Daisy's Lovey Dovelies

Routine returns to the Sunny when the crew returns to the open sea- but life is strained as Sanji continues to sink, dragging the heart of the ship down with him. The island is days behind you now, the last glint of your Chef’s smile along with it. Sanji is quiet and withdrawn, lost in a torment he hasn’t shared with anyone.

Despite the dark circles that blacken his eyes, you’re quite certain there’s something deeper than dreams happening to him. If only he would talk to you about it. But, no matter how you try- he continues to shut you out. In fact, it’s apparent he’s going out of his way to avoid you, which begins slowly dragging you towards the conclusion that you’ve done something to cause this. Though, you haven’t figured out what and you can’t be certain unless he tells you, the guilt is already settling permanent in your stomach.

You’re not the only one cast in the shade of the cloud that hangs above his head, however. Meals are quiet, your friends sharing looks between each other after every failed attempt to engage Sanji who just silently serves the food and either leaves or stands above the stove the entire time. When anyone does manage to drag him to his seat, he sits staring down at the table- all his responses curt and quiet. He doesn’t serve the girls their ‘special menu’. He doesn’t talk to Jinbe about the All Blue. He doesn’t banter with Zoro. He doesn’t even chide Luffy for stealing extra portions.

Despite that, everyone tries- in their own way- to break through to him.

Luffy is extra rambunctious, stealing bite after bite from Sanji’s plate- the edges of his laughter feeling a bit more forced than usual. When Sanji gives him no response, his eyes find yours with a brief look that conveys his worry.

One late night, you even heard Zoro arguing with him in hushed tones at the bar- though it was mostly one sided. Sanji remained completely impassive to his goading and every day since Zoro’s eyes narrow on him like he might start swinging- just to get any sort of reaction, even if it’s physical. The only reason he doesn’t, you think, is that Zoro believes Sanji is too deep in a place where he’d simply take it without hitting him back.

When Chopper forces him into the infirmary for a check up, you wait anxiously outside the door- apprehensively biting at your nails. When Sanji exits, you lock eyes for a moment before he turns and ghosts down the hall. Instead of going after him, you rush into the room and drop onto your knees by Chopper’s chair.

“What’s wrong with him?” you ask desperately.

“You know I couldn’t answer that even if something was,” Chopper answers, abiding his code.

“So there’s nothing wrong with him?” you ask and Chopper sighs. Fingers curling into the fur of his arm- still in his larger form- you plead with him to give you something.

After a moment, “physically- no,” he answers- deciding that the situation was desperate enough to warrant discussing it with you. “Well,” he clarifies, “his stress levels are elevated and he’s not sleeping or getting enough nutrients.” He’s not eating. You all had seen that, but the confirmation burned behind your eyes. “But those are just symptoms of the problem. Whatever’s causing him to act this way- it isn’t physical.”

While you’re relieved to know there’s nothing medically wrong with Sanji, you’re still left scrambling to figure out what plagues him so terribly. Restlessly, you pace the ship as the moon climbs high hours after a dinner that Sanji didn’t even stick around for once the table was set.

“You remember that time we got trapped in that cave? And Sanji busted us out?” Usopp asks as you stand shoulder to shoulder, washing the dishes.

“Yeah,” you respond, handing him a plate.

“Kicked right through the rock,” he chuckles. “Or that time you fell into that whirlpool and he dove in after you?” Without hesitation, he had jumped in to save you- even when you barely knew each other. “Or that time Luffy got stuck inside the toxofin fish and Sanji had to instruct Zoro how to cut him out?” That memory can’t help but make you laugh a little- Usopp’s tension easing a bit at the sound of it.

“It’s just…” he dries the dish, looking for his words, “he’s good at that. Showing up. No matter what, ya know? He always dives in- he always comes back…”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes and Usopp’s arm wraps around your shoulder, dropping his head atop yours, “he always comes back,” he repeats for both your sakes.

The conversation replays in your mind as you find yourself back in the kitchen, turning on the low light. Usopp was right, Sanji always came back. He always showed up. But, right now he’s the one trapped in the cave, fallen in the whirlpool- stuck in the stupid fish.

So, despite how he keeps pushing you away- you’re going to keep showing up. No matter how many times it takes, you’ll keep coming back.

That’s what you tell yourself as you hold the tray outside his room. With a deep breath, you balance it on one hand as you knock-knock-knock. “Sanji?” you call through the door. “Are you awake?”

No response.

“I made you something,” you continue- unsure if he can even hear you. “It’s good- I promise,” you hope. “The greatest Chef in the world is my personal instructor, so… ya know,” you look down at the spread in your hands. You tried to arrange it the way Sanji would, plating it with as much artful flare as you could muster- adding a tiny vase with a little flower from the garden where you shared that dinner so many nights ago. “Maybe you’ll like it…” your confidence wanes in the face of the closed door. “I’ll just leave it here, in case you want it.”

As you begin to bend to place it upon the ground, the door slowly cracks open. Straightening, you hold your breath as Sanji reveals himself and it’s the first real glimpse of you’ve seen of him in a week- unguarded and vulnerable.

