Chapter Text
Preface.
“What the fuck?!” Someone grits out, and Sanji is worse than hung over, he’s in the ninth circle of hell, trapped in the frozen lake of an alcoholic Dantean Inferno for all of his sins.
His sins, he vaguely recalls, all revolve around Usopp telling him about his plans to propose to Kaya over these horrifying drinks Nami continued to ply onto them. They’d tasted like goat piss on the first sip and then tasted how fireworks looked after the first flute was choked down. Nami had left them on the kitchen counters with the plastic bottle of vodka, a dark green bottle of champagne, and a hazy jar full of razzberry-blue Pop Rocks as the time started reaching closer to midnight.
Sanji groans and opens his eyes slightly, his body and mind coming online in slow increments. He’s aware, vaguely, of someone’s face upside down in front of him, and the sound of various people groaning around him. There’s something under his neck that keeps moving, and Sanji doesn’t realize the situation he’s in until the man’s face shifts from shocked to a furious scowl. It’s made meaner by the scar bisecting the man’s closed eye.
Sanji is on the floor of Usopp’s guest room, though because of the moving there’s just one air mattress on the floor beside him. There’s a blanket tossed haphazardly over Sanji’s body, tangled at his feet, and his pillow has been hijacked by the very angry, well-muscled man whose arm he is currently using as a pillow. He blinks a few times, can almost see the little swirl in his mind’s eye of his consciousness loading, loading...
“Happy New Year?” Sanji croaks out, and the man’s expression falls from aggravated to mildly annoyed and unimpressed.
Sanji is the master of first impressions.
I: It Starts Like This
It starts like this:
Usopp and his long-time girlfriend Kaya are hosting a combined New Years Eve and Moving Out Party. They’ve lived in their downtown, two-bedroom apartment for five years, and it’s been well lived in and well loved. There’s already a wild amount of people in the apartment by the time Sanji makes it in at 8pm, fresh off closing All Blue for the night; they’d ended dining early to give everyone time to prepare for their own celebrations. Zeff had let him know he’d be out with some of his old crew for the New Year’s celebration, so Sanji took Usopp up on the invitation from weeks before.
Here’s the thing: Usopp is popular.
He’s not popular in the way most adults in their late 20’s are, he’s popular in a way that’s real and actually connects people, which always seems to both baffle and make absolute sense. The people here are all there to celebrate with him, around him, and Kaya. Sanji can probably count off the people he would spend any holiday with between both hands. But Usopp and Kaya—they're two peas in a pod, the kind of couple that never makes anyone feel like they’re intruding, or out of place, or unwelcomed.
Sanji thinks, sometimes, about their upbringings, and how much of a hand the nature versus nurture argument could apply to their kindness, but at the end of the day they are , and that’s all that matters, really. He’d met Usopp in college, they shared the same dorm building, and between Sanji’s odd penchant for feeding the world and Usopp’s mental zoning into whatever he’s doing or working on for hours, well, tada! A friendship that has lasted through finals, crashed frat parties, dorm-life, apartments, and even dual stints at the Baratie.
Sanji posts up in the kitchen, trying not to feel overwhelmed by the amount of people in the apartment that keeps feeling smaller and smaller, but failing just a bit. Kitchens, though, kitchens are familiar. They appeal to the bit of Sanji’s unfucked up hindbrain that recognizes the familiarity and drench his body in a sense of safety, regardless of his conscious anxiety. He’s dressed down, at least by his usual standard, in black slacks and a black, long-sleeved button-up. He’d only gotten around to doing laundry a few hours ago after work, tidied up his apartment, and made sure everything that needed cleaning was ready. He didn’t have a lot of superstitions, but he couldn’t fight the voice that said if you want a clean new year, you need a clean room!
It sounded kind of like his mom. He steps around bodies until he’s at the inner end of the counter, just before the dining space’s table.
Nami finds him first, looking radiant as ever in a deep, scarlet-red dress that accentuates her hips and small waist and somehow manages to keep her breasts covered, even if they’re toeing a dangerous line as she marches to him.
“You didn’t tell me you’d be coming!” Nami admonishes Sanji, slapping him with a heavy hand on the shoulder. The gold bangle bracelets on her wrists clink together and Sanji shoots her a wide grin, rubbing his shoulder.
“Yeah, we shut down All Blue early evening so everyone could have time to rest up before tonight, and we’re not opening up until the second so everyone has some time with their loved ones.” Nami’s hands shift to squeeze his cheeks, her sharp nails digging in painfully.
“You’re too sweet of a boss,” She croons, “and your other passion project?”
Sanji flushes, wishing he’d had something to drink before Nami came over to question him about his life choices. She must sense his hesitation because she sighs and turns to shout something behind him and over the counters that separates the kitchen from the living room. In the span of a few seconds, bottles are placed on the counter by various people Sanji hopes Nami recognizes.
