had to go to the hospital. “Burnout syndrome,” they said, and his father had just laughed and taken him back home, as if it were nothing but a huge overreaction. “And don't you dare use that as an excuse,” he'd scolded him with an accusing look.
The next day, he washed his face, combed his hair, and marched off to school with a perfect smile. The last thing he wanted back then was for his classmates to find out what a failure he was.
“Okay, okay, this is all very touching...” Nami cuts through her friends' sentimentality, pretending not to be affected. “But we've got a job to do! So come on, spread out and find out whatever you can about our classmates! Then we'll see who guessed the most right,” she declares, winking at her girlfriend right after.
Usopp and Chopper salute, already getting into the game, while Sanji laughs fondly and takes the chance to step away from any other unwelcome photos.
Mixing in isn't hard, and neither is finding out more about the people around him. He's quite surprised by how many classmates have been gathered, and he can't help finding it interesting how some had matured while others stayed exactly the same as in their teens.
“Well, if you'll excuse me, I need to go take care of a few things,” Law, whom he'd been talking to for fifteen long and tedious minutes, says his goodbyes, and Sanji simply waves briefly in response.
He still wonders how anyone had managed to talk Law into coming — he remembered how, ever since high school, the guy had always hated any kind of social contact, and things didn't seem to have changed, judging by his bored expression. He suspected it had something to do with Kid, who was laughing loudly and taking up space in the corner of the courtyard, and whose direction Law's eyes never quite strayed far from while talking to Sanji.
Either way, he's more interested in jotting down in his phone's notes: “Law – Pediatric Surgeon: point for Vivi-the-wonderful-princess.”
That's when a cheerful shout at the door makes him freeze.
“Zoro, you came!”
Sanji chokes, still staring at his notes. His heart races and, at twenty-three years old, he feels like a teenager again, questions exploding in his head.
He came. How is he? Does he still dye his hair green? Does he still have that grumpy scowl? Does he still like swords?
Did he still remember that day?
Sanji isn't going to look. He doesn't need to look. He can very well just turn around and go find someone else for a brief chat to find out what they've done with their life, and fulfill what he promised Nami.
“Luffy, you're choking me!” He hears Zoro answer with a grumble, his voice deeper than he remembered, getting a laugh in return from his friend, who ignores him.
Sanji can't resist his curiosity. He looks up from his screen to sneak a peek. “Just a quick look,” he assures himself.
And there he is. More muscular, taller. But the same scowl and the same ridiculous green hair, as he tries to wriggle out of his friend's hug.
Sanji swallows hard and freezes where he stands. His brain tells him to walk away — too much time has passed, get over it, move on — but there, right in front of him, is his first, fleeting love.
Not so fleeting when, years later, he still remembered him so vividly it set his whole body on fire.
He wants to run home. He wants to run to him. How are you? Did you win the championship? Do you still hate sweets? Do you still like onigiri?
And as if he could feel the intensity of Sanji staring at him, Zoro stops complaining at Luffy for a moment and looks up too, their eyes meeting, widening slightly in surprise. Sanji feels his face catch fire at being caught red-handed.
In that instant, there's nothing else around them.
“I wonder if he still thinks about me sometimes, just like I think about him,” he wondered, but the silliness of it makes him want to laugh at himself. “Of course not.”
“It's been so long, Sanji. Do you remember me?” he hears beside him, a velvety voice coming from a sweet woman who's appeared in front of him, and he has to blink a few times to snap out of his daze.
He thanks the heavens for having a solid reason to look away, then clears his throat before going back to what he was doing.
“It's been five years already, Sanji. He probably doesn't even remember anymore.”
“Not even a thousand years could make me forget you, Pudding,” he answers the girl who'd caught his attention, kissing her hand reverently, making her laugh fondly at the gesture.
“Well, I could never forget my first boyfriend either,” she says, a mischievous smile masking her blushing face.
Sanji doesn't know what to say besides laugh awkwardly. His relationship with Pudding had been pleasant, marked by their shared love of sweets. He gave her flowers, chocolates, attention, affection. It was good.
Except when they kissed. Sanji always felt like something was wrong, in those moments.
Not just with her, but with every other girl he'd tried with.
Luckily for him, Pudding changed the subject quickly:
“But who would've thought it's already been five years... Feels like it was just yesterday we were all stressing over college entrance exams,” she muses.
“Time really did fly. So what are you up to now, Pudding?”
“I studied business, and now I own a little coffee shop downtown,” she says proudly, and Sanji can't help feeling proud too, seeing her achieve what she'd always dreamed of. She was good, and she deserved the best. “Please, come visit sometime,” she invites then, handing him a card.
