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It is only after they finally leave Big Mom’s territory that Sanji fully relaxes, tense muscles unclenching as he sags against the railing of the Sunny. His cigarette’s hanging loosely between his lips, threatening to slip out from between them. He stares out at the sea. It’s dark, with only pinpricks of stars illuminating the night, the sky melding into the water at the horizon, making it hard to tell where one ended and the other began. It’s silent, aside from the gentle waves lapping at the Sunny’s hull and the small steps of Chopper pattering to and from his office.
Luffy is sprawled out on the deck still, arm hooked up to an I.V bag and, despite the lack of snores, Sanji knows he is asleep. He glances out of the corner of his eye, seeing the steady rise and fall of his captain’s chest as Chopper finishes wrapping bandages around his forearms, which have long, thin fissures carved into them, blood still slowly oozing out. Sanji doesn’t want to know how Luffy had gotten those, doesn’t want to know or remember how he hand gotten any of his wounds. He has a feeling that the gaping wound in his side was from that Sweet Three General he was fighting in the Mirro-World. Katakuri, he’s pretty sure his name is. And he definitely doesn’t want to think about the fading burn marks on his chest and abdomen.
“Sanji.”
He startles, cig flying out of his mouth, the breeze scooping it up in its cool grasp and yanking it away before he could reach out and catch it. Turning around, he sees Chopper standing closer to him than he was a few moments ago.
“Could you help me move Luffy into my office? I would do it myself but…” he trails off. The reindeer is visibly shaking from exhaustion, eyes drooping heavy.
“Of course.” Sanji’s voice comes out hoarse, gravely, and much quieter than he meant for it too. But Chopper seems to hear him, giving a small smile before walking back over to Luffy to remove the I.V needle from his arm, the bag now empty.
Gently, far more gently than Sanji would ever admit to anyone, he picks up his captain. Luffy doesn’t so much as stir as he does, body remaining limp like a cat’s, rubber arms and legs hanging like wet noodles.
He had been too busy trying to get Luffy and himself to safety when carrying him off of that fucking chocolate island, but now – with his nerves not nearly as fried – he notices that the weight of Luffy in his arms is less that what it had been in the past. It isn’t by a lot, hell Sanji doubts anyone other than that stupid mosshead would notice, but it still makes his heart twist with guilt. All he can see is that damn field, that tree split in half, and Luffy – half dead, body emaciated, skin paper thin and sallow, protruding bones threatening to tear through it.
He knows, logically he knows that Luffy is fine. Beaten, battered, and exhausted, yes – but fine. Nothing that a few days of rest and good food couldn’t fix anyway. It’s no different than any other big fight the rubber idiot would throw himself into, uncaring of the danger or bodily harm it posed to himself.
Except it is. Except this time, he wouldn’t have had to if it hadn’t been for Sanji. If Sanji had been capable of handling this shit show himself, his captain wouldn’t have had to chase after him into a Yonko’s territory, wouldn’t have starved himself, and wouldn’t have fought for eleven hours straight in a mirror dimension while the rest of them were scrambling to get away and attempt to calm Big Mom from her rampage.
Sanji lays Luffy down on the recovery bed in Chopper’s office and pulls the blanket bunched at the end of it over his body. Luffy lets out a sigh – well, not so much a sigh as a slightly heavier breath – and practically melts into the plush mattress and pillow. He looks so small. So fucking small, and Sanji’s mind unwillingly flashes that memory of him leaning against that damn tree again. He shakes his head, as if the motion will dislodge the image from his brain.
“You should rest too, Sanji,” Chopper says, clambering up a small step stool to get another I.V bag, placing it on the hook next to the bed.
“And what about you? You look as exhausted as I feel.” Judging by the fact that Chopper’s once again tying a tourniquet around Luffy’s upper arm (much tighter than would be safe if it wasn’t for the fact that Luffy was made of rubber) and stabbing a needle into his forearm, Sanji has somewhat of an idea.
