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Dear Sanji,
Thank you for your hospitality. You went above and beyond to make me feel welcome. Your cooking is the best I’ve ever had . Luffy and everyone else on the crew is lucky to have someone like you as a chef, but more importantly, as a friend. I look forward to meeting with you again soon.
Signed,
Portgas D. Ace
Sanji was sure he’d given notes to everyone else. Ace was just that kind of guy. He was polite and kind; these qualities made obvious even in the short time he spent among the crew. Of course he would be so formal as to leave behind thank you cards. This letter wasn’t unique. Ace’s appreciation for Sanji wasn’t unique. It couldn’t be.
Still, he stared incredulously at the worn paper, the loopy handwriting, the scratched out misspelled words, the beautifully perfected signature. Ace was simultaneously a rough-necked pirate and a perfect gentleman, which was no better displayed than with this note.
After rereading the page three more times, he finally folded it back up and stashed it between a few of his cookbooks. There was no reason for it to be anything other than a keepsake, a memento to be forgotten about until fondly rediscovered sometime in the distant future.
That afternoon he peeled half of the potatoes they had in storage, despite only needing four for the recipe he’d been making.
“Luffy, this mail won’t get anywhere like this ,” Usopp chided, studying the envelope in his hands. His brows were pinched as he squinted at the writing on it, trying to decipher the chicken scratch.
“Sure it will,” Luffy hummed. “I’ve never had anything returned to me.”
“Because no one can read the return address!” Usopp squawked, turning the letter around and pointing at the corner. “Besides, when’s the last time you actually checked for returned mail?”
Luffy scratched his cheek, looking up at the ceiling. His expression said that he was either trying to remember, or had ignored Usopp entirely. Either was equally likely.
“Sanji can read my handwriting!” Luffy finally said. The man in question purposefully didn’t look up from his book, hoping to abstain from the conversation.
The paragraph he was reading was instantly covered by the titular envelope. He dragged his gaze up to meet a scowling Usopp and a grinning Luffy. Neither said anything, aware they were all well past needing things like ‘context.’ Sanji exhaled slowly from his nose and picked up the letter, studying Luffy’s cluttered and jagged handwriting. His brows raised when he finally deciphered it
“This is going to Ace?” he asked. Instead of answering, Luffy pumped a fist, beaming in victory as Usopp snatched the letter from Sanji, wide eyes poring over the writing again.
“Literally where does it say that?!” he snapped.
“How can he even get mail?” Sanji asked, his curiosity overruling his embarrassment for caring.
“Dunno,” Luffy hummed. “I just send him stuff sometimes. I’ve gotten some letters from him,” he shrugged, still smiling, even as Usopp frowned.
“Not everyone is Sanji,” he said flatly, before thrusting the envelope back to him. “You’d better translate this for those poor postal workers, if you have a heart at all.”
“Aren’t they a division of the Marines?” Sanji asked, looking again at the letter, missing the way Usopp rolled his eyes hard enough to fully turn his body away and march off, a decisive end to their conversation. Sanji skimmed a fingertip over the first line of the address, smudging the e of his name.
“Are we gonna have dinner soon?” Luffy spoke up, shattering his concentration again.
“I just got done cleaning up lunch!” he exclaimed, kicking out one foot. His captain dodged effortlessly, laughing.
“I’m hungry!”
Sanji snapped his book closed and held it up, poised to throw it at the other. Luffy let out a sort of yelp as he hurried out of the room. Sanji was certain the next time he went into the kitchen, it would show evidence of Luffy. He couldn’t bring himself to be too upset, instead focusing back on the letter.
He set to work transcribing the address onto a new envelope, taking the time for neat cursive instead of his all-caps scrawl he did on container labels and in the margins of his cookbooks. Once the contents of the letter were swapped, Sanji grabbed Luffy’s version and turned toward the bin.
Before he could bring himself to throw it away, he ran his gaze over the words, each letter, their meaning.
It would be wasteful to just throw it away…
He ended up tucking it right beside Ace’s note from a month prior. Something to remember later.
Dear Ace,
I’m amazed at how much I miss you.
Sanji stopped abruptly and found a new piece of paper.
Dear Ace,
Have you ever felt unlovable? Even if you said yes, I doubt it. You don’t know what it’s like to build yourself so meticulously and still be rejected. You don’t know what it’s like to build yourself in this way and not be able to utilize that practically.
