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Summary
He wasn’t born blind. Because of that, he could remember exactly what certain things looked like- could picture them clearly in his mind. The beautiful confusion of a crystal chandelier, the dark organic lines of polished wood, the center bright yellow of a flickering candle. Things his fingers would never be able to translate for him.
It meant that at 19, Sanji could navigate the world from a combination of memory and new sensory experiences. The scent and taste of paprika was that which he could still experience, while the red color remained lost to another time even if it was still, in fact, red. On good days if he opened his eyes and squinted for a long, long minute, he thought he could see the blur of that desert-sky spice through the white-blue tinge of glass, but maybe it was just his own imagination filling in blanks.
The lost color of paprika didn’t bother him. What bothered him was when people acted like this was some great loss on his part. He’d been pitied by enough customers when he was younger to fulfill a lifetime quota of pity, thank you very much. Granted, he’d walked into an awful lot of furniture in those days. At least now when he walked into furniture he did it in a really cool way.