I am so, so sorry for what I have put you all through. I feel so bad to leave you all hanging. Hopefully this can make up for it. And I seriously mean that I am sorry. I read all of your lovely reviews and always feel massively guilty when I realise that I've sort of let you down, even if a lot of bad things have been going on in my life this last year. (My dad cheated, my parents decided to split up, my little sister attempted suicide, we have to move house, I've just finished my last year in school and am waiting to find out if I've gotten into my university, and I have to move to Ireland & life there on my own. Everything's peachy atm).

A ballerino is a 'dancing master', and it's where the feminine version 'ballerina' comes from.
(So people, it was actually men who started ballet! At least, I hope so).

Sweet Days
But those days are over his shoulder, and Ace is no longer the infamous Fire Fist that set fire to Officer Smoker's car and was lucky with the ladies, but rather Portgas D. Ace; microwave exploder, on the straight and narrow and still doesn't know how to tie an apron.

Chapter 2 : apple pie & cream

Last night Bon Clay had rounded up his culinary staff and had informed them of his plan to make a one-day specialised menu. He'd also invited half of the members of Okama Paradise to lunch.

How come Ace knows all of this?

Because he walked into work to find pastries everywhere; on display cases, prettily decorated tarts on the bar, small cups of cream, berries and wafers as aperitifs set on tables, the works. There was also noticeably more daring decorations added to the interior of the cafe.

There was a nude painting of two men (Jesus fuck Ace felt like he was a kid again and on a school trip to a cheap museum) hanging on the wall next to the kitchen doors, light pink tablecloths which blended surprisingly well with the café's black, white and gold colour scheme. The napkins were silk and had been folded into swans, and he'd been given a crash course of origami napkin folding and was given a small menu card of all the added choices to the menu that fitted neatly into one of the flat pockets of his serving apron.

Bon Clay, also known as Bon-chan, flutters about the tables and dusts off last minute decorations with added ballerino moves and pivots on his feet so fast that he takes Ace by surprise and grips his shoulders. "Ace-boy!" he says delightedly. Ace can't help but feel his mood being affected by his boss' bursting energy. He smiles feebly and forgets his sleepless night.

"Yes?"

"Oh everything is going so well!" Bon-chan cheers.

He swings Ace about and nearly bumps into Sanji, who scurries between the bar and the kitchen with zeal, pastries and girlish food decorations held in his hands. "Iva-sama, my idol, has agreed to eat at my restaurant!" he cries, and swoops down so fast that it's only at the sixth peck that Ace realises that he is being showered with kisses.

Bon-chan twirls away to badger Sanji as he whips up cream and pastry crust in the kitchen.

Ace is so flummoxed that he doesn't bother point out to his boss that the restaurant is actually a cafe, and that Ace could sue his ballerino arse with harassment. (In all honesty, he wouldn't even know how, and it wasn't really in their culture to sue people).

Suddenly, just before opening time, a redheaded chef a few years younger than Luffy grabs his arm and pulls him to the side. Ace is about to give the kid some flak for pulling him about, because being Bon-chan's toy is already humiliating enough, when he notices the grim expression on the boy's face.

The boy's name is Tajio, and he works under Sanji's strict supervision. "There's something you need to know, Ace-san," he says, and gulps as the doors are being opened out front, ready for another day at work. His dark eyes linger on them before looking nervously at Ace. "What's wrong?" he says, frowning as Tajio leans in so close that Ace can count all the dark freckles splattered across his nose and cheekbones. The redhead opens his mouth to explain. "Because, you are, you know," he does a funny shrug, hands pointing over his face, shoulders, waist and torso as if it would explain what he meant.

"Because I'm what?" Ace says, mildly annoyed. Hey, he's not a saint, okay? He's got a short fuse, is all.

Tajio's face flushes beet red to match the colour of his hair. "Because you're pretty okay?" he gasps, then continues quieter and faster. "So just be wary if they, uh, start to touch you or stuff."

"If they touch me or stuff?" Ace hisses at Tajio, pulling them both out of the way as a pretty waitress called Ever walks past them.

"Or stuff?" Ace repeats, hissing through his teeth again.

Ever has fluffy little wings attached to her arms. Thank god it was only her with a set of wings, but then Tajio's words ring in his head and Ace can see himself being forced to wear devil horns by Bon-chan. It's scary how easy he can envision that scenario.

Ace blinks.

"Wait. How the fuck am I pretty?"