Loose pants tied at his hips, hair mussed- the stubble on his face shadowing more than usual. And his eyes. Red ringed and glassy blue, the flecks of gold paler than usual. Fresh tears threaten to tip from his lower lashes as he looks at you. “You cooked for me?” there’s a deep grit to his voice that wavers a little by the end of his simple question.

“Yeah,” you nod. “You didn’t have any dinner, so I thought…” his lips tremble, “that you might be hungry…” His eyes drop to the tray in your hands, catching on the flower- a perfect match for the one he last placed in your hair- and a weak smile touches his lips.

Faint, but real.

Real, but pained.

“What kind of assistant would I be, if I let my Chef go hungry?” He takes in a breath that shudders through his chest. “Sanji… can I come in?” you ask softly.

In the span of seconds a thousand emotions war across his face faster than you can recognize before he closes his eyes and nods, “okay.”

Your own breath trembles with relief as he widens the door- and you quickly step inside before he can close you out again.

Placing the tray on the small table beneath the rounded window, you pull the chair out for him- the way he has for you a thousand times before. Without a word of protest, he sits- and you take a seat at the edge of his bed nearby, watching as he takes the first bite.

And another. And another. Your own body relaxing with every single one. “Is it good?” you ask, still a bit unsure.

“I’ve never tasted anything better,” his voice is hoarse, but he looks at you earnestly- before turning back to the meal. You don’t interrupt him again, sitting patiently and watching as he eats every last bite. Once he’s done, he cups the blossom delicately in his hands, turning his body to face you- eyes locked on the bloom.

Gently, his fingers brush the petals, “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “You know that…” his fingers still, a tear dripping to water the flower, “you know that I never want to hurt you, right?”

The question takes you slightly by surprise and you slide off the bed onto your knees before him. “Sanji,” reaching up, you wipe the tears from his cheeks, “of course I know that,” you assure him. “There’s no part of me that could ever believe otherwise.”

With trembling hands, Sanji brushes the hair from your face- tenderly tucking the flower into it, just as he had done before. When his hands drop back into his lap, yours slide into them. “When you’re ready to talk about it, I’ll be here,” you tell him, “I’m not going anywhere.” Holding his eyes, you give him a gentle smile and repeat the promise he once made, “you and me to the All Blue and back.”

Sanji brings your hands to his lips and then to his brow, “mon cœur,” he calls with a delicate voice stemming the tide of further tears. Long moments pass, heartbeats broken but syncing, and you sit there with him in the quiet. Though you still don’t know what’s wrong and you don’t yet know what he needs, you give him what you can.

You’re not sure how much time passes before he sits back, slowly dropping your hands. “You should get some rest.”

“So should you,” you insist.

“Yeah,” he agrees, rising. When he reaches for the tray, you jump up and swipe it out from under his grasp. “Let me-”

“No,” you hold it out of his reach. “Sorry, Chef. But, you’re officially off the clock.” You smile at him and it grows bigger under the warm memory of the afternoon you spent together in the kitchen. “So just let your assistant take care of it, okay?”

Sanji’s expression is delicate, eyes blinking to keep it from crumpling any further. “Okay,” he relents, walking you to the door. “Thank you.”

Stepping into the hall, you turn to Sanji propped against the door frame, “see you in the morning?”

He nods, “see you in the morning.”

“Goodnight, Chef.”

“Goodnight, ma chérie.”

Sanji closes the door, shutting himself once more into the quiet. With a long sigh, he drags his hand over his face. It touches his heart that you came- that you cooked for him, that you cared for him. You have been for days. Despite the way he’s been avoiding you, he isn’t oblivious to that. But, it only twists his heart more.

Laying back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, he chides himself. He can’t keep acting like this. He knows he can’t. You’re worried. His friends are worried. Well, except for maybe Nami who still won’t speak to him, let alone look at him- locking herself in the library most of the day to work on her maps. Which was true, she’d thrown herself into her work- but Sanji recognized it for the distraction it was, often doing the same with his own in the kitchen.

It still stings, the accusation she threw at him- the one she so easily concluded. Despite the way he wants to just outright refuse it, there was something about him that made her able to so quickly believe it.

Something about him needs to change. Something inside him needs to be fixed.

Before you start to believe it too. Before you see whatever it is Nami does.

Sanji’s not completely blind to himself. He’s aware of the things he does, the way he acts. He knows he goes a little overboard sometimes in the way he expresses himself. But, he never thought he was actually scaring the girls. Never thought that, all this time, he’d been casting himself as a lurking predator in their minds.

Sure, maybe he was a little too enthusiastic sometimes. And, sure, he’s done some things he’s not proud of- especially when it comes to you. Some things he knows he shouldn’t. Thinking about you in dark hours in ways that tip past gentlemanly. Eyes and hands lingering longer than they should before he manages to rip either away. But, to take advantage of you the way Nami accused him of? It makes him sick to his stomach and he wants to think he’d die before doing something like that.

Wants to.

But, the thing that scares him- is that she’s right.

