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Usopp stumbles into the galley, yawning widely behind his hand. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be a morning person, not when waking up leaves him feeling so fuzzy. He drags a hand over his eyes, squinting in the morning light. Sanji is already in the kitchen, having started breakfast early. Usopp doesn’t know how he can bring himself to roll out of bed before the sun is even up, but if it means he gets to eat Sanji’s cooking, he’ll gladly take it.
“G’morning, Sanji,” he mumbles, plopping down into a chair at the dining table. Sanji is fiddling with a knob on the stove, bent over, and when he straightens, Usopp thinks he sees his brows furrow together before the cook schools his expression.
“Morning, Usopp,” he says. “Breakfast should be ready soon.” Usopp nods, and watches as Sanji pinches the bridge of his nose, massages into the corners of his eyes a little. Maybe the early start is getting to him this morning. Now that Usopp thinks about it, Sanji does look a little paler than usual. He files that information away in his brain, enjoying the quiet company for the time being.
Eventually, the rest of the crew comes shambling in, all in various states of wakefulness. Luffy’s eyes are still closed as he trails after Zoro, and Nami didn’t even try to tame her bed head before coming to breakfast. Slowly, the crew starts to wake up, helped by a pot of coffee Sanji sets on the table. As Usopp nurses a mug, he watches the cook as he works. His face is still pale, a little green around the gills, and if Usopp squints he can see sweat beading on the cook’s forehead. He looks ill, but dutifully flits around his kitchen, flipping pancakes and wiping his brow with the back of his hand. Usopp tunes back into the conversation as Sanji starts to plate up food and bring it over.
Luffy is prattling on about a game he used to play as a kid, cross-legged and speaking right in Zoro’s ear. The swordsman has his eyes squeezed shut, muscles in his jaw twitching as he likely tries to stop himself from unsheathing his swords and showing Luffy a game of his own. Their captain shuts up as soon as the smell of sausage wafts under his nose from the plate in front of him.
“Thanks, Sanji!” He immediately tears into the mountain of meat. Nami laughs lightly, smiling up at Sanji as he delivers her food, but in lieu of his usual flirting and fawning, simply gives her a tense smile back. Nami stares after the cook, then turns to Usopp.
“What was that about?” she asks, concern in her voice. “That was so weird. He never passes up the chance to compliment me.”
“I know,” Usopp mutters. “I don’t think he’s feeling too hot this morning, he looks kinda sick.” The Merry lurches with the rocking of waves, and the two watch as Sanji braces one hand against the counter and presses his other fist to his mouth. Oh, god , Usopp thinks. He’s nauseous.
Nami must have clocked the same thing he just did, because she calls out from her seat at the table. “You okay, Sanji?” The cook straightens, gulping audibly and flashing a feeble smile.
“Never better, my darling!” His voice drips with fake cheer. “I don’t believe I greeted you properly this morning, you look absolutely-” The Merry rocks harshly again, and Sanji cuts himself off with a quiet hrk .
“Sanji?” Usopp watches the color drain out of the cook’s face, leaving him paper white as he claps a hand over his mouth. He nearly trips over himself trying to sprint out of the galley door, and Usopp, against his better judgement, follows him outside. He opens the door in just enough time to see Sanji double over the railing and throw up off the side of the ship.
“Oh, shit, Sanji!” Usopp rushes over to his side, fighting back his own gag in the back of his throat. He gently lays a hand on Sanji’s back, who screws up his face as he retches. “You’re alright, man, you’re alright,” he says soothingly, rubbing his hand along Sanji’s spine. The rest of the crew watches from the doorway. “Somebody wanna come hold his bangs? I would, but I think I’ll end up joining him if I go near his face.”
Luffy bounds up, and Usopp bites down the impulse to tell him to be careful. He knows his captain can be pretty…intense sometimes, and he doesn’t want Luffy accidentally making things worse. Those concerns die when he watches the way Luffy’s face softens, hands uncharacteristically gentle as they brush Sanji’s hair aside. One of Sanji’s hands comes up to grip Luffy’s wrist weakly.
