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Dressrosa’s freedom had been frontpage news.
Brook had felt something in him relax as he had skimmed Nami-san’s newspaper over early morning tea. He’d never had a doubt about it, of course, Luffy-san truly could do anything, but it was still such a relief to simply know that they were coming home soon; it wasn’t exactly something you should take for granted in these waters.
Of course, the entire group hadn’t really had time to rest on their laurels for long; Zou had been ravaged by poison gas and warfare, its people needed help, and the Straw Hats had been happy to oblige.
A few days later, and things had calmed down significantly. But they had been so hectic since arriving in Zou in the first place that Brook hadn’t really thought about one aspect of Doflamingo’s defeat beyond brief speculation before they’d gotten here.
Doflamingo had been a Warlord of the Sea. His defeat would inevitably make waves, even without any unique aspects to him; the only reason that Moria’s defeat hadn’t done the same was because it had happened under the cover of darkness.
There was no hiding what had been done to Doflamingo. No hiding who had done it, either.
And thus, bounty increases galore.
Brook only thought about it now, looking at the posters that had been laid out on the table - likely by Sanji-san while he had been preparing breakfast before anyone awoke.
But Sanji-san wasn’t here right now; from the conspicuous absence in the posters, he had likely taken his own somewhere to burn it out of spite. Nami-san and Chopper-san were both asleep, their rest more than deserved after the work they’d done for Zou. And Caesar was asleep too, even though he deserved for the Minks to beat him to death with their bare hands, but he digressed.
He was alone with the bounties, to observe and to ponder. Chopper-san would doubtless be upset at not even reaching four digits yet, the poor lad, Nami-san would groan at how much higher hers had climbed, and Brook truly could not wait to hear the story of Usopp-san’s meteoric rise from his own lips, but other than that, there was very little to note.
They all looked wonderful. Everyone should be proud, even if some wouldn’t be.
… And then there was … his.
… At least there was something mildly amusing about saying ‘dead or alive’ for a dead man. But otherwise, he … really wasn’t sure what to feel about it yet.
He drank his tea down, the furthest from ungrateful but still partly wishing that Sanji-san had somehow predicted the future and prepared him some stronger stuff, and went off to be somewhere more private before the others woke up.
He just … needed a moment alone to think.
…
‘Alone’ wasn’t in the cards, then.
The balcony was taken up by Sanji-san. It didn’t seem like he’d noticed yet; he was stock still, hunched over, smoke rising from his front with the distinct smell of tobacco.
A strong smell of tobacco, much more so than usual. The ashtray by his side was near overflowing.
Brook could just barely pick up the smell of regular burning paper, too. He couldn’t see Sanji-san’s face from here, but he would bet solid money that he was glaring holes in the poster as well as burning them. The man had made himself small, deliberately or otherwise, but he was trembling with rage.
… That was … not unexpected, but … odd. Intense, yes, that was typical of Sanji-san, but there was a lack of his usual … theatricality. His usual fire.
Something about this poster had left him cold.
“Is it really that bad?”
His mouth moved before he could give it another thought.
Then Sanji-san, Sanji-san, flinched like a beaten dog, and Brook felt the blood he didn’t have freeze in the veins he didn’t have.
“W-What do you mean?”
What in the Blues was that?
Brook was quite willing to track down the bounty offices and let Soul Solid dance until dusk if it meant that Sanji-san would never react like that again.
“... The photo. I’m guessing you have a new one. Is it … really that bad this time?”
Sanji-san’s shoulders lowered just a bit; he was relaxing, but not completely. Wherever he had been in his mind just now, he seemed to have remembered where he actually was, but he still only had one foot in, one foot out.
“... Ah … yeah … I guess you could say that …”
… He was hiding. That wasn’t quite the right idea, and he was hiding in it to avoid what it was actually about. He was making it obvious, but clearly not on purpose; whatever this was must have truly, painfully struck a nerve with him for him to be so off-balance.
(Brook had been considering bringing up The Duval Incident to lighten the mood. But now it was in no way difficult to read ‘NOT THE TIME’ practically written in large neon letters over Sanji-san’s head. Joking around wasn’t fun when it could actually hurt someone.)
“... May I come closer?”
Brook could practically taste Sanji-san’s mix of shame and frustration at being approached like a skittish animal, but nonetheless (after a pause which Brook just knew was to check how much of the poster he had already burned, to see if it was ‘safe’), he scooted over just a little to make room.
Brook approached slow, to give Sanji-san time to change his mind as he joined him on the balcony, although thankfully he didn’t. He wasn’t hiding the poster at this point, either.
Well. What was left of the poster. He’d used his lighter to burn a massive hole in the centre, leaving both the offending photo and the ‘dead or alive’ portion completely destroyed, the surrounding text also well on its way to flaking away with the smouldering paper.
His bounty was still legible, though - 177 million was not bad at all.
