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Chapter Text

Prologue

“Don’t touch them they’re disgusting,” Sanji muttered, face half buried in the crook of his arm. 

“I don’t care,” Zoro hummed. He was unfazed by the broken toenails, the callouses, the deep imprint of crisscrossing elastic bands as he pushed his thumb into the arch of Sanji’s foot.

“I told you you don’t have to do this after every rehearsal.” His heel was resting against Zoro’s knee, his other curled underneath him, “I’m heading to the doctor tomorrow anyway.” They were in Zoro’s apartment, a little matchbox of a place with a view of the city that belonged on a postcard.

“I’m better than he is.” The reply was curt, controlled.

“Jealous, Zoro?” A smile played at Sanji’s lips and he was rewarded when a soft red tinge bloomed over the top of Zoro’s ears.

“Of that tattoo’d asshole? Hell no.” Zoro spit out, “‘sides wasn’t he just at the theater yesterday?”

“How’d you know that?” Sanji looked at him sharply.

“Saw you,” Zoro jerked his chin to the side, “leaving together.” 

“That was risky.” He frowned, “I thought you weren’t going to-“

“I had a job.”

The silence settled between them. Zoro never came to the theater, Sanji never asked Zoro about the jobs that sent him across the city at all hours of the day. These were the unspoken rules of their stolen time together.

“You shouldn’t be jealous of Law.” Sanji closed his eyes, turning the conversation back. Fingers dug into the grooves of his heel with renewed earnest.

“So you two didn’t fuck, then?” Zoro said the hard words carelessly. 

“Many times.” Sanji shrugged, equally as ambivalent, and the hands running over his insoles faltered, “but it meant nothing.”

“Sure.” 

“Really” Sanji let a smile flicker across his face as he stared at Zoro’s bowed head, “I’m not the one Law really wants.”

“Doubt that,” Zoro flashed him a hard look 

“It’s true, trust me.” Sanji hummed, “I’m not the first person Law looks for when he walks into the theater.”

“So why’d you…ya know?” Zoro struggled to get the words out. 

“Why not?” Sanji shrugged and the silence fell between them again. It was a topic he and Zoro would never understanding each other on. 

There were things he’d never understand about Zoro too.

“Are you ready for the fight this weekend?” Sanji guided the conversation smoothly into neutral territory.

“Competing in light heavyweight this week, so I gotta drop a few pounds but yea,” Zoro grunted back, but his fingers changed course as moved up Sanji’s calves. Firm pressure melting into gentle circles higher and higher until they hit the top of Sanji’s thigh. 

Sanji felt small sparks of pleasure spring in his stomach.

“If you stopped drinking beer, you wouldn’t have any problems dropping weight,” Sanji nudged the boxers knee, black eyes flashed up to meet his, sparking with lust.

“Fuck that,” and hands were reaching up to grab Sanji’s shirt, pulling him into a kiss that was more brute force than passion, but he didn’t mind so much.

Most things with Zoro were force. They met after Zoro almost punched him in the face, after all. 

It was a year ago. Sanji had gone with Law to the bar along the docks. The rickety, mildewy establishment where men like them went.

He was just about to step through the doors when he had noticed a green haired man standing on the pier, slightly apart, looking around at the assortment of men gathered. A slightly puzzled look on his face, handsome in a rugged sort of way.

“You lost, mosshead?” He called out as a joke, but angry eyes had quickly turned towards him,

“What did you call me?” Annoyance rippled across his expression. 

“A lost mosshead, or maybe a moss head who is just pretending to be lost?” Sanji called again, taking a step closer before coming to a sudden stop.

Something flashed in Zoro’s gaze then, darker, primal. 

It had drawn him like a moth to a flame.

“I’m looking for a friend,” Zoro had finally mumbled.

“That’s what they all say.”

“Fuck you!” 

“Well that’s why I’m here. Why are you?” Sanji teased back, hoping to see that raw expression again, but Zoro had lunged towards him, face redder than blood.

Angry words abruptly cut off as fists wrapped into the collar of his shirt. Sanji had quickly found himself shoved, laughing, into the alley before he was turned, chest pressed too hard against a worn brick wall.

It didn’t take long for either of them to finish. Sanji had tried to break apart, but strong arms snaked around his chest, pulling them flush together again.

“Wait,” The word was whispered soft in his ear, but when Sanji turned his head, the look was back in Zoro’s eyes. 

That insatiable hunger that Sanji recognized from staring at his own reflection. 

Sanji never figured out if Zoro had actually meant to be there or not, but it didn’t matter after all. They somehow found each other, again and again, even though Zoro was all jagged edges, hard where Sanji was pliant. 

It was only in the rare quiet moments that Sanji caught a glimpse of that raw, open emotion that had drawn him in the first place. In bits in pieces. In the way Zoro wrapped his arms around Sanji’s waist after they had sex, clinging to him like Sanji was the only thing keeping him from drowning. One day Zoro would realize Sanji he was too far gone to rescue anyone. 

“I have to go,” words whispered soft against the pillowcase under his cheek.

“No,” the response was muttered into Sanji’s collarbone.

“Yes,” Sanji sighed, giving a sharp roll of his shoulders. Strong arms retracted from his waist, and the pressure was lifted off him with a loud huff.

Sanji dressed in silence. It wasn’t until he slid his still sore feet into brand new leather loafers that he turned back. Zoro was staring at some fixed point outside the balcony window. 

“I’ll see you when I get back?” He tried to bridge the gap that always rose between them at this point.

“Gotta train.” 

“Then I’ll see you after your fight? Or maybe after my Sunday rehearsal?” Sanji offered. 

“I thought you had another party to go to?” One black eye looked up at him balefully. 

