X X X

CH 5: Homecoming Part 1: Bell of the Ball

Almost four hours later, Luffy found himself in the high school's gymnasium, balancing precariously on a rather tall ladder, his extreme hygiene session before showing up pretty much gone to hell—because a certain blonde had them all sweating their asses off like the slave driver he was. It was a well-known fact, that Sanji should never be put in charge of ANYTHING, because it inevitably turned the normally easy going blonde, into an Anal-Nazi.

Luffy was hanging balloons near the bleachers on the side of the gym opposite of the buffet table—and had been expressly forbidden to cross over by threat of execution at the hands of the blonde Hitler himself—when Zoro joined him, nearly collapsing against the bottom bench.

"What's up?" asked the teen, eyeing his friend, carefully descending the ladder before taking a seat himself.

"Hard dicks and airplanes," Zoro grunted, pulling the dark green bandana off his head and using it to wipe off the sweat beading across his face, "—and Sanji's blood pressure."

The two men watched as across the room, Sanji began unconsciously patting down his pockets, searching for an imaginary pack of cigarettes that weren't there because he'd forgotten that he since he was at the high school, nicotine was temporarily off the menu.

Zoro clicked his tongue against his teeth. "I think the bottled-blonde has finally gone to his head. Peroxide poisoning."

"Careful," Luffy frowned. "I heard him earlier in the bathroom humming the chorus for defying gravity." The two shared a similar look, they both knew that once the blonde started reciting Broadway musicals that shit had gotten serious.

The teen shrugged. "At least you're getting paid for this," Luffy reasoned.

"There isn't enough hazard pay in the world to compensate for this." Zoro groaned, bending backwards to stretch out the sore, stiffening muscles in his back and shoulders. "I feel like I've just been fucked—except I didn't even get a free meal out of it first." The greenhead had been hauling in everything from tables, to chairs, and even a set of massive loud speakers that probably each weighed more than he did.

"Cheer up," Luffy clapped his friend on the shoulder, "—maybe next time he'll buy you dinner and call you pretty."

"He'd fucking better," scowling, Zoro reached over and gave the raven's cheek a hard pinch and pulled, "—and my ass ain't cheap neither."

Luffy chuckled, smacking his friends hand away.

"So, two questions," Zoro smirked, leaning back to rest his elbows on the bench behind them. "Firstly, how're you holding up—and secondly," the green head's toffee colored eyes narrowed in on the teens bulging pockets knowingly, "—how many calories are you packing?"

Luffy rolled his eyes, fidgeting slightly. "Dude, that could be taken so wrong."

Zoro shrugged unrepentantly. "Question still stands."

The teen's hands drifted guardingly towards his stuffed pockets, hating that his friend knew him so well. "A few," the raven tried shrugging nonchalantly. A few just so happened to be three packages of beef jerky, a package of Oreo cookies and a half-eaten bag of salt and vinegar potato chips—there'd been more when he first arrived, but he'd gotten nervous. "And I'm totally cool," Luffy lied through his teeth.

"Right" Zoro drawled, raising one eyebrow. "Well, try and take it easy, yeah?" his friend chuckled, "Don't need you blowing chunks on the guy when he does show up."

God, if only that wasn't a real possibility.

There was no need for names, and maybe it was out of some form of mercy that Zoro had left it out to begin with. He knew that his younger friend was a giant ball of nerves already—and he wasn't even aware of the surreal encounter at the store that morning, mostly because Luffy still wasn't sure what he thought of the whole incident himself…

Of course Sanji picked that moment to zero in on the two slackers, shouting at them from across the room, causing Luffy to nearly fall off the bleachers.

Zoro let out a long, aggravated groan while the teen's heart tried to dislodge itself from his throat as he scooted back more firmly on the bench—dammit, he'd been jumpy all afternoon.

"I need a damn drink," the P.E. teacher grumbled and swore, staggering to his feet, looking like he'd be all too happy dismembering a certain blonde dictator with his swords. Luffy mouthed a "Heil Hitler," to which the greenhead gave a half-mocking salute before wandering off.

Needing something to hydrate himself, Luffy made his way over towards the stage where there were coolers filled with ice cold water bottles specifically for the volunteers. Taking one out, he pressed the chilled plastic to his own sweaty forehead, indulging in the cool relief, before opening it up and chugging nearly half of it in one go.

Taking a moment to look around at the decorated gymnasium that would soon double as a dancefloor, Luffy was once again grateful that his brother was still working and hadn't been interested in coming to begin with. There hadn't been much of a point since Ace saw most of his old high school friends on a weekly basis around town anyways. Not to mention dances weren't really his thing—he had inherited the same two-genetically-left Monkey feet as Luffy.