Because, in a way, he had- hadn’t he? He wanted someone like you. Wanted someone close enough that he could better bring the fantasy of making love to you to life. You were the only thing he thought about when he touched her- tasted her- fucked her- fucked you- in a way he wouldn’t have had he known. He asked for you in every way but name, just as Nami said he did. Because you are his ideal match- his ideal lover.

You have been for a very long time. How his heart yearns and his body aches for you- the one treasure in this world he can never have.

This wasn’t the first time he looked for you in places he wouldn’t confess. But the shadow was the closest he ever came to finding you. The closest it ever came to being real. Because… well… it was. He got exactly what he wanted- exactly what he asked for- to the damnation of his own soul.

From beneath his pillow, Sanji pulls out a red folder and opens it to the only comfort he’s managed to find. Fingers trailing over sweetly curled letters of the only thing that may offer him some solace of redemption.

Your questionnaire.

No inquiry left unanswered, your heart is bared before his eyes in ink on parchment. His heart lurches when he reads them, imagining your face as you wrote them. The blush of your cheeks and the roll of your lips in the blotch of ink where the pen had paused with contemplation before scrawling to finish. Your desires. Your wants. Your ideal match. Your ideal lover.

You weren’t just Sanji’s match.

He was yours too.

Because that was how it worked, right? That was what had been promised. Two people matching. It wasn’t meant to be one sided.

When Sanji answered every inquiry, you had been on his mind and on his heart. And then he matched with you. Had he been on yours? Was it him you saw, was it him you imagined, was he the one on your mind as you bashfully composed your thoughtful correspondence? Had you thought of him- and then matched with him?

Did you imagine his hands when he touched you?

Beyond all reason he prays that’s true. Prays that before him is evidence of the way you feel for him. The way you think of him. That maybe he is the muse of your desire rather than the monster that stalks it.

But, it’s unfair to put that onus on you. He has no right to cast himself in that role and there’s no way to ask you without revealing himself. Perhaps you’d been curious- but you told Nami you didn’t want to know. How could he put that weight on your heart? Especially after he’d felt the cracks within it in the way you embraced him back in the darkness.

Sanji has no idea what the right thing to do is. All he knows is he doesn’t want to hurt you- doesn’t want to be the burden of your heart. He’d sooner carry the weight of this alone, let the guilt consume him form the inside out before ever letting it touch you.

If he can just fix himself. If he can be the man he hopes that you think he is- then maybe things can be right again. Maybe he can be worthy again- if he ever was to begin with. If he changes himself enough, if he can rewire his body and rewrite his brain and rework his heart- then maybe.

But, how can he ever do that when he’s so flooded with his feelings? With his love and with his fear? All consuming and drowning, currently dragging his friends- dragging you- down into the depths of his self loathing.

Reaching towards the darkened ceiling, Sanji stares up at his hands- the instruments of his emotions.

And considers the truth that he was never meant to have them at all.

And considers the truth that for his friends and for his love- it might just be better…

To turn them off.

Quickly, Sanji rounds the counter, “Nami, what’s wrong? What happened?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Sanji stops- face falling, his heart tumbling after. “What?”

Hands gripping the back of a dining chair, Nami steadies herself, tearing her eyes away from him. “You know, Sanji, you’ve pulled a lot of shit over the years. But this?” she shakes her head, voice lowering to snarl, “how could you do this?”

“Nami,” he speaks slow, hands out in surrender, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No?” she scowls up at him, hand dipping into her bag before slapping a red folder on the table.

Peering down at it, he recognizes the embossed emblem on the front- the symbol of the house he’d been in earlier. Brows furrowing he asks, “why do you have that?”

“It doesn’t matter why I have it,” she hisses.

Sighing, he drags his hand down his face and across his neck, “look, Nami. It’s really none of your business what-”

Instantly, she rounds the table towards, him- shoving against his chest, “none of my business?” she shoves him again, “none of my business!?” her voice rises, finger thrusting with accusation, “how dare you fucking say that to me. She’s my best friend.” Whirling, she starts pacing, hands tangling in her hair. Sanji feels frozen beneath her rising distress, “how could you do this to her?” she asks again.

“Nami,” he pleads, “what are you talking about?”

Growling in frustration, her hands rub harshly at her face, “she told me not to. I know she did, but…” her words are torn halfway between a sob and sound of fury, “fuck!”

“Nami-” Ripping the folder off the table she holds it up towards him as if it should be answer enough, but he simply shakes his head, confused. “Why do you have my folder?” he asks again. While he was sure it contained personal details he didn’t care to share with her, he can’t imagine anything in it causing this sort of reaction.

“It’s not yours.”

Sanji stills. “What?”

Slapping it back onto the table, she opens the cover and Sanji’s blood runs cold. There, on the front page- is your name.

“I thought she might want it one day,” Nami reasons.

Sanji’s body begins to shake.

“So I found it,” she flips the page and points, “her match.”

The world spins and there’s a buzzing in his ears.

“Thirty-three,” she reads. “So I found thirty-three.” Nami reaches into her bag and slaps another folder onto the table.