“I’m just hooking Luffy up to another I.V bag as a precaution. He lost a lot of blood, and the fridge I store the blood bags in got jostled open, so I can’t use them anymore. And,” Chopper says as he starts the drip, “Nami said that he went a while – well, a while for Luffy – without eating before we met back up, so I’m trying to combat any potential malnutrition –”
Sanji stops registering what Chopper’s saying after the word ‘malnutrition’. It rattles around in his brain like loose marbles, crashing together and cracking from the force. His hands shake, itching for a cigarette, but his last one had been unceremoniously blown away.
Iron heavy foods like red meat are good for blood loss, Sanji thinks numbly. He’s staring at Luffy, but he’s not seeing him, all he can see is that half dead mummy from the field.
“I’m going to cook something for him,” he says, cutting off Chopper’s ramble and walking towards the kitchen. His kitchen.
“Wait, Sanji!” Chopper calls after him. He doesn’t chase after him thankfully, clearly not comfortable leaving Luffy alone. “He’ll be fine until morning; you need rest too! Besides, he’s out cold and –”
“I’m cooking for him!” Sanji snaps as he whips around, voice louder and harsher than he intended. “I- I’m sorry,” he says, softer. Thankfully, Chopper looks startled by the outburst more than anything. “I just – this is just something I need to do.”
Chopper stares at him for a moment before nodding.
“But I want you resting the second you’re finished. Doctors orders.”
Sanji offers him a small smile that feels a bit too forced before continuing to the kitchen. It’s a mess when he gets there, the walls and furniture burned black and covered in soot from what was obviously a fire. There is a mound of dented pots and pans in the sink – thankfully none of his nicer ones – and just a general air of chaos and disorder.
He barely registers it, instead grabbing a slightly charred pack of cigarettes from a drawer and lighting one before heading straight for the larger walk-in fridge he stores cuts of meat in.
Pudding had been kind enough to provide them with enough provisions for several weeks. A good portion of it was non-perishables and sweets, but a small variety of fresh fruit and vegetables, as well as several cuts of beef and pork had also been included.
Sanji grabs two thick cuts of steak, staring at the remaining dozen or so for a moment before grabbing two more and heading back to the stove top, oiling a cast iron skillet and setting it on the open flame of the burner.
The meal takes a bit longer than he anticipated, the continual adding of side dishes prolonging it. He tells himself its only because he missed cooking in the Sunny. That even if it was a mess, spending time in his kitchen was always a source of comfort. He’s not spoiling Luffy by cooking him such an extravagant meal at 3 AM. He’s simply providing his captain a completely normal, nutritious meal. He’s only adding the sauteed potatoes because they would have gone bad soon if he hadn’t (they wouldn’t). The grilled fish and vegetables where only there to round out the meal and make the flavors more balanced, never mind that Luffy would eat raw meat from some questionable animal he caught – fur and all – if not physically restrained. No, he’s not spoiling him. It’s his pride as a chef, nothing more.
He makes his way back to Chopper’s office, putting out his cigarette before entering. Luffy’s no longer hooked up to the I.V, and Chopper himself is curled up in his chair like a small lap dog. Sanji couldn’t help letting out a small chuckle at the sight of it.
He sets the large tray on the bedside table and sags into the chair beside it. He watches as Luffy’s nose twitches a few times. For a beat Sanji worries that Chopper was right and Luffy truly is exhausted to the point where not even the smell of his cooking could wake him up. Then his stomach growls, eyes blinking open. They’re still half-lidded with fading smudges of purple under them, but that doesn’t stop him from dragging himself upright, meeting Sanji’s gaze with a toothy grin as he does.
“Thanks Sanji!” he says, voice hoarse but no less cheery than it normally is as he grabs the tray and sets it in his lap. The cutlery is fully ignored as Luffy just grabs and tears into the meal like a wild animal, singing its muffled praises through each bite he takes as usual.
Sanji has to look away, throat tightening and fists clenching. His nails would cut into his palms if they weren’t so well manicured, and Sanji wishes that they weren’t. Wishes that they were long and jagged. Wishes that they would slice those half-moon shapes into the flesh of his hands. He had kicked his captain, but worse than that he had let him starve. What good were his hands if he let him starve? What good was he if he let his captain starve? He’d failed to do the one thing he was brought onto this fucking crew to do, how could Luffy forgive him? How could he bare to look at him, to smile at him? He squeezes his fists tighter as a vice-like grip tightens around his chest.