His brother had been hell on the football field, but put him on a dance floor and you'd better watch your toes and feet…and ankles…shins…kneecaps—okay, basically everything below your waist, because it was all at risk.

No, it was definitely better that the freckled male was away, currently waging war against some inferno because that was infinitely safer. Less risk of bodily harm for all.

Not to mention the fact that having Ace and Torao in the same general vicinity could only spell disaster. Over the years, unfortunately, due to Luffy's inability to keep a secret—both of his brothers had become aware of Luffy's little…crush. Law's own ignorance was probably the only thing that had saved the tattooed male from being hunted down and interrogated by Luffy's own two personal demons.

No—having Ace far, far away from Law was definitely the safest option.

Tonight was going to feel awkward enough without Luffy having to worry about his hothead brother, and what physical damage he might try and cause to his first-time crush.

Luffy was just grateful that Ace was the type whose memory tended to lapse when it came to certain things—like the fact that Law had graduated the same year he had and therefore had been invited to the same Reunion.

With a sigh, the teen crushed and tossed the now empty water bottle into the nearby trashcan and went back to work before Sanji decided to hang him from the ceiling.

X X X

Forty-five minutes, and three-dozen red and gold balloons with matching streamers later, and Luffy's clothes were really, really starting to stick in some very uncomfortable places. Looking around, thanks to everyone's effort it seemed like most of the job was done—to the point where not even the Nazi could possibly find fault in the work—and Luffy wondered what the chances were that he could possibly duck out and drop by his house for—he cringed—another icy shower and a spare change of clothes. But then he remembered the fact that he'd gotten a ride here from Zoro in the first place, and that there was no way Sanji would tolerate both of them disappearing so soon to 'show-time'—not unless they were both dead and on their way to the morgue anyway.

Luffy groaned, he could have walked, or rather ran—but then he also remembered the fact that he was pretty much wearing his last decent pair of clean clothes—which, sweaty or not, were still better than the rest of his wardrobe.

Luffy gave a resigned sigh. Oh well, it wasn't like he was likely to actually get close enough to Law for the man to be grossed out by his smell anyway. The gas station incident had been different. It had just been him and Torao, and he'd basically been forced into conversation with Luffy after his brilliant display with the register… and that stupid hat comment. Dammit, was he ever going to learn how to keep his mouth shut? Not that Law had seemed particularly offended at the time, but still. How many idiots would call their crushes obviously favored hat stupid three seconds into their first conversation? Probably only the really special kinds of idiots, which Luffy obviously was.

The teen shook his head. Even if Law recognized him—which hello, how could he not after the teen's spectacular performance?—there were going to be about a hundred other non-idiots for him to talk to. People he went to school with, people he had things in common with, people his own age…

Why would he choose to talk to some kid he'd barely met? Not that Luffy was exactly a kid, but that was just the way everyone seemed to perceive him. He just had one of those faces—hell, he'd probably be carded till he was 40. And his height didn't really help. Not that he was short, but when you had friends like Zoro and Sanji, well, it was easy to fall into the 'vertically challenged' category. And Law was even taller than them!

Luffy kicked his foot against the ground. Dammit, this wasn't like him. Monkey D Luffy did NOT have issues with body image. He was NOT a self-conscious person. If anything, he was impervious to such thoughts, never before had confidence been an issue—until now. But why? If he could just figure that out half of his problem would be solved. What made Torao different—other than the obvious physical attraction?

Maybe it was because Torao was the first person whose opinion felt like it mattered… The first person whose disregard would actually feel painful.

"Damn dude, you look like hammered-shit." A gruff male voice practically announced his inner thoughts as his green-haired friend crashed, back against the wall, sliding in right next to the teen with an audible sigh of relief.

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Luffy gave Zoro a long, sideways look. "Well, fuck you very much." Like the greenhead looked any better. If anything, he looked worse. Hammered-shit runover. Like, roadkill hammered-shit. Hammered-shit on the side of the highway…

Luffy was still coming up with adjectives in an attempt to restore his own self-esteem when Zoro clapped him on the shoulder, nearly sending him forward. "Yeah yeah, why don't you go take a shower? We've got sometime before this disaster officially starts."

Luffy narrowed his eyes, shifting back to get comfortable once more. "And how and where do you propose I get this magical shower you speak of?"

"Uh, hello?" Zoro rolled his eyes, as if it were obvious. "Gym coach? Locker-rooms? That place you avoided in high school?" Zoro's mouth quirked at the corner. "Hot shower access, all day long."

