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It all started with a slip on the wet kitchen floor. A thud echoed throughout the empty restaurant.
Sanji had been mopping after closing hours, making sure to leave the floor spotless while Zeff worked on the counters. It was quiet and comfortable, routinary, comforting.
The tile became slippery with moisture, and the child’s soles didn’t have enough grip to keep him standing. He slipped backwards, the mop in his hands prevented him from reaching out and softening the blow. His head hit the floor with a loud thud.
The sound made Zeff sick. His stomach twisted at the scream that ripped out of the boy’s mouth.
He ran as fast as his wooden leg allowed him, falling to his knees next to the child. He could feel his chest tighten with worry.
Sanji felt strong arms wrap around his torso and prop him up quickly. A gentle hand settled behind his head, as if soothing the spot that had just slammed against the floor.
The child could feel himself crying, gasping and sobbing. But he couldn’t hear anything but a loud beep.
Zeff’s movements were frantic, desperate. He had never been warm with the boy, never shown a lot of affection, but he felt his heart drop down to his feet the moment he saw the little eggplant slipping.
Sanji felt dazed. His eyes were unfocused and his wails were getting louder.
Zeff didn’t know what to do, so he cradled the child closer, pressed him to his chest and pressed the now-bleeding spot behind his head.
His mind went numb the moment he saw blood staining the golden locks.
In his lifetime of piracy he had seen countless wounds, both in himself and his comrades. He was used to seeing his boots thickly coated in blood, and he had gutted and sliced inimaginable beasts in the open ocean. He was no stranger to blood. He saw his own vitality ooze out of him the moment he decided to cut his own leg.
So why did a little slip cause such a strong reaction?
“Eggplant!” He said, sounding desperate.
The child in his arms barely reacted to his voice.
Worried out of his mind, the older man carried him back to the main bedroom behind the restaurant.
He laid Sanji down on his own bed, not worrying about the blood that would now stain the pillows and sheets. It wasn’t a lot — barely the amount of blood that comes out of a scratch.
The child clung onto his shirt, letting a desperate whine leave his throat, almost begging the older man to not leave him to deal with his pain alone.
Zeff grabbed Sanji’s hand softly, slowly making the boy let go of the fabric.
“It’s okay,” he reassured, “it’s okay, eggplant, I got you.”
And for a man who had been regarded as cruel, he used as much warmth as he could muster.
“I’ll get something to clean ya up, I’ll be back before you know it, okay?”
The child slowly opened his hand, letting go of the fabric. Still crying, quietly now.
Zeff hurried to grab a basin to fill with water and find a clean rag.
As promised, he came back quickly.
Since he knew Sanji he had always been a very independent child. Very low maintenance, barely ever asking for anything aside from mentorship, food and shelter. And though Zeff was making an effort to raise him, it sometimes didn’t feel like a father-son relationship, it sometimes felt like he had a bratty subordinate.
But seeing the small body racking with sobs, seeing the boy reduced to such a state, seeing Sanji so vulnerable and tiny, reminded him that at the end of the day he was merely a kid.
Sanji was a son the sea had given him, and now he needed to prove himself worthy of that gift. Because, even if it would kill him to admit it, he had grown profoundly fond of the boy.
He placed the basin on the nightstand and dampened the rag with clean water. He squeezed the excess moisture out.
“Sit up a little, eggplant,” he was being generous with the pet name, generous with his affection. Tough love wasn’t the way to go, he could’ve asked Sanji to suck it up, to take it like a man, but there was something about the situation that touched a tender fibre in his heart.
Sanji obeyed, still sniffling and hiccupping. Almost choking with tears.
He propped himself up with shaky arms. It really wasn’t all that bad. But Sanji was in a mood, he didn’t want to swallow tears and bounce back like he usually did. He wanted to break down like children often do.
Zeff wiped his face gently with the cold rag and Sanji leaned at the touch. It was so tender, motherly, even. And he couldn’t remember the last time someone tended to him with such care. It was probably Reiju, hurriedly and hidden.