Although maybe his reaction was due to how much lower it was than Zoro-san’s? Was he only pretending it was a photo issue out of embarrassment? That could work, although even then, Brook suspected that his reaction would have been … louder.
… Well, he was right here. This hadn’t been his plan for this morning, but lifting his crewmates’ spirits was his duty, as a musician and a friend.
“... Whatever this is, if it’s honestly hurtful, then we can put it off-limits.” A thought occurred; a sigh followed. “Although I suppose the other half of the crew will have seen it by now, so this destruction may just … be delaying something inevitable.”
Sanji-san was still hanging his head, hiding behind his hair, looking far smaller than he should, and oh how Brook hated it.
“... Yeah … yeah, I know. It’s just … I …” The quiet and unsure fumbling for words almost felt scary coming from someone like him. “... I … I only want to have to explain myself once … so …”
“... You don’t need to justify yourself at all, Sanji-san.” Even Zoro-san would doubtlessly back off from something that made Sanji-san genuinely upset, not just part of their fun; certain things were just off-limits even among friends, and that wouldn’t make them think any less of him, or whatever his concern was. “Just say the word and that’s all we’ll need.”
Sanji-san just hummed; quiet, non-committal, transparent that he didn’t believe Brook in the slightest. Brook tried to not let it be hurtful.
“... At least you got a cool one, eh?”
… Deflection. Again, transparent, upsetting, transparently upsetting.
Although … maybe for the best. He’d made his stance clear that there wouldn’t be any further discussion until Luffy-san’s group arrived, and there was no sin in wanting to not feel uncomfortable for no reason.
… And … truth be told, he wasn’t the only one who had had a nerve struck by these new posters. And he didn’t even have nerves. Maybe allowing Sanji-san to offer comfort, the role he filled with skill and joy, would go some way to helping them both feel better.
… So …
“... I suppose so … but truth be told, I’m not entirely pleased with mine, either.”
The shift was immediate; he actually looked at Brook for the first time in this whole talk.
“Why? What’s wrong with yours?”
He was too tired from his own struggles to consider masking his concern under false aloofness like usual. The honesty was kind of cute, although he’d hesitate to say that out loud and get his head inevitably kicked off Zunesha like a football in a blushing, thrashing, one-sided spat.
(And yes, he noticed the nature of the question asked of him, much more direct than the questions he’d asked of Sanji-san in kind. But he would not pry into what his friend didn’t want known.)
… But truthfully … it was hard to put into words what was ‘wrong’ with his poster. Objectively speaking, Brook actually agreed with Sanji-san, it was quite ‘cool’, he had loved the design when it was a concert poster.
But … that was just it, wasn’t it?
“... I fear you’re not the only one with issues with your photo.”
Thankfully, Sanji-san was far more emotionally deft than he pretended to be; that was all Brook needed to say before he saw understanding and sympathy in his eyes.
Although the shame was uncomfortable, and unnecessary at that; Brook put a hand on Sanji-san’s shoulder to let him know it was okay, he couldn’t have known, even though he knew that he wouldn’t hear it.
Honestly, Brook hadn’t known either, how much it would rattle him until it had happened. The concert posters themselves had already been enough of a pain in his chest before he’d gotten used to it, to see himself represented as the skeleton he is and not the man he was. But to see it in this context, not even something new but a replacement for something that had been using his original face, his ‘real’ face, it was … surprisingly disquieting.
It shouldn’t have hurt. It was the truth. He’d looked like this for far longer than he’d looked like he did on his bounty poster. The Straw Hats as a whole had never even met him with his human face; even the oldest among them had been alive for over a decade less than Brook had been dead. When he pictured himself in his own mind, the idea of a skeleton came far easier than that of a man.
Being hurt by a truth you couldn’t change was pointless. And yet, here the pain was. It still felt so … othering. He should be used to it by now, and in some ways he was, of course he was, but in others, in ways that still took him by surprise, he just … wasn’t.
On bad days, Humming Brook and Soul King Brook hardly felt like the same man at all. It was a sobering feeling, being your own ghost.
“... Once everyone’s here, the guys will probably want to update the bounty wall in the quarters with these new ones.” Sanji-san spoke slowly; it was Brook’s turn to be approached like something delicate, and even though that had been what he’d wanted out of this turn in the conversation, it still didn’t exactly feel good. “What … will you want to do with yours?”
Brook sighed without lungs; Sanji-san exhaled smoke for them both.
“... Honestly? I don’t know. At least, not yet.” He had gotten used to the concert posters with time, and grown to like them at that, at least on an aesthetic level. Maybe this would be the same, maybe it wouldn’t; he had no idea when it hadn’t even been close to an hour yet.
Sanji-san hummed softly.
“... Yeah. There’s no rush to decide. And there’s no right decision, either. It’s your life. It should be up to you to choose what parts to keep and what parts to not.”