Luffy blinked. Okay, so maybe he should have thought of that but—

"What's the point?" Luffy raised his shoulder in a half shrug, absently toeing the ground. "I'd just be putting back on the same sweat stained cloths."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that," Zorro smirked mischievously, earning him an odd, scrunched up look. "Trust me, goldilocks has it handled. Left you a little care package on my desk." Luffy still looked dubious. The greenhead tipped his chin before nudging him forward with his shoulder. "What are you waiting for? You wreak."

Luffy started forward, giving one last scrutinizing look over his shoulder. Any other time he might have argued on principle alone. But there was something about the expression on Zoro's face. And that something had him walking down the dim lit hallway, even if he did do it with a scowl.

"Soap and shit's in the cabinet!" Zoro called out, and Luffy could have sworn he was chuckling by the time the raven turned the corner.

X X X

Luffy's nose scrunched up at the nostalgic scent of the boy's locker room. Despite the fact that it had basically been gutted during recent renovations, it seemed that the ancient smell of sweaty socks and moldy old jockstraps had been absorbed the bones of the building itself. That, or Zoro really needed to get onto these kids about hygiene.

Bypassing the rows of benches and steel mesh lockers, Luffy was momentarily hesitant to enter the coach's office, which was practically a replica of the old one. Back when it had been a strictly off-limits zone. Their old coach had been very old school. Translation, he'd been a real sadistic prick. His idea of a good time was kill-or-be-killed dodgeball, or forcing them into running laps until someone puked.

Driving the man batshit crazy had been nothing short of a pleasure for Luffy and his friends.

Obviously, they' done a real thorough job of it too. The man had taken to early retirement as soon as the monster trio had graduated. And not a day earlier—as if he loathed the idea of giving the teens the satisfaction of knowing they'd driven him to the breaking point.

They'd figured it out anyway, when the local newspaper did an article capturing the man's permanently constipated face and splashing it all across page D4 announcing the memorious event.

The boys of course had thrown their own celebration. Complete with beers secretly commandeered out of Zoro's dad's stash. Knocking the tyrant off his throne had been a sweet victory.

Apparently, the boys had left more of a lasting impression than even they were aware of, because two years later, the post was still being filled by hesitant substitutes, allowing Roronoa Zoro to slip in to permanently fill the position.

Even knowing the space was currently occupied by one of his best friends, it still felt kind of weird stepping into the coach's office. The décor was mostly the same—which was basically a whole lot of slate gray. From the mammoth sized metal desk, to the tall locking metal cabinet, even the ancient metal fan that stood, continuously oscillating back and forth causing all the fliers on the bulletin board to flutter and struggle against the thumbtacks holding them in. Gray, gray, freaking gray. Could they have gone any more prison-themed? Maybe added some bars to the already miniscule windows?

And of course, there were the standardized anti-drug and anti-drinking posters—along with the stereotypical STD warning that was apparently a requirement in locker-rooms around the world, year after year, misleading teens into believing that sex automatically equaled herpes, or some other rare venereal disease that would inevitably end with your dick falling off—tacked up on the walls like the ten commandments. Everything was pretty much the same, except for the pile up of wooden bamboo practice swords cluttering the far corner—and the actual antique Katana mounted in the honorary position above the coach's desk.

Luffy briefly wondered if his friend ever worried about student theft—then quickly discarded the idea. He chuckled to himself. One Look at Zoro, and no student would ever dare.

Speaking of desk, the top surface of the giant, metal beast was suspiciously clean—as if someone had purposely cleared away the clutter—further calling attention to the folded materials left neatly in the middle.

Chewing thoughtfully at his lip, Luffy carefully lifted the top garment off the pile.

The teen took a moment to admire the shirt—it was a sophisticated looking button-down front, with three-quarter length sleeves, dyed the dark lush color of red wine. The rich silky material was cool to the touch and way nicer than anything that could've come out of Luffy's closet. Luffy carefully set it, and the simple black undershirt that went with it, aside, picking up the black denim skinny jeans and holding them to his waist line.

The shirt might've been Sanji's but there was no way in hell the pants were—they were too short. Plus, the deep dark wash, and still crisp denim material, looked to be brand-new.

Checking the tags on both he was pleased to see they were both in his size. He shook his head. Honestly. Sanji had a freaky clairvoyance when it came to clothes. The blonde could accurately guess someone's size based on sight, so it wasn't much of a surprise that he knew Luffy's.

Now Luffy really owed the Nazi.

The opening of the cabinet revealed a bottle of combination shampoo and body-wash and two white, less than fluffy gym-issued towels. Not that Luffy was in any way picky—after all, he did wreak.

