Work Text:
Sanji was fourteen years old, and his father was an angry man.
He didn't dare call Zeff that out loud, shuddering to think what the old man would say if he knew that the brat who upended his life considered him paternal. But in the privacy of his own mind, no one could scold Sanji for such indiscretions.
So yes, his father was an angry man. A concept so elementary to Sanji that he didn't believe fathers could be any other way.
Which wasn't to say that Zeff was cruel. He was a decent boss and shared Sanji's sentiments about hunger after their time on the rock. And he could be kind. Sometimes, even when it was the most inconvenient option, he still chose to be kind in his own volatile ways.
From that last bit was where Sanji's endless loyalty sprang forth. The old man could scream and yell until the portholes shattered and all their customers left, and still Sanji would be standing in the aftermath, sweeping up the broken glass. He might pitch his own fit, but Sanji knew very well that he owed Zeff everything.
That indebtedness spread to everything Sanji did like mold spores, tainting whatever it touched. He could never hope to repay the kindness shown to him, but he had to try.
Working until he was bleary eyed and crabby was just reparations. Sanji had to be useful. If he wasn't useful, then Zeff's kindness was wasted on him, and wastefulness wasn't tolerated at the Baratie.
Neither was softness. Sanji wasn't a child anymore, if he ever was, and he understood that softness and kindness were not one and the same. He couldn't afford to let his coworkers think he was a pushover, not if he wanted to stay.
Surviving in a place like the Baratie meant Sanji needed to learn to bite before he was bitten, especially when it came to Zeff. Not because Zeff had hurt him before, but because Sanji had quickly grown tired of waiting to see what would push him to that point.
It wasn't a matter of if, but when Zeff snapped, because there was nothing Sanji was better at than bringing out the worst in people. When that moment came, nobody was going to protect him. He'd be furious if they tried.
So when Zeff yelled, not only did Sanji yell back, but he also hollered and cursed and kicked shit over. He made himself bigger than life, his voice always the loudest in the kitchen. He scowled and insulted and picked fights just because he could.
It wasn't like Sanji wanted to react so explosively. He just figured that if it was going to happen anyways, then he was gonna give Zeff a real reason to hurt him. He needed an explanation, a cover story, something to hide behind if people started asking questions. Sanji would rather be the scumbag brat who got what he deserved than the naive kid who didn't see it coming.
Make no mistake, when that moment finally came Sanji knew it would end the same as every other fight, with him cleaning up his mess and slipping off to the roof to smoke a bummed cigarette. He was never leaving the Baratie. Even if Zeff beat him bloody and kicked him out the door, Sanji would crawl back to meal prep for the morning shift.
His father was an angry man, and Sanji knew all too well how that kind of story went.
The unexpected hole in his carefully crafted storyline came one day in the form of a new chore boy around his age. Sanji didn't like him at first, he thought he was too loud and obnoxious and his laugh made Sanji's stomach twist in funny ways.
"I'm Jameson, but everyone calls me Jamie." He said the day they met, his smile showing off a gap in his front teeth. He had reddish hair that swooped and curled around his ears, and millions of freckles all over, even on the palm of the hand he offered for Sanji to shake.
Though Sanji didn't like him or his hair or his stupid brown eyes that were rich as melted chocolate, he still hung around Jamie. He told himself it was the similarity in their ages, and the fact that Sanji never got to talk to people younger than twenty. But by the second week he had his suspicions that it was something far worse than just loneliness drawing them together.
Ignoring that suspicion didn't work, because Sanji was so enamored with him and every dumb thing he said. He was funny and knew what life was like on land, and when he smiled he had a dimple only on one cheek. Sanji started staying up later to help Jamie with his chores, using the pile of dishes from dinner rush to keep talking well into the night.
When their hands bumped at the sink, Jamie laughed and knocked into him again on purpose, teasing about his flushed face. And when Sanji manned up and kissed him, still holding the sponge and a dish, he couldn't say it was really much of a surprise. It wasn't that good either.
They were both awkward teen boys unsure of where to put their hands and how much tongue was acceptable. But Sanji liked it nonetheless, the feeling of Jamie's chapped lips hesitating to kiss him again made his stomach flip flop and his face heat up. Jamie's freckles looked pretty up close like that. He had so many of them, and his eyelashes were just as red as his hair.
Later that night in the privacy of his own bed, Sanji promised himself it would never happen again. He knew better than that. How could he be such a damn fool? He needed to stay far away from Jamie and his lips and his hands and his funny stories of places Sanji would never see.
