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Sanji clings to the bars of his cell, fingers wrapped around the cold iron. He can’t see much, in the dark. But he can smell.
He knows there must be other prisoners, their scents intermingling with the musty air. They never get fed, never make a sound. It smells like rot down here, from the moist walls to the flat mattress and frayed blanket he was provided with. He sniffs through the mucus in his nose from crying, and cringes.
He wonders what his scent will be. It’s formed by one’s childhood environment, from birth to about ten years old. Like a chameleon, a child’s body will adapt to their surroundings until they’re indistinguishable from the smells around them.
Sanji is scentless right now, but surely he won’t smell like this in the future, right? Nor the lab he visited countless times, the result of desperate attempts by father to make him less of a failure. Maybe he’ll smell like his mom, but her room always smelled like medicine anyway, and he can’t…he can’t remember what her scent was.
A fresh wave of tears carve down his face over the dried tear tracks of the past week. He wishes he could wipe them off, and never cry again.
***
“Hey Owner! These onions are rotten!” Patty shouts unnecessarily loudly from next to where Sanji is spying on him in the kitchen.
He’s still nervous around the two men who joined them the other day. He definitely had not hidden behind Zeff’s leg when meeting them, he’d just kept his distance, that’s all. Zeff hadn’t commented on it, but still made it clear that these two were here to stay, and Sanji knew he’d need to get over his hesitation if he was going to work with them soon.
“They’re not. Ignore the smell.” Zeff says gruffly, fileting a red snapper at another counter.
“Ignore the–these smell fucking foul! You can’t expect to actually serve these to customers, right?”
Zeff shoots him a menacing glare and Patty backtracks. “Not that I’m judging you or anything! It’s your restaurant!”
Zeff sighs. “Just cut them in half and look. They’re perfectly fine onions, I picked them out myself.”
He shoots a look towards where Sanji has poked his head out from behind the counter, like he’d already known he’d be there. Zeff adds, “You’ll be around that smell a lot so you ought to get used to it.”
Sanji, confused, takes a deep breath in. He can’t smell anything besides fresh onions and Patty’s flour scent.
Carne walks out of their open freezer with a rack of ribs in hand and jumps into the conversation. “I’ve been catching whiffs of that myself. You have some kind of mold problem, boss?”
Zeff sighs again, this time harsher. He puts his fillet knife down and pulls the heavy cleaver from the knife block. “Might as well happen now. Eggplant, get your ass out here.”
Flushing, Sanji debates ignoring the order, but decides against it. He walks out of his hiding spot from the other side of the counter where Patty’s now chopping the onions, startling him.
“Shit, kid! You–!” He cuts himself off and scowls, his nose wrinkling. “That’s you?!”
“What?” Sanji asks, defensive.
“Owner, why does your kid smell like that?” Patty asks, whipping his head towards Zeff.
Sanji wants to yell that he’s definitely not Zeff’s kid. As if the geezer would ever want Sanji as a son. That would be too good to be true. But the rest of Patty’s words catch up to him.
“Smell like what?” Sanji asks, trepidation creeping up his shoulders. It can’t be him. Right?
“Kid…” Carne says, trailing off with a strange look on his face. He shoots a nervous look towards Zeff, who chops the head off his snapper with a loud thunk.
“He came like that. Like I said, get used to it.” He glares at both of the men. “Now get back to work! Dinner rush is in two hours and we’re still understaffed.”
“When were you going to tell me what I smell like?!” Sanji demands later that night. He’s on dish duty while Zeff gives the counters one last wipe. They’re finally alone in the kitchen, and Sanji’s been waiting for this moment with growing agitation. He dries his hands aggressively with a dish towel once he’s finished with the last plate.
Zeff throws his own towel into their kitchen laundry basket. “No point. Can’t change what your scent is, so it ain’t important.”
Sanji growls, annoyed. Of course it matters, it’s one of the most important things about a person! He knows from the romance books he keeps under his bed. “Yes it does! What do I smell like?!”
Zeff’s mouth flattens into a thin line and Sanji adds, a little desperately, “Be honest.”
The chef’s shoulders sag, but he lifts his chin. “Like chemicals past their due date. Mildew, and…flesh. Like a morgue on a humid day.”
Sanji’s eyes start to sting and he clenches his teeth. “I don’t want to smell like that,” he chokes out.
Zeff’s eyes soften, and he walks towards Sanji. “You're gonna have to get used to it, Eggplant. No point in whining about what’s out of your control.”