“If I make you a drink will you tell me how it’s going?” Nami asks sweetly, turning her body so she can rest her elbow on the counter.
It’s a trap.
Sanji knows it’s a trap.
“Fine,” Sanji sighs, and he can almost feel the bite of the trap on his ankle, the way his acquiescence only ties the rope tighter around him. “But it’s too early to get me too fucked up, especially if you want to hear Iva’s latest messes.” Sanji tugs at the band at the base of his skull keeping his hair tied back.
Nami’s grin is bright and wide.
It starts like this:
Zoro has been used to Luffy dragging him to various places since they were 10 and 8 years old, respectively, and it doesn’t matter that they’re technically what people would call fully-fledged adults because Zoro doesn’t care enough to meet new people.
The thing is, though, right, the thing is that Luffy is popular as hell. He keeps to the main circle of friends he grew up with, but he tends to have so many friends and acquaintances that Zoro doesn’t keep track. He knows less than half by name and gets along well with even less.
But if Luffy is here, and their part-time roommate Ace is here, too, then he has two choices: stay in their apartment by himself and drink until Monday rolls around, or come to the party.
The choice was obvious, which is probably why Ace and Luffy conspired to carry him straight to the car while he was napping.
And, look, it’s not that he doesn’t like Usopp. He loves Usopp, and Kaya, and the weird plethora of men and women that gather at the long-nosed man’s functions, because they’re all so weird and outlandish and half the time he’s pretty sure Usopp is lying about how he’s met them, or what happened that made them so loyal to him, but then he’s introduced to two beefy geriatrics that are descendants of actual Nordic Kings that attribute the peace between both tribes from the same area to Usopp, and, well. Usopp is either living a very interesting life, or he’s running the world’s longest con and has dozens of people in on it.
Zoro manages to carve himself his own space just outside of the bustling apartment in the small space of the so-called yard the apartment provides. It’s smaller than the closet in the master bedroom, spanning a whopping eight feet by five feet. The walled off alcove is filled on the opposite wall with far too many strange looking plants bustling out of old, cracked pots layered on rusted shelves. Beside the door was a seat, his seat for the evening, and another was tucked across from it in the corner, almost overtaken by large, leafy vines. A small, white table sat between them, rusted and flaking, with an empty ashtray sitting innocently at the center.
Usopp sure as hell doesn’t smoke, and Kaya is a doctor doing her residency under Dr. Kureha, so she sure as hell isn’t smoking, either.
Zoro groans as he stretches out his legs and pops the cap off the beer he took with him. It’s not exactly cold out yet, so he tasks himself with the joy of being near the socializing without being in it, enjoys the way the lights from inside paint the plants into bright contrast with the night sky, and resolves to have a good night regardless of his meddling roommates.
Here’s the thing: Iva is a Queen that runs Kamabakka, a bar and eatery downtown that hosts Friday through Sunday drag shows and is, practically, an LGBTQ+ haven for anyone that finds themselves in need. Iva is a wonderful owner, a talented chef, a grandiose fighter, and has enough history and stories to put Usopp to shame.
When Hungover Sanji comes at the Current Sanji, that is the note he is putting in place to explain why he forgets to keep count of his drinks and ends up with Nami mixing him increasingly odd drinks in small quantities until he’s drunk enough for one to taste good. They’ve kept court against the counter, thankfully, avoiding the crashing wave of people entering and exiting the apartment.
“You can’t be serious,” Nami snorts, taking a swig from her bottle of beer. She’s possibly the only person Sanji knows that can handle beer and liquor during the same night.
“I am dead serious. This dies with us and Caroline, because she did my makeup,” Sanji shakes his head but is grinning, feeling the warmth of the alcohol and just the general happiness of getting to share space with so many happy people. “Could you imagine the gaudy makeup Tibbany would give me? She’s been dying to try this black lipstick but I’m—”
“You have the bone structure and complexion to rock it, but you lack the attitude to really pull of a goth kind of look,” Nami agrees, catching Sanji’s gist flawlessly. He loves her, he really does. His drink tastes like cotton candy but is bubbly like champagne, and he finishes the flute off with a flourish.
“I would be a terrible Goth Queen,” Sanji agrees, and then turns his head and burps into the crook of his elbow. “Excuse me, but, yeah, you’re right. I gave Iva and her Queens all the tips, but now Iva owes me a favor which is infinitely more invaluable than its weight in gold.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell us! You couldn’t have even shot out a quick text? I feel betrayed.” Nami groans, setting down her empty bottle with a group of other empties and shoots Sanji a glare.
“Besides Iva and Caroline, you’re the only one that knows.” Sanji points out, pointing at Nami with his empty flute, “don’t ever say you don’t have Best Friend privileges.”
“Oi, oi, oi!” A new, familiar voice pipes up from across the kitchen, getting louder as it approaches them. Sanji’s eyes go wide and Nami meets his shocked gaze with a sheepish look.