Sanji pales and there’s no breath or life within him as the blood red paper condemns him. Nami opens it and his own name stares back in blatant damnation.

The lead in his stomach drops him to his knees, one hand bracing on the ground- the other going to his mouth to hold in the sickness that begins to churn in his stomach.

“Sanji,” Nami snaps, “are you seriously going to tell me you didn’t know?” She thrusts the pages in his direction, “you practically asked for her in every way but name!” she accuses before slamming them down again.

Sanji can’t even deny it. The forms had asked him all sorts of questions- about himself and his desires. About what drew him physically, mentally, and emotionally. About his ideal match- his ideal lover. And there hadn’t been a single answer he could give without you at the forefront of his mind.

But, he never imagined that it would actually bring you to him. While he’d imagined your figure in the shape of the shadow- he hadn’t known it was true.

Or did he?

Those details in her body, in her hands, in the way she touched him, in the way she fit in his arms- in the way she smelled. They had all reminded him of you, just like he wanted. Those things he had thought were just his imagination… they’d been true.

She felt like you because she was you.

Her hands slot against his the same way yours did- because they were yours. She touched him so familiar because he’d felt it before. She fit in his arms the way you have with every fleeting embrace he's ever given you. She smelled like you because she was you.

Sanji had you.

He took you.

And you had no idea.

When Sanji looks up at Nami, his eyes are red and ringed with a dread that ices her fury. Never in her life, in the years that they’ve been together- has she ever seen that look before. Not the night he was taken from Zou or when they found him on Whole Cake after. Not even that long night on Onigashima when his body was so irrevocably changed.

Complete. Total. Fear.

“Oh shit,” she breathes.

His voice is a hollow fragment of itself, “I didn’t know,” that cracks into even smaller pieces, “I swear I didn’t know.” Hand pressing against his eyes, he tries to hold in the tears, "I should have known." His body wracks with sobs that threaten to shake him down. “Oh god…”

Suddenly, his fist slams into the floor, “fuck,” he rasps.

“You really didn’t know…” Nami says more to herself than him.

Sanji sits back on his knees, hands pleading, “of course I didn’t fucking know, Nami,” he cries. “You really think…” fingers curling, he hits himself in the chest so hard that she flinches, “you really think I would do that to her?” he beseeches. “You thought that I would-” he can’t even finish the question, the weight of it roiling in his gut.

Feeling the heat clawing up his spine and rake the underside of his skin, Sanji reaches into his pocket, pulling out and hastily lighting a cigarette between his teeth- desperately sucking the smoke deep into his lungs to temper the flames.

“I’m sorry,” Nami’s voice is quiet as she drops into the dining chair- expression broken and distant. “She told me not to do it…” she drops her head into her hands, regret and uncertainty pressing at the back of her neck “Dammit,” her curse muffles into the hollow space she hides in.

“Why did you,” Sanji’s voice is smoke filled and gravel deep.

Sighing deeply, Nami wipes the tears at her cheeks, trying to regain the grip on her own logic. “She told me about the forms,” she answers, “and I thought… well, there’s only one reason a place like that would keep them around.”

Sanji swallows another mouthful of smoke, “extortion,” he realizes on the exhale.

“Yeah,” she confirms. “I didn’t…” she sighs, “I just didn’t want them to think about messing with her- if they realized who she was.” Nami picks at her nails, unable to look at him, “she was so curious,” she says softly. “I thought that maybe- one day- she might want to know. So I got it, just in case…” she trails off, voice distant when she adds, “I never thought that I’d find…” she can’t finish the thought, nails digging sharply at her fingertips.

Silence drapes heavy between them, dragging longer than the laced inhales of Sanji’s breath. When the ember nearly burns his fingers and the ash threatens to fall, it’s his shattered plea that drops first, “please don’t tell her.”

Slowly, Nami’s face turns towards him wide eyed, “what?”

“Please, Nami- you can’t,” he begs.

“Sanji-”

“She’ll think…” his breathes quicken, “she’ll think that I…” near frantic, “that I meant to…” tears tipping from his eyes, “please, Nami- please.”

“Maybe…” she swallows, “maybe she won’t-”

“You did,” and that hurts. Nami winces, but Sanji feels the whip of her accusation raw and flaying against his heart. That one of his dearest friends could believe him capable of something so maliciously conniving.

Is he so monstrous that Nami could so easily believe that he would willingly hurt you?

If Nami could think that, then how could you not?

“Nami, please,” he begs again. “If you do, she’ll never…” his voice cracks apart, “I’ll never…” he falls forward, forehead pressing into the floor, “we’ll never…” violently trembling as his all hopes drop into shattered pieces. The hopes he allowed to live in the quiet secret corner of his heart.

The hopes that cried- one day, maybe- one by one fall silent and broken.

Nami’s voice is thick, “okay, Sanji.” The scrape of her chair is loud as she pushes herself up, bracing against the table. “I won’t tell her,” she tells him in a voice resigned and reluctant. With shaking hands that don’t feel like her own, she gathers the folders and steps in front of him. When Sanji rises up on his knees to look at her, face distorted and suffering- she shoves them into his chest. “But, you should.”