“But what will people–” Sanji cuts himself off when Zeff grabs his hand and rubs his wrist along where Zeff’s coarse scruff meets his neck.
Sanji sucks in a sharp breath. He’s never scented with anyone before. It wasn’t the norm for children in North Blue, and Zeff never gave any indication of wanting to. “Why are you…?”
“You’re my kid, right? I don’t care what you smell like, you’re still family.” Zeff says it confidently, but there’s a high blush on his cheeks and ears. He looks like he’s fighting not to look away.
Sanji’s ears ring. Tears warm his cheeks as he falls forward, pressing his face into Zeff’s solid torso. The old geezer smells like fish.
***
The line cook who gives Sanji his first cigarette is immediately fired after Zeff finds out, but the habit sticks.
The nicotine dulls his own scent and masks what remains with the smell of smoke. After a year of guests recoiling from him, he can finally ask for their orders with confidence that he won’t find them gone by the time he delivers their drinks. He never agreed with the shitty geezer when he insisted that Sanji take over whenever a waiter quit, the start of many screaming matches between them, but now he thinks he might understand why.
Zeff always wanted Sanji to overcome his avoidance of strangers because of his scent. He told him to not care what others thought and only bother with people who could overlook that, to be confident in himself.
But Zeff didn’t have to deal with the disgusted looks of shop owners, and parents pulling their children away from him. The suspicious customers and annoyed new cooks. The nauseated girls he tried to fawn over. And Sanji never could stop himself from caring what others thought of him, from being desperate for their approval.
So he made sure that he never ran out of cigarettes.
***
Sanji ran out of cigarettes.
He’s certain he’d stashed some in the galley somewhere, but after opening every drawer and rearranging the contents of the pantry, he still can’t find it. It’d been a long week after Water 7, everyone was still mourning the Merry and Sanji smoked more than usual to keep his mood up. They have no idea when they’ll arrive at their next island, but he’d been sure he had another carton as backup.
He’s on the verge of panicking when Zoro walks into the galley, scratching his stomach under his haramaki. He stops when he sees the mess Sanji’s made and the open drawers.
“Woah, cook. Pretty sure Franky cleaned the galley before we set sail.”
Sanji’s already frayed nerves unravel further. He shoots Zoro a sharp look. “My cigarettes, do you know where they went?”
Zoro scowls. “How would I know? Are you out or something?”
“Yes!” Sanji hisses, double checking another empty drawer. “I had some here, I swear…”
“Well, have you checked your locker?” Zoro asks, raising an eyebrow. “Or the rest of your jackets, you usually keep your packs in them.”
“I already checked there,” Sanji says tightly, poking his head into a cabinet.
“Well,” Zoro says slowly, “maybe they were on the Merry.”
Sanji freezes, then steps back. He runs a hand through his hair and tries to breathe out slowly. He’s so fucked.
“What did you need, Marimo?” He asks, just wanting to be alone now.
Zoro glances at the clock above the sink. “It’s lunchtime.”
“Shit–!” Sanji’s cut off by the rest of the crew entering the galley, loud and immediately overwhelming.
Luffy’s laughter dies out when he sees the mess in the kitchen. “Sanji?”
Sanji presses the back of his hand to his brow, thinking quickly. “Lunch will be right up, take a seat!”
Sandwiches. Easy, quick, he has all the ingredients and there’s plenty of meat for Luffy. Sanji pushes aside some utensils to make space for the bread and gets to work.
Franky sits at the bar next to Nami, smiling. “Doing some reorganizing, bro? I made sure to clean the kitchen before we left, so–”
“I know!” Sanji snaps, then immediately cringes. “Yeah, just reorganizing.”
“Cook’s looking for his cigarettes,” Zoro adds, and Sanji glares at him.
That draws Chopper’s attention. “You’re out? Sanji, this is a great opportunity to quit smoking! I have some nicotine patches–”
“I’ll quit when I’m dead!” Sanji shouts, startling everyone. He focuses back on making the sandwiches. “Sorry, Chopper.”
There’s an awkward pause before Luffy starts laughing. He mimes smoking, eyes half lidded and hair covering one eye. “Shishishi! Look, I’m Sanji!”
Usopp and Franky guffaw as Nami rolls her eyes. Chopper’s giggling, but still mutters about encouraging his bad habit. Sanji huffs and smiles, shaking his head as he sets down everyone’s plates at the table.
