Sanji is a man of many talents. He is an exceptional dancer and an okay singer. He is an expert in martial arts and he holds his own with crafts. He has basic knowledge about cars and he can fix a leaky pipe if need be. And of course, he is an unbelievably amazing cook.
But no matter how much he tries, Sanji does not know how to woo a lady.
Sanji loves women. He loves everything about them. He lives for women. But women apparently don't like him.
He doesn't know what it is that he does wrong. He praises their beauty and grace with every breath, he does everything for them and never asks for anything in return (like any man should), and he throws himself at their feet. But no matter how much he tries, no woman will look at him.
And it's not like they rather be friends—no, he's always turn down flatly. Often harshly. And that is why, at twenty-two, Sanji has only ever slept with two women.
His virginity was lost at sixteen with an older woman (much, much older) and his second time was with a girl questioning her sexuality (yes, she is now married to a beautiful woman) when he was eighteen.
But no matter how daunting the tasks seems, Sanji will always continue to cater to women's needs. And it's not only because he wants to get laid (though yes, he wouldn't say no to sex) but because Sanji is a romantic at heart and he hopes with all of his heart to meet that beautiful lady that holds the second half of his soul. He wishes for marriage and children, for date nights and anniversaries, for waking up next to someone, wrapped in their warmth.
Sanji wishes for a soulmate, and he will never find her if he is disheartened over the amount of women that have turned him down with scorn.
But he knows, after six years of trying and failing, that his way of doing things is not working. And that is why Sanji is seriously considering following his friend Ace's advice.
The man is a player, often seen with a different woman or man every week. He is one of Sanji's closest friends and Sanji often finds himself envying the freckled-man's ease with woman.
Ace's advice? Do a 180. If women don't like the romantic, sweetheart kind of guy, then turn into the sexy player they want to just swallow up.
It works for Ace, so…
Sanji bites his lip and stares at the phone number saved in his contacts. He finally managed to get Porche's number three days ago, after months of flirting (begging). He's been a little in love with her since he saw her in his restaurant four months ago with a couple of her friends. She knows Ace somehow so Sanji has been lucky enough to meet her a couple of times since then.
He wonders if he should text her right now. Perhaps ask her how her day has been. Or invite her out to eat. Maybe just say hello?
He sighs and opens up Ace's text thread.
Send her a dick pic.
He wonders if Ace knows Porche is the woman Sanji is trying to get with. Not that a dick pic works with any woman—seriously, is this how Ace gets girls?—but Sanji is sure this won't work with Porche at all. The girl is…a bit odd—in a completely adorable way, of course.
"This is stupid," Sanji mutters and puts away his phone. He can't think right now. He needs to relax. He just got off an eight-hour shift at the Baratie after a week of twelve-hour shifts, so he's bone-tired. A good, warm bath with do wonders for him.
He gets to his feet and drags his tired body to the shower. He fills the tub with warm water and then undresses, putting his dirty clothes in the hamper before he grabs his bath oils and sinks inside the tub.
"Ah, that's the spot," Sanji groans happily, feeling the warm water wash out all of his tension. The calming aroma of lavender and vanilla soon makes him just a little bit drowsy and he sinks low enough so only his eyes can be seen.
He loves baths.
His phone lights up on the counter and Sanji glances at it. He debates whether to grab it or not, but the prospect of maybe one of the girls he's given his number to answering gets him to stand up and grab it. Sinking down in the warm water again feels like coming home and Sanji smiles.
He checks his phone and scowls when he sees he's got a text from Ace.
Did u do it? If she doesn't txt back is 'coz ur dick is too small. Send me 1 so I can check.
Sanji rolls his eyes. He's gotten used to Ace flirting with him, but when they first started being friends, it always freaked him out. Not because Sanji is homophobic or anything, but because he's never been the one on the other side of flirting. People don't flirt with him.
Is he ugly? No. Sanji is not vain, but he knows he has a pleasant-face. Maybe his eyebrows freak people out.
His mood dampens and he stares at Ace's text. Maybe he should just do like Ace advised. He opens the camera app and changes the setting to forward camera. He looks at himself. He looks a bit tired, the bags under his eyes more pronounced. He brings the camera down and puts more of his body in the frame.
The water looks light purple from his oil and the color makes his skin look a bit paler. He built up a lot from his high school years, so he now has a well-marked six-pack and a cut V where before he only has a flat belly. He's built up a lot in muscle definition, though he still looks slender under his clothes.
