It's Usopp who brings it up, but it's Sanji who realizes.
It's ten minutes before lunch, but one-sixth of an hour doesn't mean jackshit when your captain has the head of a bull and the stubbornness of one too.
"Sanji…" Luffy whines.
"Can't you wait, you little shit?" Sanji snaps, pushing Luffy away with an elbow. "It's almost done."
Luffy narrows his eyes at him before he stops, takes a rather big step back, and glances away with an exaggerated huff.
And Sanji can't help but think, he's so obvious.
In the next second, Sanji whirls around to his blindside and snatches up Luffy's elongated arm by the wrist—just before wiggly unwashed fingers can even think about grabbing the food in the pan.
Usopp walks through the galley door, Brook and Nami following right after. "They're still at it?"
Nami sighs, shaking her head as the three of them take their seats at the dining table.
"What's ten minutes?" Luffy shouts, pulling at his arm, "It'll taste the same anyway!"
"It's my kitchen! I decide what goes out!" Sanji yells back.
"Nuh-uh!"
"The fuck you mean nuh-uh—GET YOUR FOOT AWAY FROM THE STOVE!"
"Sanjiii…"
"I'll give you a piece—a piece if you wait ten minutes," Sanji bargains, nearly hissing through his teeth.
Luffy pauses, blinking. A breath later, he grins, teeth and all as he holds up a pair of fingers. "Two!"
Sanji narrows his eyes as if trying to burn literally holes through Luffy's skull, before he lets out a long breath, shoulders slumping. "Fine!" he scoffs, throwing up his hands.
"Yes!" Luffy cheers.
Sanji fetches two pieces for Luffy, handing them to him on a plate and with a fork. "Careful," he says. "It's hot, Luff. Don't try to grab it straight out of the pan at least. You'll burn yourself."
"Ok~ay!"
"Since when did you get so whipped?" a voice cuts in.
Luffy and Sanji turn their heads simultaneously. Usopp has his head propped up on the table, watching with a faintly confused air, but there's a sharp smile present on his face.
Sanji retorts, "What the hell are you talking about?"
Luffy blinks. He tilts his head, tossing the rest of his snack into his mouth, and asks, "Sanji got whipped?"
Usopp shakes his head. "No, no. I mean, like—Sanji, you've been spoiling Luffy rotten. Maybe on the same levels of Nami and Robin and I can't believe I'm saying that. Also, when was the last time you kicked him for getting all up in your face? I can't be the only one who's noticed," he says, looking at Brook and Nami.
Brook hums. "Now that I think about it, I must agree. Sanji-san isn't as harsh as he once was—towards our Captain, that is."
Luffy continues chewing his snack, unbothered as he's always been—
—but Sanji and Nami have gone very, very still.
And Usopp's eyes flicker. To the stiffness of Sanji's shoulders, his dropped gaze, his pursed lips, and when he glances at Nami, she shakes her head.
It's a fraction of a heartbeat. It's all he needs.
And so—
"Geez, it isn't that serious!" Usopp laughs, and the sound comes out thin before steadying a fraction of a second later. "Hey, Luffy! Come sit down with me—I gotta tell you about that new pop-greens rifle I'm building!"
Luffy doesn't move.
Usopp calls his name again, tentatively, but doesn't get an answer.
Because Luffy's looking at Sanji with that kind of expression he always seems to have when studying the sea—inquisitive and perhaps all too knowing.
Sanji tries to shrink away from his gaze. His shoulders curl in ever so little, and as subtle as the motion, Luffy's eyes flicker to it.
But Luffy—this soul without form and this force of nature without reason—reaches out to place his hand on Sanji's arm, fleeting yet grounding, and he smiles as if the last minute has been nothing apart from normal. "Thanks for the snack, Sanji!" And the hand is gone.
Luffy bounces over to Usopp, questions about his new invention already lunging out of his lungs, and it's like the weight of the world has slid off Sanji's shoulders.