Damn. He forgotten about the gala.

“Maybe after that-“

A sharp ding pierced through the apartment, followed by another.

Sanji didn’t need to count the heavy chimes of the city clock to know he needed to leave. Zoro didn’t either. He rolled back over in the sheets, lifting an arm to give Sanji a dismissive wave.

Sanji tried to move back towards the bed, but his feet were rooted to the floor.

“Zoro, I-“ 

“Go.” 

He felt the breath rush out of him, as he sent one last look to the boxer. He wanted to go back, run his tongue over the strong shoulder blades cutting shadows across the sheets in the moonlight.

“I’ll see you soon.” He said the words like a promise, and didn’t wait for a response.

One inhale, two. He felt his heart beat return to normal as stepped into the hallway. 

He closed the door gently, locking it and the image of Zoro lying in bed inside.

The streets of Mary Geoise were quiet at night. He left the clusters of tiny apartments, stacked one on top of another and continued. Through the smattering of people still spilling out from the bars, lost in their own drunken stupors. He turned left at the corner store, and then a right at the imposing facade of the city bank. The white sheen of storefronts began emerging in the shadow of the street lamps, on and on across the cobblestone, run smooth with use. 

Then it was just himself and the sweepers, ensuring the streets would be ready fresh for the world’s elite to descend back into the heart of the city.

Sanji paused for a moment as the fountain came into view. He barely spared a glance at the golden statue of the first Celestial Dragon. His gaze went past it, up and up, towards the imposing columns of the opera house. Home of the Grand Line Ballet and the dream Sanji once thought impossible

Fierce longing ripped through him. Just through the gilded marble doors, up the velvet staircase and he’d be on the stage. He was almost there. Just one more audition, arranged by the right people, and he would have it. 

Everything was perfect, set. All he had to do was not fuck it up.

Adrenaline and nerves carried him up the ornate staircase of the pristine rows of apartment buildings. It took a few tries for the unmarred key to fit into the lock.

It finally slide apart with a click and Sanji took a deep breath, willing the anxiety out of his shoulders. An easy smile fell onto his lips as pushed the door open with a flourish.

The lights were dim, but he could hear the soft opening phrases of “Eugene Onegin” playing on a record in the corner. 

“Sorry for the delay,” his tone was high, light, carefree, “I’ve missed you, my dove.” 

“Sanji,” a soft voice called from the interior and Sanji’s gaze caught on the wine bottle already opened on the marble counter. He turned the corner to see a woman sprawled across the couch, “I heard your rehearsal went well today, I’m very proud of you.”

“The lift sequence in the pas de deux could have been cleaner,” Sanji accepted the outstretched cigarette, “it will be better for the audition.” He inhaled lightly. 

“Of course it will, you’re so hard on yourself,” the woman sighed, inclining her head towards the empty space next to her, “I got this apartment so you could relax. So come, darling, relax.”

Sanji smiled faintly as he sat down, accepting the flute of champagne in his other hand. Thin, soft hands quickly came to rest against his chest, making quick work of his button down shirt. Sanji couldn’t help but think suddenly of calloused hands tracing a path of sparks up his thigh.

He shook his head quickly, drowning the thought with a deep inhale of smoke. There was no Zoro here. There was only him and his ambitions, burning as bright as hellfire.  

"I'm always relaxed when I'm with you, my queen," the affirmations rolled off his tongue as he pressed a kiss to the back of her hand, veiny, despite the meticulous care she gave them.  

“Of course. I have been waiting all this time for you to be done rehearsing,” the woman gave a pout that barely moved her lips, “I believe I’m the one who needs to be rewarded, don’t you?” She leaned back, allowing the gauzy robes to fall open.

“Of course,” Sanji smiled mechanically as he ran a hand up milky white legs, “I’m very lucky to have your patronage, Saint Shalria.”

"There is no luck in this, dear," Shalria's laugh was callous as she leaned back. "I have enough power to give you the world."

Sanji didn't need the world, he let his mind go blank, let his body follow the familiar rhythm. He just needed to dance. 

Chapter Text

“I have to go, Charles was already suspicious when I said I was at the city apartment.” Shalria shrugged on her thin robe as she rose from the bed. “I’ve always preferred the country estate.”

“Of course,” Sanji intoned, lighting the end of his cigarette with a match.

“Where’s lighter I bought you?” She gave pouty sigh, holding out her hand expectantly. He passed her the cigarette. She took the first drag, as she always did, a languid inhale and exhale. She smiled before passing it back into his waiting fingers. 

“It’s far too beautiful for me to use,” he said simply. It was true. The small, solid gold rectangle monogramed with his initials. It’s flame even looked richer, brighter against the pale skin of his hand. “Don’t worry, though, I’ve put it somewhere safe,”

He had sold it within an hour to buy groceries. 

“Well you better wear the clothes I picked out for you.” She was rifling through the ornate wardrobe, already stocked with trim cut suits. “I had to send my servant to a lesser quality tailor so I wouldn’t be recognized. I told the tailor if I saw even one uneven stitch, I’d have my slave shoot him in the head.” Her tone was casual. “I demand only the best, you know.” From you too. The unspoken words hung heavy in the air. 

“Of course.” Sanji watched the ash from the cigarette fall, hot and smoldering onto the duvet. The smell of smoke and singed fibers wafted up, but he just took another deep inhale.

He smothered down the tendrils of anxiety crawling up his spine. You can’t show fear to wild beast or it’ll eat you alive. 

He learned that lesson early on in life. 