They did it again the next night.
Sanji found out very quickly that he liked having a secret that wasn't hurting anyone. He enjoyed the way it made him feel, his chest grew warm every time Jamie brushed past him without meeting his eye.
Maybe it was the fact that nobody else knew. Or maybe it was the knowledge that as soon as they were alone, Jamie would smile at him again and stand too close, goading Sanji into kissing him just to shut him up.
He knew it was wrong on a moral level, that people like him weren't normal. But when he was kissing Jamie it definitely didn't feel that way. It was new and exciting and really fucking embarrassing, but he thought first kisses and the like were supposed to feel that way.
Still, Sanji should've known better. He should've acted better, should've stood his ground and refused to fall into Jamie's flirtations with all the desperation of the hormonal teen he was, because Sanji didn't have the privilege of being that goddamn stupid.
There was a reason they waited until no one else was around and most of the other cooks had gone to bed before getting too close. Not because of embarrassment, but because of the dangers being seen together like that would bring. He knew better, and yet Sanji still pulled Jamie closer far too soon after everyone had left.
"Oi brat, did you swipe my fucking cigarettes again-"
Sanji shoved Jamie away so hard he fell to the floor, both of them staring at the doorway and the man standing in it. The dread was instant and unbearable, like a rogue wave dousing the happiness of the moment before Zeff came round the corner to the washing station.
All he could think as he took in Zeff's closed off expression was what the fuck have I done?
He had no control over the situation. Sanji couldn't hide behind an overreaction, he couldn't use it as a reason or a flimsy excuse, because for once in his life Sanji didn't think he did anything wrong.
If boys weren't meant to kiss other boys, then why did it feel so good? Scary and unusual, something to keep hush about, but still pleasant. Maybe he'd grow out of it, maybe he was just doing something kids usually did. But Sanji figured the only actually bad part about it was if other people found out.
Well, someone found out. Not just anyone, but Zeff. The man he was indebted to, the man who saw something worth saving in him long after he had been convinced he was a lost cause. How could he do this to the old man?
They were at a stand still, staring each other down as Jamie scrambled past Zeff to escape the kitchen. Sanji's head was growing fuzzy, his heartbeat pounding in his ears as he tried to come up with an explanation. Something to hide behind, a reason to give to prove he wasn't what Zeff thought he was.
Their staring contest broke when Zeff took the first step towards him. At that moment, Sanji was more afraid of him than he'd ever been. He knew on an instinctual level that if Zeff got his hands on him, he was going to kill Sanji.
His father was an angry man, and Sanji knew what angry men did to kids like him. Why else would Jamie run?
Experience told him he didn't have to be stronger, just quicker. Zeff was barring the path to the door, but they were standing in a kitchen full of potential weapons. Sanji's eyes flitted around, his chest growing tighter as his breath came thin and short.
At the first sign of movement, Sanji bolted for the nearest knife block and pulled out a chef's knife, taking comfort in the familiar weight in his palm. But when he turned to brandish it at Zeff, he found that in his haste he had backed himself straight into a corner.
Suddenly the difference in their sizes felt like the difference between a pebble and a mountain. He had shot up like a weed in the last year, finally catching up to his coworkers, but all that height was just a disadvantage when he was gangly and twig thin.
In his mind's eye, Sanji was seven years old again and there was a dangerous man towering over him. He was so weak, physically and mentally, and his father was so awfully strong. Sanji's mouth went dry, his hands trembled, and the churning pit of fear in his gut boiled over just as easily as milk in a pot.
"Put the knife down." Zeff said, his voice as steady as it always was. That meant nothing, because Sanji had seen his mood turn on a dime with no outer signs before.
"You didn't see anything." He stumbled over the words, finding his footing on the last breath. "You hear me? You didn't see shit!"
Zeff studied him with an impassive expression, as though he was one of those number puzzles in the newspaper that the older cooks liked to solve on their breaks. It made his skin crawl to think that Zeff was reading his next move, planning around all of his openings. In a one on one fight, he was as good as dead.
"What do you think I'm gonna do? I bet you're wrong, whatever it is. You usually are."
Copper spread over his tongue as he bit his cheek, trying to quell the shaking in his hands. He hated that question. Every time Zeff asked, he only did so because he already had a set punishment in mind and it wasn't anything like what Sanji was picturing. He'd hate to be right for once.
"I don't wanna play your games, you old bastard." He hissed, though his mind screamed that he was only delaying and worsening the inevitable.
Why couldn't he just apologize and ask for forgiveness? Had he truly learned nothing from his childhood, that he would indulge such a dangerous habit as talking back right at that moment?