Sanji lets out a breath. It comes out shuddering, and when he looks to the stove—
—oh. He's nearly burnt the meat.
Usopp's words continue to echo in his head like an endless siren—rewiring his brain until Sanji becomes aware of every instance that proves that long-nosed bastard right.
Sanji doesn't use the giant mouse trap anymore. When Luffy barges into the kitchen, loud and boisterous, it isn't a mild annoyance that fills Sanji's lungs. It's this stubborn fondness. He lets his Captain stand right up against his side as he feeds him snacks here and there, even when he says he's not going to—that, Luffy! This is the last piece I'm giving you! Liar.
Luffy doesn't have to wake him anymore. The moment Luffy's light—his voice, his soul—blinks awake in the dark hours of the night, Sanji's already rolling out of bed.
Sanji has always sought out knowledge when it comes to cooking. It's a hobby. A job. Maybe now, an obsession.
Sanji goes to every food stall, restaurant, and library possible on every island they visit—asking locals, and chefs, and experts for new ways—better methods for packing as many proteins, vitamins, and minerals into his dishes, because his Captain—his king—deserves the best.
Sanji wonders if it's guilt. Or devotion. Maybe a little bit of both; maybe too much to handle. He doesn't know, because Luffy's pull is something that cannot be resisted or explained. He's stubborn like that. He finds you and decides, right then and there, that you're his—and it's not the same kind of binding as the iron mask over eight-year-old Sanji's head or the same kind of binding as the ones around twenty-one-year-old Sanji's wrists.
It's a binding that Sanji has the keys to.
If Sanji wanted, truly wanted, he could go, and Luffy would let him because it's goddamn Luffy—
But Sanji has no use for these keys.
Sanji's journey did not start and end with Germa. Not the Baratie. Not Kamabakka Kingdom.
It will start and end with a boy in a straw hat—another name for the sun.
"That's him, isn't it?"
Sanji looks up, hands halfway hooked through his grocery bags as he asks, "I'm sorry?"
The cashier gestures behind him, albeit a little nervously. "The Pirate King."
Sanji turns just so, peering over his shoulder, and it doesn't even take a second for his gaze to fall onto Luffy, who has found himself completely enamored with a children's storyteller on the side of the street. He's sitting on the ground, legs crossed, but he can't seem to stay still—opting to sway side-to-side, and really? It was just laundry day.
"The straw hat is way too recognizable nowadays," the cashier says, handing him his change.
Sanji accepts it and chuckles. He sends another fleeting look at Luffy before he replies, "Yeah. I'm sorry in advance for any trouble he might stir up while we're here."
"...Nothing too bad, I hope?"
Sanji blinks, taken off guard by the cashier's tone. Although their expression is blank, a shard of worry flashes past their eyes, and Sanji catches it. Of course he does.
"He's a glutton," Sanji offers. "He'll run your food supply dry and maybe start up a little revolution that should've happened a long time ago, but other than that—"
In the background, under the noise of the world, he hears that warm familiar laughter.
"—Nothing bad," Sanji assures.
The cashier only looks half-convinced, but Sanji doesn't bother. Sanji often forgets he's on the Pirate King's crew, a band of pirates that have wreaked havoc across the seas and beyond and that they aren't that ragtag team of teenagers hailing from the weakest sea anymore. And it's hard for people to understand. That chaos and freedom are two sides of the same coin—something so interchangeable yet so different at the same time.
Sanji walks out of the store. "Luffy!" he calls. "Let's head back for lunch."
Luffy spins around, hair sweeping past his eyes as they find Sanji. "Okay!" Clambering to his feet, he rushes over to catch up to him.
I can help you carry those!
And let you munch on them the second I'm not looking? Fat chance.
...
Oh, quit it. I got you a snack.
Another day. Another island. It's spring, flowers, and bright life—a trio of colors, save for the single cabin sat upon the hilltop.
Thousand Sunny anchors just offshore. Luffy launches himself onto the island with a whoop and Sanji tails right after him, heels kicking off the air.