“You will wear this one to get lunch with the intendant of the theater tomorrow.” She pulled a suit of rich mahogany out, giving it a quick appraisal. “He’s a bore of a man, but he said he wanted to speak with you before agreeing to grant you an audition. Or at least that’s what he told my servant. He would have said something different if I was there of course, he would never refuse a descendent of a Celestial Dragon,” she glided through the words like each syllable was weighted down with gold. “It’s just the thought of talking to such boring person makes me absolutely nauseous. You understand, don’t you?” 

“Hm,” Sanji gave a noncommittal hum. His thoughts were already far away, on the impending luncheon. Dancing was one aspect of working with the Grand Line Ballet, but there were so many more parts. He needed to be personable, to be handsome, well-dressed, but not too well dressed, be equal parts modest and confident. He needed to impress the man who would be hiring him. The luncheon was at a smaller cafe a few streets over from the theater. Which was only ten or so blocks away form the gym where Zoro trained and, if he finished early, maybe-

No, he harshly corrected himself. Don’t think about him here. 

“You’re not mad, Sanji-dear are you?” Hands came to grab at his chin, pulling his face up with a hard yank, “I do hate when people are mad.” Red painted fingers dug into his cheeks and something acrid simmered in the air. He ignored the pain radiating from where her nails dug in, ignored the pulsating anger that had his instincts begging him to run.

“What could I possible be mad at, my dove. I live in luxury.” He spun the words into truth.  

“Oh it could be better.” Fingers released from his cheeks with a start, the familiar playful pout was back on her lips, “the curtains are so drab. I thought they’d be brighter. I’ll get new ones brought in tonight.”

Tension dissipated out of the room, as a warm breeze blew through the open window.

“Whatever my lady would like.” 

“No, no, it’s whatever you like!” Shalria came to sit next to him, cupping his still aching cheeks in her palms as she murmured, “You’re a star, Sanji. I will take care of everything, you just need to focus on your dancing, understand?”

“How can I repay your kindness?” Sanji said, the words mechanical, but true. He couldn’t fathom the belli she had emptied on him these past few months.  

Shalria had seen him dancing through the glass windows of the ballet studio, high above the city square, and had demanded he be brought to her. Before he knew it, there was a new apartment and clothes and the cloying possession that had his head reeling.

“What do you mean repay?” Shalria barked a laugh even as she moved her hand from Sanji’s face to glide over his bare shoulders, down his back. “You are mine.” He was pushed him onto his back with a sharp shove, and then Shalria was shedding her robe once again, climbing on top of him with a hungry look in her eyes. 

But it was worth it, all of it. He swore it.

He left the apartment an hour later, trying not to wrinkle the fabric of his new suit. He was almost to the steps of the rehearsal studio when a small voice called out to him.

“Spare a belli, sir?” A high, reedy voice rose up from a pile of rags huddled in a door way.  Small eyes peered up at him from between the folds. It was impossible to tell where it was a girl or a boy underneath the thick layer of dirt coating their face. Something tugged at Sanji's chest.

“Sorry, kid, I’m as poor as you,” Sanji muttered around a cigarette even as he rooted around his bag. His fingers found the apple he was saving for later. It was a little soft, most of the produce in the outer city was, but he he tossed it into the child’s waiting hands. “Better luck in the next life.” If the child really wanted to survive, it would. If not…

Flashes pushed against the surface of his memories. Cramped containers. Endless rocking, The smell of sick and vomit and fear. The constant clattering of chains. Agony. Endless, endless agony.

A sharp yell burst out, pulling him from his thoughts. 

“Vagrant!” 

He turned to see a woman pointing at the pile of rags in horror. She turned around, screaming again as she clutched her purse to her chest. Sanji watched, lips pressed tight in a grimace as three policeman emerged from the crowd. 

In a flash, they descended onto the child. One lifted a club, the other pulled out a thick pair of chains.

Sanji pushed through the door of the ballet studio just as the screaming started. 

“Help me-“ the child’s yell was cut off with a thud.

Sanji cursed softly. Fuck his bleeding heart, he should have kept the apple. 

It would’ve been kinder to just let the child starve. 

“Is that a new bag?” Nami’s eyed the leather satchel under his arm as he walked into the ballet studio.

“It is! Would you like it, Nami-swan?” He was only half joking as he held the bag out to her, its beautiful brass grommets glittered in the sunshine. Shalria had pressed it into his hands before walking out the door.

“Dance well today,” was all she had said. 

“No thanks, I know how much that cost you.” Nami had one leg up on the bar, a cup of thick brown coffee was clutched in the other.

“You bought that?!” Vivi gasped, her eyes wide. “Where did you possible get the money?”

“His patroness bought it for him, idiot,” Nami chided, but Sanji didn’t miss the soft look she threw towards the blue haired girl. 

“I wish I had a patron,” Vivi sighed, pushing her hair behind her ears absentmindedly, “but no one is interested in me-“

“Yea, no thanks, patrons are overrated.” Nami flashed him a sly smile. “Ask Sanji what that bag really cost him?”

“Huh?”

“If you pull down his pants I’m sure-“

“Don’t say such vulgar things in front of our princess.” Sanji quickly rushed over to where Vivi was sitting, legs opened in a deep stretch. He extended his hands and she took them, the open, trusting smile on her face that never failed to make Sanji’s chest clench. He pulled her effortlessly off the ground and too her feet.

Before she could catch her breath, Sanji had his hands at her waist, and he was lifting her high into the air. He held her there for a moment, suspended long enough for her to gracefully arch her back, before depositing her gently onto his left shoulder.

“There.” He turned in triumph to the mirror. “This is what I owe my patroness.” Vivi’s legs crossed delicately, as she lifting one arm high, the other perched across Sanji’s other shoulder. “She just wants to watch me perform. What she doesn’t know is that I’m just a reflection-“ he swung Vivi off his shoulder, lifting her high into the air again before gently lowering her the ground, “-of all the beautiful women I have the honor of dancing with.” 