“Oh, it'd be my pleasure, my love. I'm a partner and head chef at a restaurant these days, so I hope you'll stop by sometime too,” he hands her his own card in turn, hoping to surprise her with one of the desserts on his menu, and doesn't miss the look of surprise on her face.
Realizing why makes an old anxiety grow inside him.
“Sanji, that's... amazing!” she says with genuine happiness, dispelling any of his worry. “I mean, I always knew about your love for cooking. You always tried to juggle it with everything else, but you still used to say you'd be a doctor or an engineer... I'm so glad to know that, in the end, you're doing what you really love!”
Sanji's heart warms at the affirming words and the sincere smile he sees, and he swears he could cry, if it weren't for all the people around them.
A doctor or an engineer, according to what his father wanted him to be. Businessman would've been an option too, according to the old man, so he could keep running one of the family company's branches — if Sanji weren't so useless for wanting to put employees ahead of profit. So those two options were what was left for his future.
But there he was, five years later, having freed himself from his idiotic blood family, and finally doing what he loved, just as Pudding had said. He couldn't help feeling proud of himself.
“...And you know, things are going really well...” he blinks, realizing he's missed part of what Pudding said while lost in his thoughts, cursing himself as he tries to focus again.
“Hm, sorry?”
Pudding's face flushes, and she gives him an embarrassed smile.
“Uh... I wrote my personal number on the card I gave you. I was wondering if you'd maybe want to try again...” she says shyly, then her eyes go wide as she rushes to add, “Not that I'm trying to rush things, of course! I don't even know if you're single—” she laughs, flustered, waving her arms about. “But if you are, what do you say we go on a date? What do you think?”
“Ah, about that...”
Sanji feels awkward, and repeats to himself that the subject doesn't bother him anymore. He was already a grown, well-adjusted man, for heaven's sake! Still, this particular situation always brought a bit of... discomfort.
“Sorry, little Pudding... Uh, turns out I'm gay.”
He definitely needs a cigarette. Between reliving his mental burnout back in school, talking to boring old classmates, running into his first and unresolved love, and coming out as gay to his ex — who, thank the heavens, took it well and without any hard feelings — he didn't know how much longer he could take it.
“Man, Sanji, that day was crazy, huh! I still remember the celebration party,” someone points out, and Sanji follows the person's finger with his eyes, trying to find what the hell they were talking about.
Right beside him, by some infernal coincidence, sat a few trophies his class had won. Specifically, right there, was the track and field trophy he'd won against a hated rival school.
He loved track and field. What he didn't love was how he'd trained until his feet nearly bled to win it, because according to his father, “Foreign universities admire athletes.”
Sanji holds back the urge to groan, and just gives the person a generic comment and thanks in return. The fake, tense smile on his face — one he'd learned so long ago that not even his closest friends could tell anymore.
A smile he hadn't needed to use in a long time, but then again, it was turning out to be a hard day.
He'd kind of already expected this when he accepted Nami's invitation. Still, he's exhausted. Looking around, there was still a handful of people left to talk to, but he could feel his energy already spent, and he hoped the rest of the group could finish the job.
That's when his eyes land on the impossible-to-ignore green spot, which Sanji had still spent the whole afternoon trying to ignore anyway.
He doesn't know if it's the exhaustion of talking to so many people or of facing his old trauma — maybe both — but this time, his gaze lingers. He lets himself look.
Zoro still had that grumpy face, but he seemed more... calm. Serene. As if time had turned all that irritation into simply a grumpy man. He was talking to another blond man, whose back was to Sanji — was that Killer? Had they always been close? — and he watches the blond rest a hand on Zoro's shoulder, lingering there longer than seemed normal.
Something twists in his stomach, and he knows exactly what it is. Something he shouldn't be feeling, not when he and Zoro were nothing to each other.
They'd never had the chance to be something.
He wants to cry over the frustrating feeling. Which is sort of funny, in a way, because that's not what's expected of a grown man. Crying over a brief teenage romance from years ago.
At the same time, Sanji had already spent so much of his life trying to live up to what was expected of him, and that was far more exhausting than a thousand afternoons like this one.
Could they have been something?
Once again, Zoro's attention drifts from the person he's talking to, and finds Sanji's eyes, as if he had some kind of radar for whenever Sanji looked at him — or maybe he'd simply been searching for one specific yellow spot all afternoon, just like Sanji was searching for the green one.
Sanji doesn't know what he says to the other blond, too far away to hear. But Zoro seems to say his goodbyes somehow, before giving Sanji one last look — intense this time, heavy, with that spark of determination only he had — and walks out of the room.
Sanji already knew where he was headed, and before he could think it through — or think too much — he follows him.