“I may have forgotten to tell you,” Nami starts, but then a toned arm is wrapping around her neck as a warm, already shirtless body is leaning forward beside her.
“I’m gone for only a few weeks and I’m already replaced as Best Friend?” Ace asks in mock offense, his eyes wide. “I get no love, none, alas!”
“You’ll get a beating if you don’t take your sweaty ass arm off me,” Nami chirps happily, and Ace moves his arm with a quickness that only makes Sanji snort.
“You lost your best friend privileges because I have no idea where you are for, like, weeks at a time.” Sanji corrects, amenable as Nami pulls the flute from Sanji’s hand and hip-checks Ace to get more space to face the counter. He snorts—Nami has told him that her reasons for treating Ace the way she does are hers and hers alone, so he tends to leave them to it, but every time she shows an inkling of disregard it tends to be taken in stride by Ace and watched in amusement by Sanji. “In fact, where the fuck were you this time?”
“You say that like I’m Zoro,” Ace grumbles, and although this isn’t the first time he’s heard that name it is the first time Nami laughs with something Ace has said. “At least I know where I’m going and where I’m at.”
Nami turns to Sanji with a new drink, and he’s grateful for at least something to do with his hands. Ace hands Nami a new beer, a bottle that’s much darker and larger than the little glass ones she’d been drinking earlier, and she takes it with a nod. The bottle is corked and Ace helps her with that before he takes a swig of his own beer and falls back on his heels with a grin.
Sanji has quit trying to understand their relationship.
“So, where were you this time?” Sanji asks, and Ae’s grin gets wider at the reminder. Somewhere fun, then, which for Ace means probably hard to navigate, hard work, and extreme weather.
“Alaskan expedition,” Ace says, and this finally piques Nami’s interest enough for her to drop her scowl. “Remind me later but I brought back some fish for you and your old man! I have at least two weeks off before I’ll probably get bored again and take off.”
Sanji takes a sip of his new drink and almost groans. He takes a healthy swig while Nami talks to Ace about their ship’s navigation, who he was with, what the topography looks like. Sanji lets them be as he finishes off his drink and puts the flute down.
“I would love to stick around to catch up but it looks like Luffy found the snack table so I’m gonna go run interference,” Ace says, slapping Sanji on the shoulder and Nami a respectful dip of the head.
“It’s getting late so I might go drag Zoro in,” Nami tells Ace. “At least for the hour before the countdown to make sure he’s getting involved.”
“Sounds good! Don’t be a stranger, we’ll catch up later,” Ace says towards Sanji and then he’s gone, pushing people and greeting in equal measures as he escapes the nook to get to his brother.
“Do you think he remembers that it’s his birthday tomorrow?” Sanji asks, and Nami snorts as they watch the crowds part.
“I’m surprised he remembered to come at all,” Nami deadpans, “though Usopp is one of Luffy’s favorite people, so I still chalk it up to him rather than Ace.”
“I can’t believe I’ve known you and Ace for almost half my life and I still haven’t gotten to actually, like, hang out with his younger brother,” Sanji tries not to sound too wistful, but apparently fails when Nami grabs his flute and turns back to the counter. He must sound extra pitiful because Nami goes for an unopened, still chilled bottle of vodka, first.
“We met in college,” Nami shrugs, “it was a lot easier for me since he knew I knew Ace and Sabo, and I guess there just wasn’t a lot of overlap after graduation.” She pops the cork off another bottle of champagne and carefully measures out a pour into the flute. “By then you were already busy what with Zeff and the Baratie, and then eventually All Blue, and, well. I mean, I was surprised to see you here, too. At least Ace is out doing who knows what odd jobs in crazy places, you’re just busy.”
“Oh, wow,” Sanji says sadly, and Nami cringes when she turns towards him.
“I don’t—that’s not a bad thing,” Nami says sternly, “as your bookkeep and business partner, I’m glad that All Blue is doing as well as it is. It’s just shitty that it has to come at the cost of missing out on stuff. I know Vivi is often busy managing Alabasta, but even she knows to take a break sometimes. I just wish you had that opportunity, too.”
He knows Nami means well, but after Ace’s departure and the alcohol, it’s hard for Sanji to get his mind out of the spiral it really wants to fall into.
“Vivi has you to come home to,” he reminds softly, “all I have are dating app messages and Fire and Flambé when I get home.”
“I thought things were going fine with what’s her name?” Nami asks, voice equally soft, and Sanji hates it, he hates it all from the sympathetic look to the way both of their voices have lowered, fuck.
“Nah,” Sanji shrugs, “I don’t think I've gone on more then three dates with anyone this entire year, to be honest.” He thinks back, back, and it might be longer but he’s not going to tell Nami that.
“Hey, Usopp, you still have that stash of Pop Rocks? Hand ‘em over!” Nami shouts over the counter, and then she turns to Sanji again. She has one hand covering the top of Sanji’s drink and the other on the neck of her own bottle. “Well, at least it’s a new year!” She says with a false cheer, “so that means a new start. What color is your underwear?”