Zeff sighed loudly, pinching his brow. Good thing too, otherwise he would've seen how Sanji flinched the second he raised his hand. "Just answer the damn question."
What was he supposed to say? Any answer would be a trap. Either he'd be right or whatever he said would end up giving Zeff better ideas for a more fitting punishment.
Sanji had such an active imagination. It wasn't hard to conjure up terrible scenarios on how exactly Zeff would punish him. Maybe he'd beat him, or he'd tell everyone, or fire both Sanji and Jamie. Maybe he'd do all three.
God forbid, he might lock Sanji up. There was a broom closet in the supply room that locked from the outside, the shelves full of cleaning supplies. If he really wanted to, he could drag Sanji to it and lock him in with only the bleach and the mops to keep him company.
Zeff might even be mad enough to kill him. Sanji hadn't stopped to consider that maybe people made fun of the sort of men who were sweet on other men because it was dangerous. He just figured if he wouldn't hurt someone over it, neither would anyone else. How terribly naive.
"Well, brat? What am I going to do?" Zeff turned his palms up as though to show Sanji he was unarmed, but he didn't need a weapon to be dangerous.
The lump in Sanji's throat grew larger, his chest aching like his ribs had been cracked open, leaving his disgustingly frail heart exposed to the elements. He was just fooling around with Jamie. He was curious, that was all.
It wasn't fair that he was going to lose his home again, and for something as stupid as a kiss.
"You're gonna hurt me." Sanji said, his quaking voice betraying just how scared he really was. Zeff's expression contorted, and he rushed to get the rest of the words out before the old man snapped. "But I know it was wrong, and I swear I'll never do it again. You don't have to punish me, I learned my lesson, promise."
"I'm not the one with the knife, boy."
His stomach dropped. The white knuckled grip he had on the handle was the only thing standing between him and pain. It was his safety, his life line. He didn't want to let go of the knife, not when he wasn't yet sure just how mad Zeff was. But of course, nobody liked being threatened.
Maybe if Sanji grovelled enough, the things he did in fear wouldn't be held against him. The apology tasted like ash on his tongue, acrid and sour as a stale cigarette. "Sorry. I'm sorry, owner Zeff."
A muscle jumped in Zeff's jaw. He hated when Sanji called him that, since he only did it when he thought he was in serious trouble. But Sanji was in serious trouble, and he still couldn't bring himself to lower the knife.
The fear was strong and so was Zeff, Sanji might put up a damn good fight but he couldn't win. He was just some kid who still couldn't get the upper hand in spars against a man with a peg leg. Sanji had never been very good at protecting himself.
"Put the knife down." Zeff demanded, quiet but blunt. He took another step forward and Sanji's body shook, but the knife stayed between them. The whole blade trembled with the force of Sanji's shivers, dipping and raising as he tried to contain himself.
"I can't." Was it stupidity or self preservation that forced Sanji to stand his ground? He didn't know, and he wasn't sure he wanted the answer.
Zeff crossed his arms, staring Sanji down like a particularly frustrating customer. "So you're sweet on Jameson. Fine. I don't give a rat's ass."
"I'm not!" He wasn't. If denying it meant he'd be safe, he would say he hated Jamie and kissing him and all their talks and his stupid laugh. Sanji would never look at another boy like that again if Zeff would just drop the subject and walk away.
"What do I care who you're into, brat?" Zeff sounded exasperated, and normally that tone would be enough to get Sanji's blood boiling but he was too scared. "Long as you're not fucking around when you're supposed to be working, it's all the same to me."
That hurt to hear. Not because he didn't want to hear it, but because he did and it wasn't fair for Zeff to dangle absolution in his face like that. "Don't lie. Everybody cares about this shit."
Everyone had an opinion, from the cooks who joked and jeered with each other to the regulars who didn't watch what they said around him anymore. Sanji was no idiot, he heard the way people talked about boys like him, he saw the way their lips curled in disgust.
Zeff wasn't different. He didn't talk so casually with the other cooks like Sanji did, but even he said queer like it was an insult. Just another curse to toss around. Queers were the butt of some cosmic joke about being born wrong, and Sanji had accidentally painted the damn word on his back by being caught.
"I'm too fucking old to care. Quit being dramatic and finish those damn dishes, you hear?" He gestured to the sink where the rest of the closing pots and pans were soaking, and turned on his heel.
"Wait," Sanji blurted, confused and more than a little unsettled. Was that it? The knife dipped lower, no longer pointing at the old man. "I can stay?"