“Sanji!” Luffy’s voice cuts through like a knife.
He’s stopped eating, the tray on the table again and only half empty. He’s staring at him with that blank look that still unnerves Sanji, reminding him that – despite Luffy’s usual openness – there were some aspects of him that Sanji would never fully understand, and his entire ordeal on Whole Cake has only further confirmed that for him.
“Unclench your fists,” he says next, reaching his own hands to Sanji’s and brushing calloused fingertips across the tops of them.
Sanji does – and while there is no blood – there is still four angry red indents on each of his palms. Luffy gently grasps his hands, looking at the red half-moons, before leaning down and kissing the palms of each of his hands.
“W- Why?” Sanji’s voice breaks as he watches through tear filled eyes as Luffy laces his fingers between is own.
“Your hands are your treasure, and you – and the rest of the crew – are mine. I don’t want you to hurt anymore.”
“How, how can you still say that Luffy?!” Sanji sobs out. “After I abandoned you, said all those awful things to you, kicked you, let you go hungry. How can you just take me back?! How?!”
Luffy just stares at him for a few gut-wrenchingly painful seconds before sliding off the bed, Sanji’s protests falling on deaf ears as he stands in front of him, bending down to place a gentle kiss on his brow.
“Because you're nakama, you idiot,” he says, his smile soft. “And because I know you only did it to protect us, cus you thought only you getting hurt was the best thing. You’re so kind Sanji, and its only right that you get that same kindness back.”
"But I couldn’t even fulfill my purpose on this ship. You starved –”
“And that was a decision I made,” Luffy says, cutting him off. “And I would do it again if it meant you would understand that I care about you, you dummy. Not what you can do. Now come here.”
Before Sanji has a chance to respond, Luffy’s arms and legs snake around his torso, his face getting buried in his captain’s chest. He’s warm, his heart beat strong and steady. One of Luffy’s hands finds its way into Sanji’s hair, carding through the strands of it in a slow, methodical way.
And that’s what shatters him fully, the barely contained sobs fully wracking through his body as he shoves his face even harder into Luffy’s chest, bandages growing damp with his tears. He’s not sure how long they stay like that, his captains grip just as bone crushing and comforting as ever. When he finally pulls back he can finally see Luffy, not that horrible apparition from the field, but his captain with golden tan skin, full cheeks, and lean, strong muscle.
“Chopper’s going to be pissed about having to change your bandages again,” Sanji says with a wet chuckle, the ones where his face was pressed now soggy.
“He’ll get over it,” Luffy dismisses, arms and legs unwinding from around Sanji. His eyes wander back to the tray of half-finished food, it once again catching his attention.
Sanji hides his smile as Luffy practically pounces on the rest of the food, it gone in a matter of minutes as he sings his praises for it all over again. He slides back down into the bed, eyes drooping but not leaving Sanji.
“Go back to sleep, you idiot. You definitely need it.” He stands up, ready to head back to the kitchen to clean up, when a rubbery hand grabs at his upper arm.
“You need to sleep too.”
“I also need to start cleaning up the mess you guys made of the kitchen while I was gone.”
“That can wait until tomorrow.” Luffy yanks him toward the bed. “Right now you need to sleep.”
Sanji gives in much quicker than he’s willing to admit, letting Luffy manhandle him into the small medical bed. His back flush to Luffy’s chest, the younger man curled around Sanji like he is a giant stuffed animal. He’s out in a matter of seconds, soft snores filling the room. Sanji feels his own eyes grow heavy, and lets the warmth and weight of his captain lull him to sleep.
And if Sanji spoils Luffy over the next few days with extravagant meals and extra snacks – all of it consisting of his favorite foods – the rest of crew on board the Sunny don’t notice. Or at least, act like the don’t notice. Only Nami would occasionally meet his gaze as he brought out a tray with a flourish for Luffy - an act normally reserved for her and Robin - with a knowing smile, his ears and cheeks heating up under it. But Sanji would be damned if he ever, ever let his captain go hungry again.