It hits him. The scent of pollen, the scent of honey and grass, the morning dew just after rain, and when Sanji lands carefully amongst a field of flowers, a whorl of petals fly past his eyes.
Luffy's already sprinting through the field. His straw hat, kept to his person with a thin piece of string, flits behind his head.
Sanji hikes up to the cabin sat upon the hilltop.
He finds a man in a rocking chair, just up on the porch, and although he has the marks and signs of age, his eyes are sharp as they watch Sanji approach.
"What brings the infamous Straw Hat Pirates to this island?" the man asks.
"A whim," Sanji answers. "Courtesy of our Captain."
The man grunts in response.
Sanji holds a hand over his eyes as he looks around and asks, "Is there any sort of village nearby? I was hoping to buy some sugar."
"No one but me," the man answers. He leans his head back against the chair, closing his eyes against the sun as he continues, "However, I do have an apiary if you're satisfied with settling with honey."
Sanji brightens. "That would be great."
The man opens his eyes and studies him for a moment before gesturing to the wooden bench beside him. "Please, sit."
Sanji walks up and settles down beside the man, but not before reaching into his pocket for his box of cigarettes. He offers one to the man.
The man shakes his head and says, "I must decline. I have not smoked in decades."
Sanji blinks. He looks down at the box in his hands for a moment before tucking it back into his pocket without pulling a cigarette out for himself. "I shouldn't be smoking either," he admits.
"It was my late wife who scolded me about it," the man says, smiling. "And you?"
"Ship's doctor."
The two of them go quiet with only the flutter of petals and the stir of distant sea wind to delay the silence.
Sanji's gaze finds Luffy in the field. He's got dirt over his clothing, and a little on his face, and when he bends down to look at a flower, his eyes go wide. His hands are gentle as he picks up a caterpillar. He watches it crawl along his skin with a kind of joy that cannot be bought, and the sight stirs something so soft in Sanji's lungs—where only smoke has been.
Something whizzes past his vision.
Sanji turns his head to follow it.
It's a bird—shimmering green and strokes of blue, and it zooms through the expanse of the field as if taken by the wind—freedom-touched.
"Do you know much about hummingbirds?"
Sanji looks at the man. He shakes his head and replies, "It's not exactly my field of expertise, but I can't say I wouldn't mind knowing more about them."
"You were looking for sugar," the man recalls.
"I was," Sanji says, confused by the change of subject. He follows the flash of green and blue, but just until it passes by Luffy. His Captain looks up in surprise that is soon replaced by wonder.
"Then, you're the chef, I presume," the man says. "You should know that a hummingbird's metabolism is so incredibly fast that they live their lives in a perpetual state of starvation. They wake only to eat. They cannot stay perched for long—to take in the world as if they have the time. If they do, they will die."
And in that moment, Sanji comes to the realization that it isn't the hummingbird he's thinking about, but a boy with a heart and hunger too vast for human nature.
"Fascinating, are they not?" the man continues, turning to him with eyes of awe. "To be a bird that has no choice but to fly."
Sanji trades a crate of fish for a crate of honey.
As he carries the wooden box down from the hilltop, he spots him.
Luffy's laughing. He's laughing, high and bright—jumping around without care or form across the entire field of flowers, and Sanji can't help but watch.
Did you know?
Luffy's metabolism is so incredibly fast that he lives his life in a perpetual state of starvation. He doesn't sleep for long. He can't stay still for the life of him, because the world awaits him at every moment.
Luffy flies in the way he dreams. Boundless with wings widespread—carried by the coin between chaos and freedom at a pace no one else can match—with an intensity only comparable to the heat of the sun. The weight of the oceans.
"Sanji!"
The sound of his name breaks past his focus in the way cold water shatters you with its touch, and Sanji's vision is taken up by Luffy, centered in the flower field with his arm extended.
"I'm hungry!"
And Sanji laughs this light weightless sound. "I know," he says. "I know."