“Sanji.” Vivi’s eyes were full of laughter as she threw her arms around his waist. 

“You guys are ridiculous.” Nami folded over for one final stretch before lifting her leg off the bar. “Robin wants you to rehearse your solo before we start on the transformation scene.”

“Give me a moment!” Vivi rushed over to grab a rehearsal veil from the racks hanging just outside the room.

“She looks beautiful today.” Sanjji smiled, watching the way a few stray blue curls fell from Vivi’s bun as she ran.

“She always looks beautiful,” Nami sighed before she could stop herself. She turned a glare towards Sanji. “Fuck off though, don’t you have your hands full with your old lady.”

“She’s not that old,” Sanji shrugged.

“You’re right, those veins along her hand are painted on.” Nami arched her foot in agitation, rolling over the top of her point show in deliberate movements.

“Aged wine is the most expensive,” Sanji retorted, “besides her money spends the same whether she’s got wrinkles or not.”

Nami huffed a disbelieving laugh.“You’re such a whore.” 

“Takes one to know one,” Sanji shot back. “So you ever going to confess?” Vivi poked her head around the doorway to flash them a raised pointer finger before diving back out of view. 

“You and Law going to stop bored fucking?” Nami said.

"Nothing boring about it."

"That's not what Law said." 

“You’re in a bitchy mood.” Sanji’s fingers itched for a cigarette. “And we stopped actually, I met-“ Sanji cut off the words with a sudden jolt. He hadn’t meant to say that.

“You met?” Nami’s eyes narrowed as she stared at him. Luckily a movement at the door saved him from answering.

"Dr. Trafalgar, I'll be right there!" Vivi's voice echoed from the hallway.

"I'm in no rush." Dr. Trafalgar's voice was low, gravelly in a way that attracted Sanji when he they first met. Sanji never knew what caused Law to invite him up to his apartment after one particularly grueling class. Whatever it was was long gone now.

“Dr. Trafalgar,” Sanji waved a hand as a lanky figure appeared in the doorway. 

“Sanji-ya. Nami.” Law’s voice monotoned as he kicked off his shoes at the door. “Please don’t drag my name through the mud for the sake of your egos.”

“Truth hurts, Dr.” Nami shrugged. “Took you long enough to get here. I’m having a shooting pain in my wrist whenever I go into bras bas*”

“I can’t imagine why,” Sanji hummed a laugh, even as Nami shot him a middle finger.

He tuned out the rest of their low chatter, concentrating instead on his form. He shifted easily into fourth position, spotting his own reflection in the mirror before turning his gaze inward.

He felt the long line extend from his hips all the way to the top of his head. He adjusted a bit, focusing on his shoulders still high with the tension of the morning.

Let it go, let it go.

He breathed in, out, in. He cleared his mind. 

There was no one here. No Zoro, no Shalria, no starving children, no memories of a past that was slowly eating away at the corners of his soul.

Here there was dancing. 

The faint sounds of strings glissading. A part of his brain recognized that Robin must have come into the studio to start the class. He let the thought fall away, losing himself again in the opening bars of his solo piece. 

Sanji opened his eyes, startled, as he always was when he saw himself in the ballet mirror. It was like a different person looked back at him, softer, untroubled. His hands rose in time with the music, one in fifth, one in second. He shifted his weight to his back foot, pointing his front, preparing to begin. 

“and five, six, seven, eight.”

He didn’t need the soft voice to count him in. He knew the piece by heart, the steps etched into his body, filling out all the missing pieces of his being.  

Here was his freedom.

Chapter Text

Smoke curled lazily above his head, and Sanji breathed into the familiar fingers drawing mindless designs across his back.

“What're these?” Calloused fingers traced a path from shoulder blade to waist, pressing not ungently.

“You know what they are,” Sanji said with a wince. He had felt the nails digging grooves into his skin as Shalria writhed underneath him. Had seen the glimmer in her eyes, possessively marking him. 

“Hn,” Zoro grunted before grabbing Sanji’s chin. Searing hot lips pressed harshly against his and Sanji let himself be pulled back under. 

Let himself escape into the insistent pace of the “now.” It was Sanji’s favorite part of being with Zoro. The words they never needed to speak because it was so understood. There was no other time but the minutes they carved for each other with their bare hands. 

“When’s the next fight?” Sanji asked, an hour or so later, the shadows pulled heavy across the window. He had until the last tendril of light vanished behind building tops. Then he was gone. 

“Dunno. Was supposed to have a rematch with Kuro Friday, but seems like the guy disappeared,” Zoro said.

“Where?”

“No clue.” 

“Think he left the island?” Sanji paused between inhales.

“If he did, it wasn’t willingly,” Zoro said, “heard he stayed in the country beyond his allotted time.” 

“Police probably found him and threw him out.”

“And made sure he couldn’t come back in,” Zoro’s words were bland, but Sanji heard the anger behind it. 

“Why kill someone who just wants to stay in the country longer. Doesn’t make sense.”

“Since when have your Celestial Dragons made sense?”

“They’re not mine,” Sanji said. “They own the world, moss-head, how many times have I told you that.”

“They don’t own my world,” Zoro muttered, and Sanji took another deep inhale of his cigarette.  

“Must have been some hick town you were born into to not know about the Celestial Dragons,” Sanji remembered the hours of lesson drilled into his head as a child. “They’re the reason the seas haven’t dissolved into warfare after the death of Gold Roger.”

“Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad.” Zoro yawned and Sanji felt anger spike.

“What the hell are you talking about?” He shoved Zoro’s side with his foot. 

