Sanji was lounging at a secluded table tucked in the farthest corner of the kitchen, smoke curling lazily from the cigarette between his fingers. The kitchen was quiet now that the evening rush had ended. Sanji let his gaze wander until the double doors swung open, spilling warm light into the dim room. You stumbled in, looking like a deer in headlights as your eyes scanned the kitchen.

“Lost, love?” Sanji’s murmuring British accent cut through the ambience, drawing your attention.

He studied you with idle curiosity, lips curling into a wry smile of recognition. Of course, he remembered you. Pretty little thing, sitting at a booth earlier that night with chore boy and his crew. That’s probably who you were looking for. Sanji chuckled softly and took a leisurely drag from his cigarette, the cherry illuminating his dimpled smile.

Chore boy. Luffy. That was the name Zeff had practically growled when the pirate captain sauntered in, smug as you please, and ate like a king with no Berries to pay. The head chef didn’t take kindly to freeloaders, and he’d promptly sentenced Luffy to dish duty for the night.

“Chore boy- Sorry, Luffy took off,” Sanji explained as his eyes flickered to the towering stacks of dirty dishes in the sink.

“But he isn’t finished for the night. Stick around for a bit, hm? I’m sure he’ll be back soon. Zeff won’t let him off the hook that easily.”

He gestured with two fingers to the empty chair across the table, his cigarette hanging loosely between them.

“Sit,” he ordered gently.