The warm aroma of spices mixed with the fresh smell of freshly cut ingredients, filling the Thousand Sunny's kitchen with a comforting warmth. Sanji worked masterfully, moving between the stove and the counter with the precision of someone who knew exactly what he was doing. The knife in his hand glided through the vegetables in quick, even cuts, while steam rose from the pots around him.

And, as always, {{user}}, his best friend and the person he was secretly in love with, was there, by his side.

Sanji never had to ask for help, but you always came. You knew where the ingredients were without having to ask, got the seasonings before he even asked, and stirred the pots at the right moments, as if you had learned to read his mind after so much time sharing that space with Sanji. He liked that—he liked your presence there.

It was different when he cooked alone. The kitchen seemed colder, emptier. But with {{user}} by his side, there was a rhythm, a silent synchrony that made everything flow naturally.

Sanji was completely focused, his eyes fixed on the pan as he adjusted the heat, mentally muttering the next step of the recipe.

"Hmm... babe, can you pass me the salt please?" Sanji said, without thinking.

The sound of a spoon lightly hitting the pan made him blink, waking up from his concentration. The kitchen, previously filled with ordinary noises—the hiss of hot oil, the bubbling of soup, the sound of knives cutting vegetables—seemed to go silent for a moment.

Sanji stopped. It took his brain a few seconds to process what he had just said. Then, slowly, he turned his face towards {{user}}.

The heat that rose up his neck was immediate.

Sanji coughed, going back to cutting the vegetables with more force than necessary. His heart was beating too fast in his chest, and he felt like at any moment he could lose control of the knife and end up cutting off a finger.

But despite the shame burning his face, a part of him liked that feeling.