After wiping the tears and snot from his face, Zeff proceeded to press the wet fabric against the back of his skull. The gentle pressure was welcomed.
“You’re gonna get a bump, eggplant,” Zeff sighed, “It was a nasty fall, huh?”
Sanji just sniffed, no answer needed.
Zeff’s eyes were soft, he liked it when he was looked at with fondness, with care, with tenderness. A void he didn’t realise he had was being filled with sweet words and gentle touches. With care.
He wondered if this is what children with parents usually felt like. Safe.
The older man spent long minutes cleaning the blood from Sanji’s hair. It wasn’t a lot, but it was stubborn, and the soft whines that left the boy’s mouth forced his hands to work slowly.
When the hand and the rag left Sanji suddenly panicked. He didn’t know why, but he just couldn’t handle the absence of Zeff’s attentions.
So he started crying again. A childish solution to a childish problem.
“I-it hurts!” He wailed while desperately pressing Zeff’s hand back against his skull. It made it hurt more, but the warmth that emanated from the big hand soothed something much more profound.
Zeff, completely at a loss on what to do to comfort the child, climbed on the bed and sat next to him. He cradled the little body to his chest, gently holding his head, and thought to himself if he should call a medic. What if the kid had a concussion?
Sanji cried for what felt like hours. He cried until his temples throbbed and his voice went hoarse. He cried until his head didn’t hurt anymore. He cried because it meant being held.
Zeff was never loving with him, tough love being more his style. And Sanji couldn’t remember the last time someone held him so gently, he couldn’t remember the last time someone worried about him as much as Zeff did in that moment. So if crying — which he avoided doing — was going to be what got him the tender love every child craves, then so be it.
Sanji’s head didn’t even hurt anymore. Sure the fall looked and sounded ugly — the blood that oozed from the scratch on his scalp was scandalous, making it look way more serious than it really was. But oh did he enjoy the attention.
“Eggplant,” the older man called after Sanji’s cries stopped.
Sanji barely stirred, nuzzling closer to the man he considered his father.
“Can you look at me for a second?”
Sanji hesitated for a few seconds, what if Zeff had realised that at the end he was overexaggerating his pain? Would he be scolded? Would he be called weak or pathetic? Would he be rejected by the only person who had shown him generous acceptance? They were very big questions for a child so young.
He looked up with red eyes, “what do you want?” He feigned annoyance. Maybe going back to being hard headed was the best course of action.
“Can you hear me fine?”
Sanji was confused by the question, “yes?”
“Can you see well?”
That just puzzled him more. He looked around the room, everything seemed normal, “...yes.”
“With both eyes?” There was so much worry in the old man’s voice.
Sanji scoffed, “yes.”
“What’s your name?”
“What the…” Sanji paused, “why the fuck are you asking me all of this you shitty old man?!”
And it was funny really, the fact that the boy was talking with so much hostility, with so much defensiveness, while he was curled against the other man’s chest. He looked so tiny, small, and fragile.
“I need to check if your head is fine, you shitty brat!” Zeff matched his energy and Sanji shrunk further. Though the harsh tone was familiar he was starting to miss the fearful lovingness he had heard mere minutes ago.
“Now, answer me you ungrateful prick, what’s your name?”
Oh how he wished he hadn't spoken like that.
“Sanji!”
He felt the hold the older man had on him start to get loose.
“And where are you?”
“At the Baratie.” He tried to go back to the vulnerable state in which Zeff saw him like a child, but his efforts were futile.
“You’re fine as rain, Eggplant,” there was relief in his words, “all that drama for a little fall,” Zeff scoffed, “go to your room if you’re better now.”
No! No! No! No! No! No!
Sanji wanted to stay there! Sanji wanted him to keep on stroking his hair and wiping his tears and asking him dumb questions! He didn’t want to be alone!
But he also didn’t want to be weak. So with one last sniff he walked to his room, where he spent the night crying miserably, muffled by his pillow.
Maybe if he falls again…
***
Days passed and nothing changed between Zeff and Sanji.