“Not away from my eye,” he rasps, and gags once more. Usopp gags with him. He presses a fist to his mouth, turns away, and keeps rubbing Sanji’s back. Man, he hates this so much .
Usopp watches the ocean, trying to tune into the sound of the waves instead of Sanji being sick. Finally, mercifully, his heaving slows until all that’s coming up is spit and stomach bile. Usopp turns back to Sanji, taking in the cook’s slumped posture and tired eye. He looks miserable. Luffy is murmuring words of comfort in his ear. Hell must have frozen over - Sanji is never vulnerable, and Luffy is never quiet.
“You think you’re done?” Usopp asks carefully, rubbing his thumb between Sanji’s shoulder blades. The blond nods once, then freezes as the sea throws the Merry once again. Usopp stares straight ahead, decidedly not looking at Sanji’s face, but can hear him swallow down whatever was about to come back up.
“‘m okay,” he mutters, voice torn from the force of his vomiting. Usopp dares to look back at his captain and the cook, and sees the pallid tone of Sanji’s skin, the determined set of Luffy’s jaw. Luffy snakes an arm around Sanji’s shoulders and squeezes.
“Sanji’s going to lay down now, so he can get better and cook for us!” The smile on Luffy’s face is bright, but not blinding, and his eyes are filled with warmth as he looks at Sanji. Sanji tries to perk up, to protest the idea of rest, but another rolling wave has the cook slumping into Luffy’s side, sweaty forehead pressing into his collarbone. Luffy snakes a rubbery hand up, pressing the back of it against Sanji’s cheek. Usopp thinks he must be checking his temperature, and when Luffy frowns, knows he must not like what he found.
“Sanji’s hot,” Luffy pouts. He rubs the side of his thumb under Sanji’s jaw, back and forth, and Usopp feels a little like he’s intruding on something. Luckily, Nami saves him as she and Zoro stride over to the railing.
“He probably has a fever, Luffy, of course he’s hot.” When she reaches the little cluster of their crew, Nami sticks the back of her own hand against Sanji’s face, hissing as she feels the heat roiling off his clammy skin. He tries his best to lean into her hand. “Yikes,” Nami says. “Sanji, when did you start feeling sick?”
“L’st night,” the cook mumbles, turning his face to shove it deeper into Luffy’s neck. Usopp watches as their captain’s hand comes up to Sanji’s hair, settles over the back of his head, and starts to play with the fine blond strands. “Thought it was g’nna pass.”
“Sanji needs to go to sleep,” Luffy says, carding his fingers through Sanji’s hair. “He should tell his crewmates when he’s feeling bad, so they can help!”
“But I have to c-”
“Don’t worry about any of that, man,” Usopp says with a smile. “You just focus on feeling better. We can handle ourselves for a couple of days, right?” There’s a silence that stretches a beat too long. “ Right? ”
Crickets.
“We’ll do our best!” Usopp says brightly. “Me and Nami can take turns cooking, don’t sweat it. One time, back in Syrup Village, I once made enough food for an entire feast! It all started with-”
Of course, Zoro decides to pipe up from his spot a little ways away from the railing. “Oi, why just you two?”
Usopp levels him with an unimpressed look, interrupted in the middle of his story. “Think about what I just said, then ask me again.”
“I can handle it!”
“Me too, Usopp! I can help!”
“No way in hell,” Sanji croaks. “You’ll fuck someth’ng up. Break my oven. Both you an’ that stupid marimo.” Zoro shouts indignantly from the back of the clump.
“Put that idiot to sleep, he obviously doesn’t know what he’s saying anymore.” Zoro crosses his arms over his chest, pouting as he stomps across the deck to plop down against the wall by the galley door. Usopp looks back at Sanji, and finds some truth in Zoro’s otherwise unaffectionate words. The cook’s eye is hazy, staring off into space, and he shivers despite the warmth of the morning sun.
“Yeah, Zoro’s right. Come on, Luffy,” Usopp says. “Let’s get Sanji to bed.”
-
Zoro doesn’t care. If anyone’s asking.