If he doesn't put his face on the frame, he gets a nice view of his torso and legs. He doesn't feel comfortable sending out his dick in a picture so he crosses them subtlety.
There. He looks nice. She can't see how tired he looks but she can see his body. Ace says sometimes girls just want a guy for how hot he is, no matter how unromantic he is. Sanji doesn't exactly agree, but again, Ace has the better track record.
He takes the picture and uploads it as a text message. Should he write a message? Of course, how else is she going to know who he is?
Wish you could join me Porche-chan!
That sounds sufficiently flirty, right? He bites his lip then quickly hits send before he can talk himself out of it.
He quickly puts his phone away and sinks his head under the water.
Shit. Shitty fuckity shit. Oh god, why did he ever think this was a good idea? He's gonna fucking kill Ace.
The sound of a beep startles him and he lifts his head out of the water to glance at his phone. The screen is lit with a new message.
Fuck, that actually worked?
He quickly grabs it and eagerly checks the message.
His face falls.
Sorry, man. She gave you the wrong number.
Sanji stares the message. She gave him the wrong number. He's been worrying all this time about how to call her, and she didn't even give him her number. And he had been so happy when she wrote the number on his arm.
Maybe she had simply written down a wrong digit.
Something tells him that's not it.
"I'm gonna die alone," Sanji mutters to his ceiling and almost drops his phone in the water when it rings again.
Surprised, he opens the messages app.
There's a picture of a man—an incredibly attractive man. The picture looks down on him, the man clearly having held his phone above his head to put his face and chest in the frame. And what a fucking sight it is.
The man has a rugged, stoic attractiveness, the type that screams out masculinity and Sanji has always envied. Three gold earrings pierce his left ear and his hair is a punkish green color. He is pulling his shirt up to reveal a practically perfect chest, cut to utter perfection, practically carved out of marble by Michelangelo or Donatello. A scar that runs diagonally across his chest is the only flaw, though it only adds to the whole bad boy vibe the man has going on. His jeans are pull low, revealing his happy trail and the sharply cut V of his groin.
Sanji blushes and he has to look away.
What the fuck is wrong with him!?
The phone dings again and Sanji risks looking at the new message.
Wish I could join you, too.
Oh god. Sanji blushes crimson and quickly hides under the water.
He spends too long trying to convince himself that the feeling in his stomach isn't giddiness.
A couple of days pass before Sanji hears again from the mysterious hot stranger. He's working the tenth hour of yet another twelve-hour shift when his phone rings. Usually, he doesn't check his phone in the kitchen, but the things are a bit slow and Sanji has the time.
It's a new message from the wrong number. Sanji hesitates, his finger hovering over the notification. He doesn't even know why he kept the number. He didn't answer the man's text, but sometimes he likes looking back at it.
Hey, it's nice to feel wanted, even if it's a guy.
He opens the text and his eyes greedily take in the new picture.
He can only see an arm and a little bit of chest, but it's enough. The man's arm is bent as he holds a heavy weight, clearly working out. His muscles are bulging in effort, sweat making his tan skin shine and Sanji can't help but lick his lips as he stares at the show of strength. It would take both his hands to wrap his fingers around that bicep.
Is there anything better than working out after a long day of work?
Sanji hesitates. The question is simple enough—Sanji can take it as rhetoric or answer it and keep the conversation going. But if he answers it, then what? Is he seriously going to flirt with a guy?
Well, girls are clearly not working out. And he's fucking hot.
Sanji quickly pulls up his camera and takes a quick picture of his work station. It is relatively clean, though he does have a beautifully presented steak plate, waiting for the waiter to come pick it up.
I wouldn't know. Still at work.
He attaches the picture to it and sends it.
The response is quick.
You're a cook?
Sanji frowns at the title.
A chef. Sous-Chef, in fact.
Is there a difference?
A chef is a profession. Anyone can be a cook. Only the skilled and hard-working can be called a chef.
It takes longer for the next text to come in. Sanji worries his lower lip and sets his phone down after two minutes without response. Shit, did he scare the guy away?But he's passionate about his work and he hates when people think cooking is such an easy job. It takes time and dedication to become a professional and not many can cut it in the field.
Well, whatever. It's not like Sanji is seriously invested. He's just some hot guy.
He gets started on his next order and since the pace is still slow, he heads out to the dining floor to check on the customer.
When he comes back, his phone is lit up with a new message. Anybody who says he rushes to read the new message will get kicked in the fucking face.
I'm a teacher. Kindergarten.
Seriously!?
