"He's still asleep?" Sanji wondered aloud as he stepped down into the infirmary. The doctor-nurse okama glanced up at him from his place by another patient (an unfortunate victim of Sanji's rage at seeing soup wasted, "Sanji, I spilt soup all over me, won't you help me~?"). As Sanji quickly noticed, the man wasn't actually tending to the unfortunate fool, but instead painting his nail a hot, erotic pink. After the two met eyes for a second or so, the doctor took another look at Usopp where he laid in his own bed.

"The poor thing has been out like a lamp, sweet thing," the doctor said, answering Sanji's unsaid question. It was the only thing he could have come there for. A quick look at his Nakama affirmed this conclusion. Usopp was asleep, at least, but it didn't seem to be the kind of sleep you'd ever want to have. His covers were a mess and so was his hair. Sanji almost felt like shooting the doctor a dark glare to show his disdain at Usopp's dishevelled state, but the man had read his mind. "Ah, he's been tossing and turning all night, fixing his covers don't really do anything since the little thing will just turn right on over and mess them all up again."

Sanji took a step towards the unmade bed, cigarette hanging loosely on his lip. An arm shot out to stop him, the still-wet nail polish glinting in the dim light of the overhead lanterns. "I wouldn't recommend that, Sanji-kun. Anytime someone steps any close to him he shoots right outta bed. Scared the living daylights out of Tiffany, poor girl. He was hardly lucid, so it was more of a reflex than anything. Sad excuse of a man, he is."

Gnawing on his cigarette, Sanji reluctantly took a step back. He'd only come down here in case. It was well past dinnertime, the sun was setting, and there was no doubt the doctor would soon leave to get some bedrest himself. The soup made specifically for Usopp (hearty chicken stew, no mushrooms, and just a pinch of Ivan's special blend of hormones and spices) was still simmering on the stove, although Sanji had brought a steaming bowl downstairs just in case Usopp stirred awake. By the look of things, that wasn't happening anytime soon.

He could practically feel the gaze gnawing into the side of his skull.

"-Sanji-kun~, you didn't happen to bring that for me, did,"

"You can have it," Sanji grumbled, tossing the bowl into his hands. The okama, proficient fighter as he was, had no trouble catching it without spilling a drop, the only challenge being doing so without smudging the yet-to-be-dried nail polish. "It'd go to waste otherwise."

"Thank you, Sanji-kun~" the doctor cooed, sipping the warm meal without bothering to find a spoon or anything. Barbarian.

"Don't mention it," Sanji said, turning on his heel to walk away. The second he got up the stairs and out on the deck, he jumped up to sit on top of the roof connected to the door, of course making sure he wasn't watched. The silver moon gleamed down at him in that vaguely romantic way that made him long for the sight of a woman.

A flick of the wrist ensured that the burnt butt of his last cigarette trailed down and hit the water instead of the deck. A night like this wouldn't be right without a cigarette or two. Absent in thought and feeling, he fished the pack out from within his coat, along with his little matchbook. One tap to open it, another to make one of the cigarettes pop out. A bite and it was in his mouth. For a moment, the silver sea and silver ship were bathed in the golden glow of a faint, glimmering match. The second he lit his cigarette, the match, now burnt up and useless, joined the other butt on the bottom of the sea.

A deep breath and the calm of the seas truly overtook him. The ship rocking as gently and tenderly as a cradle. Sanji had never lived on actual, real land. The closest had been that time on the cliff with old Red-Legs, but that was almost too brief to call it a proper stay. No, his life had always been on the sea, and that was how he liked it. The salty air made him think of dishes he could make, and the slight twinge of algae only intensified his lust, his absolute joy for cooking.

He wished he had time to take it in more right now. The way the stars shone with such brilliance that only the One Piece itself could hope to rival it, how the moon almost seemed merry where it swayed gently with the breeze… The horizon urging the sky and the sea to join and merge, no seam visible. And with the waves and roiling tides reflecting the stars above, it felt like being encapsulated in a giant, beautiful jewellery box.

Beneath him, he could faintly hear the doctor leaving the infirmary, bringing his empty bowl with him, together with the one other no-longer-injured okama that had been in there, leaving the infirmary empty. Sanji didn't move, not just yet. The night was still young, the chance of failure a rare but distinct possibility. Caring for your Nakama was one thing, but knowing how these damn okama had a way of spinning things, there was no way he'd let them know even a single detail of this.

An hour came and went. The moon rose higher, and the darkness thickened like a good soup. When Sanji hopped down, he made sure that he air-jumped at the last possible second, making his landing a soft and silent one. Hand on the handle of the door, he found it unlocked. A bit odd, but better than having to silently bust it open. He'd take it.

The inside of the infirmary was dark, but not entirely so. At the far end, by the small, round window overlooking the sea, there was a single, warm oil-lamp glowing softly, illuminating the one patient of the ward. It felt odd, being in the same room as Usopp, yet hearing absolutely nothing. Snoring, although it was more Luffy's forte than anyone's, was absolutely something Usopp was known for doing. Sanji could distinctly remember waking up in the middle of the night only to throw a pillow in the face of that shitty lawnmower.