He stopped again, setting down his pen. Sanji had an undeniable tendency to come on too strong, especially when it was someone he admired, or whatever it was he felt toward Ace. He pressed his mouth into a thin line. He felt all too compelled to lay out every thought he’d ever had to the other man, even the sad, insecure, embarrassing ones. Those nasty, creeping ones that he kept carefully hidden from everyone, especially the women in his life, who would be the most cherished if not for this odd fascination with Ace.
Dear Ace,
Thank you for your letter. It was a pleasant surprise considering my behavior needs no thanks. I was simply fulfilling my responsibilities—which you made even easier to do with how gracious of a guest you were. I appreciate my crewmates, but it’s rare that their manners are as good as yours.
I apologize for sending this to you without asking permission. I don’t know how to reach you otherwise, and with Luffy already sending you something, I wanted to capitalize on the opportunity.
Everyone on the Merry is doing well. The ship herself keeps us happy and healthy, despite the terrors the seas often have for us. Right now, I’m writing from the aquarium. I love spending time here observing the different fish interact with each other. Most of them are from the East Blue, as I’ve found they’re the easiest for me to care for. It’s the water I know best, and the water they know best. Anything from elsewhere I attempt to introduce doesn’t last long due to some factor or another. The Grand Line really is a unique place to have something like the All Blue… If you end up seeing it before me, please tell me about it in as much detail as possible. I promise to only be marginally jealous, and to keep such a thing secret from Luffy, to ebb any brotherly rivalry.
I’ve been writing for long enough that my hand is beginning to hurt and I still have to prepare dinner. I’ll make this quick. Once again, thank you for your letter. I hope you don’t mind this response. Don’t feel any pressure to respond. I’m certain we’ll cross paths sometime again.
Regards,
Sanji
He folded the letter quickly, not giving himself the opportunity to read it before stuffing it into an envelope. He copied from Luffy’s letter a second time, only changing the return address. He took a moment to doodle a simple fish on the flap, a habit from when he and Zeff would pass birthday cards back and forth. He seized both letters and rushed out of the quiet aquarium, setting off to find Nami to hand them off for the next time they docked.
Months later, long enough that it should’ve faded from Sanji’s mind slightly , he finally received a reply. The small envelope rested on his pillow. He hadn’t realized Nami and Usopp had gotten back from the town in the time it took him to do some training and clean up. He quickly sat on his bunk and tore open the letter, pulling the contents out in a hurry. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten a letter, but he was almost certain the last one hadn’t been laced with cherry blossoms. The small, dried petals fluttered from the folded paper just as they would from their tree, dotting the ground between his feet with their color. He raised an eyebrow and smiled as he turned his attention to the written contents.
My friend,
Imagine my surprise to get not one but two letters! And for neither to be ‘cease and desist’ from the Marines! I consider myself very lucky. This can be said for many reasons, a relevant one being my meeting you. I was happy to meet everyone on the crew and it’s always great to see Loof again, it’s just become a philosophy of mine that no one’s lived until they’ve had your food. It’s a double edged sword, because now nothing’s as good, haha.
I’m happy you’re well. I am too, more or less. The older I get, the more I miss swimming. It’s hard spending so much time around water and not knowing it like everyone else does. Or maybe I know it in a different way, a crueler way. There’s placid ponds and streams all over where I’m at now. As soon as I dip my feet in, it’s like rigor mortis—have you ever seen that? It’s terrible, even worse to feel. I guess that’s what I get for trying to put out a flame.
By the time you get this letter, I’ll be far from where I am, so it’s almost useless trying to say much about it. There’s water. The trees are blooming. There’s peace here now. I think very soon such a thing will be a commodity.
Which is such a shame. If only life was only swimming and eating your cooking. (I keep repeating myself, but I have to emphasize.) I do miss you along with your food. You are able to make the Merry feel like a home. I haven’t felt that again since our parting ways.
It’s now my turn to run out of space. Forgive me for not going into too much detail, we’re pirates, and the postal service is a division of the Marines, you know?
