he's salty, alright.

first, you don't like his food. second, you denied him of service. third, you're here ignoring him like a news coo pecking at your head. has he done anything wrong? is there something wrong with the food? is it about your pride he accidentally crushed by last minute saving you from a fish-man because you're such an exceptionally, extraordinary stubborn woman?

have you have no consideration at the very least of his feelings getting not only having his well-prepared meal neglected but also you treating him like some... lemon in your drink when you like cucumber on it instead? like, at all?

he gave you your space, your comfort. he left you be, left you passing him like some marine statue you don't fancy. he let himself play fool, and he admits it's his fault on that part, that's all on him— but still! and you talk to moss head zoro, give your fancy to that swordsman as if your attention was something so easily given taking that here he is, practically begging and confused about it. he don't understand why— just why.

and seeing you standing up to leave the table early as usual, he don't know what came up to him— probably his pride and his heart finally acting up— but his hand shot up, catching you by the arm.

looking right back at you, "sit."

holding your gaze, his tone softens, "sit."