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Sanji lays awake in his bunk, slightly swaying from the waves that are rocking the ship. And yet it does nothing to lull him to sleep.

It’s been long enough by now that he won’t start crying over this anymore, and yet he feels his eyes prickling and his throat closing up. He heaves a shaky sigh into the night, as he rolls over and pulls the blanket tighter, staring into the darkness.

The tight blanket doesn’t calm the feeling that is stirring in his chest – not quite fear or anxiety, not quite sadness. If anything it’s a weird offshoot of melancholia, a bad version of it, that hurts more than it should.

He doesn’t hate anybody down to the bone, no matter what they’ve done to him, no matter how much he wishes he could hate them. He doesn’t want anybody to be dead , it wouldn’t do any good, it wouldn’t help anybody. What’s done, is done… 

But right now Sanji wished he had something that would help with the pit of despair that was forming in his chest, growing bigger and bigger, threatening to swallow him whole. Whenever he closes his eyes slightly longer than a blink, his mind supplies images he’d rather not see.

Some are memories of past events, back in a cold, wet cell that he’d rather forget about. And some, the worse of the two options, are images of him being back again, back in the cell as an adult, still just as helpless and weak against the attacks from the people around him. He tries to fight back in vain. Fighting against people that should, should have , protected and loved him. If he had had the fortune of being born into normal circumstances.

He had no such fortune, the hits kept coming. Sometimes he asks himself why he was even still around. He should have died in that basement, or on that stupid rock. He should be with his mother.

The spiraling thoughts finally manage to make the mere prickles well up into actual tears, threatening to roll down his cheeks, meaning it was time to get up. He’s no good laying here crying – he is no good in general – so why not use the time he had and do things that could buy him love. Buy him more time on the ship, because that’s what he was doing. Buying – wasting – time, resources –

He throws back the blanket, struggling out of the bunk. He felt like his body was made of lead, pulling him back down, but he manages to fight the invisible threads that are entangling him and gets up. Once out on deck, the dark waves of the ocean tempt him, like they tended to do, day after day, year after year. They lap up the side of the boat, as if they were reaching for him, calling for him in a siren song. But he merely glances at them out of the corner of his eye for a second, as he lights a cigarette, before he makes his way to the only thing he truly, with all his heart – right after the ladies – loved: His kitchen.

He flicks on the light, almost heaving a sigh of relief at the sight of his most prized possession. This space was all his, Franky made sure to listen to his requests. The wood and light gave the galley a warm, orange glow. And yet Sanji felt cold and out of place. Because he didn’t belong here. He was only here, because everyone pitied him. He belonged nowhere – 

He rolled up his sleeves, even though the kitchen was slightly chilly with the heat turned down for the night and the oven having been off for several hours now. It’s fine, he’ll work himself warm on whatever his mind will come up with…

His body was willing to work, but his mind stayed blank. At least on what to make. Other thoughts had no trouble running and tumbling over each other, telling him how wrong he was here, how he should just jump off the ship, where he belonged.

Sanji gripped the counter he was leaning over a little harder and squeezed his eyes shut hard. It only gave his inner eye the opportunity to give him visuals for the previous thoughts. His eyes fly open and he tangles his hands in his hair, gripping it violently, trying to get a grip , despite his hands going numb. He stares at the counter top with wild eyes, heaving, trying to calm his breathing best he can.

The rising panic luckily doesn’t last, he breathes, as steady as he can, in through the nose, out through the mouth. Rinse and repeat. He can finally feel his hands somewhat, so he untangles them from his hair, a few golden strands sliding down his wrists and falling onto the floor, as he moves to take out his recipe book, like nothing happened.

He finally catches somewhat of a break as he cooks. He just opened a random page, mentally checking if he had the ingredients, the mental check coming back positive, so he just went with it. It’s a recipe that’s categorized under ‘general’ thankfully, so his mind doesn’t spew any further, utter, bullshit about him forgetting or favoring anybody of the crew. It does try to tell him, he isn’t making anything for anybody in particular, meaning it’s a waste , but he manages to shut his mind up by flipping to a recipe dedicated to Nami next. It’s something of a compromise, because he and his mind can live with favoritism of the girls. After he moves on to one for Robin, one for Brook, one for Chopper…

By the end he has made at least one meal for everyone, trying to stuff them all in the fridge next to all the other ingredients and, regretfully, other late night cooking results. He stares into the fridge for a long moment, trying to bask in the clear display of food security. And yet, when he shuts the fridge, the pit of despair is still present in his chest. Dark and deep. He can’t fill it, no matter how hard he tries. He has tried for years.