And though nothing was seemingly off, the eight year old found himself craving for the care he had so briefly received. He was starting to get desperate.
He put a plan in action. It all started with minor cuts and clumsy falls. The cuts were dressed and the falls were barely addressed. But they became so regular Zeff started to get suspicious, Sanji was never this clumsy.
Alarms started going off in the older man’s head.
“What is up with you this week?” Zeff asked after the fourth Band-Aid placed on the boy’s hands, “how many times do I have to tell you to take care of your fucking hands! Huh? Do you not want to become a cook?”
Being scolded was the exact opposite of what Sanji was trying to achieve.
“I am a cook!” He reproached in a petulant tone.
“You’re a brat! Nothing more than a chore boy! That’s what you are! Don’t let me catch you being careless with your hands again or you’ll be off the kitchen, you can spend your life waiting tables for all I care.” He emphasised his words with a blunt hit to the centre of the child’s head, not enough to hurt him, just to get the message across.
Sanji was red in the face with anger, maybe even embarrassment.
Zeff watched as he stormed back to his station after being scolded. That should do it, he thought.
More days passed and the child was back to normal, eager to learn and careful, having nothing more than the usual clumsiness of a person his age. That gave Zeff peace of mind. He didn’t know what had gotten into the boy, but he was relieved that whatever it was he had snapped out of it.
While Zeff thought the problem was solved, Sanji was scheming a whole new technique. Clearly, thought out tripping and nicks with kitchen knives and peelers weren't going to cut it. If he wanted to relive what had happened that night he was going to need something bigger. Perhaps another scary fall, or some sickness, he could probably find something to make him sick in a restaurant so big.
But Sanji was only a child, and children, despite their boldness, are also filled with fear. So the idea of eating something that would make him ill was scratched.
So it had to be a fall. He was good at handling pain, he was good at bouncing back. Just a fall, a scary one, maybe another hit to the head, or a sprained ankle, or a bruised side – just something minor, something that would make Zeff care, but not permanently hurt Sanji. Yes. A fall. A fall it is.
He waited until closing time, almost vibrating with anticipation, everything was carefully thought out. Sanji had always been good at scheming.
There was a spiral staircase at the centre of the main room in the restaurant, it was perfect.
Once Zeff called for cleaning duty Sanji immediately made a run for the broom, “I’ll clean the staircase!” He screamed out excitedly.
It was sick, really, how badly he wanted to be held. To be cradled and rocked. To be childishly loved.
He felt a certain shame – as if desiring it was wrong. As if it was whim he shouldn’t even entertain the thought of. But his judgement was clouded by the memories of the feeling he had experienced previously.
Zeff watched the boy run across the restaurant to the stairs. There was something wrong. There was something off about the boy.
The child started sweeping step by step, going higher and higher, hurriedly getting rid of the dust. A lot of things could be said about the kid, but if something Zeff was certain of is that he never did a mediocre job. So what in God’s green earth was going on?
Call it pirate experience, call it fatherly instinct, call it a gut feeling, call it a hunch. But Zeff was certain there was something so wrong with Sanji.
He walked to the main room, his limping worsened at the speed he was moving.
From below the stairs he could see the small body around seven steps up. He could see the stuttering of Sanji’s feet. The shy attempt to miss a step. The nervous tapping of rubber soles against wood.
Was Sanji trying to fall on purpose?
Something similar to anger rose up his throat and came out as a yell. “Don’t you fucking dare, Sanji!”
His voice boomed across the empty restaurant and Sanji froze in place.
“Come down here this instant!” Zeff could feel his heart beat against his ribcage. Hammering his lungs and rattling his bones. What was that idiot thinking?!
Sanji remained frozen for a few seconds, with his eyes blown wide and his skin pale. He had been caught.
He walked down the stairs slowly, with his gaze lowered and the broom in hand.
“What in the world were you thinking boy!?” Zeff yelled exasperated.
Sanji only looked down to his feet, suddenly feeling stupid.
At the lack of response Zeff grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him, “answer me!”