Stay safe and happy,
Portgas D. Ace
Sanji wanted to crumple the paper up into a tight ball and eat it. Instead, he refolded the letter, tucking it away in its envelope and setting it on the nightstand. He brought his body up into the hammock and curled into a ball. The hammock cocooned around him, closing him into a semi-dark space.
He’d never been given flowers before. Not that they were technically flowers, or even necessarily for him. Ace could’ve been saying exactly the same things in Luffy’s letter, even down to the praise of his cooking. What if he considered it more of an accomplishment on Luffy’s part to have someone like Sanji on his crew, rather than a real admiration of Sanji’s skill?
Something about the details Ace chose to share, the neat handwriting yet imperfect spelling and punctuation, the dried petals carefully packed away—it felt so personal to him. It was hard to imagine Ace sending Luffy petal confetti.
But why had he sent some to Sanji? Only because he’d wanted to, right? He’d said he missed him.
Sanji pressed the side of his fist to his forehead, gritting his teeth. Ace was polite. He’d already been responding to Luffy, so he took some extra time to write to Sanji too. Even though he had said in his letter that there was no obligation to respond, that didn’t fully erase the obligation that came with receiving a letter.
One arm emerged from his hammock to grab a writing pad and pen.
Dear Ace,
The most swimming I do anymore is to save Luffy, which happens more often than you’d think. It’s something I’m happy to do, but there’s not much leisure to it. If I think about what’s going on for more than a few seconds, I feel paralyzed. Not quite rigor mortis, but it’s enough to stop me in my tracks momentarily.
Sometimes I care so much it feels insurmountable. My need to express outweighs my ability and I freeze. It's not a valuable approach to almost any situation. I try to be spontaneous and accept what comes as a result of that. Which is why I’m writing this, and so hastily too.
I am writing from my bunk. I can barely see this paper and my neck is already starting to cramp. None of this is ideal and I can feel annoyance looming over me, yet I brave it all for you.
He stopped writing. A sort of panic rose in his throat all at once, like rolling water, like bile. He breathed out through his nose and burst from his hammock, slapping the pen and pad down on the table and lighting a cigarette before he even took the step toward the door and out of the room. He tried to keep his vices as close to open air as he could, but it was becoming rarer that he succeeded at that.
“Hey, Sanji!” Usopp said brightly as he came to the bottom of the stairs. Sanji said nothing, hurrying up the stairs with his head down. Usopp made a point of coughing and plugging his nose, laying on the theatrics despite the fact that Sanji had already slammed the door to the deck closed behind him.
It was raining. The water came down in streams instead of drops. Storms like these served as a tangible reminder that the sea and the sky were always connected, even on the most miserably hot, dry days.
Instantly, his clothes were soaked through and his cigarette was extinguished. He kept the stick in between his lips, needing something to act as a placeholder as he crossed the deck. He hugged himself, closing his eyes and listening to the rain against the deck, the waves crashing into the sides of the ship. Surrounded by all this water. He wondered what it was like for someone chosen by a Devil Fruit to be in rain like this.
He had so many things he wanted to ask and talk about with Ace. Every moment for the last few months, he debated jotting things down, keeping a record just for him, so it was more like he was with them. More like he was with him.
His cigarette broke under the wet weight of itself, and the damp tobacco fluttered away on the breeze. Sanji covered his mouth with one hand, a replacement behavior.
Ace shared with him the beautiful parts of where he was. The thought made his heart pound. He felt ridiculous, even more so than when he spent the same time and thoughts on other people in his life. He adored them, but Ace…
A part of Sanji wanted Ace in a capacity he had for no one else.
He had come out onto the deck to escape thoughts like that and now they were raining down on him, with no shelter to speak of. He grabbed the pitiful filter from between his lips and threw it as hard as he could, needing to lash out in some way. The wind and rain fought him and the gesture was for nothing, as it was quickly lost in the storm, without the catharsis he was looking for. Sanji stomped back to the stairwell door.
The morning after his short excursion into the rain, Sanji woke up sick. He was running a fever and was so congested his eyes felt like they were bulging out of his head. He sniffed hard when Chopper helpfully described his condition, and grimaced when the young doctor chastised him for sniffing instead of blowing his nose.
Nami and Zoro assumed responsibility of the meals for the day, which Sanji couldn’t bring himself to care about. He was too nauseous to eat, and though the rocking of the Merry didn’t usually bother him, it was no more obvious and detrimental. That’s what he got for going to bed stressed out and in wet clothes.