Sanji has no idea how late – or early – it was, when he got out of bed, but by now he can see a hint of pink on the horizon, when he steps outside for a smoke. So he decides to lay down on the galley sofa. Maybe he can squeeze in a few minutes of shut eye, before the first crew members wake up. He has no clue who’s on watch tonight, no clue what time it is. He feels disoriented and out of it when he lays down on the sofa, which is good. Because it makes him forget why he was this tired in the first place, at least for the few minutes he needs to slip away.

***

Sanji wakes up with his head pounding and judging by the light the sun is higher in the sky than he would like it to be, he wanted to be up before breakfast time. He blinks a few times before sitting up, making a blanket slide off of him onto the ground. He stares at it for a moment, because he had fallen asleep without one. His mouth twitches a tiny bit, almost feeling softness over whoever put a blanket over him, someone cared enough – but his mind wanders to a different thought, before he could actually let something resembling fondness set in.

Because the blanket meant someone had been in here. He raises his gaze slowly, in anticipating horror of the state of his kitchen. Because if he had slept through someone coming in and covering him in a blanket he probably also missed his kitchen being ravaged. But his eyes wander over a pristine countertop, a locked fridge and a clean table. Noone has been in here to diminish the food supply.

Before his ill-spirited thoughts can catch up to him, he pushes himself off the sofa. And as if on cue, he hears a familiar whine outside the door, announcing Luffy’s arrival. For a split second Sanji feels relieved he had been up all night cooking, because he was at least prepared to preemptively stuff the captain’s gob while he prepares coffee and tea for the others. Preparing his best insincere smile while he’s at it.

Breakfast was a usual affair, everyone trickling in slowly once they got up or decided they were hungry, but seemingly a little later than usual. Sanji tries his hardest not to grimace at his captain when he mumbled something about ‘being able to taste the love’ around a bite that should not fit in his mouth, even if he was made of rubber. If pain and despair tasted like this, he couldn’t imagine what his love would taste like.

He doesn’t formally find out who was in the kitchen that early morning, but Sanji has his suspicions. The way Zoro watches him with a furrowed brow, more wary than usual, tells him as much. But he can’t possibly imagine the swordsman caring about anyone, or any thing for that matter, that aren’t his swords. The only person that comes close is Luffy, because Zoro is like a puppy to his captain. Loyally trotting after him without second thought. The only duty the swordsman feels is protecting the crew, which is, on Sanji’s part, wasted time.

If only they knew, he knew, sleeping without a blanket won’t do him harm, thanks to Sanji being a monster underneath the human exterior. But they don’t. He tries his hardest not to let it show or slip out. He doesn’t need protection, if anything the others did from Sanji. Because if only they knew what was going on in his body and mind, they’d probably be horrified.

***

The thoughts don’t let him sleep. Several days in a row he barely gets to rest, his mind playing scenes he doesn’t want to see whenever it gets dark or he shuts his eyes. Chopper had offered sleep aids several times, concerned about his state and health. But Sanji waves him off, he’s fine. His unloved body keeps him upright against his will. How blissful it would be to crumble under the exhaustion, to finally lay his head to rest – maybe forever. But no such luck.

Even when he tries the medication one night, after Chopper had just placed it in his bunk in clear request, they do nothing to make him sleep. All they manage is making him drowsy, his limbs feeling heavy, screaming for sleep. But his mind doesn’t shut off.

Failure. Monster. Freak. Unlovable. You should not exist.

At this point he can’t even use his usual coping mechanism, because the fridge was bursting at the seams. Which is hard to do, considering the appetite of their captain alone. But somehow Sanji had managed to achieve something unimaginable: Feed Luffy until full and have leftovers.

So instead he claws at his scalp while tossing in his bunk, hoping it will pacify the anxiety stirring and stop the pit in his chest from growing and growing. It has reached his gut by now, barely being able to eat. He’s fine while he cooks, but having a full plate in front of him? The thought alone makes him queasy.