Grabbing all the above Luffy headed for the showers, grateful the new renovations had included the installment of personal stalls rather than sticking with the classic trauma of group showers. Something about the PTA being concerned with a teenager's rights to privacy. Luffy wanted to know where the hell these concerns had been when HE was in high school. Back when he'd learned the hard way that P.E. did NOT stand for 'Physical Fitness'—he didn't give a damn what the class schedules said—it was a blatant acronym for 'Public Embarrassment'. Ask anyone. There were few things more perilous in high school than a boy's locker room.

Double checking the lock on the stall, Luffy hung both his towels over the door before quickly turned the shower handle on all the way to hot. Letting the water heat up he popped the top on the soap in curiosity. The shampoo slash body-wash had a crisp minty scent that was almost sweet. Nothing like the citrusy stuff he knew Zoro preferred, and it made him wonder if his friends had gone as far as to pick out a special kind just for him.

It wouldn't have been surprising—after all, the Nazi was a stickler for details like that.

After sparing a moment to appreciate the first hot shower he'd had in days, Luffy took care to scrub himself down head to foot—pleasantly surprised by the icy tingling feeling the soap left across his skin—sudsing himself up before dipping back under the heavy stream of blissfully hot water, thoroughly enjoying the rivulets of warmth as they sluiced down his body washing away all the trails of sweat and BO he'd accumulated over the last hour and a half.

It would have been perfect if he could have gotten over the paranoia of someone coming in behind him. But he supposed there were just some things about locker-rooms would never change.

He dried off, maybe a little quicker. and less thoroughly, than he should have—a decision he would soon regret as he stood in Zoro's office, jumping and hopping up and down, trying to get gravity to help him out when it came to actually getting into his new skinny jeans. And damn, they definitely were living up to their name. Luffy wasn't fat, or even chubby by anyone's standards, but he still felt like he needed to lose a few pounds by the time he finally managed to button up the denim-deathtrap. Apparently breathing was an optional thing. Who knew?

It was definitely a strange sensation to be wearing pants in his actual—or so they claimed—size, instead of his usual baggy, belt-required, attire. He ran a hand through his still damp hair, flattening it as best as he could, purposely avoiding the full-length mirror on the wall. Damn. His nerves were starting to come back to him.

His stomach was starting to feel all tight and twisty again—and he really wished he could blame it on the pants that were currently constricting his guts, and everything else, below his waist. The lie might have worked if not for the voices, that were definitely not of pant-constricting-origins.

As a creature of impulse and instinct, Luffy's mind, as a general rule, was a pretty quiet place. Generally. But of course, not tonight. No. Tonight for the first time he could remember, Luffy was hearing actual voices in his head. Really loud, bossy, bitchy voices at that. Saying things like "Why care how you look? It's not like he'll be looking anyways." Or "It doesn't matter what you're wearing, you're still just you underneath, anyone can see that."

Luffy growled, his face screwing up as he roughly tugged on the black undershirt before reaching for the dress shirt and attempting to put it on while he was mentally straining to beat his own subconscious into submission. Stupid nerves. Stupid voices. They should all just shut up and—

"How're things—what the hell?" Sanji's mouth fell open, it was a good thing he hadn't been smoking at the moment, otherwise his cigarette would have fallen straight to the floor. "What did you do?"

Luffy blinked, following the blonde's wide eyed, arctic-blue gaze to the complete mess he'd managed to make out of the front of his shirt. The teen flashed his friend a sheepish smile.

Sanji's brow wrinkled in confusion before scoffing at the hopeless sight before him. "Jesus Luffy, my senile arthritic grandmother can dress herself better than you—and she's got claws for hands." The blonde shook his head before walking over and literally taking things into his own hands. "Seriously, how did you manage this mess? Button one goes in the hole for button one—not button four; button two's not even IN a hole…" Sanji continued to grumble as deft fingers patiently undid the mess Luffy had made out of the shirt's button down front, separating the lapels before carefully lining them up and re-buttoning them in proper sequential order.

Something Luffy normally could have managed to do on his own, if his hands weren't currently shaking at a level 4 on the Richter scale.

Straightening the collar, and giving a few coordinated tugs to straighten any wrinkles in the rich crimson material, the blonde tsked. "There. Now that you don't look like you belong on the short bus," his friend stood back, looking the teen over with an appraising eye, "—let's see if we can do something with that damn hair of yours." Sanji pulled out a small metal compact that could easily have been mistaken for a pocket knife, but was in actuality, a flip-out fine-toothed metal comb that the blonde was rarely ever without.

Luffy raised his hands to his head protectively, fingers digging into the thick inky black mess, eyeing the blonde warily. "What's wrong with my hair?"

Sanji crossed his arms, tapping the fine-toothed metal comb against his bicep. "Would you like a list?"