He was in and out of sleep, oscillating between bundling in blankets and throwing them across the room. The rest of the crew knew to leave him alone when he felt ill, so he wasn’t as conscientious of his fits. In one of his awake spells, he discovered the pad and paper he’d abandoned last night, and grimaced as he reread his own words. His vision swam as he continued the letter.
None of this is ideal and I can feel annoyance looming over me, yet I brave it all for you.
I took an overnight break from writing. I woke up ill, so I’ll only continue to be poor conversation.
It’s true that the Merry is a home. I can’t take full credit for that, but I appreciate the thought. I think that atmosphere was strengthened by your presence—you brought out the best in everyone and fit right in. Every day that’s passed the more I wish you’d been able to spend more time with us. I think we fit together well. I still wouldn’t be letting you do anything in the kitchen but I have faith in your ability to find space for yourself.
Not to say that space is limited or hard to come by. Everyone misses you. Even Zoro’s mentioned you a few times, in his own stoic way, the bastard.
I wish I could make dinner for all of us again. Often I find myself wishing meals never had to end. I could just keep cooking, everyone could just keep eating and laughing and talking, through the night and into the morning. We do that sometimes, especially if Nami lets us splurge on alcohol. It’s nice, but it has to end sometime. The last time I can remember one of our meals feeling like that was when you were here. You lend to that ‘home’ feeling more than you think.
Peace… What a shame how transient it is. Whenever it stormed, my mother would say that rain is needed for flowers. I’ve been growing some potted herbs on the windowsill in the kitchen. I’ve been reading that cutting them back is the only way for them to produce more and plentifully.
This is all to say—loss is rarely for less. Things will be okay again.
I can feel myself talking in circles. I’m feverish, though I think it somehow might’ve helped my eloquence. If it didn’t and this is all nonsense, please save my pride and tell me otherwise.
Faithfully,
Sanji
He dotted his i with a heart and sealed the letter. It fell to the ground as he turned over, falling into another restless sleep.
When he woke again, the letter was gone. He didn’t remember finishing it. He found a tray of cold soup and water next to the bed and helped himself, ignorant to the fact that his woefully sappy letter had already been dropped off at a post office.
When a reply came this time, Sanji hadn’t been anticipating it, in any way, shape, or form. He’d searched all over for the letter he’d feverishly finished and when he couldn’t find it, assumed he’d thrown it away or it had otherwise been lost. And, just as Ace had anticipated, there developed more pressing matters than sending shy and polite letters to some far away friend. He’d been in the kitchen when one of his very near and dear friends strolled in, carrying a crate of produce with an envelope on top.
“Delivery!” Nami called, snapping Sanji from his chopping and ruminations. He looked up at her with a broad smile.
“Hello Nami,” he greeted fondly. “Can I make you something as thanks for your hard work, darling?”
She snorted, setting the crate on the counter.
“No, I’m okay,” she hummed, while taking a piece of cucumber he’d just cut. She took a bite of the spear and held up the envelope. “Letter from Ace for ya,” she said. Her chewing was loud in the silence that followed. Nami paused, raising an eyebrow at his odd expression. Sanji’s face slowly bloomed a bright red and he abruptly set down his knife and grabbed the letter. He turned his back to Nami as he tore it open.
My dear friend,
I missed my fish drawing this time! I suppose I can’t blame you, given your condition. I expect one in your reply! I’ve kept the little fellow in my pocket since receiving him however many months ago. I’m sure he’s lonely at this point. It’s a shame I don’t speak fish…
“Are you okay?” Nami asked quietly, poking the side of his ribs. He jerked, immediately ticklish to her unexpected touch. She snickered, but the smugness was short lived, her concern taking precedence.
“Yes,” he said stiffly. She raised a brow and he exhaled through his nose, melting into the chair he kept near the sink, for when there was a particularly hefty amount of dishes to get through. He covered his face with both hands, the combination of ingredients he’d been prepping all day flooding his senses. “I don’t know,” he mumbled miserably behind his hands. Nami frowned, prodding his ribs again before draping herself over his shoulders, resting her chin on his shoulder. He could tell she was reading the letter, but at that point, he’d already all but told her.