The pulling does nothing but give him headaches. When those get too bad, he tends to his other vice, his cigarettes. Always kept close to his heart, always in reach, like a good friend should be. A friend that slowly kills you… If you’re human, that is. He spends a lot of time out on deck, no matter the time of day, smoking. The others definitely notice, though by now Sanji doesn’t care. It just feeds into his self hatred, making the others uncomfortable with his clear struggles. He resorts to tucking himself in a corner of the ship, where he isn’t in clear view, where he can be alone with his thoughts. Otherwise the eyes on him feel like needles and make everything worse.

The sea looks more and more tempting by the hour. Maybe in another life he can find the All Blue.

***

Sometimes he does wonder if he should take up drinking, but then again he always judges the swordsman for it. The thought alone of being compared to Zoro in that specific regard makes him downright gag. Or maybe that’s just his empty stomach from never eating more than a few bites for the last few days, who can say.

He forces himself to eat in front of the others. At least a little and then say he’ll eat more once he’s taken care of cleaning, but he never does. He hates himself for it. He should definitely know better, he knows how precious food is. But he just cannot get himself to chew and swallow. He’s here to feed the others – that’s his job – nobody ever talked about feeding himself.

He knows the crew is tip-toeing around him. The soft eyes and more than usual touches to his shoulders do nothing to calm him. They think you’re weak, useless, helpless. Members of the crew tending to hang around, in the galley or outside. Someone always sticking to him when they’re on an island somewhere. They think you’re a hazard.

It does nothing to ease his mind, not one bit. Nobody addresses the situation, but everyone knows. He can see them having wordless conversations over dinner, sending glances and glares at each other. Sanji may have blurry vision most of the time but he isn’t blind just yet. He needs to get it together. He needs to get a grip.

One time Robin tries to address the elephant in the room, coming into the galley under the guise of wanting to drink tea in his presence. Like she has several times in the past weeks. She sits and watches Sanji wash dishes with a neutral face, from time to time sending a disembodied arm to take a clean plate to set in the drying rack. 

She clears her throat and sets down her tea cup with a clink. The sound making Sanji jerk upright.

“What’s been bothering you, Mr. Cook?” She asks evenly, like they regularly have this type of conversation.

Sanji swallows thickly, drying his hands on a towel and turning to her, trying his hardest to keep the mask in place. He smiles weakly, “Bothering me?”

Robin folds her hands on the table, looking at Sanji piercingly. “You haven’t been yourself.”

He tries his hardest not to laugh. He has never been himself since day one. “I am just fine, my dear.”

Her face stays set in stone, but Sanji knows she calls his bullshit. He can’t possibly bother her with all of this, even if he wanted to. Even if she actually cared, even if she didn’t just pull the short straw today. He cares enough to not share all his sorrows with her, they’d be here all day. Her own past is bad enough.

“You can talk to any of us, Sanji.” Robin says, giving him a smile, “We’re a crew and all of us care about your well-being.”

For a split second his mind tells him the woman across is evil for these words. But he reigns it in, Robin is nothing but lovely. He takes a breath and widens his fake smile, straining until it hurts. “I promise, I’m okay. I’ve just had trouble sleeping, that’s all.” It’s a semi-truth, he would never outright lie to a woman’s face. He was merely bending the truth. He will not admit weakness in front of her.

Robin gives up shortly after this. Other crew members try these talks as well. But they all can’t crack his walls. 

Sanji won’t let them.

***

Chopper gives him stronger sleep aids after this. After everyone tells him that Sanji can’t sleep. They actually manage to make him sleep, which does improve the overall exhaustion somewhat. But they also make him sluggish all day. Though it has not happened yet, Sanji fears oversleeping and missing breakfast or a fight or some other emergency that would doom the crew. 

He’d be useless. 

He can’t let them think he is useless.

The thoughts don’t stop, though. He may be getting shut eye at night, thanks to the medicine, but by day his mind twists and turns. Flashbacks and intrusive thoughts sneak their way into his head unnoticed. As long as he stays occupied he manages just fine, but in any slow minute, he can’t flee them anymore. It hasn’t been this bad in years and it’s a clear sign of weakness how he can’t keep them at bay.

It doesn’t last though. It’s almost like his brain knows it has to catch up for lost time. The intrusive thoughts slowly start to weasel in even when he’s doing busy work. It starts slow with a stray memory here and there, but soon escalates into his mind drifting off completely, while his body is on autopilot. And to his horror they even start emerging while he’s cooking.