Tajio shrinks into himself when Ace turns to glare at him. Ace gestures to his body, then his face. His tone is deadly quiet and his eyes are as cold as death. "How the fuck is this piece of steaming sex on legs 'pretty'?" Tajio giggles madly in panic, but is saved by Patty, the burly feminine looking cook.

"Why hello Portgas, distracting our staff?" Patty's eyes are mischievous and smug. There's something about the way the man says 'distracting', all heavily stressed and underlined, as if Ace had been caught in the act of sexual indecency with a whip in one hand and a cooking instrument in the other with Tajio cowering at his feet. Patty claps his big hairy hands on Tajio's shoulders, who crumples under him with a yelp. "We better get going before the Okama freaks show up, hmm?" Patty eyes Ace up and down, smirks, and leaves. (Again, it feels as if Ace were a part of a private joke he was not let in on yet.) But not before saying "Your luck's in today Portgas, plenty of tips coming your way, eh?".

Ace was hit with a feeling of what the actual fuck and has a silent and aggressive fit of frustration, gripping his hair and gesturing rudely behind Patty's broad, retreating back. Hey, you can't expect Ace to be perfect when nobody else is, okay?

"ACE!" Old man Zeff, the cafe's — restaurant, whatever— head chef yells at him shrilly. The man has an overbearing fear that any inactivity and procrastination from any member of staff will negatively affect his future pension plans, and has thus made it his top priority to hustle and prod anyone into action. (Some of the more lazy or relaxed staff members have been hassled by Zeff's 'peg leg' before, and haven't been too happy by it.)

"Brat how many times have I told you to get back to work?!" Zeff shouts, and three waiters and two waitresses and Ace run out of the café in their haste to avoid being pegged by his prosthetic leg.

Unwritten Rule # 4 :

Avoid the leg at all costs. Warnings will be given. And if you miss them, well . . .

Ace isn't the first to see the Okamas arrive, but is alerted by an early warning system called his boss.

"Oooooh!" Bon Clay calls loudly, today's make-up featuring hideous neon pink blush and green eyeliner and red lipstick. (Ace rigorously checks his cheeks for any red muck and is thankful that whatever make-up product his boss uses he at least has sense enough to buy the non-smear ones.)

(He's dated girls before where he's come back home covered in fake red lovebites all along his cheeks, mouth and even his neck, much to his brothers' amusement. Most of the time he had been a little too drunk to care, but it wasn't exactly pleasant.)

His boss waves his hands about in what may have been elegant and feminine if it hadn't been ruined by how fast and eccentric he was behaving, which made it just seem like he was flapping his hands about like a maniac on redbull.

Bon Clay dashes out of the cafe with all the elegance of a stampeding bull, arms wide, welcomes and compliments gushing from his mouth. Ace swears that he feels some part of himself die a little on the inside.

A dishcloth is thrown at him from somewhere behind him, and Ace spurs into action, walking fast out of the door into the early noon sunlight.

The first thing Ace sees when he regains his sight from the blinding sun is the amazing amount of stockings and fishnets being worn among the Okamas. Some wear hotpants while others wear feather boas, some wear fake fur coats and some have grizzly beards. Apart from the facial hair, Ace might have been reminded of cabaret nights at Sinners, run by a ridiculously tall and thin man who is infamous for wearing a pink feather boa jacket and who liked to entertain his men not only with scantily clad women but also with quiz nights and little shows and plenty of alcohol. (The fact that Ace knows he also runs a gay strip club called The Flamingo is purely coincidental. Really, it is. No, seriously, Bon Clay tends to run his mouth a lot when Ace is around. The fact that Ace had then searched it up online however, is not coincidental. The webpage will forever be a dark stain in his browsing history, much like all the other not – safe – for - work things he's looked at over the past years).

The second thing Ace notices is the astonishing amount of people who pause and give him appreciative once overs. Ace suddenly doesn't know if he's more popular with the ladies or with the men, as it feels as if nearly every pair of eyes are raking down his shirt covered waist and staring at the fucking stupid apron he's wearing and his pressed black trousers.

All sharks eat meat, regardless of gender.

Oh yeah, Ace is definitely feeling the fine burn of embarrassment creep along his face and neck and Patty's imagined chuckle is all too sweet in his ears as Ace goes along and starts appointing people seating places.

More than a few try to subtly trace their hands down parts of his clothing (the apron, the sleeve of his shirt, his outer thigh when they sit down) but Ace is a man well versed in the ways of subtle groping, coming from years of experience of shirtless parties, too much alcohol and prowling cheap nightclubs and thus manages to evade (most. Okay nearly all) the meandering hands.