Sanji doesn't mean to be insulting, he simply can't picture it. That hot as fuck guy is teaches little kids? He seriously doesn't look like it. Sanji is pretty sure if he had a teacher like that when he was in kindergarten, he would have burst into tears. The man looks like he could kill for pay.
Yeah. It's only my second year. I like teaching but I can't stand teenagers, so kids it is.
Wow. Can't picture it.
This coming from the chef with the killer body. Seriously, aren't all chef's supposed to be fat?
Sanji blushes and smiles. It feels nice to get a compliment every now and then. Ace calls him hot and sexy all the time, but it sounds different coming from Ace. Ace thinks everyone's hot.
He sneaks a picture of one of the more heavy-weight cooks and sends it.
Like this?
Yeah. That's how all the cooks at the school look.
"Oi, eggplant, put that phone away and get back to work!"
Sanji startles so bad he almost drops his phone. He glares at Zeff, ignored Patty's snickering, and quickly puts his phone away. He only has an hour left of work, he doesn't see what the big deal is.
His phone vibrates ten minutes after, but Zeff is still looking at him so he ignores it. Usually, even after his shift is done, Sanji stays behind to give a more thorough cleaning to the kitchen and to maybe get started on some of the meals of the early morning. But this time, the clock barely hits twelve before Sanji is out the door, raising back to his apartment.
He quickly undresses down to his boxers and throws one of his containers filled with leftovers in the microwave. He usually hates using the thing—it's good for warming up water or honey or getting butter to soften—but he's eager to check the message on his phone.
You have to be doing some kind of workout to look like that.
Then a second one:
Guess you're busy.
Sanji checks the timestamp. The second text was sent fifteen minutes ago, almost forty minutes after Sanji's last text. He quickly pulls up his keyboard and types in a quick apology.
Shit, no. My boss was getting on my ass. I do savate and capoeira.
The microwave dings and Sanji quickly goes grab his chicken, broccoli, and white rice mixture. He moves it around with his fork a little to get it warmed up and grabs a tea bottle from his fridge.
There's a text waiting for him.
I mostly do kendo but I've also done boxing and Muay Thai.
Sanji tries to imagine the man fighting. He has seen a couple boxing fights and even participated in a few of his own (only kick-boxing though). The thought is…surprisingly erotic.
Fuck, is he really doing this with a guy?
Sanji has never really paid attention to the male form. He seems them mostly as competition—winning competition. His interaction with guys is mostly getting into fights because he's flirting with their girlfriends or getting into fights because they've disrespected a girl in some way. There's Ace, his only friend—male or female—and while Sanji can appreciate the fact that Ace is smoking hot, he's too invested in the friendship to ever have inappropriate thoughts about him.
But here is a guy that is super attractive, the type of guy that always gets the girl—and he's looking at Sanji.
For the first time in his life, Sanji is the one being pursued, the one being complimented, the one that is wanted.
And it fucking feels amazing.
Shit, it's almost one. What are you doing right now?
Sanji places the plastic container on his chest and brings the camera up, making sure his chest and face is completely in the frame. He still looks a bit tired and his hair is a bit messy from laying on the couch's soft pillow.
Eating.
He takes a bite of his chicken and broccoli, grinning when his phone lights up almost instantaneously.
Dude, you gotta warn a guy before a pic like that.
What does that mean? Does he like it or not?
Did you like it?
He bites his lip and waits nervously for the answer. He takes another bite of his food and swallows thickly when his phone rings.
Like you have to ask. Do you wear contacts?
Sanji frowns at the odd question. Contacts? He only needs glasses when reading, so he doesn't see the point in them.
No…? That's an odd question. Why?
You have very pretty eyes.
Sanji blushes red and he has to tuck the phone under his arm even though the other man has no way of knowing if Sanji is blushing or not.
Though your eyebrows are a bit weird.
Fucker! He can't compliment Sanji one second and insult him the next! Yeah, he fucking knows his eyebrows are weird, there's no reason to point it out.
Your hair is weird. Moss-head.
Dart-board brow
Marimo
You know Japanese?
Sanji blinks and frowns. Japanese—oh, that's right! Marimos are indigenous to Japan. He only knows them since he saw them at the zoo.
Nah. I'm mean, I only know arigatō which is like, thank you, isn't it?
Yeah. I'm Japanese, that's why I asked. Moved to the States when I was twelve.
I'm French. Moved here when I was nine.