Sanji sputters even as a canister seems to pass between the hoards in the living room over to the counter. The small mason jar is almost three-quarters filled with teal-blue sugar rocks, from the looks of it, and Nami thanks the random person that passes it to her on the counter.
“What does my underwear need to do with anything!?” Sanji croaks out, suddenly missing his drink so much more than before. Nami gives him a dry look as she spoons out a fair amount of the small rocks and slips them into the drink. The drink fizzes dangerously, shifting into an almost mint green, and the sound of crackling reaches Sanji’s ears.
“The color and style of your underwear dictates what you’re looking for in the new year,” she explains, giving the drink a swirl with the back end of the spoon. “Red is for love and romance, white for peace and happiness, yellow for prosperity, blue for health...” She hands him the drink, looking expectantly at a Sanji that will not crack and tell her the color of his undergarments .
“And if they’re none of the above?” Sanji bleats out, can feel the way he’s turning red as Nami cackles and pulls out her phone.
“Says here that green is just for overall luck and wellbeing, black is for control and power over your life, and pink is for luck in relationships.” Nami grins as Sanji takes a wide-eyed sip of his drink. “Don’t rush into anything and just remember, ‘you can’t love another until you love yourself’.”
“Isn’t that what we wrote on the bottle of lube we left in Ace’s locker back in high school?” Sanji snorts, but he’s feeling lighter. Bubbly. Nami grins and shrugs.
“I mean, it’s not wrong .” She takes a long, serious look at Sanji and her expression clouds before it clears. He doesn’t have enough time to ask her what she saw before she’s turning back to the table of bottles. “C’mon, imma get Usopp in here so we can commiserate through you about how shitty the dating scene is and I’ll keep making you guys drinks.”
It shouldn’t sound nice, but it is, so Sanji nods. There’s nothing nicer in his life right now than good drinks and better company.
He’s not sure how she does it but Usopp is struggling his way towards their end of the kitchen only a few seconds later, looking far too sober for Sanji’s tastes. Nami must agree because she’s pulling out another glass flute from the top drawers and mixing another drink by the time the man is in their circle. Duo. Trio, now.
Shit, Sanji might be a little drunk.
“You rang?” Usopp asks, giving Sanji a welcoming pat on the shoulder and grinning at Nami. Nami hands him the completed flute, popping and all, and says with a jovial, unholy glee:
“Sanji is going to tell us about his dating mishaps because we’re both taken,” Usopp nods solemnly, his curly ponytail bobbing with him, and it brings a smile to Sanji’s face, “and we’re going to drink and commiserate with him because we are excellent friends and even better bitching buddies. No advice, just shit-talking.” Nami pulls Sanji’s now re-empty flute from his slack hand and turns to make a new drink.
“Oh! Don’t forget to text me about your new year’s resolutions! We’re doing this in batches of threes this year, and there are prizes for people who manage to even keep one, just remember to text them to me tonight or tomorrow morning.”
The thing about New Year’s Resolutions is that they’re so easy to give up on, or fail, when you’re only accountable to yourself. Oh, you didn’t start going to the gym routinely even after you got the membership? Oh, well. Oh, you gave up on learning the new language, the new hobby, the job search? No one will ever know.
Unless, of course, you’re friends with Nami.
She’s been steadily keeping track of their new year’s resolutions since they were in high school. Being separated during university didn’t change that, it only seemed to widen the pool for both the rewards and punishments attributed during the checkups. It’s a funny tradition, up until the moment you realize you’re out of the pool for something you wanted to do in the first place .
They all have weird things, ticks, habits, superstitions—whatever you want to call them, Sanji knows his friends have many. This combines Nami’s two favorite things: people keeping their word, sticking to promises, and money.
Apparently, this year’s grand prize winner needs to keep up with all three. Two of three gets you a smaller prize pool, and only one of three even slimmer pickings.
Nami has left them by the time Sanji finally gets to tell Usopp what happened with Pudding, muttering about asking about it later because she has some assholes to wrangle before they get closer to midnight.
“You’re serious,” Usopp gasps, delightfully scandalized and just the right amount of righteously angry.
“I shit you not,” Sanji laughs, happier now that he’s had some time to separate that disastrous second date with the present. He wasn’t even sure he’d wanted to tell anyone about it, but Usopp has always been a good listening buddy, an even better shit talker, and they’re both airy with drink and the ambiance. “I walked her home after the cafe, took an Uber back to my place and the whole time, man, the whole time my hackles are raised . I’m talking about—oh! Oh, remember that guy in Freshman year, the one that was neighbors with me for like. Like... a month before they kicked him out?”
The guy was a certified creep. He looked like he’d have posters of the BTK killer and Ed Gein on his wall. When Sanji introduced himself to the oily-looking teen, the other had boasted what he called a ‘panty drawer’ filled with stolen goods of all the girls he’d ever raided. Who the fuck did panty raids, anyways? How could he have raided anything on move-in day?