He’s only sitting by the stupid cook’s bedside because Nami was worried he’d choke to death in his sleep if he woke up and got sick, so Zoro is posted to make sure he stays asleep and alive. Not because he gives a shit whether the cook lives or dies.
He’s sitting on the floor, back against the wall of the boys’ cabin, watching the blond’s chest rise and fall. The cook is also on the floor, nestled in a pile of extra blankets and coats, with a pillow under his head and a washcloth across his forehead. The bowl of water for said washcloth is at Zoro’s side. Curly would be in his hammock, but the crew found out the hard way what happens when the ship rocks and the cook’s fragile stomach sways with it.
Usopp had to run out of the room to stop retching.
Needless to say, Zoro is now sitting vigil on the ground, and the cook is blissfully unaware. His stupid curly eyebrows are still pinched, even in sleep, and his face is flushed with fever. Zoro almost feels bad for him. Almost . There are very few things in this world that could convince him to have sympathy for that dumbass.
He leans back against the wall again, arms crossed loosely over his chest, swords diligently at his side. His eyes study the man asleep in front of him.
Zoro doesn’t know if he’ll ever figure out what Curly’s problem is. From the moment they met, they’ve been butting heads and picking fights, merciless and unrelenting. While Zoro is sure it stemmed from an actual place of hate at first, that feeling has simmered into a bone-deep annoyance. He and the cook are just so… different . When Zoro is calm and stoic, the cook is uptight and emotional. He never says what he means, unless he’s speaking to a woman, and even that has an air of bravado to it. The cook is everything that Zoro isn’t. He’s so particular, a stark contrast to Zoro’s own easygoing ways.
A panted breath snaps Zoro out of his reverie. He looks down at the shit cook on the floor, sweating through his clothes and brow even more pinched than before. A palm against his face tells Zoro the cook’s fever is still high, and rising. Nami said it was good if he sweats, that the fever was running its course, but he can’t be comfortable.
Why does he care?
Dutifully, Zoro swipes the washcloth from off the cook’s forehead, running it over his face and neck in an attempt to mop up sweat. He dips it in the bowl at his side, wrings it out, before folding it back into a neat little rectangle. Zoro goes to lay it back down over the cook’s head before he stops. It was under his hair before…
Well, it’s not like Curly’s awake to chew him out for this. If Zoro sees something he never wanted him to see.
Why does he care ?
Zoro delicately smoothes the idiot cook’s ugly bangs out of his face, blond strands softer on his fingers than he could have imagined. The sight that greets him is just as unbelievable.
There’s no scar, no disfiguration underneath the locks that Curly could have been hiding. Just another eye, closed for the time being, with the same blond lashes as the other one. Another stupid, curled eyebrow, except the spiral tail of this one points the same way as the other.
It’s just…weird. Like everything else about the cook.
As he settles the washcloth back against the idiot’s forehead and watches him shudder in his sleep at the newfound coolness, Zoro lets his mind drift. He finds himself dwelling on their first meeting, on his fight with Mihawk, on the path they’ve chosen to commit themselves to.
Zoro knows he has a one-track mind. When presented with a goal, he barrels forward until he accomplishes it. It’s how he feels about becoming the world’s greatest swordsman - stopping at nothing, no matter how badly it hurts. It’s what drew him to Luffy - the insistence, the pestering, the way he just wouldn’t leave Zoro alone until he agreed to run away with him. His goal of becoming the king of the pirates is now synonymous with Zoro’s own in his mind, not stopping until he makes both their dreams a reality.
He wonders how the cook thinks of his own dreams.
Admittedly, Zoro has very little knowledge of why exactly the stupid cook is on their journey. He knows it’s something called the All Blue, some mystical ocean that’s a dream come true for chefs. He also knows that when they met, Curly wasn’t doing anything to accomplish it. He was wasting away with that old man, cooking day in and day out like he had to pay something back. Like his dreams didn’t matter if he thought someone needed something from him. Even thinking about that feels foreign to Zoro. He can’t imagine shelving his goals at the whim of someone else, can’t see himself deferring to anyone but his captain.