He hasn't told anyone that. He's sure Ace knows, only because Sanji had a little trouble trying to get his green card a couple of years ago when his work visa expired, but he's never actually told someone. He moved here after his parents died, so it's not something he likes talking about. But he had already typed the message and sent it before he even knew what he was doing.
Maybe it's the fact that the other man shared something personal, too.
You're from France? The city of love, huh….damn, you really are perfect aren't you?
How can this guy write like this!? Is he even being honest? Or is he just trying to get in Sanji's pants? Because, damn, it might be fucking working. Perfect has never been a word someone has used to describe him. He's been called handsome, talented, skilled, well-mannered…but perfect? Sanji is the one always using the word to describe others—women are perfect, his food is perfect, this fucking man is perfect—but never has he been in the receiving side of it.
You don't even know me
The response is immediate
No, but I want to. You wanna keep texting?
Sanji hesitates. He's heard people use the term before. 'Oh, we're just talking'. It means you're not really dating, but you want to. He knows nothing about this man—hell, he doesn't even know his name. Who knows if the guys lives near here? Or if he's some kind of pervert—heck, he might not even be the guy in the picture at all! He could probably be catfishing Sanji (he's heard of it and it's horrible).
But…well, what if he's not? What if this fucking hot man really is interested in him? Sanji likes the way these texts make him feel. He likes the attention, the conversation. He likes having something to look forward to.
Besides, it's just texting. It's not like Sanji is going to invite the guy over or something. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.
Sure.
Sanji and the other man keep texting back and forth. Their names have somehow failed to come up in conversation and Sanji feels weird right out asking him, so he's taken to calling him marimo and the other man refers to him as love-cook or curly.
They talk about everything.
They talk about silly stuff, like TV shows and movies. Marimo loves horror stories but Sanji prefers rom-coms. They talk about their favorite comedians, their favorite actors, their favorite sports—everything basic that there is to know about each other.
They talk about aliens (they both totally agreed that they're real) and they talk about what-ifs. They talk about their childhoods and their futures, their hopes and their dreams. Marimo talks about his job, sometimes venting to Sanji about how stupid some parents can be (seriously, vaccinate your kids!) or about how fucking amazing kids sometimes are. He talks about his passions for swordsmanship and how there is a man that he wants to defeat. He talks about his family, about his mother and sister that died when he was young. He talks about his father and his heritage and how sometimes he just misses Japan.
And he listens, too.
He listens to Sanji rant about the other cooks and the old geezer, about the goddamn customers that think just because they're paying they have the right to treat workers like trash. He talks about his dream of opening his own place, about his fears of maybe not being good enough to make it in the real word, outside of Zeff's protection. Sanji tells him about his policy never to use his hands while fighting, not even to protect himself, and he talks about his unfortunate addiction to nicotine and even though he's tried a lot of times, he just can't quit.
They talk and they talk and with every text that is sent, Sanji finds himself looking forward just a little more to these little talks. He finds himself thinking about the Marimo, hoping every time he checks his phone that there's going to be a text there. He wakes up to a good morning text from him every day—except weekends—and goes to bed with a good night text.
And with every passing day, Sanji finds himself hoping that they can meet soon. But Marimo never talks about it—they haven't even talked on the phone, it's all just been texting—and Sanji avoids the topic, too, in case of ruining something.
And that is why, almost five weeks after the fortunate wrong number text, Ace forces him to go out.
"You need to meet someone real!" Ace snaps, tugging on his ankle.
Sanji told him about the marimo a couple of weeks ago, though he refrained from using any pronouns or giving names. Since then, Ace has been warning him to stay careful and trying to get him dates with real, live people out there.
He doesn't like listening to Sanji when he says the marimo is, technically, a real, live person too.
"I don't wanna," Sanji mutters, snuggling deeper into his bed. This is his first day off of the month, so Sani wants to enjoy his day off. Zoro already texted him telling him he's gonna be out late, so he might not be able to hear Sanji's texts.
"Sanji! I don't use this often, but as I'm pulling the best friend card! You have to come with me!"
Sanji lifts his head and glares at his friend. "That's low," he mutters.
"I have to do it," Ace shrugs, hands on his waist. "Now get your ass up. I want you to meet Nami! She's perfect for you."
Sanji rolls his eyes, but obeys. Ace's brother Luffy has a different party every month, and every time, Sanji gets invited. He's only been to one, a long time ago, but after he got thrown up on by a girl he had been flirting with, he decided parties were not his thing.
But Ace pulled the best friend card so Sanji has no other choice but to get off the bed and get changed into semi-casual clothes.