He shakes awake over a sizzling pan, with a heaving chest and shaking hands. Being ripped out of a memory that twisted into an imaginary scene where he is seeing red, being beaten to a pulp, feeling his lungs fill with blood and choking on it.

He pulls the pan off the flame with blurry vision, glad it had been set there empty, before he slowly actually comes to. In horror he feels eyes on himself, raising his gaze with building anxiety. He quickly dashes his sleeve over his eyes to catch any tears that might have escaped, putting his panic on pause to look at the intruder.

Zoro, who else, stands frozen in the middle of the galley, looking at him, eyebrows slightly raised. Sanji meets his gaze evenly and they stare at each other for a long moment.

Sanji breaks the silence with a sniffle and then turns back to the stove. “What?” He asks with a voice that sounds way too wet and shaky for his taste, trying to remember what he was even trying to fry while dissociating.

The swordsman stays quiet for a long while, making Sanji’s hackles stand on edge. “What,” Sanji grits out, “Do you want?”

Zoro moves, taking the few steps closer to lean his hip against the counter. He keeps his expression neutral, “You were gone .”

“I’m right here.” Sanji replies. Like he doesn't know he’s a ticking time bomb.

“You know exactly what I mean,” Zoro says, crossing his arms now. Defensive.

Sanji turns to him, mimicking the gesture. “Like you care.” Because he doesn’t. Because Zoro cares about nothing and nobody.

The swordsman looks at him for a moment, before hesitating to speak. “Do you want to –”

“Get out of my kitchen.”

Zoro manages to dodge the following kick and does not reemerge until the crew is called for dinner.

***

He approaches again a few days later, when Sanji is yet again smoking instead of sleeping. He doesn’t want to be drowsy and sluggish every single day, so he skips the medication from time to time, preferring just being sleep deprived instead. At least those side effects can be counteracted with caffeine… To an extent.

Sanji is staring out at the ocean, wondering how fast he would drown in the pitch black water if he jumped now, or if hypothermia would get him first, when he hears heavy steps coming his way. He preemptively rolls his eyes, flicking the cigarette butt into the ocean and switching it for a fresh one.

He gives Zoro a pointed glare, when he leans onto the railing next to Sanji, daring him to ask stupid questions again. Silently pleading for silence instead, hoping he’s understood loud and clear. His glare is met with a passive stare that holds for a second, before the swordsman turns to stare out at sea.

Sanji can live with this. He has gotten used to the others hovering around him, even though he still doesn’t like it. Sanji smokes another two cigarettes as he waits for the swordsman to speak. But so far he keeps his mouth blissfully shut.

Zoro standing next to him makes his thoughts wander back to earlier in the day. How he almost asked if Sanji needed to talk. What would that even look like, a serious talk between the two? 

He was tired of people pulling the shorter straw to tend to him. He should leave, they’d be better off with a new cook. Who isn’t a pathetic, wet rag of a person. 

He should just jump –

“You look like shit.” Zoro states, unaware – or all too aware – of Sanji’s state of mind.

Impeccable timing as ever. “We’re dishing out compliments today?” The cook huffs, exasperated to no end.

Their eyes meet as Zoro looks at him calculatingly. “Have you been taking the medication?”

Sanji would prefer being punched right now. Or maybe gutted. Zoro, of all people, asking if he’s taking his pills. This is the most ironic joke the universe could have come up with. And yet he replies, not able to stop himself from having the last word with the swordsman. “Sometimes.”

The swordsman lets out a grunt before pushing further, “Today?”

Clearly not. Why else would he be standing here in the middle of the night? Whoever put Zoro on babysitting-duty clearly didn’t think this through. “Not yet.” Sanji replies stiltedly while lighting another cigarette.

Zoro stays silent for a long while, looking out at sea. Maybe his pea-brain can’t come up with anything helpful, because this man has no compassion for anyone, especially not Sanji. 

“Go sleep,” the swordsman finally huffs out.

Sanji wants to rise to the bait, he wants to kick his skull in, truly, but he has been up for a while. Maybe days, he’s not sure. So he bites back, “Don’t tell me what to do.”

The swordsman doesn’t back down. He pushes off the railing, turning toward the cook. He squares his shoulders, laying a hand on his swords. “Go on,” He jerks his chin toward the bunkroom, “Sleep.”

Zoro is trying his best to look intimidating, but that has lost its edge ages ago. Sanji knows well that the green oaf is more than tame. Especially now, since the crew thinks Sanji’s weak and a liability.