“You said Gold Roger was some pirate warlord."

“The pirate warlord,” Sanji corrected. “Who almost successfully led a group of revolutionaries to take over the world government?”

“Sure. What’d he do? Raided towns? Used fear to control them? Stole their money? How is that any different from what the Celestial Dragons are doing? 

Sanji shook his head. “It’s different.”

“How?” Zoro turned to him. “Tell me.” 

“Remind me why you’re wasting the last daylight hours talking politics?” 

Sanji tried to head the conversation off before it went any further. There was a reason people spoke of the Celestial Dragons in hushed tones only. Even talking about them was ground for treason, never mind publicly criticizing them. To compare them to the infamous Gold Roger? 

It was a punishment Sanji didn't want to think about.  

“Hm?” Sanji turned to look at Zoro, trying to catch the last of his sentence. 

“You’re going to have to care sometime, curly-brow.” Zoro prodded his forehead with two insistent fingers. “You can’t hide in that ballet studio forever.”

“Like you’re doing anything better skulking around the docks.” Sanji retorted, “if you want to do something about it, change it.”

“What if there was a way?”

“To what?”

“Change it. Destroy it,” Zoro said, voice a sudden whisper. "Like Gold Roger wanted to." 

“You weren’t here for the last ‘revolution’.” Sanji turned to look at the window, at the city streets running into the heart of paradise. Sometimes he could still see the flecks of blood sunbaked into the porous marble streets. “Pirates conspired with about a hundred disillusioned locals. They were going to take their smuggled firearms and swords and peel the gold of the city walls themselves.”

“And?”

“If you think the shop windows are gauche now, you should have seen the roads when they were lined with bodies.”

Zoro gave a harsh sigh. “And this is the society you want to bow down to?”

“What other choice do I have?” Sanji ignored the acrid way the words tasted in his mouth. “What’s wrong with using them to get what I want.” 

Zoro shuffled next to him and Sanji could tell he was fighting with his words. He had never been the most eloquent of idiots. 

“Dunno.”

“We are trapped in this world, whether we like it or not,” Sanji said. “Might as well make the most of it.”

He finally turned to stare at Zoro, but the man was looking away this time. His gaze distant, sad in a way that pulled at Sanji’s chest.

“We don’t have much time.” He let his fingers run up Zoro’s ribs, more pronounced than before.”Let’s talk about something else.” 

Brows furrowed and Zoro seemed to be wrestling with his words again before turning back to look at Sanji.

“The weather?” 

“It’s supposed to rain today.” Sanji lets his hands travel lower, lower until Zoro’s eyes grew dark with lust. “Be careful not to get too wet.” 

Sanji shook out his umbrella, before folding it and laying it carefully next to the door. 

“Good evening, my dove.” He called into the room as he closed the front door behind him. The hum of the refrigerator was the only noise that greeted him. He turned towards the kitchen, pushing through the swinging doors and heading straight for the coffee machine.

Shalria always has an espresso when she woke up, and Sanji found it best to prepare the cup for when she emerged. Sometimes it managed to temper her moods. 

It always took him a few tries, but he figured out how to work the coffee grinder. While the beans whirled, he took a moment to admire the kitchen. The sight of the marble inlaid counters, dark wood paneling and golden handles still had him in awe. Little luxuries were everywhere, from the crystal bowl holding fresh, unblemished fruit to the stacks of porcelain plates, to the refrigerator stocked with food. 

Sanji never touched any of it, no matter how much Shalria cajoled him to. He would say it was his diet, his training, his picky stomach.

Really he was afraid of getting used to it. Like that story his mother had read him as a child. The one with the goddess of spring who was captured by the god of death and brought into the underworld. The goddess could have left, but she had been tricked, told to eat the seeds of the pomegranate fruit that bound her to the underworld for six months a year.

It was stupid, but Sanji couldn't help but feel that with each bite of fruit, each sip of crystal clear wine, he would lose himself a little bit too.

“My dove?” He tried again, keeping his voice light, effortless.

A square of paper on the counter caught his gaze. He leaned over the note, taking a minute to decipher the scratchy hand writing.

Call out, back later. Wait up for me. xx

Well damn. 

He could have spent another few hours with Zoro. He frowned down at the steaming cup of espresso in his hands.

The slightly burnt coffee smell wafted and he was tempted to lift the cup to his lips. Try it, once. Why not? 

What could hurt? 

He brought the cup half to his mouth before turning and dumping the contents into the sink. The hot liquid steamed as it hit the cold metal, and Sanji watched it circle down the drain with veiled disinterest. 

What the hell was he supposed to do now? He rinsed the cup, carefully returning it to its cabinet before wiping down the counter. Once the kitchen was as spotless as he found it, he meandered back into the hallway.

He never explored the apartment fully, too afraid of getting comfortable.

The door on his right was cracked open and he whistled low as he pushed it open. The hallway light revealed the beginnings of a mahogany study, filled with wall to wall books he was positive where just for show. Still, his eye caught on a map covering most of the wall. Fingers fumbled for a lamp switch and soon the room was bathed in a soft orange glow. 

His eyes never left the map though, and he moved closer so his fingertips could graze the textured paint. He found the gold fountain that marked the center of Mary Geoise, surrounded by the courts on one side, the ballet on the other, the dichotomized priorities of the Celestial Dragons. The keepers of order and culture. 

He traced his path, smiling when he found his way to the docks, almost a straight shot from the center. How had he not realized that before? It would have made his trip to the theater a lot shorter. He usually had to walk through a maze of apartments. 

Where the hundreds of apartments should be was just a street, painted a rich red color connecting the city square to the docks.