With nothing further to say, she silently walks past him with dragging steps into the heart of the ship, leaving him there with his own in a thousand pieces.

In the morning, you wake in better spirits than the one before. Still light and floating from the lovely night you spent with Sanji. It felt good spending that time with him- easy and right. It wasn’t just that he had a talent for filling the cracks in your heart, but he could make you forget that it had ever been broken in the first place.

Though, you had to remind it that last night wasn’t a date- you couldn’t have imagined one better. From the way he plays with you, to the way you sit together under the stars- talking and laughing and relishing in the intermitten silence. In those moments, time ceased to exist entirely and there was nothing but you and him and endless easy joy of being together. After he walked you back to your room and bowed goodnight, you fell into your bed featherlight and beaming.

Dressed for the day, you make your way to the kitchen- eager to share breakfast with the man you knew was likely already finished making it.

But everything falls leaden and low when you enter to find him at the stove.

Sanji stands there staring into an empty pan with glassy red eyes, still dressed in the same clothes he wore last night. “Sanji,” you call to him softly, slowly stepping towards his figure. He doesn’t respond. Gently, your hand goes to his back-

He flinches away, dropping the pan with a clatter onto the stove- quickly stepping away from your touch. Heart hammering with surprise, your palms tilt up in surrender, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” you tell him. His eyes find yours and his trembling lips part like he might say something, before he closes them- frozen and quiet. “Sanji, what’s wrong?”

“Ma chérie,” he breathes- hand dragging across his face before shaking his head and giving you a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Are you hungry? I can make you breakfast.” He’s already moving, opening the pantry and placing things onto the counter.

Quickly, you close the distance, placing a hand onto his arm- and his whole body stiffens under your touch. “Sanji,” you urge softly, “what happened?” Such a far sight from the lighthearted gentleman you parted with in the night. Something clearly happened between then and now and your nerves fray seeing it etched so painfully in his face.

He looks at you for a long moment, like he doesn’t know how to answer. When he sighs, you know him well enough to know that what he tells you next will be a lie, “I’m-”

“Don’t say you’re fine,” you interrupt softly. Tenderly you brush back the strands of his hair- hand pressing to his forehead, feeling for a fever, and his eyes close to your touch. “Talk to me,” you plead.

He grabs your wrist and you note the tremble to his fingers as he pulls you away- and lets go, breaking the contact. “I just…” he turns from you, staring down at the counter, “bad dream,” he offers quietly.

Fingers curling, you fight the urge to soothe your hand across his back, “do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” his answer is quick and curt, knuckles white against the counter. Your heart aches for him, the thin worn look etched on his paled face.

The nightmares aren’t new, though they’d plagued him less- they still bared their fangs sometimes. It was something you’ve spoken about before and something you could understand he didn’t want to talk about- at least not yet. “I just want to make you breakfast,” he tells you, gravel deep and gritty.

There’s nothing you would have denied him in that moment to ease the weight of his burden. “Thank you, Chef,” you offer softly, with a gentle smile. But, Sanji doesn’t respond- turning back towards the stove and silently working.

Rounding the counter, you sit in one of the high chairs, silently watching. There’s none of the showman in the way he cooks now. Not a hint of his usual passion or even a subtle touch of usual care. It’s completely automatic the way he moves, purely on muscle memory, and you can’t help but wonder where his mind has wandered. But, you don’t intrude. You just let him do what he needs to do, staying close and offering silent companionship.

With no ceremony, he sets the plate before you- not bothering to make one for himself. Patting the seat beside your own, you ask, “won’t you join me, Chef?”

“I’m not hungry,” his quick answer drops your heart. “I already ate.”

Sanji looks away as he lies to you.

With a sigh, your head tips back letting the warm water shower down your body. Hands scrubbing, a soft floral scent washes away the scent of sex- the evidence of the earth shattering love you just made swirling down the drain, your heart going along with it.

Coming back into your body, clean and separated from the man who gave you exactly what you asked for- you’re no longer certain you should have asked for it. You thought it would be better than the soulless prostitution you’d had before- and it was. It was wonderfully, perfectly, indescribably better. There’s no shameful sickness settling heavy in your stomach, but there’s an all too familiar pang through your chest.

Stepping out of the shower, you pat dry and stare at your own naked reflection, tracing every curve your match had mapped. He was incredible. Just as sublime as the Madam had promised. True to her word, he’d been an ‘exceedingly perfect match’. Perhaps, even, too perfect.

How agonizing to share something so spectacular and existing in the after knowing you’ll never share it again. The way he touched you, the way he had held you. You imagine his heart must have been aching for something he couldn’t have- just as yours often did.

Shaking your head, you try not to let your mind wander places it oughtn’t. Allowing it for the brief moment he embraced you in his arms had been enough- had been more than you were entitled to…

But, your mind is already casting his formless body into a more familiar shape…

Slapping your hands over your face, you groan, then force yourself to focus. Arranged upon the counter are various cosmetics- some you’re familiar with and some you’re not. One though, had been left with a very specific purpose. Squinting, you read the tiny letters printed on the tag attached to it before unscrewing the lid and gathering a dollop on your fingers. It’s cool to the touch and smells like nothing- but you tilt your head and admire the little violet bloom your match had left at the base of your neck.