“You’ve never drawn me a fish,” she sighed dramatically.
“I’ve drawn you other things,” he mumbled.
“Excuses,” Nami chided, before ruffling his hair in the very Nami way that always ensured his bangs formed a bowl cut. He clicked his tongue, fixing his hair before sending a subtle glance around.
“Oh my god ,” Nami laughed. “He can’t see you through the letter!”
He waved his hands around, immediately too flustered to speak. He could feel himself blushing, could practically feel everyone in the world’s eyes on him, but especially Ace’s.
“I just…” he huffed, shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders, like he could be physically rid of the feelings plaguing him. “I just admire him.”
“Mhm, do you admire him or those pecs?” Nami asked and Sanji straightened up like a rod, freezing as though he’d been caught red handed.
“Can I make you something to eat, Nami, dear?” he asked again, this time much more strained. She laughed and ruffled his hair again.
“You’ll never forgive yourself if you nosebleed all over this,” she said, flicking the letter. “Be careful,” she called as she waved, turning to leave him in his tailspin.
He heaved a sigh, setting the paper on the counter. He took a moment to fix his hair, combing his fingers through it, anxiously pulling locks as a way to ground himself. He took a breath and picked up the letter again.
It’s a shame I don’t speak fish…
As per your instructions, I’ll tell you that you have a real talent with the written word. I had to read your letter a few times to fully understand it, which lends to the complexity of your concepts. Maybe I just wanted to stare at your handwriting. You have beautiful penmanship—it makes me sorry that you have to read mine, hahaha.
I miss you all too. I wish everyday was a delicious dinner with good friends. It’s funny (and terrible) how fleeting those are in actuality. One day it would be nice to be able to extend time spent in company over as long as we’d want, with as much as we need. I can see us now, relaxing on a beach, with something very strongly alcoholic in our hands. Maybe someone else could cook so you wouldn’t have to be so busy all the time. Maybe that’s not relaxing to you—I don't know. It would just be nice, for everyone.
Like you say though, peace has to end. At least that’s only temporary too. Peace will be back. I keep reminding myself of this as I look at these war-torn villages. These people. These seas. The whole wide world. The only thing that will bring peace back is to continue wishing for it, I suppose.
I hope you’re feeling better now. I can’t remember the last time I was sick. It’s been long enough that it may be something my body won’t allow—so many other things need my attention before what’s ailing me. When we finally return to peace, I might be sick for months, catching up to this debt. Hopefully we’re near each other, so I can enlist your company (and some soup). In the meantime, let people take care of you.
I hope to hear from you again soon.
Trouts and fishes,
Portgas D. Ace
He hesitated, processing everything he’d read, skimming his thumb over where Ace’s words ran off the page, where the lines of text went a little wonky, all of it so profoundly imperfect. Thoughts that were shared with him just to be shared ( with him ). There was nothing meticulous about their correspondence. It came easily and honestly and that was the most disorienting part. They hardly knew each other but Ace kept expressing how much he wished for more time spent together, how much he enjoyed his company, giving him compliments—words which from almost any other man would send Sanji into a fit of rage. Ace wasn’t just any man though…
Sanji abruptly slapped the letter down on the counter and turned away. He tore open the cupboards, rapidly getting ingredients and tools out to make bread. He needed to derail his train of thought before it went too far.
Of course, with the monotony of making bread he’d made hundreds, if not thousands of times before, all he ended up thinking of was Ace. The loaf came out burnt, and he quickly made it into croutons before anyone could notice.
Ace,
I think about you all the time. Every moment that passes, I’m wondering what you’re doing. How are you spending your time while I spend mine? Do you miss me like I miss you? Are you happy? Are you well-fed? What did you dream about last? I ask the sea these questions to be able to ask them, murmuring them over the side of the Merry like some seasick damsel. Maybe they’ll wash up on the shore of wherever you are, crash against the hull of whatever vessel you’re on. Maybe they’ll be lost in the ocean translation by then. Maybe they won’t ever reach you at all.
I wouldn’t sacrifice where I am now and all I’ve done to get here for any alternative, but there’s still a dreaming part of me that wishes for a stationary life, anchored with all of my friends. I have a home with a big kitchen with an oven that cooks evenly. You are just down the road, only a call away.