Okay, so maybe his hair was a little on the wild side. Luffy couldn't help it if it was permanently dialed to bed-head settings.

Sanji raised one curled brow, his one visible icy blue eye staring the teen down flat.

Luffy slowly lowered his hands, then blew out his cheeks and scowled. "Fine," he huffed. A word he would soon regret.

Luffy hissed between clinched teeth as Sanji stood behind him, attempting to dreg the fine-toothed metal comb through his unruly damp hair, tugging and pulling to the point Luffy felt like his head had been caught in a blender. He knew he should be grateful that Sanji was using his own sacred hair taming device—but all he really wanted to do was slap the blonde because that shit HURT!

"Ow… ow… OWW!" Luffy glared as best as he could while wincing in pain. Now he understood why girls always went for the hair. "Not so hard!"

"Suck it up" Sanji grunted, giving a particularly rough tug. Luffy could've sworn he felt something rip. "It wouldn't hurt if you'd hold still and quit doing the Macarena!"

"You're being too rough!"

"I'm almost done."

Zoro came in through the swinging door hauling a large helium tank, one hand held over his eyes, as if to protect his own delicate sensibilities "If you guys are in the middle of raunchy locker room sex—warn me now before I go blind."

Sanji clicked his tongue against his teeth. "Don't worry, we wouldn't want your optic nerves to burn out in envy."

Zoro dropped his hand, set down the tank near the desk, and blew out a rude noise. Luffy continued to fidget as his head was snatched to the side by a particularly rough tangle. "Geeze, if you wanted to give him bald spots, congratulations—I think I see scalp."

"What?!" Luffy yelped. Sanji wouldn't really do that…would he?

Oh great.

One more thing to be paranoid about.

"He's yanking your chain, stop squirming. And You!" Sanji pointed the metal comb at the PE teacher as if it were a weapon—which, from Luffy's tender-headed point of view, it might as well be. "Algae farms are not allowed to comment!"

Zorro sucked his teeth, rolling his eyes as Sanji finally finished—much to Luffy's eternal relief—and spun the little raven around so that he was facing the full-length mirror bolted to the office wall. "There, you're done." The blonde gave a nod of approval, placing both hands on his hips, seemingly admiring his own work. "Take a look."

And Luffy did.

Holy cheeseballs.

The shirt looked amazing, Luffy was shocked to discover that there was something about the cut of the smooth, formfitting material and the deep wine-red coloring, that made him look more mature. Put-together, like an actual adult instead of the nineteen-year-old that he was. Sanji had left it untucked, but the raven found he preferred it that way. It transformed the silky top into something more casual, disguising effort and creating a laxer style, one that Luffy was surprisingly comfortable with.

And the pants…

Damn.

The pants left little room for the imagination—or sadly, snacks (Those he'd had to store in Zoro's desk for future emergencies). Hell, shimming into them, Luffy had been half convinced he was going to have to go commando just so he'd fit into them. (Luckily that hadn't been the case; a guy could only worry about his underwear so many times in a day and still maintain his sanity.) The dark denim stuck to Luffy's body highlighting all the right places—Ace and Sabo would have had kittens if they'd seen Luffy in these pants. All the more reason for the teen to love them. Turning around to check out the back, Luffy was shocked at the way they hugged his ass—revealing that, damn, Luffy actually had a really nice ass…

When the hell had THAT happened?

Though in his defense, it was hard to notice such things when most of what you wore were your brother's two sizes too big hand-me-downs. Baggy jeans didn't exactly highlight a guy's rear ass-pects.

The entire outfit felt like it was made for him, it was a rare, and awesome, feeling.

Zoro whistled low under his breath. "Damn, check you out Cinder-fella." A loud expulsion of breath signaled the deliverance of an elbow to the ribcage, curtesy of a certain blonde.

Luffy narrowed his eyes at him through the mirror. "Bite me," he replied, though he wasn't able to stop the corner of his mouth curving upwards. He couldn't help but smile at the thought of Zoro and Sanji being the equivalent of his own personal fairy godmothers. He snickered. They would just love that inference. But for all Zorro had been joking, there was a lot of truth behind it. His friends really were always there for him, even when he hadn't known he'd needed them. He wondered if it would be too mushy to say as much. But then figured, yeah, it probably would be. So he kept quiet, and just kept smiling.

Because damn, he really did look good.

"You're no paper bag material, that's for sure," Sanji came up behind him slinging an arm around him as he rested his chin on Luffy's shoulder. "You look good."

The teen put on his best, smuggest look. "Of course I do."

Sanji smirked, giving the teen a good shove forward, and muttering "You little shit."