He wants to fight, he really does, but he barely has any fight left in him today. So he instead huffs a tired sigh. He flicks his unfinished cigarette over the railing, longing to go after it, before wandering to the bunkroom. It was way too late now to take the medication, so he just lays down as is. Not bothering to change out of his clothes.

As expected he does not sleep, at least not for a long while. His mind turns and twists the conversation with Zoro. Why would he even agree on tending to the cook? He was probably forced to, putting in the minimum effort. Maybe he’s getting off on Sanji clearly struggling, having the upper hand for once. The spirals do let him drift off into a light, barely there, sleep, by some miracle, but it does not last long.

He is shaken awake by heavy footsteps, signalling the green oaf coming back from taking watch. But Zoro does not lay in his bunk to sleep, no. The shuffling and thump indicate that he is sitting against a wall and Sanji can imagine why. He raises his head minutely to stare into the darkness, meeting a single gray eye staring back at him in the low light. Zoro is sitting not too far away, swords cradled in his arms, watching. Apparently they don’t even trust him while sleeping now.

***

The sea is calling for him. Loud and clear, singing its usual siren song. The waves lapping up at the side of the ship, dark and tempting. They glisten in the moonlight, like sharp teeth. If only they could lunge for him.

He’s not even sure why he’s so fixated on dying in the ocean, considering it would probably be a slow death in his case. Being a good swimmer and a genetically modified monster. Maybe it’s the poetic aspect. His dream of finding the mythical ocean, his obsession being tended to and set in stone by an abusive environment. The only refuge he had… The ocean, both curse and blessing. He hates the ocean, what it had done to him as a child. Sanji knows how deadly it can be under the right circumstances.

It was almost romantic, the thought of dying at sea. Almost. Being swallowed by the depth, never to be seen again. Disappearing off the face of the earth, no trace to be found. But this is probably not the romantic idea most people had of the ocean. It wouldn’t be a heroic death, far from it. It would be giving up, because he had no idea where to go.

He hated what he was. Trying his best to shape himself, or an image of himself, to be tender and sweet. Trying his best to give love. He gave so much, he didn’t have any left for himself. And for a long, long time now he was convinced, so sure of it, that nobody could ever truly care for him. 

The one and only person who ever did died when he was a child. And any hope of someone caring died with her.

He loved his crew, he truly did. But still he felt inferior in every aspect. They’d be better off with a new cook. Someone who wasn’t a liability, who was beaten into submission for so long, he barely had a sense of self. 

The only thing that kept him going was the ocean, the promise of the hidden, mythical ocean, somewhere out there. But the sea had started calling for him in a different way a while back, more and more. Getting louder every day. He could barely look at it anymore. Any time he did he would imagine himself giving in – giving up – and embracing its calling. Embracing the sea, like he wished he could.

The Sunny was anchored at an island, near a cliff, so the water was deep, but the sea was calm. Most of the crew had gone to explore the island and the shops the harbor town offered, but Sanji hung back.

He needed space.

He stood there, smoking, staring into the depths. He could barely make out his shadow in the water, almost as if there was a space in the ocean, cut to size, just for him. It was calling him. And he was about to answer.

He barely noticed that he had already taken off his shoes, he wasn’t sure why. He padded closer to the railing, his feet already tingling from the cold wood of the deck. Sanji laid his hands on the railing, gripping it lightly. 

Almost automatically he heaved himself up, sitting on it. His feet dangled over the side of the ship.

The waves sloshed at the Sunny lazily, some tumbling over each other to send spray up the hull further. The calm was almost inviting. Welcoming.

Sanji sat there, for a long while, looking down into the dark water, at the little shape that was his shadow. His heartbeat picked up as he scooted slightly forward, only the grip of his hands keeping him from slipping off the wood.

For a moment he closes his eyes, taking a deep breath.

Before letting go.

The fall seems to be taking forever. Way longer than it does, when he jumps down to get ashore. The wind in his ears sounds unbearably loud, so he squeezes his eyes shut, preparing for the inevitable impact.

The water will be cold, he thinks. He’s going to freeze. Certainly not to death immediately, but it will suck nonetheless.

And then his mind wanders to the disappointment on Nami’s face. And Robin, too. He had let them down, given in to his weakness. He stopped fighting.

