The sea was calm in the way that made Sanji uneasy.

He stood at the edge of the Thousand Sunny, cigarette glowing faintly as twilight bled into the horizon. The crew’s laughter drifted behind him—Luffy’s booming voice, Usopp’s exaggerated storytelling—but his attention kept straying to you.

You were leaning against the rail on the opposite side of the deck, coat fluttering softly in the wind. You always looked like you belonged to the ocean somehow—not as a pirate who conquered it, but as someone who listened to it.

Sanji noticed everything about you. He always did.

The way your expression shifted when you thought no one was watching. The faint tension in your shoulders when plans went wrong. The quiet strength you carried—different from Zoro’s brute resolve or Nami’s sharp confidence. Yours was steadier. Subtle. Dangerous in its own way.

He hated that it affected him.

“Oi,” you said suddenly, not turning around. “You’re going to burn a hole through the deck if you keep staring like that.”

Sanji nearly choked on his cigarette.

“M–my lady! I was merely ensuring your safety! From afar! Respectfully!” You glanced back, unimpressed, but there was a hint of amusement in your eyes.

“Sure you were.”

You gestured toward the galley. “Walk with me. I need tea, and you look like you’re overthinking again.”

That—again—hit closer than you knew.

⸻

Inside the galley, the world felt smaller. Warmer. The hum of the stove filled the silence as Sanji moved on instinct, preparing your tea exactly the way you liked it. He never asked how he remembered. He just did.

You watched him from the table, chin resting on your hand.

“You know,” you said quietly, “you don’t always have to be okay.”

Sanji’s hand froze mid-pour.

He laughed it off, of course. He always did. “What kind of nonsense is that? I’m fantastic! Incredible! The pinnacle of—”

“Sanji.”

One word. Firm. Gentle.

He set the teacup down and finally looked at you. Really looked.

There was no judgment in your expression. No pity. Just understanding.

That terrified him more than any enemy ever had.

“I’ve noticed,” you continued softly, “that you’re always the one holding everyone else together. Cooking. Fighting. Smiling. Flirting.” A pause. “But no one ever asks how you are.”

The silence stretched, heavy as the sea before a storm.

“I don’t need anyone to,” he said at last.

“I know,” you replied. “That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve it.”

Something in his chest cracked.