A frown tugged at his lips. Why were the apartments missing? And the bars and shops. A small, rundown community of workers and refugees. They were home to hundreds, including Sanji when he first arrived in Mary Geoise. Had the artist just forgotten? 

The telephone rang, a quick blare that had Sanji jumping. He had only given the number to one person. He hesitated. 

Shalria hadn’t mentioned a call? What if it was her brother, or another Celestial Dragon. Or it could be —

The fourth ring had barely sounded before he was grabbing the thick plastic.

“Hello?” His voice low, tentative.

“Sanji? That you?” A panicked voice called over the line.

“Yea, what is it?”

“Patty went to check on Zeff and found him unconscious, you better—“

Sanji hung up the phone and was out the door without a second thought, running towards the very apartment buildings he was just looking for on the map.

He took the stairs two at a time, careful to skip the fourth one cracked straight down the middle. He’d been meaning to fix it. One of these days. There was a lot he’d been meaning to do. 

“Why the hell did you call that brat?!”

Zeff’s voice boomed through the hallways and Sanji felt the anxiety leave his body in waves. He was ok, safe, alive. Sanji pulled out a cigarette, and took a few deeps breaths before pushing open the rickety door. 

“Shut up old man. Of course they called me.”Four sets turned to stare at him. “How is he Doc?” 

“Old.” Dr Kureha said, one hand came to sweep the long gray hairs out of her eyes. The Witch of West Mary Geoise is what the called her, really she was the only doctor who was willing to treat those who couldn't afford to go to the hospitals. 

“I’ll give you old.” Zeff tried to rise but Carne and Patty were quickly pulling him back into his tattered arm chair. 

“He needs to rest.” Dr. Kureha gave a click of her black doctors bag. “If he keeps putting this much strain on his remaining leg, he’s going to lose it too.” 

Zeff gave a quiet scoff but Sanji felt his heart sink in his chest. Zeff’s right leg was propped up on a chair, the space where his left leg should be conspicuously empty. The crutch was propped on the kitchen table next to a bowl of soup and a starched white chefs hat.“I thought you weren’t going down to the restaurant anymore? The stairs are too dangerous,” Sanji said.

“Like I trust these fools will my bar, you should taste the shit they’re serving,” he nodded towards the bowl of soup on table. “I had to go add the paprika myself before they lost me the rest of my customers!"

“I’m sure it’s fine.” Sanji said before turning an accusing gaze to Patty and Carne. “You idiots had one job and you couldn’t even do that right.”

“It’s not our fault, you know what he’s like!” 

“Well why the hell are we still living in this shithole huh?” Patty barked and Sanji felt his stomach drop.

“That’s enough, Patty,” Zeff said.

“Bar making enough money for you to get out of here?” Dr. Kureha gave Zeff a questioning look. "Stopped giving away half your food like a bleeding heart dumbs?"

“Bar’s doing shit!” Carne said.

“Nothing wrong with this place, I like it” Zeff said, but he kept his gaze down, avoiding the peeling wallpaper, the rust stains spreading across the ceiling and Sanji bit his lip from crying in frustration. There was everything wrong with this shithole, and he was reminded of it every time he pushed through the cracked door.

"It's fine, Sanji'll save us!" Patty said.

"Oh?" Dr. Kurena laughed, dark and humorless.

“Sanji’s going to become a famous dancer and get us all the hell out of here!” Carne nodded. 

“We’re going to live in one of those fashion rich people apartments!” 

“Shut up Patty, I ain’t taking any charity money,” Zeff barked back. 

“I’m sure Sanji’s busy taking care of himself, isn’t that right?” Dr. Kurena cut him a look, but Sanji couldn’t reply for a moment, memories kept pasting themselves over the dilapidated room like magazine cutouts. 

There was the child sized ballet bar crudely drilled into the wall. The one Zeff had installed after Sanji came back from a street show, eyes glowing with excitement for the first time in his life. There was the counter where Sanji had sat, watching Zeff cook, dish after dish until he sold enough to open his own small bar downstairs. There was the kitchen table barely big enough for two people, yet they somehow managed to squeeze dozens plus anyone that was hungry or cold. Sanji felt his chest squeeze. He didn’t mean to forget about his place, he just—

He shrugged the leather satchel off his shoulder - the one Shalria had given to him days before and pulled out his ballet shoes. He left the fresh fruit he had grabbed from the market before pushing the bag into Carne’s hands.

“Eat the fruit inside, idiot. It will help your brain move faster,” Sanji said. “Sell the bag. Should make enough to cover the next few months rent.”

“Absolutely not—“Zeff started, but Carne pulled Sanji into a hug, eyes already watering.

“Knew you’d come through! Knew you wouldn’t forget us here in the slums.”

“Yea, yea,” he pat the man’s hulking shoulders awkwardly, avoiding Zeff’s gaze as he turned. “I gotta go to rehearsal. I’ll be back Sunday to check on the geezer.”

“Sanji.”

Sanji just lifted a hand in farewell, as he pushed through the front door. He lit another cigarette with shaking hands. 

“Don’t put too much pressure on yourself, kiddo,” Dr. Kurena appeared behind him, eyes shrewd. “You keep carrying all the weight, you’re bound to trip up. And then what will they do?”

“It’s fine,” he waved off her concern. “It’s the least I can do for them.” 

It was his fault they were stuck here in Mary Geoise after all, away from the sea and the ship that had rescued Sanji from hell. He owed them his life and he would make it up to them somehow, he swore it. 

Chapter Text

“Sanji watch your port de bra. Fingers light” Robin’s voice rang out, even and melodious as Sanji bent backwards, fingertips extended towards the back window of the ballet studio. “And back to first position in one.” Robin clapped her hands along with the music. 