Lunch is rowdy, as always, and Sanji tries to relax at the sound of everyone’s voices. He can’t help but spiral a little at the implications of having no way to mask his scent, stuck in the middle of the ocean in close quarters with his crew, who he very much doesn’t want to smell him.
He hasn’t had a cigarette in over a day. When will the smoke wear off? How long does he have left? He feels nauseous already, from stress or withdrawal he doesn’t know. He can’t bring himself to take a single bite of the underwhelming sandwich on his plate.
Luffy finishes first and stands, bouncing over to Nami to rub his cheek against hers, which she leans into heavily. One thing Sanji immediately noticed when he joined the crew was that Luffy took every chance he could to scent everyone when they were all together like this, a habit the rest of the crew joined in on fairly quickly.
Seeing them all together like that comforts something primal in Sanji, smooths over some kind of anxiety he didn’t know he has. Luffy makes his way around the table, and the rest of the crew start scenting each other, smiling at the closeness. When he reaches Sanji, he frowns, widening his eyes longingly like today is the day that Sanji will participate.
Sanji’s never risked being that close to anyone other than Zeff though, and he’s definitely not about to start now. Luffy takes a step towards him and Sanji panics.
He shoots up from his chair, jostling it enough that it nearly tips over. “I need–” a cigarette, he doesn’t say, “–some fresh air.”
He rushes out of the galley, leaving his uneaten sandwich behind. He takes a deep breath once outside and leans his back against the wall by the door. He’s so fucked.
Franky’s voice trickles through the ajar door. “I kinda noticed earlier, but cook-bro doesn’t scent anyone, huh?”
He must be looking at Robin because she replies softly, “That’s been the dynamic since I joined the crew.”
“It’s not that he’s shy,” Usopp says, “I mean, he’ll insult or flirt with anyone within ten feet of him. He just doesn’t touch unless it’s to fight.”
“I don’t even know what he really smells like, under all that smoke,” Nami says quietly. There’s a sadness to her voice that squeezes Sanji’s heart. If she knew, she wouldn’t want to be anywhere near him.
“Maybe we’ll finally get a chance to smell him!” Luffy yells excitedly. “Even if we can’t scent with him, he won’t smell like cigarettes anymore.”
Sanji feels his hands start to shake. That cannot happen.
He races to the bathroom, gathering up the most fragrant soaps and lining them along the tub. As long as he washes away his sweat regularly and uses other scents on top of his skin, he might be able to make it to landfall without anyone knowing.
He starts a bath and sinks into the tub after undressing, leaning his head on his knees. He thinks back to when Zeff told him what he smelled like. He feels dirty, like rot is clinging to his skin. Like it’s beneath his skin, so deep there’s no hope of getting rid of it.
Like he’s rotten to the core.
Sanji puts his hands on the back of his head, sinking his fingers into his hair and wishing so badly that he had been born as Zeff’s real son. That he’d been raised as a fisherman, and a cook, and a pirate; that he’d smelled like the ocean.
***
Another two days pass, with nothing but the rough sea under a darkening horizon. Heavy clouds press down on them as a warm wind picks up. Sanji has been able to keep Luffy away and isolate himself for the most part, but it was only a matter of time before he had to get close to the crew again.
Nami is shouting orders before the first raindrops fall, and they work together to avoid the storm. Sanji hauls some rope over his back, using it to secure crates as harsher waves crash against the Sunny. After that, he and Zoro furl the massive sails, making sure they’re tied tightly enough not to fall.
Before long, the clouds dissipate and the sun shines strongly at them, as though the storm never happened. Sanji, soaked, sits tiredly on the lawn and mentally curses the Grand Line weather. The crew all come to gather there, making sure nobody’s hurt or missing. Luffy thankfully didn’t fall overboard, and Chopper is accounted for, so Sanji is able to breathe a deep sigh of relief.
Nami sniffs, soft at first, then more sharply. “Seas, what’s that smell?”
Sanji stares at her scrunched up face, heart sinking to his stomach.
Usopp breathes in. “Yeah, smells like…”
“Meat?” Zoro asks, squinting.
“No, it’s kinda rotten.” Franky says, grimacing. “But like a hospital too.”
Robin says nothing, face solemn as she looks just to the left of where Sanji’s sitting. Luffy stares at Sanji blatantly, head tilted.
Chopper hums. “A little like the stronger medicines Dr. Kuraha had on hand. Where’s it coming from though?” He closes his eyes and points his nose towards Sanji.