Sanji had never felt so much better while feeling simultaneously awful about his odd relationship with women until he’d met that fucked up excuse for manhood. The guy gave everyone the kind of ‘if you see me walking behind you at night you should be running’ vibe that made you double-check your locked doors and windows. He kept extra vigilant over strangers’ drinks whenever the man was around.
“You mean, ugh, Caribou?” Usopp asks and shudders. “Fuck that guy, but yeah okay I see what you mean.”
“Well, I have this nagging feeling at the back of my neck like eyes are following me wherever I go, so I asked the Uber to drop me off at the light but to keep driving, full tip and everything.” Usopp is the new drink mixer, measuring out a single shot for both their flutes and adding the candy early to really saturate the alcohol with sweet, sweet Razz flavor. “So the Uber leaves me, and I’m just hoofing it myself down the next like six to eight blocks when that feeling gets stronger. Like, so much so I decided not to go to my place and literally walked into the first door I could find.”
The champagne comes next. Usopp is more generous on his champagne pour than Nami, and Sanji takes his refilled flute with a thanks.
“And this is where your sperm doner comes in?” Usopp asks, and Sanji snorts.
“Well, there’s not much open at eight-pm on a Thursday, so I walk into the shop and it turned out to be a dispensary,” Sanji snorts as Usopp starts chuckling into his own drink mix. “But this was some, like. This was, like, military grade stuff, Usopp! Like, full on censors, take the stuff out of your pockets and your belt level security. They scan my ID and whole while I’m just jittery as hell trying to feel like I’m not being chased.”
“But let me get this clear, you were getting chased?” Usopp asks and Sanji snorts.
“Look, so this place is like, the Holy Grail of marijuana or something, because they made me turn off my phone, prove it was off, and then went through the scanner and gave me a little round plastic bowl with all my stuff back. Here’s where it starts getting freaky,” Sanji sips at his drink for dramatic effect and Usopp snickers as he pulls a sip as well. “There was an Airtag.”
Usopp chokes on his drink, a swallow gone wrong.
“An Airtag?”
“An Airtag,” Sanji agrees, his hate for all things Apple so notorious that nothing else needs to be explained. “I told them it wasn’t mine and, god bless the poor budtender that was coming in behind me, she goes ‘oh, hun. I had an ex that was exactly the same, turn tail and run now.’ Usopp, I was baffled.”
“A guardian angel with weed-smelling fingertips,” Usopp nods sagely. “The bafflement; well, what did you do?”
“What do you think I did?” Sanji scoffs, “I sat in that Bud Bar for like two hours just talking to the budtender—her name is Camie, she’s such a sweetheart!—until that feeling wore off, and then her and the owner actually offered me a ride home. Can’t say that’s the way I expected my night to go, but then it got weirder, and then worse.”
“I mean, did you attempt to flirt with Camie?” Usopp asks and laughs at the scandalized expression Sanji makes at him.
“I’d just left a date with Pudding! I wasn’t about to start—alright, alright, look. So the owner, Pappag, and Camie are chatting me up as we go, and it turns out Pappag,” Sanji lifts his index finger, “owns that Criminal fashion line.” Usopp’s eyes go wide. Sanji lifts a second finger, "Camie designs for them, too.”
Criminal Clothing, boasting the “Crimin” logo, isn’t quite the ‘luxury’ brand that Gucci and Louis Vuitton hold claim to. No, Criminal Clothing is of the people. Their fashion shows are fucking fantastic, taking elements from the streets and away from the mainstream to showcase clothing that works for everyday, that works for the runway, that work for men, women, nonbinary folks. Their latest release included binders and breast forms. Sanji was sure he’d ascended, had actually watched the video with tears in his eyes and joy, genuine, warmth-in-his-chest, cheeks hurting joy.
In all that time, the owner and designers were unknown. The only response to the backlash was a single Tweet from the then-verified @CriminalOwner Twitter account that said, “If you don’t like it, don’t buy it. It’s not for you. Fuck off.”
But—back to the story at hand. Sanji’s on a roll now, borrowing from Usopp’s never-ending well of storytelling prowess.
Sanji lifts a third finger right as Usopp opens his mouth, “I turned on my phone and it is absolutely crashing. We’re talking Ring Camera alerts, texts, voicemails, missed calls, and emails. And not just, like, my actual ‘professional’ email, we’re talking about the email I use to download apps and shit, too.”
“What the fuck?” Usopp breathes, crackles resounding when he speaks. His lips are starting to take on a vaguely blueish tint from spoonful's of the Pop Rocks.
“Yeah,” Sanji sighs, swirling his fizzing green drink, “Pappag had to keep his eyes on the road, but Camie kind of laughed and told me to start with the Ring footage and guess who landed outside my door like, ten minutes I dropped her off at her door, and just a few minutes, if even minutes, after I should have been dropped off according to the Uber receipt? ”
“No.”
