Chapter Text
Sanji was on waiter duty again, in trouble for mouthing off to his dad instead of being the good line cook he was supposed to be. In all honesty, this felt like a bit of a break. The kitchen was always a chaotic mess no matter how busy they were. The dining room, however, was quiet and peaceful. There were hardly any customers to serve in the first place. It was 10pm on a Tuesday, and The Baratie was doing poorly.
After giving a small family their check, Sanji only had two tables left in the otherwise empty restaurant. A young couple, who’s better half was quite attractive, and a kid Sanji’s age, with his bright-haired, surly friend.
There were times when a slow night was relaxing to work, but not recently. Now every slow night meant Sanji’s dad stressing about bills and hiding it, struggling to pay rent on the building, struggling to keep his usual gruff face on, to hide his much more small and stressed and vulnerable face underneath.
Sanji tried to stay focused on his work, even as he grumbled about being demoted to waiter again. It was difficult, though- in the kitchen, as their work had slowed, the cooks had crowded around a laptop to watch a hockey game. The game’s announcer and the small men skating around their small screen struck Sanji with a horrible mix of guilt and jealousy and melancholy. In truth, every moment that Sanji wasn’t cooking, he was thinking about hockey and his season as it had ended and, he supposed, his chance at a hockey career as it had ended. Not that that was ever a real possibility- Sanji showed promise, sure, but he couldn’t keep up with the star players on any given team. He just didn’t have what they had, he supposed.
He tried to push the thought out of his mind as he walked back and forth from the kitchen to the dining room and filled people’s waters and listened to the kid his age butcher the French language as he ordered. It wouldn’t help him now to dwell.
The slow night was coming to a close. Sanji dropped the check at one of the tables, leaving only the pretty couple behind, and he walked back into the kitchen. He grabbed a plate one of the chefs had put out for employee dinner, stood against a table near the back, and ate.
“You feelin’ alright?” One of the cooks- Patty- asked, rubbing Sanji’s hair condescendingly. Sanji lifted his hand from his plate to push him off.
“Fine,” Sanji responded.
“You don’t seem fine,” Patty responded. “You’re goddamn gloomy, kid.”
“Just tired,” Sanji said, not looking at Patty, not thinking about hockey, just focusing on eating.
Patty stood for another few seconds before shrugging and moving on, returning to the rest of the cooks to watch their game and join the noise. Even when watching something together, the cooks found a way to become a loud bunch of gossips. They ranged from quietly watching their screen to loudly yelling about someone’s new girlfriend or Carne’s annoying neighbor or whatever else was new.
Sanji was so focused on staring at the floor and eating and ignoring the conversation that he hardly noticed the cooks quieting down, shuffling around awkwardly by the kitchen door, making confused comments, moving to the side to make way for an uninvited guest. Sanji didn’t notice anything was out of the ordinary until there was an intruder standing right in front of him, cornering him at the back of the kitchen. Sanji glanced up, startled to see the kid his age that he had just served, standing with an aloof grin, and his surly friend, standing expectantly in the middle of the Baratie kitchen. Sanji put his plate down quickly, trying to switch back into waiter mode as smoothly as possible.
“Gentlemen, the exit is the other way-“
“Sanji Prince, right?” The kid asked.
Sanji tensed at the mention of his full name. Staring in the kids face, at his wide eyes and black hair and odd scar on his cheek, Sanji was starting to get the eerie feeling that he had seen the guy before. He glanced at the other man, who’s artificial bright green hair didn’t match his disagreeable glare and intimidating posture. Sanji opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off again.
“I’m Luffy.” The kid held out his hand for Sanji to shake it. Sanji did, perhaps out of an innate need to conform to polite etiquette, perhaps out of intimidation.
“You played for the Raiders in the USHL from ages sixteen to nineteen, staying on a year after you graduated high school,” Luffy announced, as though Sanji didn’t know, as though it was not extremely weird to tell someone their own sports history to their face. “You ended your run just this spring.”
Sanji’s mind was working quickly, trying to solve two mysteries at once- how did this kid know his name, and who he was, and what team he’d played for until just recently? And, why did Sanji feel like he’d heard the name Luffy before? He also briefly found time to wonder, who in their right mind would stalk him?
Sanji heard a door creak open, the door to his dad’s office, as his father assessed the scene, stepped forward like he was about to say something from the back of the small crowd, and stopped as Luffy began talking again.
“You were also offered an athletic scholarship to Grand Line University,” Luffy added. It didn’t escape Sanji’s notice that the cooks had not-so-subtly paused their game and turned around to watch the scene. “You didn’t take the scholarship. You let the deadline pass. I want you to reconsider.”
Sanji glanced around. The look on his dad’s face told him that he’d definitely heard that last part. Merde. J’ai des ennuis maintenant.
