Contradictions (One Piece One Shot)

Chapter 1

Sanji loved beautiful things. He always had. He loved the sound of ocean waves and their cobalt hues. He loved gentle flowers and the fragility of their petals in the breeze. He loved the sense of slow motion when he watched small, gentle snowflakes fall from the white, ghastly sky and he loved ballroom dancing in classy attire. But he also loved contradiction. He was infatuated with the fierce crashing of dark waves in a storm. He was drawn to the bold side of nature with brilliant pigmented flowers with thorns and poison. He cherished the fierce excitement that snowstorms, wind, and hail brought and savage brutality was his weakness. And that's exactly why he was where he was that Friday night: A fight club.

Sanji POV

I knew I shouldn't have come here, but my feet acted on their own. I was supposed to be on a train to the country in search of something beautiful for next month's issue, and by beautiful, I mean graceful; gentle. The deadline is coming up and need photos soon, but every Friday night, I find myself in the same spot, watching the same man. He's definitely not gentle, and many would think of him as the opposite of grace, but that's false judgement. I've watched him fight many times and there's theory in his punch and grace in his step. Beneath his scars is peace and in his hard skull lies thought. I know it because after every victory, his scowl becomes a smile brighter than the sun. Though the moss he has for hair is probably the ugliest thing I've seen, but hey, contradiction.

Okay, some may call it stalking, but I call it art. I find something beautiful and I admire it until I capture it. So far all of my achievements lie in the first category, but tonight, I'm finally going through. I'll talk to him and I'll convince him to be my muse.

He was on his third match for the night and though he'd won both his previous ones and was most likely going to win his current one, he was looking bloody and tired. He did pull through though, and after the match, he was declared the winner and went to collect his winnings. He always went home, or wherever he went, right after this without cleaning his wounds or anything. It's as if his body heals completely on its own without help. Or maybe he was just stupid. Scientifically speaking, probably the latter. I watched his mossy hair as he wandered toward the door where I stood. He must have noticed how out of place I looked compared to the other people in the building (my tan sweater and black slacks were slightly different from the bloody, shirtless men roaming the room) because his dark eyes met mine for a second before he looked away and reached for the door. I stuck my arm out in front of the door, earning a raised eyebrow from him.

"Could I get through?" he asked me in a low voice.

I held up my camera in front of my mouth and replied, "Can you?"

He let out a growl and stepped forward, pushing my arm out of the way, but I quickly stepped to the side, in front of the door so he couldn't escape. "I'll do you a favor and move if you do me a favor."

He gave me a strange look that was to be expected before asking his highly thought out question, "The hell?"

I raised the camera from in front of my mouth to in front of my eyes and snapped a picture, making him stumble back. He brought his hand up and rubbed his eyes as a natural reaction from the flash before asking rather loudly, "What the hell are you doing?!"

"Capturing beauty."

He furrowed his brows and opened his mouth like he wanted to say something but couldn't think of the words. "Wha...?"

"I'm a photographer for Baratie magazine. A segment for our next issue is beauty," I answered.

"So you want a picture of a random guy covered in blood..?" he asked sarcastically, which kind of pissed me off.