But now… nothing. It made him feel like Usopp was awake, just sort of waiting for him to step on over there. Ready. That's what the doctor had said, wasn't it? That he'd wake up for a second if you came too close? Damn, this was a terrible idea. Rest is what he needed, rest was what he was getting, so what, pray tell, was Sanji doing here? Delivering soup to the sleeping? No, he hadn't brought any of that, so…

Why? Sanji was a man of logic, damn it, he couldn't just go doing whatever he wanted because it felt like he had to watch over his Nakama or anything. Or… was it? Could he?

Once more, Sanji gnawed just slightly on his cigarette, just to take out his frustrations somehow. With long, determined steps, Sanji made his way over to the bed, hands in his pockets and heart on his sleeve. The only thing preventing him from seeing Usopp was a thin, latex sheet, which also separated the beds and all. Sometime during his stay in Hell(™, patent-pending) he'd learnt that sneaking was a good way to avoid unnecessary battle. In this moment, that came in very good handy.

He made it just around the corner before being caught.

In Usopp's bed, there was Usopp, and Usopp only. Sitting up, one visible eye wide and white, glinting in the silver light of the moon and the yellow light of the oil lamp. Sanji's breath hitched, and he stopped dead in his tracks. Usopp's face was as neutral and unmoving as a silicone mask, all emotion drained from it. Sanji didn't dare move.

After about a minute or so, Usopp simply fell back down on his bed and resumed his restless sleep. Breathing out a breath he didn't realize he'd been keeping, Sanji straightened his back and walked the rest of the way to stand right by Usopp's bed. Curiously enough, right by the nightstand, a small, inconspicuous stool stood perched. As if somebody had left it there for him.

Dismissing the thought, Sanji pulled it out and sat down, ready to spend the night by watching over his Nakama. Even when sitting this closely, Sanji could barely even register Usopp's breathing. As soft as the first feathers of a chick. It couldn't be comfortable sleeping in those clothes. With an eyepatch to boot. And his hair… It was almost impressive how long it'd gotten, but with how knotted up it was, it was more of a waste than anything.

Matted, dull and dusty. The short saltwater bath it had gotten had hardly done anything for it. Sanji couldn't remember ever seeing it this… ill-kept. Behind Nami-swan, Robin-chwan and Chopper, Usopp was clearly the one who cared the most for his hair, somehow beating Sanji himself. That wasn't odd or anything. Usopp had phenomenally curly hair, the kind that would make for an excellent afro. Smooth and shiny and fluffy. That's how Usopp's hair had always been, even when he first saw him on the Beratie.

Now… not so much. It had clearly been greasy as all hell for quite some time, but now, the shine that should have been caused by this was covered up by a hefty layer of dirt, dust, and… was that caked-up blood?... Nah, let's disregard that. Worst of all, it was knotted up to all hell, probably because of Usopp's tossing and turning. Then again, with how deeply these knots were rooted, it was likely they had been around for quite a bit longer than that. Damn, what a mess this was…

Sanji didn't have time to think before his hand was right beside Usopp's face, a little lock of ebony black hair pressed between his fingers. It took all the will he had to stop himself from jerking his hand back, and even more to stop himself from blushing ever so slightly. But what he couldn't stop himself from, no matter how much he tried to, was to just… roll the little lock back and forth in his hand. Feel how it felt on his palm. Let it slip in between his fingers. Gently, ever so gently, he tugged at the single lock, feeling it stretch and unwind, before letting it go, and like a spring, it jumped right back into its curled, up-tight shape, much like Usopp himself.

Sanji didn't even notice how a smile, a tender, gentle one, found its way onto his lips.

Sometimes, when Sanji was cooking, he'd zone out in that strange way where he wasn't quite the one cooking, but he was instead everything about it. He was the knives, the onions, the pots and pans, he was there in every minuscule detail, but he also wasn't. That odd, thoughtless yet hyper focused frame of mind, that was how he felt at this moment.

His hands moved on their own, leaving behind he little lock beside Usopp's resting face to fully indulge in the whole of the hair. A gentle stroke along the whole of it, taking in all its uneven spots and smooth tones. Fingers parted, lightly running through the hair, from scalp to base, the knots and lumps sorted out with a gentle, loving hand, careful not to wake Usopp. A puff of his cigarette soothed his heart even further, and he could tell it did the same for Usopp.

Usopp had calmed down. Sanji didn't know how he could tell, but he just could. The tremble in his body, the last remaining remnants of tension in his muscles melted, his chest, which would heave and fall in quick, sporadic bursts, had calmed down, the breaths growing deeper and calmer with each passing minute. Life was calm.

It didn't take too long until every knot and lump in Usopp's hair were all sorted out. It would still need to be washed, but for now, this was all Sanji could do. But even when he didn't have anything more to do, even when he didn't have any more reason to continue, his hands just wouldn't stop. Sanji couldn't tell what time it was. It was surely past midnight. Exhaustion tugged at his eyelids, ordered him to succumb to sleep. But he couldn't, he had to keep his Nakama safe, make sure he got soup when he woke up…

Warm, enriching soup…

That'd keep his bones…

Strong…

Sanji fell asleep.