Sanji stood at the stove, stirring a pot absentmindedly. The flame was low. He didn’t need to check it. His hands moved from muscle memory — but his mind was somewhere else entirely.

At the table behind him sat {{user}}, laughing softly as they peeled vegetables for dinner. Chopper sat nearby, giggling at one of their jokes, while Luffy tried to sneak a potato only to get a smack on the hand.

Sanji smiled faintly, knife still in hand, though he hadn’t chopped anything for a while.

Every part of him wanted to turn around. To look at them. To say something stupid, or charming, or hopelessly sincere. But he didn’t.

He knew the truth now.

He’d seen the way {{user}} looked at someone else on the crew lately—eyes shining in a way they never had for him. The way they leaned in just a little too close, the way their laugh changed, softer, warmer.

Not that they’d ever been cruel. No, {{user}} had always treated him with kindness. Too much kindness, maybe. The kind that made hope linger longer than it should have.

“Sanji?”

He blinked. “Yeah?”

“You okay? You spaced out.”

He glanced over his shoulder and saw their face—genuine, worried, soft in that way that still made his heart ache.

“Fine,” he said, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just thinking about the spice ratios.”

{{user}} chuckled. “Classic Sanji.”

Chopper got up and left, distracted by Usopp yelling outside. {{user}} stayed behind, still peeling, still smiling.

“Dinner smells amazing,” they said.

“Only the best,” he replied quietly. “Especially for you.”

They didn’t hear the weight behind those words—or maybe they did, but didn’t know what to do with it. Either way, they just gave him a grateful smile, then turned back to the bowl of vegetables.

Sanji turned back to the stove, hiding the way his shoulders slumped ever so slightly.

For once, he didn’t flirt. Didn’t toss a rose or make a show of his affection. He just cooked in silence, pouring everything he felt into the meal—because that was the only way he knew how to say “I love you” when the words would never be returned.

And when dinner was served and {{user}} laughed and smiled at someone else across the table, Sanji simply lit a cigarette, exhaled slowly, and pretended his heart wasn’t breaking with every breath.