“Yeah.”
“No way.”
“Yeaup,” Sanji confirms, popping the ‘p’ and giving a crooked grin. “Pudding. Don’t know how or why, but at least a handful of the footage is just her, like, pacing, and the rest is her talking to herself and someone that’s out of frame.” He doesn’t deign to tell Usopp what he heard, but he thinks Pudding’s harsh tone might haunt his self-esteem for the rest of his life.
He lifts a fourth finger even as Usopp wails that the date couldn’t have possibly gone worse.
“The voicemails and texts? All anonymous. All of them calling me names for going into that shop, that it was time to stop the tantrum and do what must be done.” Sanji breathes out through his nose as Usopp ignores their empty flutes in favor of two small, plastic shot glasses made to look like red SOLO cups. Sanji wants to turn it down, but Usopp pours the vodka sloppily within the two cups and shakes his head.
“You think she was working with them?” Usopp asks and Sanji shrugs. “She did seem almost too perfectly matched with you.”
“A beautiful, talented baker and business owner,” Sanji recounts wistfully, “but she never really gave any indication of a concrete being, you know? It was like talking to a mirror, like all her answers were tailored specifically to fit what someone would assume was my ideal partner. It felt like the first date was all just information gathering and the second was the trap.”
“Isn’t that what all dating is?” Usopp points out sagely.
Sanji snorts as he clicks his little plastic shot against Usopp’s. The shot burns all the way down and causes his stomach to shrivel uncomfortably. Usopp doesn’t look any better.
“Y’know what? That should be my resolution this year,” Sanji says suddenly, expression brightening. “It can be like, like, ‘learn a new thing’ and-and ‘no dating’.”
Usopp laughs hard at that. Sanji scowls.
“Hey, c’mon now, I can definitely do it!” Sanji defends, “you just wait, I have the perfect list; Imma text it to Nami-swan right now.” Sanji huffs out a frustrated breath as he pulls his phone out of his butt pocket and types in his code. He’s already composing his message when Usopp’s laughter finally subsides. “I’m gonna need three, she said three...” Sanji sticks out his tongue while he types, brows scrunched as he types out the first two, floundering on the third. He thinks about what Nami said earlier before she started plying him with apologetic alcohol. He thinks of coming home to a dark apartment and his two cats.
To: Nami-Swan 🍊
1. No dating
2. CUT BACK ON SMOKING
3. Do more things! live a little
When Sanji looks up at Usopp with a triumphant smirk; it falls away to Usopp’s nervous smile. The man’s in grease-covered overalls dangling off his hips and a black t-shirt with his fingers picking at the bottom hem of his shirt.
“I want to propose to Kaya before the end of the year.” He says shyly, and Sanji—he puts away all his issues with dating, he forgets all about the unsolicited dick-pics in his inbox, pushes down the memories of soft hands in his—Sanji beams.
“It’s just—with the house, and I know she’s busy with her residency, but Kureha says she’s only so far off from her Pediatrics specialty and it’s a given that the hospital is going to hire her, and, well, with a few of my patents getting like official licensed use,” Usopp starts rambling, and when Sanji opens his mouth Usopp bowls him over. “Like—the house! It’s like, it’s a big thing, right? Like it seems very adulty for us, and we’ve been together for years, and it just. It feels right.”
Sanji is going to cry very manly, happy tears soon if Usopp doesn’t shut up.
“Usopp, I’m going to cry very manly, happy tears if you don’t shut up,” Sanji warns, but he’s gathered in Usopp’s surprisingly strong arms for a bear hug before he can even finish his sentence. “That’s amazing, if you need help planning or just a venue...” Sanji offers, and Usopp lets him go to pour them another sloppy shot, still laughing and bright, bright, bright.
“I will come to the Love Cook himself,” Usopp says with a grin, pulling his own phone out before they can cheer to their good and bad decisions. He types quickly and messily before putting the phone back into his own pocket. “Alright, what are we cheering to on this one? I think we’re getting closer to midnight so I’m gonna find Kaya after this one.”
“Oh, don’t worry about looking for Lady Kaya!” A blonde man says from the other side of the counter. He grins, “Usoppen, we’ll make sure to bring her this way before the timer starts!”
“Thanks, Leo,” Usopp says with a laugh, and the other young man grins back before Usopp turns to Sanji, shot held high. “Well, I guess. Cheers to resolutions?”
“Cheers!” Sanji says, laughing until the vodka touches his lips.
“I left our host in good hands,” Nami says with a sigh as she pulls Zoro onto the beaten and possibly dumpster-saved recliner in the corner. She shoves him in it without a care; it’s not like the big lug dressed for this anyway, in his usual black cargo pants and a grey, stained hoodie with the sleeves removed and gaped sides. She’s pretty sure he was dragged there while napping or something equally as stupid. “I came to get your ungrateful ass so you can at least look like you’re socializing. You can go back outside after the countdown.” Nami crams a large beer can into Zoro’s hand, hits the side of the recliner and forces it to rebound back into a seat instead of the almost laid-out length Zoro’d stretched it to.
