Chapter Text
Sanji
The concept of soulmates was not unfamiliar to Sanji. In the short time his mother was alive, she would read him bedtime stories of princesses and their destined knights in shining armor. She explained to him the intricate strings that Fate weaves between people, the subconscious gravitational pull between soulmates. One day, she promised, Sanji would find his soulmate, and that they would love him through thick and thin, no matter what.
Of course that dream was put to sleep the day she died.
For years he didn’t dare hope for a soulmate. Him and his siblings were genetically engineered— and how could they be super soldiers if they had an emotional calling like a soulmate? It wasn’t something Vinsmoke Judge could control, so his children were made to be born without one. Just one more thing to make Sanji less-than. He wasn’t strong like his siblings, but now no one would ever love him like his mother had promised.
At least, that’s what Sanji had assumed.
It wasn't until years later that he would finally allow himself to dream of being loved.
***
Thunder clapped while streaks of lightning sparked across the grey sky. Cooks and waiters alike scurried all over the Baratie, abiding by chef Zeff’s barked orders. Grabbing outside tables and hauling them inside, raising the anchor, tying down anything that could turn into a hazard should it go flying through the air, the entire ship was a flurry of chaos and movement amidst the harsh storm.
Sanji was still too small to pick up entire tables by himself – he wasn’t strong enough to raise the anchor, nor tall enough to tape shut the top shelf cabinets – yet he refused to sit still doing nothing while everyone else was helping. All of which led to twelve-year-old Sanji standing at the highest peak of the Baratie, reaching for the ship’s flag that he was determined to bring inside. An identical flag had already gone missing in a previous storm, and he figured this was an easy enough task – it was out of the way of foot traffic and not something an adult-sized person could do easily, given the delicate wooden structure would break under too much weight.
Rain pelted Sanji’s face, cold and harsh. His blonde hair and clothes were plastered to him like a second skin making it difficult to see, but he squinted his eyes and raised on his tip-toes, leaning forward to grasp the ship’s flag.
Zeff grumbled as he stood watching his stupid kid climbing to get the ship’s flag. He looked like a wet rat up there. Maybe a sopping wet kitten.
“Leave it,” he had told the boy not even five minutes ago. Of course, that scrawny bastard hardly listened to him anyway.
Just as the boy pulled the flag off its pole, Zeff watched as the momentum from the action kept carrying the boy back, the slick wood at his feet providing no friction. Oh shit. Eggplant was falling. A stomach-turning thump was all it took to snap Zeff out of his frozen shock. Without a second thought, the old man shoved his way through the crowd of men that had already gathered to check on the boy. Several chefs had dropped what they were doing to try and help, but were unsure how to approach the notoriously feisty pre-teen.
As Sanji came into sight Zeff took stock of the boy quickly, the blonde was sat up, no blood on the deck – which was good – he was facing away from him and slightly hunched over, his right hand cradling his left arm – which was not so good. Zeff was worried as he analyzed Sanji, sure, but he also knew his boy was tough. He had already survived more than most children his age. Hell, he probably had to endure more hardships already than some grown adults would ever have to live through.
Then, all of a sudden, Sanji gasped out in pain. He rolled onto his side, curled up in the fetal position, still cradling his arm, and he started crying. Loudly.
Zeff’s face paled.
Ever since getting off that hellhole of a rock, Zeff had rarely seen Sanji cry — except for nightmares — but even then, as he grew, the boy’s tears became less and less frequent. The kid was tough as nails, giving just as much shit as he took from the adults in the kitchen. Not so much as flinching when he accidentally cut himself while mincing vegetables, hardly batting an eye when he got his finger slammed while closing an oven. So, seeing his boy curled into a ball and crying in front of the other cooks sent icy fear through him.
“Carne! Patty!” Zeff bellowed over the howling wind. Instantly the two chefs came running to his side, the crowd parting to let them through. “Make sure the rest of the storm checklist is completed and that someone’s at the helm. I don’t care which of you does what job, just get it done!” he barked.
“Yes, Chef Zeff!” The two men chimed in sync, instantly running off to start their tasks.
Zeff couldn’t help but be reminded of just how small and young Sanji still was when as he crouched to pick up the boy and cradled him to his chest. (He noticed his bones still protruded at his elbows and knees a bit obviously. Maybe Sanji was just built a little lean, but Zeff couldn’t help but worry he wasn’t feeding the kid enough. But that was a worry for later.)
“The rest of ya quit gawking and get back to work or I’ll kick yer sorry asses,” Zeff snapped at the remaining men, who quickly dispersed with half-mumbled apologies and scattered 'yessirs'.