But it wouldn’t be deferring , would it? Luffy keeps him staunchly at his side, first mate and protector of the crew. Protector of the Merry. Protector of his dream. Luffy makes it very clear how much the crew matters to him, valuing his dream and everyone else’s evenly. No one is above anyone else. No one is lesser than. Zoro knows that. He doesn’t think the stupid cook gets it, though.
He looks at the idiot laid out in front of him. Sweat trickling down his neck. Breaths labored. Working himself sick for what? It sure as hell isn’t for himself. Zoro thinks he might be the least selfish person he’s ever met. It’s infuriating, how someone can care so much and expend so much energy trying to cover it up. He thinks the cook has himself convinced that he doesn’t matter. Zoro can’t be sure, but that’s what it’s starting to smell like.
As if he knows Zoro is thinking about him, the dumbass shifts in his sleep, moaning quietly as the Merry rocks again. No wonder he blew chunks off the side of the ship this morning. He’s a stupid, stubborn idiot. Carrying on until he breaks himself.
…Zoro knows what that feels like.
Huh. Maybe they aren’t as different as he likes to think.
-
Nami looks around the kitchen, feeling lost.
It’s not like she’s never prepared a meal. Eight long years of fending for herself under Arlong’s thumb have given her the basics, but she stole food more often than she cooked it, and Sanji is so meticulous about his kitchen that it sends a shiver down her spine. Everything has a place. Shiny steel knives in their block, in a range of sizes so wide Nami doesn’t even know what they’re all for. Pots and pans arranged by size. The fridge, which normally she doesn’t give a second thought, now feels like it’s towering over her. And of course, there’s Sanji’s recipe book - a little black journal absolutely filled with scribbled notes and half-baked ideas.
She doesn’t even know where to begin.
Soup, she decides, is probably a good option. Something light, filling enough that the rest of the crew will enjoy it but with a bland broth for Sanji to sip at. He’s already thrown up twice since being laid down on the floor of the boys’ cabin and honestly, she’s getting sick of hearing Usopp gagging outside every time it happens.
Nami flips through the book, searching for the simplest and least offensive recipe Sanji has. She stops when she comes to a page with her captain’s name at the top. Scanning the paper, she realizes that it’s a detailed list of every opinion Luffy has expressed about food. It has the way he likes his meat cooked ( very rare), ways to sneak vegetables into his food (puree is a popular option), even spices to put in a glass of milk to help him wind down (the captain likes cinnamon). She turns the page, and finds a similar one for Zoro. It’s not mean, she finds, no digs at Zoro’s taste in the margins. Just observations about his likes and dislikes. Eyes moving down, she finds scrawled dessert ideas, all with bitter ingredients to match Zoro’s lack of a sweet tooth. Turning the page lets her see a similar entry on Usopp, and she giggles at the words “HATES mushrooms” underlined three times.
Then, she makes it to her own list.
Unsurprisingly, the cook has drawn little hearts in the corners of the page, but her list is without any other bias, simply an observation of her preferences. Sanji has noted both her love for mikan fruits and her condemnation of their peels. He keeps a running list of other fruits she’s shown a liking for alongside ones she doesn’t prefer as much, though that list is noticeably shorter. The bottom of the page is another messy brainstorming session, detailing Sanji’s train of thought as he works through ways to incorporate fruit into the more savory dishes they have for lunch and dinner. It’s very thorough, same as the rest of the pages, even if he does let his… affection slip into the doodles at the edges of the paper.
Nami can’t help her own fondness as she flips through the rest of the book. She knows Sanji wakes up before the rest of them, busy in his kitchen before dawn so the crew can wake up to a hot meal. She just didn’t know his process was this extensive. I guess it makes sense , she thinks. Sanji bends over backward to make sure all of them, and especially her, enjoy what they’re eating. This study on each of their preferences checks out, especially for their obsessive cook. She reaches the end of the notebook with a few recipes bookmarked to try in the coming days, but without any details on Sanji’s own tastes. That makes sense too , she considers weakly. Sanji already knows what he likes. He doesn’t need to write it down. It still leaves her feeling uncomfortable.
Well, Nami hopes the soup will suffice.