“It’s not like I want to be here or do anything for the countdown,” Zoro grouses as he sits up properly, but Nami is a stern taskmaster. She gives him a look that could curdle milk and Zoro sighs as she takes a seat on the long, flat but soft armrest.
“You didn’t invite,” she thought back, back, trying to come up with a name but couldn’t for the life of her. “That one guy you said you were gonna see?” Zoro snorts but shrugs. They sit in silence for a few minutes, quietly drinking and eventually finishing their beers. Nami sighs and takes Zoro’s bottle, getting up to leave them in one of the various bins slowly getting filled with bottles and cans and then sneaks into the kitchen to retrieve new bottles. She catches sight of Sanji speaking to Usopp with a wide grin and a pink face and resolves to get the story later.
When she comes back, not thirty seconds later, she has to push Zoro back into his seat with a sigh and a glare. He returns the malice for a second until Nami plops the cold bottle onto his lap.
“Look, Vivi is going to be here soon and I don’t want to babysit you as much as you want to be babysat,” Nami says sternly, “if you promise to stay put at least for the countdown then we’ll all be better off. If not, I will send Ace over to sit on you as soon as I see him. And you know he will. Maybe literally.”
“Ace is deathly afraid of you for some reason, witch.” Zoro grumbles, and then raises a brow while he looks from his bottle back to his old friend. “Are we ever going to find out why that is?”
“Are you ever going to grow a pair and ask him yourself?” Nami shoots back sweetly. “I’ve known him longer than I’ve known you and Luffy, you remember that right? Anyways, I see what you did there, and I’m not going to bite or be distracted: what happened to What’s His Face?”
Zoro groans and Nami cackles, the asshole, and clinks their bottles together.
“Is the dating scene really that terrible? It wasn’t that bad before, I’m pretty sure,” Nami ponders. Zoro snorts. “I’m missing out on terrible date stories because of you, so you owe me this at least.”
“The last message I got from Capote after our date was asking me what my chest size was and if I’d ever considered featuring in their OnlyFans,” Zoro deadpans. “He sent me a link.”
“Oh, yikes,” Nami says with a mock flinch, and takes a swig of her beer. “Wait, ‘ their’ ? Like, N-B ‘ their’ or...?”
“It wasn’t his OnlyFans account,” Zoro continues, and grins when Nami gapes at him.
“What... the fuck?” She sputters, intrigued and horrified. Zoro laughs as he takes a long, much-needed swig of his beer. “Is he—wait, what the fuck?”
“It is his long-time girlfriend’s account.” Zoro continues, much to Nami’s ever-increasing horror. “They have this whole, like, cuckolding thing they’re into, it’s a running theme in, like. Their entire social media shit.”
“Please tell me you didn’t check out their Cuckold Twitter account,” Nami pleads, “I know you’re worse than a grandpa when it comes to any and all forms of social media, please tell me you didn’t end up accidentally following the Cuckold Twitter couple.”
“Of course not,” Zoro scoffs, “Ace happened to be home, and he asked me why I looked about ready to commit murder or, at least, indefensible arson. It was bad enough I was duped into a date with a straight man, it was with a straight man sizing me up to fuck his girlfriend. He found me through Porche, who remembered to mention I’m gay but somehow that translated to ‘and he’ll fuck your decidedly female partner in front of you’ to this dillweed.”
Nami’s laughter is horrified, holy shit. She’s pretty sure if Vivi ever broke up with her she’d rather end up, like, marrying someone on a transactional basis. Get the tax breaks and never venture back out into the wastelands of the dating scene. Adopt a few kids—not babies, she remembers how foster care was like when she was a kid, remembers the plethora of other good kids ignored on the basis of “being too old” like just the barest hint of aging was a counterpoint to needing a fucking family. Maybe have a garden; definitely an orange tree or two in the backyard.
Her phone goes off: Vivi is calling; 11:43pm. She looks at Zoro who seems a little more relaxed now. Zoro nods back to her, smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“Go get your Princess,” Zoro says lightly, and the stupid nickname lacks the usual sardonic bite he says it with. He sounds... not off, per se, but different. Wistful, almost, if Nami wasn’t sure Zoro was alright with being alone. If he wasn’t usually forced into going on these dates and not an active, willing participant, maybe. She makes sure to put a pin in this conversation, in that smile, in that tone for later examination. “I’ll be good and stay until the count. Scouts honor,” he adds, crossing the hand holding his beer over his chest. Nami snorts.