Everything is going okay (Ace nearly got poked in the eye by someone's fake studded leather jacket and managed to snatch a falling plate from one of the other waiter's hands.) so far, but just as Ace is finishing up with seating the Okamas at his last table disaster strikes.

Throughout the day Ace's mind kept replaying Tajio's words, the way he pointed at Ace's shoulders, his waist, the fucking silly apron. Patty's horrible smirk also features a lot, along with his manic cackle of glee, like a cartoon villain who is getting sweet, sweet revenge on the main character. It seems that Patty has seen other good looking staff members be thrown to the lions, well, at the mercy of the Okamas' ogling and flirty habits.

"There's something you need to know, Ace-san,"

"So just be wary if they, uh, —"

"—start to touch you or stuff."

"Because you're pretty okay?"

"Your luck's in today Portgas, plenty of tips coming your way, eh?"

Thinking through what Tajio had said made Ace think harder about how people viewed him. Ace knew that he was in pretty good physical condition, but he hardly believed that he registered on people's gay-dar, much less the fact that he was rapidly becoming a gay magnet. Most of the Okama members fluttered their eyelashes at him, and more than a fair few acted more than friendly around him.

It was during these deep thoughts where Ace realised that people like the Okamas though he was pretty — not handsome — that disaster struck.

Ace vaguely registered someone's presence behind him, but it was too late. A hand flew through the air and connected with Ace's backside with an almighty smack!

Ace's spine straightened ramrod upright, whole body stiffening reflexively, a short yell of shock escaping him as he dropped everything he was holding — his notepad thumped onto the table he'd just finished serving, but the biro pen clattered to the floor, as did the extra additions menu. Ace's hands flew to his stinging backside. It felt like someone had just smashed a breezeblock against his pelvis — he was sure that there would be a bruise.

But all of that was quickly swept aside, as every eye was locked on to Ace, the hot waiter, and the person that had just slapped Ace's ass like he was their little bitch. He felt a giant rage build up in the pit of his stomach, solidifying like molten lava and bubbling up his chest.

It's the sort of rage that has gotten Ace into trouble with the police down at Red Line before, the kind that usually leaves people going to hospital and the newspapers writing a short article about the notorious Fire Fist striking back in whatever downtown bar he was at. It's a dark reminder of Ace's recent past, a part that still leaves him awake at night to haunt him, makes the scars on his knuckles prickle as he walks past the downtown shanty area as fast as he can without stopping, makes Ace carry a knife in his pocket even during the day because he's been attacked before in broad daylight and no one had lifted so much as a single finger to help him out or to call the cops. It's the sort of rage that consisted of Ace's rebellious teenage years spent in Officer Smoker's office down at the police station, playing with zippo lighters and petrol and pissing people off for the fun of it because nobody gave a fuck about what happened to a stray jackass teenager who skipped school and felt the need every now and again to take his shirt off, get ridiculously drunk and fuck whoever fancied him at the time and break into people's private property and set fire to their shit.

It's the sort of rage which has abandoned good friends and made bad ones stick — gang members ringing at his doorbell at four in the morning, asking him if they can crash at his place because the coppers are on to them and they need a place to lie low for the time being. That they then light spliffs in his living room and that they would smoke up together and the next morning Ace would wake up with a terrible headache and either Sabo or Luffy would be standing over him with this goddamned look of disappointment written across their faces. It's the rage that simmers and fizzes inside of him and burns out when Sabo breaks down in tears one night while they're climbing over someone's metal wire fence to go set fire to someone's sofa in their front garden, the rage that dies when Sabo, too blackout drunk to do anything, slumps down the fencing onto the pavement and gets shot with pellet shrapnel by an angry man with a shotgun. It's Sabo that cries and tells Ace that they need to stop — for good. It's not good for Luffy.

It's the consequences of that rage that had Ace moving out of his old flat after another one of his old acquaintances lies low at his place and the police come knocking and charge Ace with aiding a criminal suspect. It's the repercussions of all of the nasty shit he's done when he was fifteen, going on to twenty that have him living in private dorms because they've got better security there and nobody from his past life knows his address. It's everything that has Ace accepting a job at a café because he doesn't have enough qualifications to be able to get a proper job — because he needs the money to be able to live safely, to be able to keep him clean and to be able to keep Luffy out of as much trouble as well.

He spun around as fast as he could, about to nail whoever hit him — he guessed that it was a dude. Women generally aren't that straightforward, but on the off chance that they are they definitely don't use that much force —

His fist stops two inches away from Ann's shocked face, and stood slightly behind her is Koki, face frozen in a half smile, eyes wide. Obviously they weren't expecting Ace to react the way he did.