The process of actually making it is easy. Sanji has left detailed instructions, ranging from how to chop the vegetables to how high to set the heat on the stove. Nami cubes chicken, splashes salt into the broth, and slides in carrots and celery with the flat of the knife. By the time Luffy has come bounding into the room, the soup is simmering on the stove, pot covered by a lid.
“Where’s the meat?” Luffy asks, head cocked like a dog.
“There’s chicken in the soup,” Nami offers, rolling her eyes when Luffy melts to the floor, groaning in disappointment. Usopp nearly trips over him when he enters the galley.
“Damnit, Luffy, I could have broken my neck and died falling over you!”
“There’s no meaaaaat,” he whines pitifully. It does not stir anything in Usopp.
“What’d you make?” he asks instead, coming over to the cabinets to fish out bowls. He lifts the lid on the pot and backs away from the sudden rush of steam, then leans in to smell the aroma of chicken broth and vegetables.
“Just some chicken soup. Thought it would be easy for Sanji to eat without hurling,” Nami says. She fishes out a ladle from a caddy next to the sink and starts scooping the meal into the bowls Usopp has given her. Luffy’s groans are muffled by the floor. Nami glances around the kitchen and notices a distinct lack of green hair and shitty attitude. “No Zoro?”
“Yeah, I think he’s still in the cabin,” Usopp says sheepishly. “I never saw him come out. Maybe he’s asleep?”
“He might be. I hope he isn’t bothering Sanji, he needs to rest.” She grimaces at the idea of Zoro provoking the nauseous cook and having to deal with cleaning up splattered vomit for a third time. “I’ll bring them their food. You and Luffy go ahead and eat without me.”
Nami carefully balances two bowls on a tray, shouldering the door to the galley and striding across the deck towards the boys’ room. She thinks about knocking before remembering her hands are full and resigns herself to backing through the door as quietly as possible.
Zoro is awake, to her surprise, but he looks close to slipping away, back resting against the wall. He doesn’t look up when she enters, eyes resolutely fixed on Sanji, who is mercifully asleep and appears peaceful. The gentle clatter of the tray against the floor startles Zoro, who finally looks at Nami. He seems conflicted.
“Brought you some food,” she says quietly. “It’s just soup. Try to get him to eat, please? And make sure you eat, too. Wasting away in here doesn’t help us.” Zoro only grunts, but picks up his bowl and spoon obediently. Nami crouches down on the floor next to Sanji and gently touches his shoulder. “Sanji?”
“Mmm…”
“Sanji, I brought you some soup.”
“...N’mi?”
“Yeah, it’s me,” she says. “Are you hungry? I wanna see if you can keep broth down.”
Sanji shakes his head miserably, brow furrowing. Nami frowns, rubs at his shoulder. “You have to eat at least a little. Zoro can help you. I have to go eat lunch.”
Sanji mumbles something unintelligible. It’s so weird to see him like this, so wrung out and ill and quiet. It makes that same fondness flare again in Nami’s chest. She smoothes out Sanji’s hair, running her fingers over the crown of his head and through his bangs.
“Feel better, okay?” She gets a feeble nod in return. Not completely satisfied, she rises to her feet. Zoro is still buried in his meal, slurping quietly at the broth. She reaches out and tweaks his close-cropped hair, smirking as he chokes and glares up at her. Nami’s smirk fades into a smile. Her stupid boys.
“Make sure he eats.” Zoro nods diligently.
With that, Nami makes her way back to the galley, steps a touch lighter.
-
Luffy sits by Sanji’s head, legs crossed and fingers drumming on the floor. It’s nighttime now, the sun having dipped below the horizon hours ago. Zoro snores from his hammock. Usopp’s breath whistles as he sleeps. Sanji lies flat on his back, chest rising and falling evenly. He had woken up for dinner, and Nami had brought him leftover soup and a few crackers to nibble on. He had kept it down for a bit before it came up again. Now, he’s fast asleep, and Luffy, who goes to bed whenever he wants, is watching over him.
He misses Sanji’s cooking, of course, but he misses Sanji himself more.
