There were certain kinda of nostalgia Sanji didn't wish to revisit.

There were certain kinds of nostalgia that jarred him from sleep in the middle of the night. Some kinds didn't let him sleep at all until it was time to get up anyway. Certain nostalgias put him in a cold sweat and made his hands shake so much that the flame wouldn't meet the cigarette.

Yes, there were certain kinds of nostalgia that Sanji loathed to feel.

The cook inhaled slowly, deeply until the poison filled his lungs. He watched the smoke billow out from his lips until the faces went away, until the voices retreated further into his mind. One hand shakily held up the cigarette while the other gripped the railing until his knuckles went white.

"It's snowing," he remarked bitterly to himself. "I wish you were here to watch it with me."

He could feel his throat closing up, and he gritted his teeth. It was ridiculous. Everyone else on the crew had been through so damn much, and what was he upset over? He could still barely remember anything that happened. Seven years, he lived like that. Only seven. He shouldn't be reacting like this. He could feel his weakness. He swore it emanated off him, that the rest of the crew could smell it on him. He took a deeper drag on his cigarette when his legs began to feel like jelly.

"You aren't suffering anymore," he tried, smoke trailing after his words. "Who knows? Maybe you're watching the snow with me."

A sad smile tugged at his lips.

"I can just hear you telling me how nice it is that it's so quiet."

Sanji swallowed a lump in his throat and took another drag, his shaking beginning to fade.

"Maybe...shit, I don't know, maybe you...got to be the snow. Is that it? Is this how you try to talk to me?"

He sounded so stupid.

"I remember, when I left, I was so damn angry with you. I didn't know what you were doing for me."

The cook sighed and turned around so he could sit with his back to the railing. He crossed his arms and puffed on his cigarette.

"I wonder if you'll hear me when I say I'm sorry. Or...if I say I understand everything now. It means a lot to me how much you sacrificed so that I'd have a normal life."

Sanji laughed a little at the word 'normal'.

"Alright, maybe just a happy life."

It didn't take long for the frown to come back to his face.

"I just wish...you could've had one, too."

Sanji cleared his throat and took the last drag on his cigarette. He looked at the cabin he came from and sighed: He didn't want to go back indoors. It felt too constrictive to him. It wouldn't be too bad to stay outside where he could watch the snow, though. Maybe, just maybe, if he stayed on the deck, he could get in touch with the sort of nostalgia that didn't leave him feeling worthless.