Chopper, Usopp and Franky crying their eyes out, Luffy taking off and giving his straw hat to whoever took his fall the hardest.

No more wings, Luffy won’t be flying.

No Pirate king.

Before he can scream, he hits the water, solid like a brick wall, despite going in mostly feet first. The cold makes him gasp, his lungs contracting, his body fighting. He can’t die. Not yet. Not like this .

He wills his muscles to work, ignoring the shivers going through his body, as he swims up to the surface with long strokes. Finally he breaks the surface, gasping for air, like he has never taken a breath in his life. Making it to the ship’s hull takes effort, feeling like he’s swimming against a current.

He grabs the rope ladder with shaky hands and makes his way up, fingers numb from the freezing water, yet burning like fire at the same time. His body heavy from the cold and wet clothes. The way up has never taken this much energy, but he needs to make it up.

He does, stepping onto deck, swaying from the exertion. Pain blooms in his calves and back of his thighs, where he hit the water. For a split second he almost feels human. A wet sob leaves his throat, shaking him from his stupor. He stands there, in the chill of the night, sopping wet, sobbing and shivering. 

He can’t die.

And yet the pit of emptiness in his chest does not dissipate at the revelation. He still doesn’t want to live, either.

He isn’t good for anything.

“What the hell are you doing?!” A voice rings out, joining the ringing in his ears that he barely registered before now. Usopp makes his way over, frantically shaking out a towel that he wraps around Sanji’s shaking shoulder moments later.

The sniper pads him down, as best as he can with the towel at hand, a constant flow of concerned, confused chatter and questions leaving his mouth. “Why the hell would you jump off the ship in the middle of the night?”

Sanji doesn’t reply – he can’t, really. The sobs had stopped by now, but his body was still in shock. All words that manage to wash into his scattered mind consist of wanting to die.

***

Sanji needs help. He knows that. But admitting to it would be admitting weakness out loud.

After his little ‘stunt’, as the others called it, he had been cooped up in the infirmary by an upset Chopper. He wanted to monitor him the next few hours, mainly worried about hypothermia. But Sanji was well aware of everyone sharing concerned glances, when they came back from town. The alleged hypothermia was not the culprit.

It’s warm under the pile of blankets, as he watches Chopper flit around the room. He talks about the dangers of cold water, especially swimming at night. The doctor sets out a bowl of medication, adding to it from his supplies, before carrying it over to the bed.

Chopper pulls up his chair, and stays quiet for a moment, before raising his eyes to meet Sanji’s.

“I know you probably won’t answer,” he starts quietly, “but why would you just jump off the ship like that? Without reason?” Big brown eyes stare at him with concern, making Sanji feel worse about himself.

He stays quiet, giving a slight shrug after a moment. He can’t say, it would break Chopper’s heart. And that would break his own even more.

“Sanji…” Chopper says solemnly, trying to prod him to talk, but Sanji doesn’t budge.

“From what Usopp and the others said, I have an idea what’s going on,” he says firmly at first, but then his voice starts to waver. “But I can’t confirm that, unless I actually talk to you about it…”

Chopper looks at Sanji searchingly, hoping that he will start talking, but he stays quiet. Chopper’s smart, they’re right.

“Sanji,” Chopper starts, his voice sounding thick, “From what it sounds like…” His eyes welled up, trying his hardest to keep it together, “You’re making unwise decisions.”

His throat feels tight, as Sanji finally admits, “I know.”

“Why wouldn’t you tell us? We are a crew.” Chopper chokes out, as big tears roll down his cheeks.

Sanji sinks into the blankets, feeling shame stir in his chest. He didn’t want to be a liability, a burden. A failure. “I didn’t know how.”

Chopper jumps onto the bed, hugging the pile of blankets Sanji is buried under. Sanji frees his arms, to pat his back. Now he made Chopper not only worry, but be upset. He needs to get it together. The action only makes Chopper cling to his chest more, sobbing into his shirt.

The doctor starts saying they’ll help him, an endless string of words leaving his mouth, as he slowly calms down. We care about you, we’ll take care of you, we love you.

If only Sanji could accept these words. See them for what they are and not just a front. A polite statement, fitting the dire situation. Losing a cook that does decent work. But isn’t worth much more.

***

After this the sleep aids are joined by other medication. At first there are several of them, trying to level out whatever chemistry was off in Sanji’s brain. Adjusting to them took time, some made him more tired and foggy, some made him feel wired, making his skin itch.

