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It was a Thursday afternoon when it started. The sun had just started to fall, washing the deck in bright, warm light, and Sanji was delivering the last of the snacks he had whipped up for the crew. If he had known the chain of bizarre events he was about to set in motion, Sanji would have just let them starve until dinner. Well—he wouldn’t have, but he certainly would have thought about it.
After hunting down the crew scattered throughout the ship, he passed the last plate off to Luffy, watching with bemused fondness as his hard work disappeared within seconds.
“I love you so much Sanji,” Luffy declared through a mouthful of food. “You’re the best cook ever!”
“Lying won’t get you more food Luffy,” Sanji chuckled lightly. He had just given his captain three times the amount of food any other crewmate received, but a bottomless pit was hard to feed. “This is the last snack until dinner.”
“I’m not lying,” Luffy whined, twisting to face Sanji head on. “You really are the best cook.”
“I know I am,” Sanji said. His culinary expertise was one of the most certain things in the world. What Luffy said first however… Sanji shrugged it off, cursing himself for bringing attention to it. “I was talking about the other thing,” he explained, hoping that Luffy would just let it go.
Luffy had never let anything go in his life.
“You mean loving you? I do love you,” Luffy stated. He seemed strangely bewildered. “You’re crew. You’re one of my favorite people in the world.”
Something awful twisted in Sanji’s stomach, rebelling against his captain’s word. Luffy was one of the most genuinely compassionate people he had ever known, but this—this felt cruel.
“You’re Sanji,” Luffy said, as though this were something worthy of love.
Sanji couldn't control whatever emotion flashed across his face, couldn’t even discern what it was. He knew it must have been something awful by the way Luffy recoiled, face going serious and still in a way Sanji had only seen a handful of times. Under the weight of that gaze, Sanji remembered that despite his presence of whirlwind affability, Luffy was damningly perceptive when he wished to be. Particularly when it came to his crew.
“You don’t believe me, do you? Luffy asked, cocking his head to the side. His voice was measured, focused, entirely unlike Luffy. “Why not?”
Fucking hell, Luffy.
His captain had never seemed to grasp the concept of questions you just shouldn’t ask. Sure, Luffy would let the past lie without a single word, but once there was something in the present he thought he should know, he was after it like a dog with a bone.
“None of your business,” Sanji bit out reflexively. He didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to talk about why he wasn’t loved by his family by his crew. If Luffy didn’t know, if he hadn’t yet seen through to the fucked up core of him, then Sanji didn’t want to be the one to shatter the illusion. “Please, just leave it alone.”
Luffy stared for a long, silent moment.
“No,” he said firmly. He wasn’t loud, wasn’t boisterous in any of the ways Sanji had come to expect, but it still resounded through the air like a death knell. “I won’t. Not if it’s hurting you.
“I never ask for anything,” Sanji said, and was horrified to realize he was pleading. “But I’m asking for this one thing. Just stop. Don’t lie.”
Luffy’s brow furrowed as he opened his mouth to respond, and Sanji didn’t consider himself a coward, but he still permitted himself this one moment of weakness. His captain opened his mouth to deny, to dig himself further into the pit that was loving Sanji, and Sanji couldn’t bear another moment of it. He turned and he fled.
Luffy didn’t follow him.
Somehow that hurt worse than anything.
***
What Sanji didn’t realize was that Luffy had allowed him to escape, had given him the space that he asked for. That didn’t mean that Luffy had let it go.
A few hours later, after Sanji had chain-smoked a pack of cigarettes and taken refuge in the galley, the next piece fell into place. It came in a pretty package with cropped auburn hair and tits that had quite literally made a grown man cry.
“Don’t be weird about this,” Nami ordered, swinging open the galley door.
“Anything for you, Nami dear,” Sanji answered reflexively, twirling to face his beloved crewmate. Nami wasn’t a face he expected to pay him a visit in between meals, but he could hardly complain about the presence of such a beautiful woman.
Nami simply stared at him, blinked once, and sighed. “Fuck, I can't believe I’m not getting paid for this.”
Staring at her slightly disgruntled continence, Sanji was even more confused than before. Nami never did anything she didn’t want to do if she wasn’t getting paid.
“When you were talking to Luffy earlier,” Nami started, an awkward hesitance to her tone, “you said—”
Fuck.
The part of Sanji’s brain not screaming in blind panic kicked in to do damage control, smoothing whatever damning vulnerability Nami thought she saw.