“I-I’m sorry!” The boy said with a shaky voice, tears of shame threatening to fall from his eyes.
“What has gotten into you?!” He gripped Sanji’s shoulders tighter and the child shrunk onto himself. “First you act as if you’ve never used a knife before in your life! Then you have all those stupid stumbles, and now you want to throw yourself down a flight of stairs?!” He continued, “are you fucking stupid?!”
Tears finally fell — the scolding and the rough touches weren’t out of the ordinary, he could take them, he was good at taking them. The tears were shameful, they were of regret. But there was a touch longing for something that was probably never going to happen.
“I’m sorry!” He repeated, as if it was the only thing he knew how to say.
“Why would you do something like that?!” His voice was still raised, it still made Sanji want to disappear, “are you that unhappy here?” Zeff finally asked.
The question caught Sanji off guard, “what?! No! I— I’m not— I’m not unhappy here!” He said, and it almost sounded like a confession. Did Zeff think he was unhappy with him? If Sanji was honest, he had never been happier anywhere else.
“Then why?!”
The grip on his shoulders started to hurt. And Sanji didn’t know if he could admit to the reasoning behind his actions.
So he just looked down and quietly cried. The image of his shoes was blurred with tears that clung to his eyelashes.
Zeff sighed, anger melting away. He pulled the child closer, into something that resembled a hug.
Sanji gripped his shirt tightly as he cried.
“Come on, Eggplant, I’ll make us some tea,” he said with a softer tone of voice that only seemed to make the boy cry harder.
They sat at the small living space that was built into the restaurant. There was a dinner table that was used only by them on sparse occasions.
Sanji grabbed his cup of tea with two hands, letting the warmth of the porcelain heat up the skin of his palms.
He watched the liquid in the cup, as an excuse to not look the other man in the eye. In some way it felt like he had failed him.
“Now, eggplant, will you tell me what you were thinking?” It was obvious to anyone that the man was making an effort to be soft.
Sanji sighed, there was no escape.
“I… I thought…” he started.
Zeff hummed as a way to encourage the boy to continue talking.
“The other night when I fell… you— you…”
“Yes?” He prompted.
“You were… kind… to me,” Sanji’s voice was quiet, so very quiet, it was almost hard to hear, “so I thought— maybe if I— If I fell again then you would…” the boy sniffed, “I was being stupid, I’m sorry.”
Tears fell down the boy’s cheeks again.
Something hard stabbed Zeff’s chest at that moment. A dagger of guilt, maybe, or the blunt blade of realisation. Sanji only wanted a parent — he wanted what every child would, yet Zeff hadn’t given even a single crumb to him.
It was heartbreaking to see him go to such lengths only to feel the touch of a wet rag and a hand on his back. Only to sit on a bigger lap and enjoy the comfort of human closeness.
Zeff was a terrible parent. He knew that much.
“Eggplant,” the pet name was back. The man took a deep breath, “you don’t need to be injured for me to look after you, that’s— that’s not right,” he explained.
Sanji looked at him intently, with his cheeks red and his eyes teary.
“Please don’t ever pull anything like this again, understood?”
Sanji merely nodded, wiping at his face with the sleeve of his shirt.
Zeff grabbed a napkin from the table, “you’re gonna mess up your shirt if you keep on wiping your face with it,” he scolded while gently cleaning the boy’s tears with the soft paper, “there you go.”
There was a ghost of a smile on Sanji’s face.
Zeff knew there were a lot of things he couldn’t change about himself. But trying for the sake of the son the sea had gifted him was more than worth it. Only god knew how much that child had gone through, he didn’t want to be another one of the reasons for his misery.
“I was thinking about reading a bit tonight, do you want to join me?” Zeff asked.
And so they spent the evening curled up on an armchair, with the child neatly tucked in Zeff’s side while the older man read stories of mythical lands and beautiful landscapes out loud.
Sanji fell asleep a few pages in, nuzzling closer to his father’s chest. The poor boy was probably emotionally exhausted.
It didn’t take long for the old man to lose the battle against Morpheus as well.