My first OnePiece attempt. The title was inspired by a DAI song my friend introduced me to. Hopefully it works out okay. Please respond! Feedback welcome.

Tangerine Dream

Hey, good-lookin', what's cookin'?

Insert charming smile here.

That's generally how I approach her, the love of my life.

A corny line coupled with my best grin. Flowers always play a role. When I can afford them, I visit the most expensive bouquet shop on the block. When I can't, the garden next door always looks like it has too many flowers anyways. 

I don't know how many I've given her so far. Carnations yellow, lilies blue, tulips pink… And roses upon roses, all red to symbolize the passion and the love in my heart…

It never seems to work, though.

Maybe it's because she knows my offerings are sometimes stolen goods. She never treats them as anything special. A look, a smile brighter than the sun, and a "Why thank-you, Sanji-kun!" for all my pains as if I had just retrieved the moon for her instead of two daisies neatly plucked from a bush in the park.

Then it's back to her papers, coffee, and the endless scribbling as she bends over her work with a concentrated albeit cute expression.

I'm usually left standing, my wallet a little lighter or the neighbor's garden a little emptier, depending on the day and how many hot dogs I've sold that morning. One doesn't make much as a hot dog vendor and flowers are financially overrated.

But I don't mind, not often. Because from the side, I get a great angle of her face in all its sweet loveliness – her eyes as they narrow, cat-like and clever, her lips moving as she murmurs how much something will cost, voice edged with glee…

Even the cackles that sometimes burst forth are adorable, if a tad unexpected. But I've learned that the love of my life has a certain gloating quality; it's evident when she congratulates herself on some newly thought up 'plan'.

It's usually some new system of file-organizing or so she usually explains with a small cough, somewhat embarrassed. She comes up with these plans, these systems a lot, I think. She's a wonderful secretary.

…But I don't know if that's a good enough reason for why I keep coming back. Don't know, for instance, if there's any for why I've been stopping by her office to drop off flowers everyday for the last three months. A reason for why there are three roses, crimson and exquisite, right now in my hand and why my feet are moving toward her desk the way they moved yesterday and the day before that and the day before that…

Maybe it doesn't exist. My mind is always blank when I try to think of good excuses and there really are none except that way she lights up, the way her eyes fill with something other than guarded suspicion, mistrust, and bitterness.

Maybe I just don't want to see the love of my life sad.

My feet stop. I pluck off petals, let them fall, and watch her gasp as they cascade like rain. The red blends in nicely with her orange hair and reminds me of autumn.

She looks up at me, exclaims with what I hope is delight but could just as easily be reproach, "Sanji-kun!"

She's dressed nicely today, as befits her status as top secretary. Her business suit is a clean blue and matching skirt shows off her legs. I wear a pair of jeans, cigarettes in the back pocket, and a greasy t-shirt. I have long legs, too, but they're nothing worth showing off.

I give her the flowers and when she smiles, something melts in me.

Some of the other secretaries in the room giggle, some snicker, and some look anxious so I know that the security guards will be here soon. Spare the chit-chat and get your ass outta there, common sense tells me.

But love is never about common sense, is it?

I want a better view of her fleeting happiness, that brief gratitude in her eyes and never her smile that makes me think that this daily ritual might mean something after all to the both of us.

I lean forward, "Hey, good-lookin', what's cookin'?"

~@@@~

He's such an idiot. How old is that line anyway?

But my lips smile anyways, mostly out of habit. It feels like I've been smiling my entire life. I can't afford tears.

"Why thank you, Sanji-kun!" I force myself to sound enthusiastic and to stare into the blue eyes that are full of affection. He has astonishingly beautiful eyes, even if his eyebrows are overly curvy. But to look too long would be an indulgence. Five seconds pass and my duty is done. Now it's your turn. Be compensated and leave.

I turn back to the work before me but he lingers, irking me with his presence.

No worries. The guards will be here soon to get rid of the pest.

I ignore my conscience and pretend to focus on numbers I don't even really see. But his breath suddenly by my ear makes me tense and I'm abruptly aware that he's looking over my shoulder, that we're close and that I can feel the heat from his body.

"Another system?" he asks curiously.

"Yep," I lie with a casual perkiness. He's near and I inhale his scent, trying not to seem obvious. He smells greasy and smoky at the same time.

"Oh yeah, another system!" a voice calls, high and derisive. It's Mrs.Merry Christmas, "Nami's brilliant at filing, doncha know?"

"Of course she is," he replies and everyone laughs.

Doesn't he realize he's being mocked? I hide a grimace of annoyance at his naivety. But I can't tell if I'm more angry at him or myself. He beams like he has something to be proud of and I know with a pang that he's just proud of me.

A wave of anger hits me suddenly. He's SO stupid! A stupid, lovesick BOY! There's nothing here to be proud of.

The guards burst through the door, yelling angrily and Sanji bids me a hasty, ringing farewell.

"Until tomorrow, Naaaami-san!"

He's fast. I blink and he's a blur, dashing on his long legs out the other exit.

He's gone. I sigh with relief. Now if only he'll stop coming back.

Somebody whistles and I stiffen automatically upon seeing the head security guard. Nico Robin leans casually against the wall, arms crossed, smile amused.

"Beautiful boy," is her comment, "He's something. He's going to escape my men again, I can tell."

"He's something, alright. An idiot," I say, "He thinks I'm a secretary." I laugh but I can tell that she's not convinced. Her next words make me catch my breath in horror.

"He may be an idiot but you're the fool in love with him."

The fear is overwhelming. I swallow it down, fight the panic, and glare at her, "Don't be stupid. He's nothing to me."

"Oh really?"

"Really," I tell her with conviction, scowling. I make my face hard like stone, and when she studies my expression, she sees nothing but coldness.

"Does that mean I can tell Crocodile of these daily visits?"

"Tell him whatever you want," I retort breezily, "I don't care."

But I do and my hands begin to sweat from underneath my desk. If anything happened to Sanji, a part of me knows I would never be able to forgive myself.

"Crocodile wants to see you in his office now," she announces after a moment of silence, "It's important."

I get up, instantly apprehensive. He must want something. The thought is frightening.

As I walk past her, her arm comes up to brush something off my shoulder. It falls slowly and I catch it in my hand so that it rests gently on my palm. It's a petal from one of Sanji's flowers. For a moment, time freezes and I remember his smile, his warmth. For a moment, this tiny red fragment means the world to me.

She's watching me closely now. I can feel her gaze, intense, calm like a predator looking for weakness.

I deliberately turn my hand over.

The petal falls, lonely. I step on it, crushing it with my heel almost forcefully before heading toward the elevator that will take me down to Crocodile's office.

When I feel her eyes leave me and know that she is gone, I glance back hopefully. But there is nothing left but a blood-stain on the carpet.