“Oh my darling,” Sanji cooed, “you’re sweet to worry, but—”
“You know we love you, right?” Nami said as she looked him in the eye, stilted and painfully sincere.
Everything inside of Sanji screeched to a halt.
“Love me, you say?” Sanji blustered, because if he turned this into a joke, a flirtation, Nami would pull away. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I feared I would spend my days longing hopelessly for your soft touch—”
“Not like that you perv,” Nami said, and normally she would slap him across the head for a comment like that, but instead she gentled and said, “We care about you.”
Whatever this was, Sanji couldn’t possibly handle it. Maybe this whole day was just one long, lucid fever dream. People didn’t just say shit like this—certainly not to Sanji. Because Sanji knew down to his core that his crewmates were good people, but this was unreal.
Sanji realized he’d been spiraling for too long, when Nami rested a hand on his shoulder, clearly expecting a response.
“Thank you,” he said, and his lips felt numb as he said it, like he was not entirely there. “I care about you all.”
It was the absolute truth.
It was notably not an agreement with what Nami had said.
The two couldn’t exist at once.
***
By the time Usopp approached him, Sanji had begun to notice a pattern.
They had recently resupplied on a large, welcoming island, so the bags in Usopp’s hands were not entirely unexpected. What was strange about the sight, however, was that Sanji was sure he had already unpacked all of the supplies he had picked up on the island. And the bags in Usopp’s hands looked decisively food related.
“What is this?” Sanji asked. It was a dumb question. At the very least, he knew what it appeared to be. A better question would have been why do you have this?
Usopp preened at the words, gesturing as best he could with his laden arms. “It’s a restock of all of the spices I’ve borrowed to make my world famous exploding ammunition!”
Sanji blinked dumbly at the words. Unable to respond, he took one of the bags from Usopp and started exploring all of the bottles.
“I wasn’t able to get all of them,” Usopp continued, rambling as Sanji moved them towards the counter he usually did prep work on, “but most should be in there. Plus a few extra.”
Sanji unpacked slowly, fingers brushing over the bottles and boxes with a mild reverence. Each container was freshly labeled in black ink, clearly written in Usopp’s handwriting. They had all been given fantastical names, like Fiery Dragon Spice of the Mountain Flower, and it took Sanji a minute to figure out what they were supposed to be. It wasn’t how Sanji would have preferred his spices organized, but it was so incredibly Usopp it made him laugh anyway.
“Not that I don’t appreciate it,” Sanji started, feeling set off kilter, “but why did you get me all of this?”
Sanji knew just how much a spice collection like this would’ve cost—it would have blown through the entire budget Nami had given him on their last excursion plus a little extra. Whatever Usopp had saved, this likely would have wiped it clean through. Had he missed a holiday? If so, Sanji definitely didn’t have a gift to give in return.
Usopp squared his shoulders and stared Sanji down. “Because I love you and you care about cooking. So if any of my actions had ever made you doubt that I wanted to fix it.”
A moment passed as they watched each other.
“I don’t doubt that you guys love me,” Sanji responded, because that was what Usopp wanted to hear. Maybe if he said it enough, everyone would leave him alone and it wouldn’t hurt so bad. It wasn’t that Usopp had done anything wrong or that he had been unconvincing in his camaraderie. It was the simple issue that Sanji knew he would never be loved by people as good as his crew. It was alright. He had long since come to terms with his shortcomings.
Usopp fixed him with a look, the expression somewhere between pity and understanding.
“You do,” Usopp said, firm but not unkind. He held up a hand to stop Sanji’s rebuttal. “And that’s ok, as long as you believe it one day.”
“Alright,” Sanji said, and it seemed like his mouth was moving syrupy slow.
After another moment’s scrutiny, this seemed to be enough for Usopp. Now that his mission was complete, the confidence he had gathered seemed to dissipate, returning him to a more characteristic awkwardness.
“Well, uh, that’s all then—” Usopp muttered, waving his hand to encompass Sanji and the spices. “I know you have a system for unpacking and all that, so I’ll get out of your hair.”
Usopp made it all the way to the door before Sanji was able to force his vocal chords to cooperate.
“Usopp!” Sanji called, slightly too loud for the space of the galley. He softened his voice, mustering up a smile. “Thank you.”
“Any time, man,” Usopp declared. “I’m here for you—we all are.”
***
When Zoro came to him, Sanji thought he had lost his mind.