Luffy stumbled forward, snickering. "Maybe," he grinned, looking back over his shoulder at his friends with narrowed eyes, "but I'm a HOT little shit."

Zoro snorted, barely containing his laughter. "You hear that blondie? Now he's hot shit."

"And you're still a shit head, shithead." Sanji shook his head as he stepped over to the desk, opened the bottom left drawer, pulling out a magical pack of Menthol cigarettes. Zoro's jaw dropped as the blonde lit one up, taking a long drag, completely ignoring the greenheads look of disbelief.

"Smoking?" The gym teacher's expression fell flat, "In the boy's locker room?" The Home Ec. Teacher completely ignored him, eyes half shuttered in a purely satisfied look as he exhaled a large plume of smoke. The green heads lips pursed as his eyes narrowed. "Really?" Zoro waved at his monster desk that apparently had been created for the sole purpose of hiding contraband. "And just when the hell did you stuff those in there?"

Sanji waved Zoro off as if it were all just semantics. "Well?" He raised one curly brow, his icy blue eye locked onto the teen. "You're sure-as-shit not wearing those pants for us."

Luffy looked to Zoro, eyebrows raised questioningly, his friend shook his head. "I gotta make sure Smokey the blonde bear doesn't to blow up the helium tank."

"Right, well. I guess I'll just OMPFH!" Luffy's face met the door when he tried to push his way through a pull only exit. When both his friends snorted and snickered like the damn trolls they were. The teen held up one lone finger as he rubbed his nose, which had almost gotten flattened. Stupid damn door. That had to be different. When they'd done the renovations, they must have switched the door around because Luffy was damn sure he'd never walked into it before.

This was not an omen. There were NO SUCH THINGS as omens.

Yanking it open, with a lot more force than was necessarily needed, Luffy stepped out into the hall.

The lights were off, and the sun was almost down. Summer nights always came late. With a deep sigh, he almost ran his fingers through his hair, until he remembered the pain of Sanji's comb and quickly dropped the appendage before it could do any damage. He settled instead for leaning back against the door. Just for a minute. Just to clear his head.

He really hadn't meant to eavesdrop.

"You remember that summer before high school?" Sanji's voice came through the crack in the door jamb, taking in a long breath in what Luffy assumed was him taking another drag off his cigarette. "If Torao ends up fucking with his head again like last time, I don't care if it's an accident or on purpose, I'm kicking him in the face."

"And I'll punching him in the dick." There was no hesitation in swordsman's response. There were few things the blonde and the greenhead could agree on. The quick and painful dispatching of anyone who thought they could mess with Luffy, was one of them.

He couldn't help the small smile that broke out across his face, but also couldn't help when it quickly fell. When he'd worried over whether Ace would attend the reunion or not, somehow, he'd managed to forget how big brother like Zoro and Sanji could be.

He loved that his friends cared enough about him to be so overprotective—he just wished they would stop seeing him as someone who needed protecting. As much as he appreciated their support, somehow, he was just going to have to show them that he was capable of handling things on his own.

He wasn't twelve anymore, he wasn't going to let anything that might, or might not, happen go to his head like he had back then.

Torao was not the center of Monkey D Luffy's universe. He had a life, maybe not one he loved, but he didn't hate it either. Maybe he hadn't gone all the places he'd wanted to go, or seen the things he'd wanted to see. But crappy gas station job aside, he had amazing friends, and the world's best brothers who'd do anything for him. (Including murder if they caught him in these pants.) And after tonight, Torao or no Torao, he'd still have those things. It wouldn't be the end of the world.

Feeling a little better, a little more like himself, Luffy pushed himself off the door and walked down the dimly lit hall towards the gymnasium where he could already hear the base from the speakers thumping loudly. The night had just started. His nerves, what were left of them, were just going to have to shove it. He was here, he looked great, maybe even better than he ever had, and he was going to have fun no matter what stupid tricks his hormones might try to pull.

Luffy took a deep breath.

For better or worse, it was time to face the music.

Pushing his way through the singing doors he had to pause a moment in appreciation of the atmosphere that had been created. Old radio hits from 07 (And yes, just specifically from that year. Sanji had created a playlist which the DJ had been ordered not to deviate from.) boomed through the massive speakers, strategically placed around the gym until the music seemed to echo down from the ceiling itself. The ceiling, which was filled with red and gold matte balloons, perfectly coordinated with matching papier-mâché streamers that looped and cascaded across the stage, down the walls and corners. The rows of halogen lights overhead had been shut off, replaced with rotating multicolored spotlights and LED lights that had somehow been hooked into the surround sound and were pulsating and timing their rotations to the beat of the music.