Maybe all of these thoughts are stemming from how worried I am for you. With every paper that we’re able to get, there’s something new and terrible in the works. Things would be so much easier if I could pin you down somewhere, even for a little while.
I have these thoughts about Luffy too. And Nami and Usopp and even Zoro—everyone I’ve ever met and cared for. I want them safe, which ideally looks like them up on a shelf, carefully dusted like priceless artifacts. But I know that’s not realistic or fair or sane. I just worry. It eats at me, not being able to be the perfect host of everyone’s lives.
And with you particularly, it’s so strange and cruel and charming. Your presence in my life was so fleeting, there and gone again before I could process it, but with such an impact that I can’t stop thinking about caring for you—keeping you, even just for a little while.
You probably get this a lot, with how wild you are. You really are, Luffy doesn’t fall far from the tree.
I save the pictures of you they put in the papers. Now that I’ve written it out I see how bizarre it is. Sorry.
Sanji paused his writing and raked his hands through his hair. Unknowingly, he streaked blue ink along his scalp. Zoro was on the floor beside his feet, snoring into his legs. He’d curled up around the bottle they’d been sharing, defensive even though Sanji had had significantly less of its contents.
He had a low tolerance to begin with, and didn’t drink often, so it didn’t take much to get him loosened. He made a few random scribbles in the margins of the paper he was working on. His eyes lazily skimmed down the page, tracking each loopy letter but not being able to compound and comprehend any of it.
He took a moment, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.
Usopp kicked Zoro in his sleep and Zoro grumbled, sitting up momentarily. He glared back at Sanji, puffing himself up like a cat.
“It wasn’t me, stupid,” he huffed, standing abruptly and snatching his paper and pen. He left in a huff while Zoro practically growled at him.
When he stepped into the hallway, the lighting changed enough that he swayed, catching himself on the wall and giving a small chuckle. He could feel the ship rocking on the water, or maybe that was just him. He shuffled down the hallway, undoing the top two buttons of his shirt.
He clung to the handrail as he fought the stairs up from below deck, eventually making it up and out into the night air. There was no wind and the current was calm, only gently rocking the Merry. It was as quiet as he’d ever heard the water in what could have been years.
Anywhere else in the world, on that very ocean, could be seeing the very opposite. Or the very same. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, too tired and drunk for anything too contemplative.
He remembered his letter and brought it close to his face to attempt to read in the dark. He found that to be useless and leaned against the nearest wall, putting the pen to the page once more.
I want peace for the two of us. I want a life where we sit on a beach and that’s the only plan of the day. I don’t know why I’m so drawn to that vision with you specifically, but I trust it. It sounds nice. It sounds deserved.
I hope you’re taking time for rest and for eating and for yourself. I imagine there’s not much of that in the traditional sense, so however that manifests. I hope you’ve eaten something delicious in the last week. I wish I could cook for you. I must think that every time I make a meal. You’re on my mind more often than not. I want to keep saying that until we develop some sort of unbreakable connection—one that says I’m here, I’m here and I’m thinking of you. I want you to be okay. I want to be with you.
I am so drunk right now, if you can’t tell. Drunk and honest and all that. When this is all over, you have to join us, just for a little while. We’ll take some time off. We’ll find a beach, just for us. It’ll be good. We’ll be good. Peace will come back. I want to prove that with you.
Faithfully,
Sanji
He messily folded the letter without waiting for the ink to dry, surely making the writing that much more illegible. He set it and the pen atop a barrel and fumbled for his cigarettes, smirking as he remembered Ace lighting it. He couldn’t pretend he didn’t sigh in that patently lovesick way upon exhaling his first drag, and smiled to himself through the whole cigarette.
Once he was done, he packed it in, putting the letter with some other mail he found before drifting to bed. He felt lighter from what felt like a tremendous confession and fell asleep quickly.
The next morning, he was up early for breakfast. He was beaten by Usopp, who had gotten fed up with sleeping on the floor and set to work on some chores. When Sanji had remembered his letter from the night before and gone looking for it, he discovered that it had already been posted, being replaced with that day’s paper.
On the front page was a greyscale reproduction of that familiar figure, lit up so much the image practically glowed like hot coals. Sanji smiled a half smile, too taken by the image to read any of the surrounding text.
Sanji would never receive a reply.