Though, you feel almost sad to do so- to let the physical reminder of him and the moment you shared together go- you smear it over his mark. Near instantly, it begins to fade. And, if the instructions are to be believed, within the hour will vanish completely.

But, that’s fitting, you think. It was all best left behind, lest it drive you restlessly mad. Besides, you didn’t want to go back to the crew with such obvious evidence imprinted on your skin. It was embarrassing enough that Nami knows, you’d cast yourself overboard if the rest of your friends figured it out as well.

Dressing back into the clothes you arrived in, you slip out the door and back into the real world.

A little bell chimes above you as you enter the quiet cafe, warm herbal scents meeting you with the companionable comfort of freshly baked goods. Nami is tucked back in the corner, looking up from her stacked papers as you approach. Slowly, her grin stretches across her face and she plops her chin into her hand.

Rolling your eyes, you fall into the seat across from her, “don’t even start,” you warn, face warming.

“I didn’t say anything,” she says, openly staring at you. Before you can retort, a waitress comes by and places a teacup in front of you, delicate wisps of steam rising from the rim. No sooner than you give your thanks and she’s out of earshot does the question come, “so how was it?”

“Nami!” you chastise with a hushed voice.

“Oh, come on, I’m dying to know,” she presses.

Stalling, you take a sip of your tea, eyes bashfully gazing anywhere but her pointed inquiry. “It…” you blush, voice barely a whisper, “it was really good.”

“Really good? That’s it? That’s all you got?” She crosses her arms with a disapproving lift to her brow.

You can’t hide the smile that tugs at the corners of your lips or the deep rose that blooms across your cheeks, “it was… really, really, good,” you admit. “He was…” the words fall apart in your mouth and your hand presses over your eyes to hide from the embarrassment that creeps down your neck.

“The man you couldn’t see or hear?” she clarifies skeptically.

“Yes,” you affirm. “But it was like…” you glance around to make sure no one could possibly overhear this conversation, “it was like we were totally in sync and the way he-” quickly, you fill your mouth with tea before it says more than it should.

“Well, I don’t get it,” she admits, “but I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”

With a sigh, you stare into your tea, “I did…”

Nami frowns, sensing something else, “but?”

Shrugging, your thumbs brush across the rim, “I just… I dunno,” you shake your head. “I guess…” you sigh, completely failing to articulate the emotions that linger. “I did enjoy myself,” you say again.

“For how expensive it was, I’d burn the place down if you didn’t,” she takes a sip of her drink, completely serious.

“Well, actually… about that…” your hand rubs at the back of your neck, “I didn’t pay.”

With a mischievous grin, she sets her cup down with a clink! “Atta girl, do you need to hide on the ship tonight?”

“What,” you blink, “-no! I didn’t skip out,” you quickly explain. “He paid for it- all of it.”

Nami sits back with a surprised purse of her lips, “really?”

“Yes,” you tell her. “Not just the…” you wave your hand, “but, everything else too- my tab from the spa, he closed it all out.”

An approving look slides across her face, fingers rubbing at her chin, “well, well, guess it was really, really, good for him too,” she teases and you blush, hoping that’s true. “Will you see him again?” she asks, “they asked Chopper to do a lecture on microbes or whatever at the hospital tomorrow so we’re not leaving until after.”

“No, Nami,” you shake your head, “I’ll never see him again. I’ll never even know who he was.”

Frowning, she asks, “do you want to?”

“It wouldn’t matter if I did. The service is strictly anonymous, they won’t tell you even if you ask. It was part of the agreement they made me sign,” you explain.

For a moment, she quiets, chewing on her lip and glancing around the room before leaning in, “I could get it for you.”

“What?”

“They keep records,” her voice hushes, “I could go in tonight and find his.”

“Nami!” your eyes widen, voice rising. “No!”

“Oh, come on, aren’t you curious?” she insists.

“Well… sure, but-”

“So I’ll find out-”

“No,” you say more firmly, hands bracing against the table, “no, I don’t want that.”

“Alright, alright,” she raises her hands in surrender. “I hear you.”

Letting out a long sigh, “thanks for offering, though.”

“Eh,” she shrugs, “bet they got all kinds of expensive stuff in that fancy house.” Playfully, you kick her under the table and she snorts, rolling her eyes. “You hungry?”

“Starving, actually,” you admit.

Nami wiggles her brows, “worked up an appetite?”

“Stop it,” you groan, flicking a crumb in her direction.

“Well, since you’re richer than you expected to be this morning, wanna go to one of the fancy places? Your treat,” she adds with a wink.

“Honestly,” you sigh, “I kinda just wanna go home. Do you think Sanji’s back from the market?”

“Should be. He said he was probably gonna stay on board tonight, doing inventory or something.”

“Alright,” you nod, “I’m going to go back to the ship, then.”

“Are you coming out tonight?”