The softness dipped into a scowl as his teeth gritted a half-burned cigarette tight between them.
“... No-one else …”
… Ah. He was slipping again. But no matter. The mood … well, it didn’t quite call for this, but it didn’t call against it anymore.
“... You’re not quite right there, lad.”
Sanji-san quirked his eyebrow up in surprise, expression still dark but focus shifting to fighting back any doubts Brook had.
Kind, but again, not quite.
“It’s not my life you’re talking about, but my death, yohohoho!”
Sanji-san blinked and tried to feign annoyance by elbowing him in the ribs, but he couldn’t quite hide the smile on his face.
The first time he’d smiled since the bounty posters were mentioned. Brook considered that a success.
“Don’t you yohohoho me right now, I know what you’re doing.”
Ah, hello there, Pot-san! Quite nice to meet you. I’m Kettle!
“Nothing gets past you, does it?”
“Nope. Not one bit.”
“Except when the fairer sex is involved, of course.”
“Hey, nothing gets past me then, either. I just … choose not to do anything about it then.”
“Of course, of course. It’s all obviously a part of the plan when you get beaten to a pulp.”
“Hey, maybe I’m into that, you don’t know.”
“Actually, my friend-”
“Do not finish that sentence-”
Sanji-san had evolved from a shy smile to quiet but honest laughter. Yes, Brook considered this a roaring success.
Still smiling despite himself, Sanji-san put out the last cigarette in the ashtray and looked back inside to where breakfast waited to be eaten once the others were awake.
And then he paused.
He seemed to instantly regret putting out that cigarette, now that he didn’t have that as an option to fiddle around with his hands; he ended up scrunching up the donut he’d made of his dreaded bounty poster into a tiny ball.
He breathed out, and looked up almost shyly.
“... Hey … before … do … do you want a hug?”
… Ah.
Transparent again. This Sanji-san wouldn’t show himself so easily once others were watching him. He should make the most of it.
“... Yes, after this morning, a hug would be quite nice, my friend.”
Sanji-san hummed once more, grateful again for the lack of follow-up questions.
Brook was expecting the man to offer a normal hold, wrapping his arms around Brook’s waist from the ground (being so much taller truly was a curse sometimes).
Instead, he ended up snorting when Sanji-san Skywalked up a few feet to meet him at eye level.
“That can’t be what that ability is meant to be used for.”
“Well, it’s my ability. And it’s what I’m using it for. So yes, yes it is.”
Truly unassailable logic; Brook couldn’t help but smile back as Sanji-san offered a smirk.
He dove into Brook’s arms to give him his hug, seemingly thinking that he’d moved fast enough to hide how that smirk was weak and fragile.
This was much more for him than for Brook. But of course, he didn’t, wouldn’t, would never, say that. Instead, he just held the boy back.
‘The man’. ‘The man’, not ‘the boy’.
But yes, also ‘the boy’.
With his head on Brook’s shoulder and the Skywalk ceased (consciously or otherwise, Brook wasn’t sure), Sanji-san’s feet dangled only to about Brook’s knees. Brook’s hand could rest itself entirely on the back of his head. He didn’t seem to know that he was holding Brook suspiciously tight, with hands that trembled more than they ‘should’.
He didn’t mention any of it. But he thought about it. He couldn’t not.
The entire crew was so larger than life that it was hard to remember that they really were children in comparison to him. That wasn’t even a point of condescension or anything, it was just … true.
He couldn’t deny feeling some kind of responsibility towards them because of that. Some kind of long buried instinct trying to come back to life.
He remembered a little girl, giggling in his arms as he dwarfed her and they twirled and twirled and twirled, “Higher, Brook, higher!”
Brook held Sanji-san tighter as well; he returned the favour in not saying a word, assuming that he even noticed at all.
The world could be so cruel … so they had to be kind in its place.
…
Neither of them were really sure how much time passed before either deemed it time to let go; the only important part was that no-one else was awake yet.
Brook couldn’t help but be sad that it ended so soon, even if it might not have been ‘soon’ at all; Sanji-san was quite good at giving hugs, and he hoped he was too.
When the man slipped from Brook’s shoulders to make his way back to the kitchen, he looked back with an easy smile that still didn’t quite look as easy as usual.
“Hey, if you’ve got nothing better to do, I wouldn't mind a soundtrack while I work.”
‘I don’t want to be alone’ was only barely subtext.
Brook simply nodded and followed him back through to the kitchen.
He didn’t miss how Sanji-san threw the crumpled up scraps of his bounty poster into the bin on the way, with a fervour like the mere touch of it burned. He just … chose not to do anything about it. For now, at least.
He wasn’t too worried about it, though. Both of their woes would heal eventually, he didn’t doubt that for a second. Whatever it was that haunted him, haunted any of them, no matter how dark anything seemed … if they just held on, the morning sun would rise.