In the end, because he really doesn't want to go out, he opts for simple khakis and a salmon shirt. He tries to appear enthusiastic—after all, he does like Luffy and Usopp—but he finds himself checking his phone every five minutes.
Of course, Marimo doesn't text him.
And then, to make things worse, Ace leaves him as soon as they arrive at Luffy's house, quickly disappearing amongst the crowd of people.
Seriously, Sanji knows Luffy is a friendly guy, but this is just ridiculous. If this is how all of Luffy's parties are, then he's glad he's been missing out of them.
He doesn't know anybody, so Sanji slowly makes his way to the backyard, grabbing a cup of something that tastes like cheap wine. The party extends to the backyard, where the food is being cooked, but there's a pool back here and Sanji has always liked women in bikinis. He finds himself a nice, comfortable chair and relaxes on it, suddenly wishing he had sunglasses to hide the way his eyes follow the women swimming in the pool.
"Sanji? What are you doing here?"
He looks up and meets a familiar pair of blue eyes.
"Porche, it's so nice to see you," Sanji exclaims, getting to his feet. "How are—."
"Did you follow me?" she snaps, snatching her hand away before Sanji can grab it.
"P-pardon?"
"Did you follow me?" she snaps, her voice rising. "How many times do I have to tell you—I don't like you! Stop bothering me!"
Her voice is nearly a scream at the end and Sanji is beet red as every eye turns to him. This is…this is totally humiliating. Sanji never wanted to make her feel uncomfortable, he never wanted her to feel like he was a bother. But it's clear that she never appreciated his flirting. But…well, he hasn't talked to her in over a month, ever since she gave him the wrong number. He doesn't understand why she's still so upset.
"I…I'm sorry I made you feel uncomfortable, Porche," Sanji says honestly, his voice shaking a little. "That was never my intention."
"Well, then stop following me!" she snaps. "Get out!"
Sanji jumps at her last order and quickly leaves her side, his ears red. He avoids eye contact as he hurries inside the house and quickly heads to the kitchen, grabbing the strongest drink he can see. He's a lightweight, but what he needs right now is to get drunk.
If he's drunk, he'll forget all about Porche.
He finds himself a nice, little quiet spot at the foot of the back stairs and takes a long gulp of his drink.
Is he really so undesirable? Does he really bother girls so much? But…what is it about him that they don't like? Does he maybe push them too hard? Or does he talk a lot? Or maybe it's just the fact that he keeps insisting even after they've said no.
Yeah, that'll bother anyone.
His phone vibrates in his pocket and Sanji almost drops his drink in surprise. He stares at the message icon on his screen and quickly checks the new text.
I fucking hate parties.
Marimo likes him. The green-haired man has never turned him down, has never said that he's bothered by the frankly lengthy texts Sanji sends. He doesn't mind if Sanji texts him at four in the morning—he still texts back.
Me, too
Is that a general feeling or did something happen?
Even through text, Marimo knows if something's wrong. He's always been able to do that and Sanji appreciates it very much.
I'm at a party and it sucks. I just want to go home
Why don't you?
My friend pulled the Best Friend Card—if I leave, I can't call myself a friend
That sucks. I wish I could make you feel better.
Sanji smiles. He already has—just with these texts, his mood is a lot better. He likes Marimo, he really does. And he likes him as a person, not just because he's hot as all hell. He wants to meet him. He wants to hear his voice. He wants to touch him.
He wants to see if he's really real and not just a figment of Sanji's imagination.
I wish I could see you, he texts and bites his lip. Is that too forward? But…well, they've been talking for over a month, is about time they meet, right?
Sanji expects a picture message, not the short text that comes in.
Look up.
Sanji frowns and looks up.
Immediately, he locks eyes with the man in front of him. A man with familiar green hair and tan skin. He's taller than Sanji, just a by a little bit, but he's definitely wider. He stands with a swagger that screams of cockiness, even in stillness, and the three golden earrings on his left ear stand out attractively against the deep tan of his skin.
He smiles wide and Sanji's heart skips a beat and immediately sets a quick, rapid beat as the man approaches him.
He stops in front of Sanji, just a foot away, but close enough that he can smell the scent of steel and spices, something warm and deeply masculine.
"Hey," a low, dark voice says and Sanji shudders. "My name is Zoro."
Sanji looks at the hand extended to him and slowly brings his own hand up. Zoro's hand is warm and calloused. Zoro's hand is real.
"I'm Sanji."
Zoro's smiles widens and Sanji silently thanks Porche for giving him the wrong number.