And damn. There had only been about fifteen people when he'd left—there were sure a lot more now. Not sweaty volunteers in shirts and jeans, but men and women—some with very familiar faces—standing around beneath the magic of the lights in their tailored shirts and dress pants, slinky sequenced haltered and spaghetti strapped dresses.

It was like time traveling back to some long-forgotten homecoming dance. And hell, if that didn't make the butterflies in Luffy's stomach turn cannibal—because he could swear they'd started eating each other and were growing larger every minute—the thought of being at a homecoming dance with Torao.

In fact, as Black Parade faded into Fergalicious, it was far too easy to imagine himself as a clumsy, knobby kneed twelve-year-old.

Dammit, he could do this. But why did it have to be a dance? He'd never even gone to his own. He and Zoro had just skipped and stayed home playing x-box. That was something he was good at. Video games. Junk-food eating contests. Grinding his skateboard down the handrails at the public library. Riding his bike off the roof and into the pool in the back yard…

Okay maybe not so much the last one. That one had kind of sucked—but the rest, those were all things Luffy could do, better than anyone else.

But this?

This whole dancing, dressing up mess? It was on a totally different list, titled: 'Welcome to hell—don't forget the sunscreen!'

Luffy wiped the sweaty palms of his hands on the very empty front pockets of his jeans. He could really use one of those snacks he'd left behind right about now. His fingers were still twitching, the music pumping through his ears as a large hand clapped his shoulder, startling him out of his own head.

Zoro leaned against him, surveying the crowd for himself and drinking from a mysterious red cup he didn't have before. Sanji wasn't far behind, walking in with his hands buried in his pockets, pushing the door open with his foot. Standing next to the him, the teen could easily smell the scent of menthols that was coating the blonde.

Sanji opened his mouth to say something but then something else seemed to catch his eye because suddenly his eye widened and his mouth dropped open and—yep. Luffy knew THAT look. Hitler was back in the building.

"I TOLD that idiot, red and yellow shades only for the damn lights! What the hells with all the goddam rainbow madness?! Blue green red—the goddamn floor looks like a fucking Christmas tree and I—" Sanji's voice faded as he stomped his way through the crowd.

Zoro face palmed. "Goddam it. Ugh." The PE teacher sighed, taking a sip of his drink before pushing it into Luffy's hands. "Here, hold this. I need to go do an intervention before Hitler fire's the light tech and we all end up in the fucking dark."

The greenhead was quick to take off, easily cutting his way through the small crowd disappearing for a moment before reappearing up near the staging area.

Luffy sighed, swishing the liquid in the cup back and forth, the eyeing the buffet table and wished he'd asked Zoro to grab him a drink. His mouth was currently recreating the Sahara Desert. Looking down he inspected the drink in his hand and gave it a tentative sniff. It looked and smelled like fruit punch. He gave it a tiny sip, and while there was something off about the bite of it, it still tasted cold and sweet and was a wonderful relief to his dry mouth.

Across the room, Sanji was waving his arms in grand dramatic gestures, and apparently being anal again—at least that's what Zoro's hanging, shaking head suggested.

Tired of watching the Nazi flail and wave his hands at the poor volunteer light technician, Luffy took another sip and let his eyes wander. That girl used to be a cheerleader, he remembered her from Ace's old football games. That guy he'd seen over at his house a few times, talking with Ace and having a beer. He knew that person too. And that chick. So many familiar faces. As he began to recognize more and more his expression began to drop, and he began to take much deeper sips.

Because. Jeezus.

Did NO one ever get out of this town?

He might not know all their names, but almost every face present was one he'd seen through town over the years, even if it was just in passing. He'd only just finished school himself. In seven years, would he still be stuck, floating around in the glass bubble that was Sabaody?

Law had been lucky, the exception to the rule, he'd gotten out and hadn't looked back. And Luffy honestly couldn't blame him. His eyes continued to search, but Torao was nowhere in sight. Maybe he wouldn't even show up. It wouldn't be the first time he'd skipped out on such things.

One last swallow and Luffy realized he'd emptied the whole cup. He half shrugged. Because, whatever. Zoro could always get another one. Maybe he'd even be nice enough to bring Luffy a plate of snacks. Honestly, he didn't really trust himself so close to that much free food. Sanji would skin him alive and use him as a hat. The teen hummed, tipping the empty red plastic cup back and forth, his mind inventing new and more creative ways the Nazi might try and punish him with. Like forcing him to listen to show tunes. Luffy snickered, not exactly sure why that was funny as it was—because he actually really hated show tunes.