“Not sure yet,” you tell her standing. Though, you doubt you’ll be feeling up for it, you’re certain she’ll come try to drag you out regardless.

“Want me to walk with you?” Nami offers.

“Nah, I’m good. I’ll see you later.”

“Okay,” she smiles, “see you later, hun.” Nami’s eyes trail after you as you leave the cafe, noting the dip to your shoulders and the distant look in your eyes as you slip out the door.

Landing on the deck of the Sunny, some of the tension in your body eases. When you open the door and hear someone rummaging in the kitchen, it melts away completely. Rounding the counter, you find the source stacking crates in the pantry, sleeves rolled up “Sanji,” you call out and he immediately turns towards you.

“Ma chérie~!” he opens his hands as if in awe of your arrival, leaving the crates behind to come lean against the counter next to you.

“Did you have a good time at the market?” your eyes shine up at him and Sanji blushes a little, glancing away.

“Yeah,” he says, “yeah. I just, uh-” he clears his throat. “I had them deliver the boxes, so I was just putting everything away.”

Peering around his towering frame, you see what all he has left, “let me help you,” you offer.

“You don’t need to do that,” he smiles wide at you, “just let me take care of it.”

“I want to help,” you insist, eager for a task to draw your attention away from things you don’t want it lingering on. “Besides,” you frown, pressing your hand to his forehead and his eyes fall closed, “you’re burning up, you need a break.”

Gently, he removes your hand, placing a kiss upon it, “don’t worry, Princess. I’m almost finished,” your hand tingles where his lips touch. His thumb smoothing as he frowns a little, “but what are you doing here? I thought you were spending the day with Nami?”

“I was,” you blush, despite the fact that it’s technically not a lie. “I just needed to rest a bit.”

His expressions falls to concern, “are you alright? What happened?” eyes searching for any sign of something amiss.

“I’m fine,” you insist, smiling, “just a bit tired. And I was hoping to find you here.”

“You were?” he leans in closer, blue eyes bright.

“Well, I was just wondering if…”

“Yes?” he hangs on every word.

A little pang of guilt shoots through, “it’s okay if not, I know we’re all supposed to be taking a break.”

“Ma chérie,” he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, “you can ask me for anything.”

“I was hoping you’d make me something.”

“Something to eat? Are you hungry, love?” You nod and he smiles, chuckling a little as be brings your hands to his chest and bends to eye level, “of course I will. There’s no greater joy in my life than cooking for you.” Sanji places another quick kiss to your hands before stepping back into the pantry. “In fact,” he says pointedly, head tilting at one of the crates, “there’s something I’m dying to test out. So,” he grins back at you, “whaddya say? Wanna be my assistant?”

With a big smile that lights his heart on fire you give him an eager yes.

Laughter rings through the kitchen, alight with pure delight as Sanji puts on a whole spectacle. Not only does he cook for you, but he gives you a show- flipping knives, dancing flames, and cracking jokes with an easygoing smile. When he flips the pan behind his back, you clap- both of you having fun indulging the showmanship he didn’t often get to show off.

“Okay, next one,” he says and you straighten in your seat at the counter. “Close your eyes,” you do, instantly. “Open your mouth,” your sweet lips part and he tips forward. A light rose dusts across your cheeks as you feel him come close and slip the spoon past your lips. “Alright,” he says, pulling away, “what’s that one?”

Lashes fluttering open, you mull the spice around in your mouth before swallowing. “Hmm,” biting your lip, you scrunch up your face and answer, “coriander?”

Sanji claps and points at you approvingly, “three for three!” Hand falling to your chest, your shoulders shimmy with victory. “You’re getting good at this, ma chérie.”

“Thank you, Chef,” you smile, taking a sip of the drink Sanji made for you. “I have a good teacher.” Beaming proudly, you tip the little chef’s hat he’d placed on your head.

Sanji’s heart flips and he turns towards the stove to hide the expression on his face. Stirring the sauce, he listens to the sweet little hums of your voice as you sample more of the appetizers he made for you to have while he finishes the main course.

He loves this. These perfect, easy, playful moments the two of you spend together. There is nothing in the world Sanji would trade them for. And nothing in the world he would risk them for- not even his own selfish desires that simmer below the surface, occasionally threatening to boil over.

When the mischevious giggle you try so desperately to surpress finds him, he grins, “Oh, mon cœur~” he lilts, “you’re not doing something naughty, are you?”

Caught, you still, “no, Chef!” you lie, hand slowly grabbing at a piece of food you weren’t yet supposed to eat.

Quickly, Sanji whirls and catches your wrist. “Tsk, tsk, tsk,” he tuts at you, disapprovingly, head cocked and brow lifted- something warm spreading low as he looks down at you. “Wanna try again, darling?”

“Sorry, Chef,” you relent, teeth lightly sinking into your lip. “I just couldn’t help myself.”