“What…?” Nami asks, finally catching on. Her eyebrows rise. “Oh, I…”
Sanji stands quickly, not bothering to adjust his wet clothes. He skirts carefully around everyone, walking fast towards the galley. “I need to make lunch,” he mumbles.
Nami sounds panicked from behind him. “I didn’t–Sanji wait!”
Sanji closes the door behind himself and walks on autopilot towards the kitchen. He’d known this would happen. He’s going to have to leave the crew. He looks around the galley for what he wants to bring with him and wonders distantly what the last meal he cooks for them should be.
He laughs harshly, putting a hand on the countertop to steady himself. He’s going to lose everything. His friends, and his home, and any semblance of hope that they would accept him. The colors bleed from the walls.
He’s about to break down when Luffy slams into his side, wrapping his limbs around his torso and neck.
“Luff–What the hell?!” Sanji yells, trying to pull his captain’s stretchy limbs off of himself.
“That’s it, right?” Luffy asks brightly. “You didn’t want us to find out what you smelled like, so you didn’t scent with us. But now that we know, I can do it, right?”
“You… want to scent me? I smell like a fucking dungeon, Luffy!” Sanji’s still reeling from the past ten minutes and can’t seem to process what Luffy’s implying.
Luffy shrugs. “That’s okay. I smell weird too. You actually remind me of a place back where I grew up.”
“Really?” His heart is picking up from the realization that Luffy’s being serious.
“Yeah, Gray Terminal! My brother used to live there. If he lived longer, he probably would have smelled super weird.”
Sanji frowns and squeezes Luffy’s arm gently. He hadn’t known Luffy had had another brother. Now that Sanji’s so close to him, he can catch hints of his scent beyond rubber. He smells like… “A forest.”
Luffy beams. “Yeah! Me and Ace and Sabo used to hunt together! I’ve always smelled like rubber though.”
Thoughts start churning in Sanji’s head about the rest of the crew. What might they smell like, underneath their strongest scent. What’s past Nami’s citrus, or Robin’s flowers?
Luffy pushes his face into Sanji’s neck, making him blush. “Hey, you kinda smell like that chicken you made too! Or like that pie last week.”
Sanji pauses. “What?”
“Uh-huh! It’s warm.”
Sanji’s eyes widen with a sudden idea and he rushes towards his spice cabinet, Luffy still clinging to him. He sifts through the bottles on the shelf until he finds it, unscrewing the cap and shoving it under Luffy’s nose. “Do I smell like this?”
Luffy laughs, “Shishishi, yeah! What is it?”
“Allspice,” Sanji says faintly. “It was in one of the first desserts Zeff showed me how to make.”
Pumpkin bread, he remembers. Sanji had mixed the spices together himself, and couldn’t help but keep sniffing the allspice jar. It was just him and Zeff back then, one of their first nights on the Baratie. He’d never smelled anything like it.
So he’d been young enough at that time to absorb some part of his new life, and the home they built together. He’s so happy he could cry.
“Jerk chicken and spiced apple pie,” Sanji says, a little choked. “That’s what you’re talking about.”
Luffy nods and finally lets go of him. “It’s okay whatever you smell like though. The only thing we care about is that it’s you.”
As much as Sanji wants to believe that, he knows better. “You might not mind, which is insane by the way, but you heard the others. They think I’m disgusting.”
Luffy pulls a face. “That’s ‘cause they’re not used to it. They want to scent with you too, though. And it’s not like you can control your scent, right?”
It’s true. Even if Sanji tried everything in his power to leave Germa, he wouldn’t have been able to. It was out of his control.
He wishes so badly that he could internalize that notion.
Luffy’s frown fades into a smile. “Come scent with us! We all have to smell like each other to be a real crew! They really really want to.”
Sanji hesitates, but it’s not like he can hide from them all forever. And if Luffy says they want to…
He huffs, crossing his arms and putting on a fragile show of indifference. “Fine. If they want to smell like dead bodies, who am I to stop them?”
Luffy laughs and drags him all the way to the galley door before stopping. “You know we really don’t care, right?”
On some level, Sanji does know; the crew view each other as family. But his fear of their reactions wasn’t exactly unfounded, and he still dreads rejection so strongly it hurts. But what if they’re like Zeff? And really don’t care?
That possibility is worth everything to him.
He nods, and they walk out of the galley.
***
***
***
Nami’s scent has a hint of ink under the smell of tangerines.