Luffy is no hummingbird, and neither is he the sun because those two comparisons would be an insult to him.
Luffy is something, someone, some soul that cannot be described. This phenomenon without history. This gravitational pull with no equation, and all Sanji knows is that dreams are realized and purposes are fulfilled in the presence of this boy named king—and that he's right where he's supposed to be.
Caught in the quiet of the early birds, Sanji's hands move through the motions of meal prep, even as his mind wanders off, calculating the grocery costs for this month.
Brook's sitting at the dining table. He's restringing his violin with deft fingers that aren't hindered by his lack of skin, and there's a near-empty cup of tea on the right side of his work.
"Refill?" Sanji asks.
"Please," Brook answers.
Not even a minute later, across the ship and a deck below, a familiar light thrums alive as it blinks away the seal of sleep, and Sanji goes to pull out the tray from the oven.
There's that familiar flop of sandals. Careless. Confident.
The galley door swings open and Luffy barrels through, and halfway out of his mouth is, "Breakf—!"
Sanji slides a plate onto the table in front of him. He cracks out a cigarette and says, "Keep it down before you wake up the ladies."
Luffy, eyes sparkling, plops himself down. He licks his lips, smiling with a little bit of drool as he exclaims, "It looks so good!" He glances up at him before pausing. "Didn't Chopper tell you no more smoking?"
Sanji raises an eyebrow and retorts, "Didn't Chopper tell you to take your meds the second you woke up?"
Luffy blinks. "Ah. I forgot about that," he says before inhaling his food.
"Geez," Sanji mutters, but he's already slipping into Chopper's infirmary to grab them for him. He doesn't have to search. He knows exactly where they are, and he wishes each time will be the last time.
Sanji hands Luffy one, two—four pills, and a glass of water.
Luffy smiles. "Thanks, Sanji!!"
"Thank me by not forgetting next time," Sanji says, ruffling Luffy's hair and earning a bright laugh. "Ask Franky to make you some sort of reminder device."
"Can it be a robot?" Luffy asks, and he might've jumped to his feet if Sanji was a second too late in replacing his empty plate with another dish. "One with a beam?"
Sanji lets out a puff of smoke and replies, "You have to run that idea by Nami-san, but you know Franky. He'll make you anything you want." He hands Luffy a napkin for the crumbs by his mouth. "We should be arriving at the next island in a few—don't eat the napkin!"
Luffy snickers, swaying side-to-side. "Sorry, sorry! I got excited!" He stops swaying as the grin on his face goes wide. "Hey, hey, Sanji!"
"I got it, I got it," Sanji cuts in, leaning back against the bar. "Your pirate lunch box, right? Three of 'em stacked and ready to go whenever you decide to launch yourself off into whatever mess finds you."
Luffy beams. "You're the best, Sanji! The best!"
"Damn right I am!" Sanji snaps back without bite before he lifts his cigarette to his lips and takes a long drag out of it. "Pirate King's gotta have the best. And you bet I'm the best."
And as those words leave his mouth, Luffy goes still. His eyes are wide and round. He's stopped eating in favor of staring at Sanji, and his voice, the one often exuding out of his soul like a firework, has gone quiet in the way dawn breaks past calm waters through shards of light and day.
Brook has long since looked up from his violin.
Sanji pushes off the bar table, lowering his cigarette as his eyes narrow in concern. "Is something wrong, Luffy?" He steps forward. Unsure.
Luffy looks at him for a few seconds too long before he blinks, breaking out from whatever dream had captured him, and the smile that comes next blooms warm and gentle—something that breathes such reckless color, it disrupts the steady rhythm of Sanji's heart like a clap of thunder.
"Nothing, nothing," Luffy assures. His eyes crinkle as he turns back to his plate of food and says, like nothing at all, like everything at once, "I'm just happy Sanji knows."
(And Sanji remembers then that—
Luffy gives as much as he takes.
Too much.
Too much.)