“Is that so?” Sanji leans across the counter, not releasing you from his grasp. Rather, his hand slides up, fingers covering yours where they pinch the stolen little bite. “Well, maybe I’ll let it slide,” he brings it to your lips, “just this once.” Opening your mouth, he presses your fingers inside- his own dragging lightly across your lips in a way that draws a quiet little sound from them. Mouth closing, your lips wrap around the tips of both your fingers and Sanji bites back a groan at the feel of it. For a moment, your eyes lock and heat rises between you- before Sanji pulls his hand away and you take your bite with a bashful look towards the counter.

Without looking up at him, you take another sip of your drink- willing it to cool you down. Still reeling more than you realized from your earlier encounter today. “So, how was it?” he asks and you nearly choke, face flaring.

“What?” you blink, putting your glass down.

Sanji tilts his head at you, “well, I need my assistant’s opinion,” he shrugs, giving you a charming smile that eases you back into the moment.

“Hmm,” you tap your chin thoughtfully like there could ever possibly be another answer other than, “it’s delicious!”

Laughing, Sanji shakes his head, “you say that about everything I give you.”

“Well, if you give me something less tasty then perhaps my answer will change,” you reason.

“Ah, no,” he points. “Not happening. Only the best for my girl,” he winks at you and your heart jumps in your chest. Though, you know it’s only his usual flirting, after everything you did today, you can’t help but feel particularly warm inside. “Speaking of,” he continues, “it’s almost ready.”

“Shall I set the table, Chef?”

“Actually, I have another idea,” he says and you lean forward, eager to hear it. “Seeing as we have the ship all to ourselves this evening, I’m thinking…” he reaches under the counter and pulls up a fancy looking bottle of wine. “Dinner under the stars? You, me, and this bottle of wine, hm?”

The smile that blooms across your face and the light that shines in your eyes is enough to nearly make him collapse. There’s a part of him, that says it’s not right the way he wants to charm you after just having shared his body with some stranger only hours ago.

Almost as loud as the voice that told him to stop imagining you as he did it- calling your name when he was deep inside her, knowing it would never be heard. But, it doesn’t change the way everything inside him sings for you. Doesn’t change the fact that his mind superimposed your image upon the shadow and his body- his heart- still reacts as if it were so.

“Oh, wined and dined by the Chef, himself? Such excellent service,” you tease, heart soaring.

“Well, mademoiselle,” Sanji touches your chin affectionately, holding you there so you can’t turn away, “I do aim to please,” and he can watch as the pretty blush blooms across your cheeks. He’s always adored the way you respond to his flirtations. Playful- bashful, even- never completely shutting him down. It’s hard to recall exactly when they began turning into something a little bit more for him- when exactly he began living for every reaction you ever gave him.

“I’ll get the table set up,” you offer when he pulls away.

“Nope,” he denies quickly, “you go relax. Give me 20 minutes, I’ll have it all ready.”

“But-”

Finger up, he silences you, “part of the service, ma chérie,” he winks.

“But I thought I was your assistant,” you pout and Sanji’s eyes are drawn to the curve of your lip.

“You are,” he assures. “However, you are officially,” he removes your hat, “off the clock.”

Leaning forward, Sanji’s heart stops when your voice calls up to him sweetly, “you can always work me overtime.” Heat rushes across his face and down into lower places hidden behind the counter. Though, he knows you don’t mean it the way his mind immediately takes it- pretty little eyes looking up surprised at his flustered reaction.

Your lips part again, but Sanji clears his throat before you can ruin him further, “Chef’s orders, Princess.”

“But, you just said I’m off the clock- so technically I don’t have to listen to the Chef,” you challenge.

“You do if you want dessert~” he lilts.

Gasping, you give him a playfully indignant look before sliding off your seat and he watches as you disappear into the hall- deeper into the ship. With a groan, his hand slides down his face before he taps into his speed and quickly sets about arranging everything perfectly for what he has to remind his heart is not a date.

Quickly, you pull your day clothes off- deciding instead to slip into something a bit more elegant to lean into the night. A simple, long dress of silk drapes down your silhouette, dripping blue of the night. When Sanji knocks on your door, your heart dances to see he’d the same idea- dressed sharper than a match ready to light.

“Your escort has arrived, mademoiselle,” he grins at you.

“An escort?” you giggle, stepping out into the hall.

“Part of the service,” he winks. “May I?” Sanji places a flower from the garden in your hair before offering his arm and leading you to the upper deck.

There the two of you laugh and talk through the sunset, sharing your meal and drinking the wine- indulging in each other’s company long after both are gone and the stars blanket the sky.

In the quiet hours of the deep night, long after Sanji walked you back to your room, he finds himself, once more, in the kitchen. Everything’s been cleaned up, but he was still far too wired for sleep. Instead, he keeps the lights low, doing some additional prep for the coming week.

The work soothes him, grounds him- even as his head and his heart threaten to blissfully fly away after sharing such a perfect evening with you. The joy it brings him can’t be contained, flowing out in a melodious song of his first language. Rising and falling, lilting and musical- the song only interrupted by the creaking of the outer door and a shadow slowly stepping inside.

Looking up from his work, Sanji beams, “Nami-Swan~! You’re back from-”

“Cut the shit, Sanji,” her words are so sharp they slice him still. When she looks up at him her eyes are red with both tears and fury. “We need to talk.”