The crew has settled into a rhythm in their short time together. Meals are always on time, served hot and delicious. Sanji does his chores. Zoro trains on the deck. Usopp fiddles with his slingshot. Nami draws up maps. Luffy lounges on the figurehead of the Merry, or bothers Nami at her desk, or bothers Usopp as he works, or bothers Zoro while he trains, or bothers-
Well. He enjoys the presence of his crew. He never did like the feeling of being alone.
Now, he gazes at Sanji as he sleeps and hopes he knows he isn’t alone. Sanji’s hand twitches unconsciously, like he’s trying to grab something, and Luffy intertwines their fingers. Squeezes gently. The unhappy wrinkles on Sanji’s face smooth out.
Today was boring, slower than usual without his cook in the kitchen. Luffy likes to rile Sanji up, giggling as he dodges heels and knives thrown his way. Nami made lunch and dinner today, and when it was just him and Usopp eating at the table, Luffy didn’t feel as hungry.
“Something wrong, Luffy?” Usopp had asked.
“I’m not hungry.”
“ Wha-?! You’re always hungry! What happened? Oh, god, don’t tell me you’re sick too.”
“I miss Sanji.” Luffy tried not to whine, but it came out that way anyway. Besides, it was true. Usopp had just looked at him sadly, agreed, and turned back to his own meal. Dinner was similarly quiet. No one talking over each other, no bickering between Zoro and Sanji, no cigarette smoke mingling with the aroma of the meal. It sucked.
Luffy watches as Sanji shivers, burrowing deeper into his blankets like he’s cold. Luffy regretfully lets go of Sanji’s hand to tuck it under the covers, bringing the edges of the blanket up around his cook’s shoulders. He swipes a hand against the side of Sanji’s neck. Still hot. Luffy frowns, grabs the now lukewarm washcloth off Sanji’s head, and dunks it in the bowl of water next to him. He wrings it out, watching the water drip down. Before he spreads the cloth back over Sanji, though, Luffy bends in close to press a kiss to his sweaty forehead.
“Get better, Sanji,” Luffy whispers. “I need you.”
He mops up sweat on Sanji’s neck and face before gently laying the washcloth back over his brow. Luffy feels his eyelids start to droop, and moves the bowl out of the way before curling up on his side. Sanji always makes him feel safe. Now, he hopes Sanji feels the same knowing that Luffy has him. He drifts off to sleep.
When he wakes up in the morning, Sanji is still sleeping. Their faces are inches away from each other, and if Luffy were to scooch a tiny bit closer, their noses would bump together. He does it anyway.
“Sanji,” he whispers. Sanji stirs. He says his name again, just as careful. “Sanji.”
“Mm...L’ffy?”
“Mhm,” Luffy affirms. “How are you feeling? Does your tummy still hurt?”
“M’okay,” Sanji mutters, visible eye cracking open. “Still feel sick. Not as bad, though.”
Luffy’s cheeks stretch wide, white teeth flashing as he grins. He ducks forward to kiss Sanji’s cheek, squishy from being smushed against his pillow. The washcloth slips from his forehead and flops onto Luffy’s face, cold from being left unchanged. A laugh bubbles out of his chest and he peels the cloth away to see a thin smile on Sanji’s lips. “Do you want some food?”
Sanji thinks for a second. “You know what? I’m a little hungry.”
Happiness fills Luffy up so much it threatens to overflow.
“Great!” He can’t help getting a little louder, pulling back with a quiet apology as Sanji winces at his volume. “We still have soup left over. I’ll bring you some.”
“Oh god, make someone go with you.”
“No, it’s okay! I got it!”
Nami does end up helping Luffy a little bit, mostly keeping his hands away from the open flame of the stove as they reheat a small portion of the soup. She lets him carry it back to the cabin, smiling fondly when she sees Sanji sitting up and mostly alert. Luffy sticks himself by his cook’s side, finishing the bowl when Sanji starts to look queasy and holding his hand as nausea rolls in his stomach. Thankfully, Sanji doesn’t get sick again. He just lays back down, still grasping Luffy’s hand, and Luffy stays put until his grip goes slack and Sanji falls asleep again.