And on top of that Chopper insisted on him staying in the infirmary at night, so he can keep an eye on Sanji while he’s getting settled. Which was understandable, but it’s not like he was at risk. Dipping his toes in that night didn’t go well, so there was no chance he would do it again. The doctor also insisted on frequently talking about what’s bothering Sanji, what thoughts exactly trouble him. He tries his best to open up, but still, he bends the truth, so he doesn’t have to talk about his upbringing.

It does something , though. The talking, the medication. Things don’t look so dire anymore.

Now that the cat was out of the bag, the crew being informed of his state, of course, they all acted… Different. But not really. It was weird and Sanji’s foggy brain made it hard to process. They kind of went back to normal and not really.

He would cook for them, like always, head staying quiet, but there was more thanks. More offers to help. More questions, genuine ones, if they could do anything. It’s not like it was new, they had always offered help, but it started to feel different. He started to hear them.

Of course, he would never dare to make the ladies do any extra work, but he enjoyed their additional attention nonetheless. The help of the others he would accept more often than not. And it wasn’t hard to say yes. Admitting that he wanted help. He had yet to admit that he ever needed genuine help, but it was a start.

The only person who didn’t change his attitude was Luffy. The eternal ray of sunshine only came in for one of his stern talks, having Sanji promise to be strong and stating that he can rely on his crew. Which, deep down, he always knew. He knows. But maybe now he can start believing it. The captain did offer his hat in support, which Sanji politely declined. Instead he was offered a weird sea creature the crew caught later that day, which he turned into great sashimi.

What surprised him though, was how placid – in his own way – their swordsman seemed to become. Even Zoro offered more help, albeit in his usual, untactful manner. At some point Zoro just started doing the dishes on his own, because if he offered the help first, it would devolve into a fight and none of the dishes were done.

Their fighting stayed the same, he still insulted Sanji with every name in his book. They tried to one-up the other, as much as possible. And they came together, back to back, when in a pinch. And it started to feel different. Like genuine care and not just an aid to ease the load during a battle, to get a few of the enemies off his own back.

And Zoro, too, like all other crew members have before, pays him a visit in the infirmary. Because apparently even the swordsman wants to check in on him now. Without anybody prompting him to do so.

Sanji sits in front of Chopper’s desk, working on recipes, when the swordsman comes in. “I am being graced with the presence of moss. What gives me the honor?” He jabs with a smile, pulling up a second chair for Zoro to take.

Zoro sits with a huff, “Everyone else has been in here already. Guess it’s my turn.”

“Nobody’s forcing you to be here, Marimo.” Sanji says, turning back to the desk.

“Look,” Zoro starts with a sigh, making Sanji look up, “I’m shit at this, but It’s not bad to need help. It’s not a sign of weakness.” Zoro tells him, straight to the point.

Sanji grits his teeth, turning toward the other, “Says you. The guy who always goes in alone, head first, without thinking.”

Zoro leans forward, crossing his arms, “Has been working out for me so far.” 

Mimicking the gesture, Sanji leans closer as well, “You’re always the one coming out of battles half dead!” He barks back.

“Only half . Because I know that I can rely on everyone.” Zoro tells him curtly.

Sanji huffs, “I know that too, dumbass.”

“A few weeks ago I wouldn’t have believed you.” The mood shifted instantly, from snappy banter to something pressing. Zoro’s face shifted minutely, only visible if you really paid attention. A hint of sorrow flashed across his features.

The cook shifts away, leaning back into his chair. “I’m better now.” His voice sounds stilted.

Zoro lets out a long sigh, letting his head hang for a moment. When he raises his gaze again, he meets Sanji’s straight on, looking determined.

“We, the crew… And I , for that matter, care about you. Do you hear me?” He says evenly.

Sanji nods, a little stunned at the statement. This was not on his list of things he’d ever hear out of the swordsman’s mouth.

“Don’t pull shit like that again. Talk to us.” Zoro tells him, again being met with a nod from Sanji. “No more bullshit.”

“No more bullshit.” Sanji agrees easily.

Zoro gets up, walking to the door. “Good night, shit cook.” He says, as he closes the door behind himself.

Sanji smiles to himself, “Good night.”

Sanji can finally look at the ocean again, without hearing a siren song. 

All he can hear is the sound of waves.