Shiiiiiiit.

"Ah. Sorry." Ace can feel how bright his face must have become. He feels massively ashamed of what had just happened. He hasn't lashed out like that in months. He feels relieved that his fist didn't connect because — well it's obvious what would have happened.

Rule # 1 :
Never hurt the customer.

He's pretty sure that he hears Sanji drop a metal tray in shock from inside the café. Some people passing by have even stopped to look.

Ace is sure that he's going to be fired any moment now. That Bon Clay will stand up from where he was talking to a group of the more die hard members and walk over to him, tower over Ace with cold hate in his eyes and ask him if they can have a word in his office.

What happens instead is that Koki starts laughing hysterically, and that's the queue for the rest of the Okama club to burst out laughing, chuckles and giggles and roars of laughter erupting, any trace of tension and aggression evaporated. Some are slapping their legs, other wiping away tears, grins splitting their faces in half. Some bang their tables and their cutlery clatters on the surface.

"Ha ha, Anna-neechan's just shit herself!"

"Did you see her face?"

"That was so funny! Teshi shi shi! Did anyone get that on camera?"

Wait.

What?

Ace blinks. So everything is all right?

No one's reacted badly?

"I— I'm really really sorry Ann-san! I— I didn't mean to —" Ace yelps, stammering out his words in a jumble. He places his hands on her shoulders, hands shaking. Ann looks shocked down to the core and it makes a mass of guilt pulse within Ace. She shakily rests her head against his shoulder, tentatively hugging him back.

"Don't try to grope him just because he's feeling guilty!" Someone calls out to Ann, which makes more people laugh, some sarcastically 'OoOoOoOoh!'-ing.

"I want a hug from the cute waiter too!" A woman shouts out, pouting. It has a fair few other people also requesting hugs and cuddles and maybe even a kiss on the cheek from Ace.

Koki's laughter subsides, and some pessimistic part of Ace wonders if he will now suffer the righteous punishment of Ann's girlfriend. Instead, Koki wipes a tear of laughter away from her black eyes and smiles at him. She rests her hand on Ace's shoulder and squeezes. Ace wonders vaguely if she'll crush his shoulder now. It's not the first time someone's tried doing it to him. Instead, Koki just keeps her hand there.

"No harm done, right? We were in the wrong anyway, ne?" She says, giggles a little as Ann shivers against Ace's warm chest. "You still scared the shit out of me though, Ace-san."

Ace stares at them both in awe. He feels like he could burst into tears soon — in the past Ace used to cope with stress differently; with bottles of tequila and cigarettes and the occasional quick fuck against any available surface, but now Ace has ditched that, and has found out that he's sometimes prone to some waterworks whenever he feels too stressed. (Read; it's only happened twice before).

The atmosphere has calmed down at the café, and the rest of the staff bustles about taking people's orders. Ace can hear Sanji scuttling about the place, actually in such a good mood that he started to hum cooking tunes.

"But, … I, — people usually don't react that way when something like this happens."

A giant man standing behind Koki chuckles, voice so low that it startles Ace. The man is wearing something that resembles the villain's fur coat from 101 Dalmations, colour divide of canary yellow and snow white split in half vertically. The man wears black sunglasses and is holding a glass of red wine in one delicate looking hand. Even his coiffed hair is dyed two different colours, yet he seems more subdued than the rest of the members of Okama Paradise.

"That's because we're not exactly a normal bunch of people, aren't we?" He says. Koki nods and smiles at Ace.

"Yeah, Okama Paradise members are made of some though stuff Ace-san — don't worry about it!"

"Well, that and Ivan-sama and quite a lot of our members like to get rowdy every now and again. Ever heard of Kamabakka Kingdom? It's a rather prestigious kenpo fight club, Ivan-sama runs it on the side. Didn't you know?"

Ace gapes at the man, who introduces himself as Inazuma, but before he can really process what's just happened, he realises that he's still got Ann resting against his chest, and that she's been rather quiet for a while now.

"Oi!" he yelps, and Ann detaches herself from him, cheeks a light pink, eyes twinkling mischievously. "Hee hee, I got a nice hug from Ace-san," she gloats. "You're all nice and warm!" She exclaims.

While Koki gasps and grumbles about how unfair that is, that she's also good at hugging and she's nice and warm and cuddly too,somebody taps Ace on the shoulder.