Brook, the studio accompanist, was at the piano, playing “Esmeralda” for their warmups, occasionally missing a note as he leaned over to ogle Vivi’s tutu. 

“Beautiful Vivi yo-hoo~”

“Creep,” Nami muttered behind Sanji, her arms never missing a beat as they transitioned seamlessly through first position into second. 

“You’re just jealous he’s never stolen your panties from the showers.”

“Gross,” Nami gave a sharp laugh.

“Focus!” Robin said. “Gala tomorrow. This will be your chance to make a good impression on the head of the Grand Line Ballet.” Tension descended back on the room, and Sanji felt his heart speed up as he moved into fourth position, his feet knowing the way without thinking much about it. The warmups were as ingrained in his muscles as speaking was.

“Drinks after this?” Nami whispered.

“Can’t,” Sanji said.

“Gotta meet your lover?”

“Something like that.” The image of Zoro lounging in Shalria’s apartment dressed in nothing but a bathrobe almost made him misstep. He managed to bring his foot into fifth position before lifting into a releve.

They held the position for a minute, the muscles in Sanji’s legs straining as he reached his arms higher towards the ceiling. Taller, more elegant, the words were drummed in his brain.

Robin clapped her hands twice. “Five minute break, get some water.” 

“My leg keeps cramping,” the white haired girl to Sanji’s right complained.

“Carrot, I told you to let Law look at it!” Vivi laughed as they crowded around the entrance to the ballet studios.

“I hate him,” Carrot stuck out a tongue. “He said my ears were unnaturally large.” She reached up to smooth her hair over the tops, but they never quite managed to stay covered. 

“He’s a dick,” Nami said. 

“But a very good doctor,” Vivi added, untying the ribbons around her ankles. “Oh…no!” She looked down at her pointe shoe, the toe pad already worn and fraying, “I just bought this pair.” 

“I swear Ipponmatsu is using cheaper material so we have to buy more.” Sanji muttered, looking at his own fraying pair. 

“Darn.” Vivi rubbed a hand over her face. “I thought it would last me til the gala at least.”

“Tell Ipponmatsu to put it on your tab,” Carrot said.

“Can’t, I’ve already maxed out my tab,” Vivi sighed before turning to them with an overly bright smile. “It’s ok, I’ll figure out a way.” 

“Sanji can put it on his tab,” Nami pointed at him. “He needs to get a new pair anyway.” 

“Actually ah, my patron already supplied me with a years worth.” Sanji shifted, making sure to roll out the cramp that was starting in the base of his right foot. He need drink more water, and less alcohol. Like that was ever going to happen.

“You really are a lucky bastard.” Nami huffed. 

“I can introduce you to someone at the Gala if you want,” he said. “That is if you’re not going to be too busy stuffing your face with food.”

“You’re the only one invited to eat, idiot.” Nami’s voice was tight and he looked at her, surprised. Frustration and anger pulled at her lips. He looked at the other girls faces, but they didn’t meet his eyes. 

“Nami…” Vivi started but Nami waved her off.

“It’s fine, I’m not mad about it. It’s just damn hard to get a patron to look at us when we’re not even allowed to meet them. And now it’s impossible to even buy shoes, never mind food without money.”

“I thought you were against patrons, Nami. I thought they weren’t worth the trouble.” he bit out the words and they held each other’s gaze before Nami broke off with a huff.

“Situation has changed, clearly.” She finally muttered. “I need the money.”

“What situation. It’s not that terrible, we’ll figure it out together!” Vivi looked back and forth between the two of them. 

Sanji noticed the way a blush crawled up Nami’s face and he shook his head. “You’ve got it bad.”

“Shut up, idiot,” she hissed back, keeping her eyes firmly on the ground. 

“Look,  I thought we were all invited to eat with the donors. I thought that was the point of this Gala.” He finally sighed. That’s what Shalria had told him, at least. She had promised to introduce him to the head of the Dressrosa Ballet as well.

“No, we were invited to perform, you’re the only one they are willing to be seen eating with.” Nami’s voice was sour even as she stuck a tongue out at him. “We’ll be lucky if they let us eat in the kitchen, otherwise it’s another night of soup in the apartments.”

Sanji tried to say he’d sneak them in, or talk to Shalria, ask if the dancers could eat at the tables instead of being shuttled off stage after the performance. But Sanji knew the truth of it. Shalria would wave him off, or worse, laugh. The dancers were the entertainment for the patrons, not their equals. And those that caught a patrons eye well…sometimes Sanji wished he never allowed Shalria to snap her golden handcuffs around his wrist. 

“Don’t rush it,” Sanji waved a hand at Vivi. “You keep looking as ravishing as you are, and some patron is going to snatch you right off the stage.”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Nami muttered, throwing Sanji a murderous look. “So introduce me to one.”

“Gods you’re insufferable.”

He shifted onto his toes, absentmindedly, feeling the light burn in his calf muscles, ignoring Nami’s pointed glare.

What the hell did she want from him? He never had a mind for politics.

The uneasy feeling followed him as slipped into the apartment Shalria rented for him. The mahogany suit was starched and ready and he stared at it for a moment.

It was a beautiful suit, but ugly. The cut of the lapel too old fashion to really be considered stylish to modern taste. But who was he to complain?
He slid into the shirt sleeves, feeling the fine cotton brush against his skin. 

It was a few blocks to the coffee shop, but he took his time walking there. 

The intendant was a small, nervous man.

He held a damp hand out to Sanji and he took it.

“Mister Wapol, it was kind of you to meet me.”

“Yes, yes,”  the man waved over a waiter. “I’ll have the steak, rare. Two orders of potatoes au gratin, hold the green stuff. And wine. Red.” He coughed between words, before turning to Sanji.