Sanji was lying out on the deck, enjoying a brief moment of relaxation, when the sunlight that he had been basking in suddenly vanished from his face. He cracked an eye open to find the stupid marimo looming over him. Well, it was really more of a stand—loom implied Sanji was intimidated in some way. He wasn’t. Not only could he go toe to toe sparring with the man, once you saw a man get lost on his way back from taking a piss he kind of lost any kind of imposing ability.
Sanji pushed himself onto his elbows, propping himself up to stare at Zoro. The man seemed like he was trying to get words out, but he was doing so in a manner that resembled a cat clearing a hairball, so Sanji couldn’t be sure. He racked his brain for anything that Zoro wouldn’t just spit out, brutish and impactful. When he thought about Zoro doing what the others had done, the thought actually tickled him so badly he had to force back a giggle. He could barely imagine it, a world where the swordsman actually cared enough to attempt comforting Sanji. It was bitter, bitter humor, but humor nonetheless.
“You here to tell me you care about me?” Sanji snarked, a smirk playing about his lips.
There was silence in response. When Sanji focused on Zoro, he saw that his ears had flushed pink.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Sanji scoffed disbelievingly. The fact that Luffy would push it this far actually stung. “Whatever they're holding over you, just let it go.”
“Why is it so crazy to think that I’m doing this willingly?” Zoro grouched, folding his arms over his chest. He looked strangely defensive. He didn’t need to be—Sanji was cutting him free from this whole mess.
“Because I know you?” Sanji shot back, anger rising in him. He wanted to claw out whatever was inside of him, whatever ached at this conversation. Just because he wanted the real thing didn’t mean he wanted this warped facsimile. “You can barely stand me on a good day, Marimo.”
“Fuck you, Curly Brows,” Zoro said, reeling back. “You don’t know shit about me!”
Sanji readied himself for a fight, the familiarity slipping over him like water. Instead of reaching for his swords, Zoro shoved a hand into his pocket and withdrew a crumpled piece of paper. He shoved it against Sanji’s chest, and Sanji, startled, let him make contact. The moment his own hands rose to make contact with the paper, Zoro was pulling away, looking even more pissed off than before.
“Luffy and the witch said you were being stupid and I had to write this,” he snarled, then stalked off to do push-ups or whatever he did when nursing his wounded pride.
Still vibrating with frustration, Sanji unfolded the piece of paper against his legs. At first he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, but the words were unfailingly there, pressed against his thigh and scrawled in the swordsman’s messy hand.
GOOD THINGS ABOUT SHIT COOK SANJI
cooks well
Well that was a given. Sanji was nearly offended that it had to be written down, particularly with such lackluster enthusiasm, but then he remembered who the complement had come from and the feeling subsided. At the very least this was higher praise than the monosyllabic grunts his dishes usually garnered from the swordsman.
can fight
Sanji vowed to kick Zoro’s ass next time they sparred. He would show the bastard who “can fight” then. Was this whole list going to be a compilation of neutral character traits? He moved hurriedly to the next item on the list, if only so he could continue to ridicule Zoro’s attention at nicety.
legs
The word is so scratched through that the paper has nearly torn beneath, but it was still visible if you held the paper up to the light. Sanji wondered if it was part of a larger, more complementary statement, or merely an assertion that he had legs. He also wondered what had made Zoro try to scribble it out so completely. Maybe he thought a comment on Sanji’s legs was too close to the comment about his fighting.
takes care of us
Fuck, that landed like a punch to the gut.
What more had Sanji ever wanted than to take care of the people he loved? To find the All Blue, of course, but that was a far off dream. In the here and now, he was a caretaker to the people he cherished. The thought that, just maybe, he hadn’t miserably failed at that task made his vision blur slightly. He blinked hard to clear the mist, suddenly desperate to see more. When his eyes fell to the next item on the list, his hands spasmed on the paper as he flinched.
good person
You don’t know me! He wanted to scream. Stop lying! But Zoro did know him—at least, the parts Sanji had chosen to keep. And he was not the kind of man who would lie for the benefit of Sanji’s feelings. So Sanji wasn’t quite sure where that left him. Maybe when Luffy asked him to write something he had told Zoro to lie?
That didn’t work either.
Not because Zoro would have refused—in fact, the opposite. If their captain had asked Zoro to lie about what he thought of Sanji, the man would have committed himself heart and soul to the task. Sanji wouldn’t be left with this half-page of bumbling nonsense.
Which meant that everything here on this paper was something Zoro believed. Sanji didn’t know what to do with that. What were you supposed to do when your greatest rival said the things you wanted to hear most in the world?
