Chapter Text
New
Something new? It was something new. He was something new. It had been so long, he had fallen into such a tired, old, routine. But when he had heard that deep voice speak, the cocky, good humor of the tone that was followed by a laugh and a crooked smile. New. This was… so new. He did not belong, not at the Baratie in those rugged, worn out clothes. They were practically patchwork, and that green haramaki, it stood out like a beacon, just like his short chopped, matching hair. He righted himself and stared as his heart skipped a beat. That face, it was so new; the contours, the coloration of the tanned skin, the white teeth that were flashed in that off kilter smile. There were gold bars that hung from only his left ear, and even more new, the swords pressed to his side, three of them. He held them there with his hand, and it looked thick with callous, the hands of a man of hard labor. He worked with his hands, but they did not look like that. It was because this man was rugged, more brutish, there was nothing particularly soft about his appearance at all. Not like women, not like things of typical beauty.
New, novel, different, unseen, atypical. So many things, so strange and foreign. Who was this man? He could not stop staring, he couldn't even move. The man laughed, the sound strong and hearty before he turned his head, and their eyes met. His cheeks, oh his cheeks flushed so hot as his heart flipped and pounded in his chest. He grabbed at his vest top over his heart and grit his teeth from where he stood, rooted to the spot. Why could he not look away? Why couldn't he act normal? Why could he not just be his old self. This was new, this was frightening. What was this? The man cocked his head a little and smirked, dark eyes locked with his own. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't move his mouth. He couldn't be himself, he couldn't even act routine.
“Sanji!” Sanji gasped and tore his eyes away from the newness before him and looked to see Patty stomping toward him, flustered as usual, and far too riled up, like usual. The same old thing. He was nothing like that new light that shined from the presence around that swordsman. What was wrong with him?! All beautiful women around, even the beautiful ginger sitting at that same table, just as new as that man should have been, yet she wasn't so awe inspiring.
It really hadn't been that hard. He had needed something new. He had needed to let go of the old. His old life, his old problems, his old everything. Everything was washed clean, and ready for the new. And he was now ready for it as he followed, hoping despite his attempts to hide it, to catch up and find that newness that the swordsman represented. Even in his old, worn out clothes, he was so new, so fresh. He wanted to touch it, to taste it, to experience it. He wanted it all, he wanted that newness all to himself. And so he followed, chasing after the new and getting rid of the old, and in the process he realized, that the first time he kissed those lips-he was new once again.