“Remember, this year is three resolutions, text them to me know because you’ll owe triple your share for conveniently forgetting this year,” Nami commands, getting up and downing the rest of her beer before tossing Zoro the bottle. He catches it with a grimace and Nami sticks her tongue out at him as she brushes off any creases and folds on her dress. She brings the phone up to her ear and begins her walk—back straight, face serious; shoulders a ‘do not fuck with me’ line, she keeps her steps measured, she is on a one-woman mission to invade Russia in the winter and win, so get the fuck out of the way —to the door, to her girlfriend, to a new year.
Kaya had swung by only a few minutes ago, and it both makes Sanji incredibly happy that two of the best people he knows not only found each other but somehow managed to make each other happier and better. He can tell that the count is coming soon, although he’s lost all other measures for keeping track of time between his bumbling stories and the drinks.
He’s going to regret this tomorrow. He shoots a quick mental apology to Future Sanji that will bear the weight of Drunk Sanji’s decisions.
“I’ll be back before the countdown,” he tells the happy couple, putting down his flute and giving them what he hopes is a convincing grin. Usopp gives him a sloppy salute, hitting his forehead with a touch too much force, and Kaya laughs even as she shifts from the other side of the counter.
“Wait a sec there Sanji—catch!” She shouts, and he stumbles slightly to catch the object Kaya throws his way with a stutter step and a minor heart attack. “Alright, now you’re free to get some fresh air.” She grins, flushed with alcohol and happiness. He salutes to her with the bottle with a chuckle and then begins the arduous process of snaking his way through the throngs of people to the tiny, abandoned backyard.
He’s glad for the extra space and the water. He makes sure to close the sliding door behind himself and motions at his usual seat against the far wall.
“Gentlemen,” Sanji slurs at the viny plants holding the back of his chair, “ladies.” He nods at the second and third shelf full of plants. “I know, I know, you don’t have to give me that look. I’m out here feeding you poison while you-you're all giving me clean air. It’s a shit trade but I love you all for it.” He takes the seat regardless, pulling his lighter and his pack of cigarettes.
His lighter twinkles in the light from the living room where it just barely reaches the table, caressing the loved metal until it’s almost glowing. He rubs his thumb over the mermaid’s soft tail, memory guiding him over the feel of the blunted scales, the worn-down details. He lights his cigarette and takes a long, thoughtful pull. Sanji rests his cigarette on the divot on the ashtray and leans back, back, almost into the plants, into their darkness. His drunk mind is bold, forgetting the bugs and webs that may and probably do lurk there.
He hears the people inside getting louder and louder, their voices all mingling together. He closes his eyes to it all: the cheering voices, the light, the stars, and the smoke and the numbers.
Zoro finally opens the door when he hears The first burst of numbers. He knows he might get shit about it later, when Nami is sure to quiz him on whatever happened in the room later, maybe. He hopes she’s sufficiently busy with Vivi to not notice his little disappearing act, and if all else fails he knows he specifically told her until the countdown and covered his bases.
EIGHT
It smells like tobacco smoke outside. He slides the door shit behind him, nostrils flaring.
SEVEN
He catches sight of the lit cigarette on the ashtray, the red tip dim but still bright in the night.
SIX
There’s a lighter still there, just on the other side of the table and next to a half-drunk water bottle. He scowls. Who the fuck would just light a cigarette and go? Fucking assholes, probably.
FIVE
Zoro snorts a sound barely there with the chatter and shouts from inside. He closes his eyes and tips his head up, enjoying the cold on his skin.
FOUR
Zoro reaches forward to grab the cigarette, ostensibly to put it out so he can enjoy clean, cold air.
THREE
A hand reaches out from the shadows, moving towards the cigarette. Zoro is not an easy scare, but he’s distracted, alright? His heart leaps to his throat and then dives down to his asshole.
TWO
“What the fuck?!” He shouts, definitely not startled. Out of the shadows comes blonde hair, a wide eye, as the man tips his chin down. Zoro’s pretty sure there are webs and plant detritus stuck in the dude’s hair. What the fuck? He was definitely more worried about his escape than wondering if anyone else was in the small, limited space.
No one ever sits on that seat. In all his years of coming over, Zoro’s never even known if it’s been used.
ONE.
“What the fuck?!” The man rasps back, clearly surprised and equally as startled. His hand flinches back and his wide eyes are so, so blue, even in the darkness of the night. Zoro finds himself scowling, annoyed.
So much for solitude and hiding.
“HAPPY NEW YEAR!” The crowd shouts.
Outside, above the two of them, fireworks erupt in joyous celebration. Their small space is lit entirely in red and pink, then tints of blue and white. Zoro scowls at the man; the man gapes back at him, lips parted, hair a mess, eyes bright. They stare for longer than advisable, longer than what would be considered polite while lights flash around them, banging into existence and then fizzling into only the pungent scent of smoke over the still-lit, abandoned cigarette.
In Nami’s phone sits a message from Zoro, scheduled to be sent after the disastrous date and just now chiming on her phone.
To: The Witch 🖕
1. No two weekends at home.
2. Learn a new skill. Non-fighting.
3. No dating straight or ‘curious’ assholes.