Carrying Sanji up to his room was a quiet affair, the boy still softly weeping against him, shaking lightly. The only sounds following the pair being the drip-dropof water falling from their clothes to the wooden floors and the creaking of the stairs as Zeff climbed them. The raging sound of the storm was still present, but muffled and distant.
After placing Sanji onto his bed, Zeff watched as the kid hurriedly attempted to wipe away his tears and runny nose with a drenched sleeve.
“That’s not doin’ anything, Eggplant,” Zeff said dryly, grabbing a towel from the boy’s closet and tossing it at him. Sanji caught the towel and dried his face, pouting petulantly when he finished.
“I’m not a baby, old man,” he sniffed wetly. “I didn’t need you to carry me inside.”
“Then what was all that cryin’ out there for, eh?”
Sanji’s face burned red and he shrunk into himself. “I didn’t mean to…”
Internally Zeff wanted to kick himself. Sometimes the kid would flinch away when he reached out to him, sometimes Zeff found him curled up in his closet after nightmares muttering apologies to no one, sometimes Sanji would freeze up and shake when Zeff went too far teasing him. It became obvious over time that the kid had been fucked up long before Zeff came along, and he hated having to imagine what he must've been through prior to meeting him. His Sanji didn't cower like that -- he bit back, all snark, and was always somehow too cocky for a brat his age. Seeing his usually confident kid curling in to himself, apologizing for what-- crying? After falling from the top of the building? That wouldn't do.
Crouching down to Sanji’s level in front of him, Zeff flicked him between the eyes in what he hoped was a playful gesture. “I’m not mad about you cryin’, kid,” he explained. “But you should’ve listened to me about that damned flag.” Zeff frowned as he recalled watching the boy fall. “I told you it was fine as it was.”
Guiltily, Sanji unfurled his arms and presented the blue flag to Zeff. “Whatever,” he grumbled, slowly sitting up straight again. He shrugged nonchalantly. “Just take the shitty flag.”
Zeff couldn’t help the small tug of a smile on his face as he took the offered flag. Well… the kid did probably save him having to buy a new one.
“Alright then,” Zeff clapped his hands together after folding the flag and putting it aside. “Shirt off.” He motioned for Sanji to start taking off the article of clothing.
Glaring, Sanji unbuttoned his shirt and threw the wet fabric at Zeff in protest. The man’s quick reflexes were the only reason he was able to catch it before it slapped him in the face.
“Where’s it hurt, Eggplant?” Zeff asked, letting the wet shirt splat onto the ground, ignoring the attack entirely.
“I told you I’m fine, you old geezer!” Sanji squirmed as Zeff grabbed his shoulders and pushed him back slightly, scanning his chest for any injuries. “The fall didn’t even hurt. Let go!”
Zeff didn’t notice any obvious signs of broken bones. No bruises or cuts. He looked closer at the arm the boy was clutching, still finding nothing. Finally, he leaned over to peer at the boy’s back, and to his surprise there was in fact something different about it. Instead of a bruise or cut like he had expected, Zeff noted the dark black ink sprawled across Sanji’s left shoulder blade. The blonde man barked a laugh, mood instantly lifting, and he turned Sanji around forcefully to get a better look.
“Well, look at that, Eggplant,” he mused while Sanji continued to struggle and attempt to break free from his hold. “You’re becoming a man,” Zeff tapped a finger against the boy’s shoulder blade. Immediately, Sanji gave up trying to break free and instead looked like he was trying to break his neck with how violently he was turning his head to try and see what his father was talking about.
“What are you going on about,” he squawked, shoulders tensing and brow furrowing.
Helping him stand, Zeff guided him to the mirror in his room, positioning Sanji’s back to face it and moving out of the way. Turning Sanji’s head, guiding him to look where he was pointing. “That’s a soulmark, right there,” Zeff grinned. “No wonder you were cryin’. Hurts like a bitch when they show up.”
Sanji’s eyes turned as wide as saucers, jaw dropping. “What,” he said intelligently, blinking slowly at the mirror. "A soulmark?" he echoed.
An affirmative hum is all it took to reset the boy's brain and he started vibrating in excitement. “What’s it say, what’s it say?”
Zeff returned to Sanji’s back, squinting as he leaned closer to read the fine, if a little messy, text. “Let’s see… It says ‘This reminded me of you.’”
Grinning wildly, Sanji continued to attempt looking over his shoulder, spinning around in his effort, reminding Zeff of a dog chasing its own tail. “Really? Ohhh a lady’s going to see something and think of me and be my soulmate! I wonder what reminded her of me? I wonder what she’s like…”
Zeff chuckled and decided to let the boy enjoy himself for at least a little bit longer before he inevitably teased him about it later.
