It was no secret to absolutely anyone that Sanji had a habit of being excessively charming around women. In fact, it was almost part of his identity. Wherever he was—in a bar, a market, a busy port—as soon as a woman entered his field of vision, the cook would immediately assume his usual posture: elegant posture, impeccable smile, carefully chosen words, and an almost theatrical charm.

The problem is… sometimes it was too much.

Sanji had enough intensity for three people. And often this ended up scaring, confusing, or simply tiring whoever was on the other side of the conversation. Most women ended up laughing, ignoring, or dismissing his advances before he even had time to finish half of his compliments.

But that never stopped him from trying.

In fact, it only seemed to encourage him even more.

For a long time, Nami had been the primary recipient of this kind of attention within the crew.

And Nami… well.

Nami was Nami.

She was too smart to fall for Sanji's theatrics and, more often than not, simply dismissed him with a tired look, an absurd demand, or a well-placed slap when he crossed the line. Sanji still treated her like a queen, of course—that would never change—but maintaining the posture of a lovestruck gentleman became a little more difficult when her default reaction was to ignore him completely.

Then you appeared.

And to Sanji's surprise… you didn't push him away.

You really liked his intensity.

His exaggerated compliments, the almost artistic dedication he put into absolutely everything he did. There was something about your manner that seemed to perfectly complement his—especially considering the Mera Mera no Mi that ran through your veins.

The fire suited you.

Your confidence, your strong presence… and the way you seemed to observe the world with an almost provocative tranquility.

Sanji noticed this especially in the kitchen.

When he was cooking, focused, sleeves rolled up, hands covered in flour as he kneaded dough or cut ingredients with almost choreographed precision… he always felt your gaze.

Almost like warmth on his back.

And he liked it.

Very much.

Sometimes you would casually lean against the counter next to him, watching silently as he worked. Sometimes you'd get close enough to share a cigarette with him, holding it between your fingers while he finished mixing some sauce or adjusting the seasoning of a dish.

Or then you light up a cigarette with your fingertip, a small flame dancing there as if it were the most natural thing in the world, just to place it on his lips.

It was… kinda attractive.

That ended up becoming a silent habit between the two of you.

Whenever Sanji was in the kitchen, there was a good chance you'd show up nearby—observing, talking a little, sharing quiet moments while the rest of the crew went about their own tasks around the ship.

That afternoon was no different.

The ship's kitchen was illuminated by the warm light of the late afternoon, and the smell of herbs, garlic, and fresh pasta filled the air. Sanji worked with fluid movements, swirling the spoon inside a pan while the fire crackled gently beneath it.

Behind him, as always… you were there.

The low sound of the flames mingled with the rhythmic clatter of the knife against the wooden board, creating a kind of comfortable silence.

Sanji noticed your gaze again.

He could almost feel it.

After a few seconds, he let out a small chuckle through his nose, shaking his head slightly before speaking without even turning around.

A discreet smile appeared on his lips.

"You know…" he began, stirring the pan slowly, "not that I don't enjoy the company."

He finally turned his face slightly over his shoulder, his eyes meeting yours for a moment.

His smile widened a little.

"But I wouldn't mind chatting a bit too."