Sanji finally realized that these two must be from the school. Thinking back, he’d definitely heard the name Luffy- yes, that’s right, Sanji realized. This guy was only a freshman this year and was already named team captain of the university’s prestigious ice hockey team for next year. Looking at the bright-haired one, he recalled, the goalie, he’s the goalie. C’est lui qui ressamble à une boule de mousse.
Sanji’s fear of stalking faded, letting in frustration in its stead. “What the hell do you guys want?” Sanji finally asked, standing up a bit from the table he’d been leaning against. He was taller than both of them, but he didn’t feel it.
“I waited a few days to see if you’d just accept the offer late,” Luffy said. If he was put off by Sanji’s attempt at intimidation, he didn’t show it. He had the relaxed grin of someone who knew he was supposed to be here. “The school is a bit more lenient than they like to act with those deadlines.” Luffy laughed. “But you didn’t accept. You didn’t sign to another school did you? Coach said you were only considering us.”
Sanji tapped his foot in frustration. “Do I really need to be any more clear than ignoring you? Can you two leave now?” He tried not to look at his dad’s face, or the cooks’ faces, he tried to stand up straight and ward the two off.
“It’s okay that it’s late.” Luffy shrugged, seemingly ignoring what Sanji had said. “Coach can pull some strings to get your late acceptance in. You’ve seen our record. You’ve probably seen our season. You know we’re good. Zoro, can I have-“
Luffy turned as the angry-looking green haired one handed him a folder, which Luffy passed on to Sanji. Sanji opened it up. There were some pamphlets with school information, which Sanji had already seen much of since applying. A copy of the student athlete’s contract, surely an unofficial one, so that Sanji could look it over. A copy of the scholarship offer he’d already been sent. A business card with the coach’s number, a slip of paper with Luffy’s number, and finally, a cash tip for the meal.
Sanji stared at the items, his mouth hanging open. He felt his hands start sweating as he slowly flipped through the papers, feeling the eyes of the intruders on him, feeling the eyes of the whole kitchen on him, feeling the eyes of his father on him.
“I… my answer was no,” Sanji finally said, looking up at Luffy, who still refused to look defeated.
“I know,” Luffy finally admitted, “but I want you on my team.”
Sanji felt an odd gravity to Luffy’s words. Perhaps it was the fact that he’d cornered him in his workplace, perhaps it was the frightening confidence he held, perhaps it was the fact that Sanji did want to join this team, so so terribly, and Luffy spoke like he already knew that. Sanji looked down at the floor of the kitchen.
“Why?” He finally asked. Luffy took no time to answer.
“You’re quick,” Luffy said.
The answer surprised Sanji, not because it was untrue, but because he was so sure he was a mediocre player aside from his speed that he was shocked anyone would bother to seek him out like this.
“Just think it over,” Luffy said. “Call coach. Oh, and also you live kinda far, and the dorms are pretty expensive. You aren’t required to stay in them at all, and we’ve got a room you can use. It’ll be a lot cheaper, so that’s one more worry off your chest.”
Luffy motioned at his friend, Zoro, as he spoke, who looked less than pleased to have this room offered up. It wasn’t exactly an enticing advertisement for the housing situation.
“Was there anything you wanted to add?” Luffy looked to Zoro for some addition. Zoro stared at Sanji again with his angry glare. He took a deep breath as he spoke, loud in the relative quiet of the kitchen around him.
“Yeah,” he said. “You have, like, sauce on your face, here.” Zoro pointed right above his own eyebrow to demonstrate. “Makes it look like your eyebrow is curling up. Makes you look like a cartoon villain.”
Sanji’s hand darted to his forehead, finding a little spot of sauce. How long has that been there? He thought. Aussi, c’est quoi ce bordel?
Luffy nodded as though Zoro had added some insightful commentary. A few of the cooks snickered as Sanji wiped his brow.
“You boys done?” His father’s voice, deep and rough, startled the two as he spoke from behind them.
“Yep,” Luffy responded cheerfully.
“Coach’s number is in there?” His dad followed up.
“Yep.”
His dad nodded slowly, then jerked his thumb towards the kitchen exit. “Just leave out here, then.”
Luffy started whistling as he walked towards the door, and Zoro followed closely behind. The door didn’t even slam shut before Sanji’s dad spoke again, and Sanji knew it was serious because his dad started speaking in French.
“Let me see that,” his dad insisted, holding his hand out expectantly. Someone in the kitchen clicked their teeth.
“Sanji’s in trouble…” Patty whispered mockingly, and a few of the guys around him laughed. Sanji’s face turned red.
“No,” Sanji insisted. “I already made my choice about this.” He began to walk back towards the dining room, still holding his folder, prepared to give the very last patrons their check and end this stupid night.