It's Ever, the pretty redheaded waitress who is wearing little white wings on her arms as a special occasion. Bon Clay doesn't show it often, but she's often the reason for the twinkle in his eyes. Ever has that sort of effect on people, as even Patty, the ugly cook that can start a fight in an empty room and is crabby on his best day, gets all flustered and humble in front of the girl.

"Oh, my cooking's not that good!" Ace had once heard the man say bashfully after Ever had praised his food. It had shocked him so much that he'd nearly dropped the tray he was holding. Ace managed to recover, but did manage to spill curry down his front. Well — down Tajio's front, anyway. (Bon Clay had not been that happy. Ace had to pay the laundromat bill. Sabo thought it was fucking hysterical. Twat).

"Ace-san," she says.

Ever blinks coquettishly at him in her usual gentle fashion. Ace spots the black biro pen held delicately in her hand, notepad in the other.

"These are yours." She tells him, and hands them over. Ace gratefully takes them from her. He can already feel her lovely charm work on him. During his trainee period she'd been rather sympathetic and helpful to him. She's the sort of girl that, in his past, he would have steered well away from. He couldn't taint something as innocent and pure as her. No, he stayed with his own kind; scavenging for other fucked up kids like himself, anyone that was willing to share more than their fair share of body heat, find girls that liked the bad boy type, ones that didn't care who they lost their virginity to. Even now, Ace tries to keep friendly distance from the young woman. She reminds him a bit too much of his past — what his younger teenage self would have done.

But those days are over his shoulder, and Ace is no longer the infamous Fire Fist that set fire to Officer Smoker's car and was lucky with the ladies, but rather Portgas D. Ace; microwave exploder, on the straight and narrow and still doesn't know how to tie an apron.

Ace is reformed, a new person. Ace would rather be known as the person that is new to love and romance and kindness than be the drunk connoisseur of debauchery and one night stands.

Obviously still a bit flustered, Ace stumbles a split second in thanking her. "Um, thanks, Ever-san," he says, but Ever is quick to correct him.

"Oh no, please just call me Ever!" she says, waves her hands about, little wings flapping. Some of the Okama seem to have already fallen in love with her. Ever's charm works on everyone.

"Well, … just call me Ace too then!" he replies, smiling in that same enthusiastic way.

"Okay!" Ever nods happily, then spots someone past Ace's shoulder and falters. "Um, customer for you," she says, then goes on over to a table full of Okama members who all seem to be instantly smitten with her cute face, deep maroon hair and fluffy little wings. (Like anyone could blame them, if she'd even managed to capture Patty's heart).

Ace turns around — hopes to god it's not Wapol — and nearly comes face to face with the customer he served yesterday.

Ace takes in his tanned caramel skin, the deep black eyes, dark like smoothed over stones in a rockpool, his long softly rounded nose and full-ish lips. His tall and toned physique, the wide shoulders and long neck. His thin eyebrows and downy soft looking blonde hair sticking out in tufts. — And the first thing that shoots through his head is: "He thought my apron was gay!"

Which, of course, is not what the man had said or thought, but it had jumbled together in his head.

"Um, where would you like a seat?" Ace stammers, still reeling. It feels like he's being dealt blow after blow, obstacle after obstacle and not having enough time to recover from the initial hit.

The man — customer — smiles. "I've already got a seat," he says, and something about that makes Ace's spirits drop a little. He's lost that customer then. Someone else must already be serving him. Ace had been hoping a little to be able to make him a regular like Ann and Koki.

The blonde man holds up a plasticised extra additions menu in his hand, high enough for Ace's eye level. It's the one Ace'd dropped earlier when Ann had smacked his butt. He smiles, and yet again, just like yesterday, he feels as if the man has a secretive little twinkle to his eye, like maybe the black smooth rock in his eyes could catch flint and start fires.

"I just don't have a waiter yet."

Yet again, Ace feels as if the man has an amusing secret, something harmless but something he feels he should be aware of all the same.

"I'll have an apple pie with cream, if you will." He says.

Sanji takes one look at Ace when he comes in to make his order and says; "It hot out?"

"Rather." Ace lies, and pretends to fan his red face.

I feel like I've made this story a lot darker, but hopefully a bit more interesting?
Also, I wanted to play on the joke I ended the chapter on last time again.
"Dude your face is all red, is it hot outside or something?"
"Yeah, um, totes bro my face is red because it's hot outside and you totally can't tell the difference in indoor and outdoor temperature."

So happy to have finished this chapter. ='D

PLEASE REVIEW IT MAKES ME SO HAPPY & WARM INSIDE.
LITERALLY YOUR REVIEWS MADE ME PLOUGH THROUGH THE WRITER'S BLOCK!