"What the fuck are you mumbling about?"
"I can stay, right? Here at the Baratie. Tell me I can stay." He hadn't meant to say all that, but Sanji's mouth wasn't exactly listening to his brain at the moment.
Zeff stopped walking away and stood there, working his jaw as he thought about how to respond. When he turned his face was tight with fury, but it just as quickly melted away into indifference. Even still, that slight reaction was enough to make Sanji's shoulders bunch up again.
So he was angry after all.
"Don't ask me that stupid shit again. If I wanted you gone, I would've said so." He walked closer, ignoring how Sanji backed up until he couldn't anymore. Zeff glanced down at the knife, and stopped right in front of it. "Are you gonna stab me, eggplant? I feel like we've done this before."
Sanji wasn't sure what expression he was wearing, but he could feel the way it twisted and contorted under the wave of shame that came rushing over him. How could he hold a knife to the man who had saved him from certain death, again? Sanji was an ungrateful wretch of a man, cowardly and spineless.
When Zeff raised his hand, he flinched so violently that he almost lost his grip on the knife. Sanji pressed himself against the counter until the pain of it digging into the small of his back was worse than the fear, and held very still.
He had tried so hard to be an asshole who was begging to get beat rather than a dumb, hopeful kid who refused to defend himself, but Sanji couldn't outrun his fate anymore. He should've kept his damn mouth shut instead of asking to stay. Maybe Zeff would've let it all slide if he hadn't continued to push the issue.
The first brush of skin against his wrist had Sanji gritting his teeth, ready to release the knife in hopes that Zeff wouldn't break his goddamn hand. He needed his hands, how else would he cook?
"You're holding it wrong. Move your hand up, and put your thumb like that." Zeff instructed, repositioning his grip on the handle. "Blood'll make your hand slide, holding it this way lessens the chances of cutting yourself."
He looked down at the knife and Zeff's hands guiding him, confusion dousing the fear in seconds. Then the old man tapped his own chest on the left side, somewhere between the second and third rib.
"If someone's coming at you head on like this, aim here. Angle upward and put some force behind it. If you hit the sternum, you could fuck up your wrist."
"I don't-" Sanji swallowed as he stared at the blade, watching how the lights above them glinted across the metal. Nausea rolled through him when he pictured doing exactly what Zeff said. "I don't want to kill anyone."
I don't want to hurt you.
"Then put the knife down." Zeff said, as though it was just that simple. As though Sanji always had the choice to do so, and he just couldn't see it.
It was a testament to how much he trusted Zeff that he did so, placing the knife on the counter behind him even as he stared the old man down. Fear still kept him rooted to the floor, but he raised his chin and steeled his gaze, daring Zeff to do something after his show of good faith.
"Wipe that stupid look off your face. I'm not gonna hurt you, and don't you ever assume that again. Do I look like a scumbag to you?"
He couldn't help how his eyes widened as he stood there silently, basking in the utter sincerity in Zeff's words. Nobody had ever promised him anything like that before. No one but Zeff could say it so angrily and still assure him that he was safe.
Sanji was so tired of waiting for the other shoe to drop. He wanted to believe him so badly that his chest ached with the desire to let down his guard. "Well, I mean you kinda do."
"Shut up, brat. I better not find a single dirty dish tomorrow." Zeff grouched, steering him by his shirt collar towards the sink. He played like he was mad, but Sanji could hear the beginnings of a smile in his voice.
Jamie didn't stay much longer at the Baratie. Not because they were caught, though Sanji supposed being constantly singled out for grueling tasks and chores by Zeff after that night wasn't helping.
He said some flowery shit about needing to expand his horizons, and how life wasn't meant to be lived in one place forever. Sanji wasn't really listening, but he made sure to pack Jamie a boxed lunch before he boarded the passenger ship that had docked at the Baratie for the day.
What was so wrong about wanting to stay still? Sanji was happy at the Baratie. He didn't think there was anything worth leaving for, even his dreams of the All Blue were too fanciful to be chased. He was home, and working as a cook for the rest of his life didn't sound so bad.
Sanji watched the ship sail away with a strange feeling in his gut, something too close to jealousy for comfort. The sea was vast and cerulean blue, waves lapping at the hull of the floating restaurant steadily, and he longed for something he didn't understand.
He finished his cigarette and flicked it into the water, turning away before Jamie's ship was out of sight. Sanji had a place at the Baratie, and his father, who was an angry man but not a cruel one, had said he could stay.
How could he ever ask for more?