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In an attempt to ignore the aftershocks of the nightmare he just dragged himself out of, Usopp wanders the upper deck alone. Crisp moonlight lights his path, keeping the shadows at bay so as to not scare the shit out of him in his already fragile state.
He shuffles past a sleepy Robin, quietly dozing over the massive book draped across her lap. He should wake her, probably, but they haven’t seen another ship in weeks, and now that Captain Usopp is awake, he’ll be able to face any intruder head-on.
He tiptoes across the Merry with no real destination in mind, until his nose perks at a vaguely familiar scent. Rich and savory, it fills his senses with a nostalgia he hasn’t felt in ages. He worries he’s dreaming again.
Usopp pinches himself, “Yeowch,” He whispers, then carefully follows the smell to its source.
The closer he gets, the stronger and more familiar it smells. Then, a metallic crash rings out into the dense silence, followed by a foreign curse.
“Merde!”
Usopp peeks through the porthole to the kitchen to find Sanji; hair brushed back and out of his face, oversized sleep clothes draped across his lithe figure, and a pillar of smoke billowing from their small oven.
He smothers the flame with a pot lid and curses again. Usopp decides to not involve himself in Sanji’s cooking failure, as if he’d enjoy getting scolded in the middle of the night (again).
But as he turns to leave, he steps on possibly the creakiest floorboard on the entire ship.
Shit.
“Show yourself, asshole,” Sanji demands, and Usopp obeys without a second thought.
He raises his arms above his head in hopes he can avoid a spin kick to the jaw.
“Oh, it’s just you.”
Usopp abandons all stealth, speeding around the corner and into the kitchen in an instant. “Hey, whatdaya mean it’s ‘just’ me?? I’m a feared pirate too, you know!”
Sanji laughs, “Yeah, yeah, man, of course,” He says, sliding the cleaver in his hand back into the knife block, “Just meant I didn’t have to kill ya’.”
Usopp gulps. Right. That would’ve been bad. “What’re ya cookin’ at this hour, Sanji?”
Sanji groans, “Well, I was tryin’ to recreate one of those pastries from Meshi, but I can’t get the temperature right,” He says, gesturing to a tray of failed buns. One doughy and soft, and the other, black as night. They look and smell familiar, still.
“Wait, Meshi? Like the old man’s place from my Village?”
Sanji nods. “I’ve been trying to make dishes from everyone’s home, but yours is proving quite difficult,” he pokes Usopp in the chest with the end of a whisk, "Just like you, I guess.”
Usopp really isn’t sure what to feel; irritation, pride, and embarrassment all competing for the top spot in his mind. “I’m not difficult,” He says with a warm face. Sanji just smiles.
They share a somehow comfortable silence as Sanji whisks up another batch of dough, and Usopp somehow feels comfortable to offer advice. An extra pinch of salt, half oil, half butter, an 8 degree cooler oven—things he learned from watching the chefs he grew up around all those years ago.
“Can’t believe you remember this stuff,” Sanji says.
Usopp laughs, “Honestly, neither can I.”
Sanji tells tales of the Baratie—some Usopp knows, but some he doesn’t—and it’s obvious just how much he loved his time there.
A small bell chimes and Sanji stops his train of thought in an instant. Usopp watches him carefully pull the golden pastry from the oven, transferring it to a cooling rack with no tools but his fingers. Impressive.
“Needs to cool, but this one at least looks right.”
“Smells right, too.” Usopp says quietly, unsure of how to navigate this extremely casual energy they somehow share now.
He acts as if they haven’t been through hell together. Sanji isn’t the same asshole he met all those years ago. They’re friends. They’re crewmates. They might be something else.
A few moments later, Sanji tears the steaming pastry in half with his bare hands, wincing as some of the filling drips down the length of his wrist, then hands one half over to him. “Careful, it’s hot, obviously.”
While Usopp waits for his portion to cool, Sanji digs in. His mouth is bigger than Usopp realized. His lips look like little pillows when he eats, carefully taking only the perfect bites each time, as if it were a science.
Usopp tries to do the same, but his mouth is clearly inferior, “Hot hot hot!!” He shouts, smacking his lips to try and quell the burning sensation he starts to feel in his chest.
“Toldya',” Sanji smiles. “Here, drink.”
Usopp doesn’t even bother asking what’s in the bottle before taking a big swig. It’s sharp, sweet, and burns his tongue just as much as the food. He coughs, repeatedly, and Sanji swings across the counter to pat his back.
“What the hell was that, Sanji?”
“Rice brew,” He says, “Found it the other day, I thought it’d help.”
Usopp shakes his head, but laughs. His head spins a bit and has the stray thought that Sanji looks pretty with his hair back.
“…What?” Sanji’s eyebrows shoots up to his forehead.
“What…”
“You just said that I looked pretty, Usopp?”
Usopp’s mind grinds to a halt; his hands freeze, and his smile falters. “N-no I didn’t. You’re hearing things, Sanji. You’re going crazy, it’s soooo late.” He sputters, gathering his wits in an attempt to get the hell out of this kitchen.
How one single drink made him this stupid is beyond his comprehension.
“T-thanks again for the food, get some sleep, bye!!” Usopp shouts as he scurries out of the kitchen and back to his quarters. He doesn’t even bother looking back.
Usopp stumbles into bed, immediately closes his eyes, and begs to any god that will listen that Sanji forget he said anything, once the sun rises.
~
“Pretty? Really Usopp?” Sanji stares at the teeth marks in the half-eaten bun Usopp left on the counter.
He takes a bite.
“Would it have killed you to at least wait for me to kiss you?”
Sanji considers wearing his hair back the next day, but he can’t risk Usopp jumping overboard. Not after he’s gotten this far.
At least he finally got to make him his favorite food. That’s enough for now.