Sanji didn’t bother looking at the menu, he just smiled at the fair haired waiter. “Water, please.” He turned back to Wapol. “Do you mind if I smoke?’

“HA!” The man let out a phlegmy laugh. “A true dancer.” 

“I have to stay in shape somehow,” Sanji felt the nicotine smooth the rough edges of his emotions. Nami’s words were playing in his ears and he had to ignore them. He was barely surviving as it was, it was every dancer for themselves. Making a good impression of the Intendant of the Grand Line Ballet was just the next step in his plan, and arguably the most important.

“Of course,” Wapol nodded to the waiter, tapping his wine glass as the red liquid splashed into the thick cut crystal. “Leave the bottle.”
Sanji watched in silence as the man took a deep sip before settling back in his chair.

“Do you know why you’re here?” 

Sanji shifted in his chair, measuring his words. “I was hoping to be granted an audition for the Grand Line Ballet. It has been a dream of mine to dance for your amazing company.” 

“I have hundreds of requests for auditions, thousands of starving young dancers clamoring at my doorstep.” A bead of red wine tracked down Wapol’s chin and he wiped it with his sleeve.

“What makes you so special?”

“Ah…” Sanji’s mind went blank. What made him special? "I was hoping to showcase my dancing skills in an audition. My teachers have said I’m exceptionally good at partner work and-” 

“Anyone can dance now, I’ve heard enough about your resume.” Wapol waved a hand. “You’ve got to be more than that to be a true ballet dancer.”

Sanji took a deep inhale of his cigarette as Wapol stared at him with a frown.

The waiter interrupted them with a soft cough, before placing steaming plates of food infront of Wapol. 

“Please enjoy.”

“Thank you,” Sanji murmured out of habit, though the space in front of him remained empty. 

Wapol dove into the meal with greedy eyes, sawing a knife through the rare steak. He shoved the piece in his mouth, chewing loudly as he stabbed at the plate of potatoes smothered in cheese.

“Men are not to my liking,” he finally said between bites. “I prefer women. Blondes. Waifs, ya know with the innocent eyes.”

“I see,” Sanji lied, trying to hide the confusion in his eyes as he took a sip of his water glass.

“But someone likes you enough to buy my attention. That’s what interests me.” He gave Sanji another penetrating stare before continuing to eat. “What have you got over Madame Shalria that she asked me to grant you an audition.”

“Got?” Sanji blinked away his surprise.

“Blackmail? I’ve never seen her take interest in a dancer, so what is it?”

Sanji shifted in his chair, taking another slow drag on his cigarette. “She believes in my talent. She wants to see me succeed and is willing to use her bountiful resources to-”  

“HA! So she’s fucking you. Or you’re fucking her.” Wapol leered at him, lips greasy and stained, and Sanji fought the urge to recoil. “That’s what interests me.”

“I don’t see how that could mean anything.” 

“Don’t be naive boy,” Wapol waved the bloody knife into the sky. A drop landed onto the white tablecloth and Sanji couldn’t stop staring at it. “Theaters live on donations. Do you think these rich pricks are paying to see Gisele performed for the hundredth time. No, they’re coming for the ones dancing it. Do you think they know technique, do you think they care if you’re hands aren’t extended in arabesque? No, they come to see the pinnacle of human beauty, and they all want a piece of it.”  

Wapol’s eyes took on a glazed expression as he took another sip of wine. “That’s what we’re selling them, that experience. That tantalizing luxury that no one else could own but them. A dancer at the Grand Line Ballet.”

Something foul hit Sanji’s tongue, though he wasn’t sure why. It was what he expected after all, it was why he crawled back into Shalria’s bed night after night. He knew just his dancing wasn’t going to be enough to put food on his table, he needed more.

He just thought there might be an end somewhere, that all his ambition would push him towards his dream and once he achieved that dream. 

What then? 

Images of green hair and a small, secret smile flashed in his mind, and something ached deep in Sanji’s chest. 

“There is nothing I love more than dancing.” Sanji finally murmured.

“And you’ll do anything to achieve those dreams, won’t you?” Wapol gave him a knowing look and Sanji could only nod. “And that’s what I needed to know.”

“I dance well too.”

Wapol let out a hearty laugh, sopping up the last bits of steak with a dinner roll. “I will come to the gala tomorrow and see for myself. I will also be watching how you conduct yourselves with the donors.”

“And if that goes well?” Sanji’s heartbeat was in his throat as Wapol dabbed daintily at his mouth with a napkin.

“Well then you will be welcome in to the ballet corp at the Grand Line Ballet.” Wapol got to his feet with a heave. He gave Sanji a curt nod before turning. “Impress me.”

“I will,” Sanji practically shouted at the man’s retreating form.

So close, he was so close to his dream, he could almost taste it. Expect it wasn’t joy he felt. Nausea clung in Sanji’s stomach and something else he refused to put a name to. A sadness, a disappointment, a despair that went far beyond the stained white tablecloth in front of him.

His feet moved on their own, and he stumbled blindly through the streets. A compulsion pulling him forward. 

Shalria needed him to be the perfect dancer for her own ego. Wapol needed him to be a puppet for the delight of the patrons. Nami needed him to introduce her to the kind of men that would support her and her not so secret love. Zeff, Patty, Carne needed him to make enough money to get them the hell out of the shithole they lived in. 

Well what did he need? 

Sanji didn’t look up until the door infront of him opened.

“I thought you had rehearsal.” 

“Kiss me?” Sanji begged and strong hands wrapped around his back. Zoro pulled him into a wordless kiss that stole the breathe from Sanji’s lungs and sent his mind hurtling finally into a blissful peace.