Zoro
In opposite fashion, Zoro had never cared much for soulmates. He had no parents to lovingly tell the story of how they found each other, of how they knew they were meant for one another. And anyway, why should something completely out of his control pre-determine his future? It was a dumb and stupid concept. The only real knowledge he had of the subject had been explained to him the day his soulmark appeared on his body.
***
Brown, yellow, and orange leaves fell to the ground with the encouragement of a crisp autumn breeze. Zoro didn’t understand how Kuina could see with her jet black bangs all blown into her face like that. They were sparring – as usual – practice swords drawn: Kuina, holding one, and Zoro, his two. She had handed his ass to him more than four times now and barely seemed to be breaking a sweat. The only sign she was indeed affected by their sparring was the sound of her panting in exhaustion with Zoro as they circled around each other once more.
Lifting his arms into an attacking stance and planting his feet steadily, Zoro prepared to lunge when all of a sudden, a sharp pain shot through his right palm and he cried out.
“At least wait until after I beat you to cry,” Kuina taunted, not unused to the sight of tears of frustration, but instead of responding Zoro merely dropped both of his weapons and collapsed to his knees, clutching his left hand in his right. “Zoro?” Kuina’s tone shifted.“Hey, what’s wrong?” Zoro always saw his fights through to the end, something must have really been wrong for him to drop his swords like that.
Crouching down next to Zoro, Kuina placed a hand on his shoulder. “What happened, moron?” she tried to revert to their usual banter, but the concerned lilt to her question betrayed her worry.
Zoro sniffed grossly, trying to reign in the tears and snot that gathered from the sharp pain. He couldn’t speak, a sob finally leaving him when he tried. Tears fell and he couldn’t stop clenching his left hand as it burned in pain. He gritted his teeth, sucking air in and out, sounding like it was hurting him just doing that.
A few minutes later, after Zoro had cried himself empty, his sobs became mere hiccuping breaths and sniffles, the worst of his pain gone now.
Kuina had gone to get Zoro some water and by the time she returned Zoro wasn’t actively crying anymore. Tear tracks still stained his blotchy-red face and his nose was runny but he seemed okay. The dark-haired girl sat down beside her green-haired rival and placed a small cup of water next to him. “Feel better?” she asked, watching as Zoro took the cup and gulped down the contents of the glass, making way too much noise and spilling water down his chin. Kuina's face curled mildly in disgust. Gross.
“Yeah,” Zoro grunted, honestly mortified by the whole ordeal. He started to wipe at his face with his sleeves, mixing water, tears, and snot into the fabric. Kuina cringed again but held her tongue.
After Zoro seemed satisfied with the state of his face, Kuina finally repeated her question: “What even happened?” She searched Zoro's face for some type of clue. “Did a bug bite you or something?”
“I don’t know,” Zoro shrugged. “It felt like my hand was being stabbed over and over, though.” He lifted up the offending hand and softly began to unclench the fist it had tightened into against his will. And there, right in the center of his palm were the words, “I’ll always come find you, dumb bastard.”
Each letter was swirled together as if they couldn't bare to part from one another. Luckily the cursive words were still easily legible to the budding swordsman (who wasn't much of a fan of reading and writing to begin with). The skin surrounding the dark black words was red and raw.
Kuina gasped as Zoro brought his hand up to his face to examine it closer and she realized what it was.
“What the hell? I didn’t write that!” Zoro exclaimed, confused.
“Zoro, you idiot,” Kuina karate chopped Zoro’s head. “That’s a soulmark!”
The boy couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow skeptically. “A soulmark…?” He had heard the older kids in the dojo talking and giggling about them before, but the topic had never interested him.
His friend nodded vigorously in response. “Those are the words your soulmate will say when you fall in love with them.” Kuina giggled, sounding much more girl-ish than Zoro had ever heard her before.
“Then why are they calling me a dumb bastard?” Zoro pouted, brow furrowed.
Kuina couldn’t help but snort out a laugh, this was just too good. “Maybe you’ll end up loving being called that,” she teased, poking his cheek repeatedly.
Zoro shoved at her playfully, “Whatever. Let’s get back to sparring. I was just about to kick your ass!”
Laughing, Kuina stood to her full height and brandished her sword gracefully. “Alright, fine. If you’re so desperate for me to pummel you again, I will.”
Racing each other down a grassy hill, Zoro and Kuina continued sparring. The young boy would proceed to get his ass kicked another seven times before calling it a day.