Sanji took a slow breath, wishing for the soothing crawl of nicotine. Fuck. He may not know what you were supposed to do, but he knew what he was about to do. He stood, shoving the paper deep into his pocket, and vowed to never look at it again.
He was ignoring this.
***
Sanji rarely injured his hands, so whenever he did, the crew lost their minds (Sanji included). He had been frying up a new dish when the oil popped unexpectedly and splattered onto his hand. It wasn’t that bad of a burn, and if it had been anywhere else, he wouldn’t have even bothered. But with the thought of a scar marring his hand at the front of his mind, Sanji walked himself over to Chopper’s office for whatever burn cream or magic poultice the little doctor would whip up.
Chopper panicked at the sight of him, calling for a doctor the moment Sanji crossed the threshold with his hand held gingerly near his chest. It was a moment’s work to reassure him—showing him the mild extent of the burn and reminding Chopper that he was a doctor seemed to bring him back down.
Just as Sanji had expected, Chopper busied himself mixing some concoction as soon as he made sure that the wound was properly soaked. The substance came out thick and green with a pleasing aroma, and when he smeared a healthy layer over the burn and surrounding skin, it was blissfully cooling.
It was after the reindeer had finished diligently patching him up that things started to go wrong.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” Chopper said. His “serious doctor” voice was so different from his earlier babble that Sanji immediately tensed. Chopper’s head was canted downwards, gaze fixed resolutely on his hooves, so there was nothing Sanji could glean from his expression.
“We just had checkups,” Sanji said, forcing a chuckle as he craned to look the little doctor in the eye. “Let me assure you nothing’s gone wrong in the past couple of weeks.”
“I missed something,” Chopper exclaimed, voice suddenly wailing. His head snapped back up, and Sanji was alarmed to see his eyes glimmered with a faint sheen of tears. “I didn’t even think about the impacts of poor mental health!”
“What the fuck?” Sanji said flatly. In his defense, he was caught off guard.
“You don’t know how much we love you,” Chopper exclaimed, clapping his hooves on either side of Sanji’s face. He looked devastated.
“It’s nothing to do with you guys,” Sanji reassured. “It’s just my own shit.”
“That’s not any better, Sanji,” Chopper said mournfully.
Sanji didn’t understand. This way it was his own fault and Chopper could wash his hands clean. He forced himself to pay attention when he realized Chopper was still talking, his brain coming back online in the middle of a sentence.
“—need to tell the mirror, I read in a book a while back that might help,” Chopper was saying. “As your doctor, I order you to tell the mirror that you love yourself.”
Sanji recoiled instantly. “I’m not gonna—”
“Please, Sanji,” Chopper begged, staring up at Sanji with his big, round eyes. The traces of his earlier tears still remained, and Sanji was weak in the face of his youngest crewmate. After a valiant attempt at refusal, Sanji sighed and said,
“Fine.” The expression on his face showed just how stupid he thought the whole idea was, but Chopper squeaked with glee anyway, barreling into Sanji with his arms outstretched.
“Thank you,” Chopper said, as though Sanji were doing something to benefit him instead of whining about something that wasn’t even an issue. Sanji didn’t know how to say that he would do almost anything that made his crew feel the slightest bit of happiness without sounding desperate. Instead, he simply pulled Chopper closer to his chest and tucked the reindeer’s head beneath his chin.
“If the best doctor in the world thinks it’ll help, I would be a fool to ignore him,” Sanji said, smiling as Chopper began to wave off the complement.
“That totally doesn’t make me happy, you jerk!” Chopper lied, happy color rising in his cheeks.
At least there were some things that never changed.
***
Sanji hadn’t known how hard it would be. Didn’t know he would try to speak kindly to the face that greeted him in the mirror and get overwhelmed with a wave of revulsion so strong he nearly gagged. He hadn’t known, but he had still given Chopper his word and he didn’t take that lightly.
So he planned around his limitations. He couldn’t say it to his face, a face that was damning in its resemblance, but he did not hate his hands nearly as much. How could he, when they were what fed his crew? When they kept the people he loved most happy, healthy, and alive.
He looked down at his hands; the well manicured nails, the plaster laid over his burn, the faintest dusting of flour he had forgotten to wipe away.
“I love you,” he said hoarsely, for the first time in nearly two decades. His mouth was dry and he itched for a cigarette, but it didn’t taste like a lie.
Emboldened, he turned back to the mirror and said, face stretching with wonder, “Your crew loves you.”
The words felt true.
It wasn’t what Chopper had asked for, but it was more than he had ever had, and for now, it was enough.