“You said that they hadn’t offered a scholarship,” his dad responded, his voice loud and rough, echoing across the kitchen. “Now, I’m going to ask you a question, and I want you to be very fucking careful about how you answer- did you lie to me about the acceptance?”
Sanji ignored him as he opened the door to walk back out to the young couple. He kept the folder tucked under his arm, so that it drew no attention.
“I hope you two enjoyed your meal,” Sanji said, smiling, winking at the woman across the table as he left them their check.
He turned around, hesitating for only a moment. He certainly didn’t want to walk back into the kitchen, but he didn’t exactly have places to go outside. He sighed.
His dad was standing in front of him as soon as he opened the kitchen doors. Sanji rolled his eyes and tried to push past him.
“Answer me, boy!” his dad demanded.
“The customers will hear you,” Sanji said in English, in a somewhat mocking tone, hoping the other guys in the kitchen might agree with him, even as a joke.
“Why did you say no? I have been watching you play hockey at a national level for years and you turn around and rejected the first opportunity that shows up!”
Sanji opened the metal back door up as he stepped into the parking lot. He was half expecting the two guys to be waiting for him there, stalking him from the shadows. He took a deep breath and relaxed his shoulders as he saw the lot was empty. The April air was getting warmer as spring moved in, and there was a pleasant smell on the breeze. His shoulders tensed back up again as he heard the door open behind him. I need a cigarette, he thought.
“Do not ignore me when I’m talking to you!” His dad boomed from behind him. In truth, his father was hardly yelling- he was one of those guys who only knew how to project his voice. A side effect of working for so long in a busy kitchen.
“I stayed for you!” Sanji finally responded. “Are you happy? The scholarship doesn’t matter! It didn’t cover everything! I’m just not good enough for that! How would you have covered books, or meals, or dorms?”
Sanji saw he had hurt his dad. He knew that, even as they struggled, his dad tried to give him as much as he possibly could. His dads face grew angrier as he opened his mouth to speak.
“‘Not good enough for that?’” His dad yelled. Sanji was a bit surprised at what part of his sentence his dad had latched onto. “Do you think I don’t know my own son’s talent? Do you think I didn’t see my own son’s games? Do you think I don’t know that you’ve snuck off to the rink every chance you’ve gotten since quitting that team, to practice a sport you pretend you’ve lost interest in?”
Sanji rolled his eyes. “You’re my dad. Of course you think that I’m good. The goddamn school isn’t going to give me more money just because my dad believes in me.”
“They tracked you down after you ignored them!” His dad yelled back. “They’re trying to give you a second chance! They’re pulling strings to let you accept a scholarship they should already be handing off to some other kid! How does that speak to anything other than seeing your talent?”
Sanji was becoming aware that some of the cooks had cracked open the metal back door to listen in on the conversation. None of them spoke much French, but they could read the body language, and even the echoes of an argument would give them something to talk about for a few days. He tried to ignore them as he turned back towards his dad.
“The school didn’t track me down. Some kid and his punk friend did. I doubt that their coach even knows they came here. How am I meant to take any of this seriously?”
His dad made a grab at the folder, and this time Sanji let him take it. He opened it up, thumbing through the pages left behind, handing Sanji the cash tip.
“We can call coach tomorrow. If it’s too good to be true, fine. But we will call and check anyway.”
Sanji’s jaw tightened. He couldn’t tell if his dad was deliberately ignoring the money thing or not, but it was getting to a point of delusion.
“And how will you pay for part of the tuition, much less books, or food, or extra help here?” Sanji finally yelled back. “The Baratie is failing! How many customers did we have tonight? Eight? Nine? You can’t run this place and send me to school. You could hardly run it when I was playing.”
Sanji’s dad ignored him, his eyes scanning the pages.
”Why do you think I stayed an extra year with the Raiders before I even thought of applying? It was to help you! It was for the Baratie!”
His father was quiet while his eyes scanned the scholarship details.
“I’m happy to be a chef,” Sanji pleaded. “Hockey isn’t the only thing I love. I want to be a chef, too. I can stay here and cook. I’m not throwing away a happy life.”
Finally, his dad looked up at him.
“You can be a cook when you’re old,” he said, his raspy voice quieter. “But you will only be young once.”
Sanji’s lip was stiff. He looked around their parking lot, at the trees out back that were struggling to push out new leaves, at the streetlamps that were inconsistently on and off, at the empty parking spaces. “I’m an adult,” he tried in a last-ditch effort. “I don’t have to sign anything.”
His dad finally handed the folder to Sanji. “You’re calling the coach tomorrow. If you would like to spend the rest of your youth sitting depressed at home and working at your old man’s failing restaurant, then you can tell that to his face.”