But the more he watched the lights, with their swirling and twirling and pulsating, now with Fall Out Boy's Thanks for the Memories, he soon realized that everything seemed just a bit more…funnier. Luffy's lower lip jutted out as he realized his cannibal butterflies had somehow disappeared without his noticing. His nerves felt perfectly fine now. And maybe—just a tad bit—giddy.

Walking over to the garbage can he tossed the empty cup. Glancing around once more, the teen found himself with a new fascination for streamers, a lot of which he'd hung himself and hadn't felt nearly as interested at the time—but damn. They really were kind of pretty. Like tiny red and gold waterfalls trickling down the walls… He'd really have to compliment the Nazi on those later.

Luffy squinted his eyes. But wait. Was that one crooked? Or was the wall crooked? The teen tilted his head to a near 90-degree angle. Oh yeah. Definitely. That one was definitely crooked. Shit, the Nazi would have a fit over that. Damn, was that one of the ones he'd hung? Luffy blinked. It might have been. For some reason his memory was suddenly a little fuzzy on the details. It might have been one of his—either way he could already hear the blonde griping….

Well. Couldn't have that now could we?

Luffy shook his head, a half crooked, mellow smile tucking its way against the corners of his mouth. Luckily he spotted one of the ladder's still propped up against the wall, so, this situation was entirely correctable. Walking over to the side, he noticed his feet felt a little heavier than they should have. Was that making him walk funny? Felt like it. Felt a little like maybe he was crooked now.

Luffy snorted.

Right. Like people could just go crooked. That would be crazy.

Luffy snickered, finally making it to the wall, crooked, funny walk and all and pried the ladder open, giving it a good shake to make sure it was stable. Safety first. See? He was a perfectly capable grown-up. He could unfold a ladder, he could climb the steps, he could fix a crooked streamer.

Justin Timberlake was bringing sexy back just as he was making his way back down, when suddenly a chill made its way up his spine, Luffy's shoulders bunched up as he shook his head.

I'm bringing sexy back.

Them other boys don't know how to act.

Movement off to the side, wide blue gym doors swinging open and shut suddenly had his fully attention. From his height, a good eight feet up and above the crowd. Luffy watched, utterly mesmerized as Torao walked in. Dark and foreboding, it was like an aura that clung to his skin. Suddenly people were shuffling to the side, from Luffy's point of view it was almost like watching the red sea itself parting. Faded pale denim, form fitting jeans hugged him from his hips down to his black shitkickers.

The only thing that separated them from the glove tight pair he was wearing earlier were a series of black spots winding down from his waist, spiraling down both legs. They weren't quite Dalmatian—they were more…cat. Not cheetah… Maybe leopard? Luffy found himself transfixed by the twisting trail of spots, following the pattern from the bottom to the top, all the way to the cut of his hips. Yeah. There was definitely something leopard-y about them.

Which led him to the bright, eye catching short-sleeved, yellow hoodie with the black steampunk looking smiley dead centered on the tattooed man's chest. Speaking of tattoo's, Luffy couldn't help but admire the tribal gear-looking ink displayed across his forearms, and as he walked closer the low cut of the hoodie coupled with Luffy's newly acquired height advantage gave him an intriguing view of the nape of the man's neck, where blue black locks brushing against chocolate ice cream skin and lower… wait was that.. another tattoo?

I think its special what's behind your back

So turn around and I'll pick up the slack.

For Aladdin it was a lamp, for Alice is was a white rabbit in a waist coat, for Monkey D Luffy it was the bold curve of black ink sweeping along the top of a deliciously tanned back. Curiosity drove him up another step and had him going up on his tiptoes as he leaned out, just a bit, trying to get a better look…

What was that? From the thickness of the line it was big—Luffy wondered how big it could be. If that was on his back, did that mean there was more? Maybe on his chest, or even his legs? Just how much ink did Torao have? It was definitely a question worthy of pondering. And imagining.

Law was directly below him now, Luffy stretched his neck out as he leaned just a bit farther, tip-toed just a little higher.

Take 'em to the Chorus!

What the…? Oh. OH! SHIT! One Rubber soled converse slipped, ripping down the steel traction lines of the ladder's step

"Shit!" Okay. Now. NOW Luffy was definitely crooked! The teen jerked back trying to correct himself, tried lifting his dangling his foot back on his step, but his floor was feeling heavy again, like it'd been cast in a cement shoe, all it would do was drag against the steps edge, the weight was throwing him off balance, white knuckled fingertips tried to cling tight to the metal supports, but then. Oh…

"Shit-shit-shit!"

Now the entire ladder was crooked. Tipping! It was—ah shit he was tipping! The whole thing was going to—!

"SHIT!"

TH-U-U-U-N-N-K!

CRASH!

…Fall