A matched pair of stories following manga chapter 331, so vague spoilers which likely will be rendered invalid come the next chapter. Is Luffy angst a sign of the Apocalypse?
Until It Passes
For all that he worked most of his life in crowded kitchens, Sanji prefers to cook undisturbed. Not that the crew always respects this, but Zoro usually prefers napping in the sun. But though the sky is clear blue now, he isn't here just to grab a snack; instead he sits at the table.
Turning the heat down to let the sauce simmer, Sanji looks back to find the swordsman has his white katana out and is polishing the already-shining blade, studiously, not looking up when Sanji coughs in barely mannered irritation. Can't you do that outside?, he might say, or You better not get oil on the table we eat on, or, subtlety not being Zoro's strength, Get the hell out, stupid. But when he opens his mouth he says, "Where's Nami-san?"
Zoro, head still bent over the sword, replies, "In the main cabin, with Chopper."
"Robin-chan's still not back."
Luffy, he knows, is on the figurehead; maybe his final moments on that seat. And their last crewmate--he doesn't ask; Zoro doesn't know where he ran, either.
Sanji lights a cigarette. His hands are steady but the glowing embers blur; he blinks and they burn clear again.
Zoro draws his black katana, giving it the same careful attention. He won't be done anytime soon. The pan on the stove burbles and Sanji turns back.
"Tonight," Zoro says, "we should go find Robin."
You can go look now, he could reply. The swordsman doesn't have a meal to make.
But Zoro gets lost so easily. Here in the kitchen, with the sword clinking noisily against the table and that sharp oil scent overpowering the sauce's flavors, at least Sanji knows where he is.
"After dinner," he says, and doesn't repeat the 'we', because Zoro already knows they'll go together.
*
The sun is bright on the water, and he tips his hat down so the glitter doesn't blind. He's warm, sitting here, comfortable on the painted wood, and every scratch and gouge his fingers run over is familiar.
It aches, so he can almost feel it himself, broken, every creak of the abused hull a faint whimper that he didn't hear before.
If he listens hard enough to the waves, they'll carry the sound of Vivi's laughter to him still, soft and sweet and so happy, for all he knows she cries some nights, looking up at the same moon they watch. Those tears taste of the same salt as seawater, but she's laughing more, in her kingdom that is saved.
Usopp's laugh is different, louder and sillier but no less true. But wherever Usopp is now, he can't hear it, no matter how hard he listens to the wind.
Between the carved curling horns, Luffy wraps his arms around his legs, rests his forehead on his knees. In the shelter of his arms all he can see is the dim sunlight filtering through the hat's straw weave, playing on his faded jeans. All of him smells of saltwater, so strong it burns his nose, his eyes. With his arms muffling his ears he can't hear the sea, or the wind, or the hurting of the hull; nothing at all but the constant steady rush, in and out and in and out, of his own breathing.