Sanji never seemed to sleep.

Being a pirate meant freedom, having the ability to do what you wanted, when you wanted, and however you pleased.

Waking up before dawn and going to sleep in the dead of night was no easy task, especially for a pirate. Having an appointed time to wake and an appointed time to rest was abnormal for them.

Everyone except him, of course.

It was like his body had a built in schedule. You never had the opportunity to see him wake because he was busy making breakfasts before dawn, and you never had the opportunity to watch him go to bed because he slept at such unfathomable hours of the night. If you were to estimate, he got around maybe 6 hours at most. Which was good, but at the same time, a little draining.

The biggest meals and biggest celebrations meant the biggest cleanups that he more than likely handled by himself. But staying awake at those silent, quiet moments where he was allowed time to think and lament as he pleased took a slight, almost imperceptible mental toll on his body.

Cooking was his life. It was his destiny, as he called it. He lived to cook. He was in the culinary arts his entire life, long before he turned to piracy. It was all he existed to do. All he was good at besides his legwork.

He loved his job as a cook, yes, and he loved his crewmates. But he couldn’t help but feel as if he were doing something wrong. Like something was missing in his kitchen.

Until you arrived.

In the best way possible, you were the most stubbornly persistent person he’d ever met in his entire life. You always asked to help him in the kitchen after hours, and you’d poke and dig for answers as to why you couldn’t.

He was used to taking care of the space by himself. He didn’t usually need help — not like anybody usually offered it. He did it all with a smile. He was grateful to be there, and with you on the crew, he found a new sense of purpose.

Ever since your arrival, his dishes always seemed more delicious than they already were. More tasteful — bolder than any of the other dishes he’s served before. The food he made was always amazing, but now, they tasted noticeably different. Better. With what he served you after your first night as a Straw hat, leaving the crew's jaws open, what he served them before your arrival could have been considered "child's play."

Now, he paid the closest attention to his dishes. Each piece of meat was cut to absolute perfection, each incision of the proteins and spices precisely matched.

It didn’t go unnoticed by you, but you assumed he always cooked like this. His food, in your opinion, never changed its taste. Appearance, definitely, but its taste was always so bold and pronounced, you chalked it up to their normalcy. Every time you smiled as you ate his food, the crew shared knowing looks between you and Sanji, watching as his eyes seemed to fill with hearts at each delectable bite.

He was trying to impress you — that much was clear.

Yet another fateful night on the ship. It was nothing special, another carefully prepared meal on the sea. As the crew ate, Sanji was eyeing you the whole time with a soft smile.

After everyone had cleaned up and gone to bed, you purposely trailed behind, just so you could see what he did with his alone time. Keep him company, perhaps.

You went to your room for a little while, collecting yourself as you pondered.

What could he be doing? What was he going to say?

Your footsteps echoed through the silent halls as you made your way to the kitchen.

Sure enough, there was Sanji, wiping off the final remains of rice from the counter.

He had a hint of something on his face.

It wasn’t annoyance or irritation.

It was loneliness.

Once he caught your gaze, he wanted to burst with affection — but the crew was sleeping, and he wanted to keep a cool demeanor around you.

"Couldn’t sleep?" He asked as he looked up at you, his face dusting pink at the welcome interruption.

He couldn’t help the lonely feeling eating away at him each night he was left to clean, so this was the best intrusion he ever could have begged for.