Luffy lets Sanji push his head away.... but only his head. His neck stretches out cartoonishly until Sanji gives up his half-hearted attempts to dislodge him, then they're right back where they started.
He doesn't even acknowledge that it happened, he just tilts his chin enough to make eye contact and grin at him when Sanji cranes his neck and looks down, comfortable as can be.
"Huh?" He does blink at the question, though, eyes drifting to the side like he's genuinely casting back for what he may or may not have said. "That I like the way it looks when people tell you that your food is tasty?" A beat. "Oh! Or that I like the way you smile when you talk about the All Blue?" Alright, he is maybe being a little tiny bit obtuse on purpose, but he's just still not convinced that he actually managed to get through to Sanji earlier, so.
That doesn't mean he's not actually curious about what he'd asked just a few moments ago, though, so he does eventually acquiesce with: "Or because your eyebrow is all swirly now?" He reaches up with his free hand to touch the center of the curl with the pad of his pointer finger, a little boop, if Sanji doesn't move to intercept.
Heat rushes to his face, flaring his cheeks despite himself. This guy has to be doing that on purpose. Food is one thing; a smile is another. Those are criminally romantic words a clueless pirate captain has no business uttering to anyone, much less his cook—to say nothing about how touchy-feely he's being.
"I'm talking about my eyebrows!" hisses Sanji, jerking his head back after the poke. He isn't particularly attached to his eyebrows. They're unusual—more bizarre than exotic—and everyone (excluding this guy) always has something to say about them in the vein of teasing. He cups his knee opposite of Luffy, tensing his shoulders and legs, as he looks back with narrowed eyes and an appraising gaze. "Yeah, that's what I thought," he says, evenly in spite of his growing misgivings. "You have no clue that they've always been this way, do you?"
Luffy finally draws back a little, still pressed against Sanji's nearest leg thigh to thigh, but at least he stops borderline melting against the cook's entire side like soft rubber left out too long in the sun. Both because of how stiff Sanji has gotten, and because of how he phrased the question.
He knows he can be a little oblivious about most things, but usually if there's something strange looking about a person, that is what immediately sticks in his head as a nickname. Which is deeply rude of him, obviously, but if no one has managed to bully manners into him at his big age, it's probably never going to happen.
Besides, Luffy likes people who look weird and catch attention. Sanji's looks do catch attention obviously, but not like that, and Luffy knows he definitely would have noticed the curl even if he hadn't spent the last few weeks getting very close and too personal with the cook's face at least once a day. "No, you never told me," Luffy's own bushier brows furrow, trying to figure out what that means. Is it a sore spot? Hmm... "So you were just shaving it off before? Why?"
If the short gap between them makes him feel a certain way, Sanji doesn't show it. Unnecessary reactions will only distract them, and this gives him a better view of Luffy as he continues to watch in his typical slouch. He's neither Usopp nor Chopper; he knows how to keep his cool in moments of uncertainty.
"I don't shave my eyebrows." Quirky though they may be, there are stranger features out there. Even the cooks back at the Baratie are outlandish in their own ways, and then there are Wanze and Duval, so nobody can talk. "And last I saw, your hair didn't look like that."
That fact means nothing by itself when considering the length of time they've spent apart. Combined with the details that haven't been adding up since the start, however, he has to wonder again: who is this rubber man? Or should the question be, what happened to Luffy? In his heart of hearts, Sanji finds it oddly difficult to dismiss the person sitting beside him. As such, he sounds more tentative than suspicious when he asks, "Are you really Luffy?"
"Huh?" Luffy's face screws up in confusion, and then he glances upwards at the curled ends of his own hair, which look totally normal to him pinned against the brim of his straw hat. When he woke up this morning he did exactly what he does with his hair every morning: absolutely nothing. The most effort he ever puts in is to try to let it dry before falling asleep so he doesn't end up with a goofy looking flat spot, but even then he doesn't care enough about his hair's appearance to avoid it if he's really tired. Which begs the question, "What does that mean? What did it look like?"
His brain hurts, like it usually does when he's trying to think too hard about things that aren't fighting or meat or adventures. And here he'd fully resolved to ignore all the things that didn't make sense and simply have fun instead! Honestly, Sanji is so rude.
"Of course I'm Luffy! Who else would I be?" His arms cross, stubborn, a touch incensed by the implication that he would pretend to be anything other than what he is—Monkey D. Luffy, the man who's going to be King of the Pirates. He doesn't bother to return the question, if only because his gut says that's Sanji, and questioning his gut is really not his style, even in totally absurd situations. But, saying that... his gut instinct doesn't get him any closer to an answer this time. After a moment his shoulders sag, and he drops his stick into his lap, all pretense relinquished. "I don't understand." Just, in general. Everything going on right now.
Sanji eyes him, betraying none of his thoughts behind a ruminative gaze. Who else, huh. It should be dissatisfying—and it is—but he can't bring himself to challenge anything when he knows no better. As far as he can tell, there's nothing malicious about this guy beside him. Sanji doesn't understand it, either, which makes two of them.
His shoulders sag, relaxing by a margin. If you can't beat them, join them.
"You wear your hair shorter. It's straight," he clarifies. Curls give the illusion of less length, after all. Then again, even straightened Luffy's hair would sometimes get in his eyes. Every difference is struck by a similarity; it's a frustrating train of thought that yields no answers as he continues: "And you're shorter than I remember." He raises the cigarette to his lips. "But your name's still the same."
Somehow, when Sanji's shoulders sag next to his own, it feels like both the closest and the farthest they've been to being on the same page this whole time. Luffy looks at his—not his?—cook sidelong for a moment, wondering what to say or how to bridge the gap. Feeling uncertain about that is a very unusual sensation for him: he always found it so easy to talk to Sanji. Even in the Baratie's mostly empty kitchen on that very first night, worn from what might actually be the only evening of honest work Luffy has ever done in his life, when they were just feeling out the edges of each other. When Luffy saw for himself Sanji's kind soul, and dreamer heart.
It sits in his gut weird and uncomfortable, like a lump of something too solid to eat. He doesn't like feeling like he's a stranger with one of the people he cares about most in the world. "Nami thinks there's something weird about this island. It kept showing up on the log pose and then disappearing, without resetting or anything." So maybe it's some bizarre, unpredictable Grand Line thing? Everyone keeps talking those up. Luffy's leg bounces in place, terribly restless, jostling against Sanji's because of the way they're sitting. He is not the 'figures out the mystery' guy, and he doesn't wanna be. The whole point of having a crew is so they can do the things that he can't, such as thinking about stuff like this. Stuff other than fighting. (And because he's got a bone-deep fear of loneliness, but that's neither here nor there.)
Anyway, does having curly hair make him so different? Does a little bit of facial hair mean Sanji isn't Sanji Sanji, no matter what his instinct says? Trying to fit the pieces together is not going anywhere helpful in Luffy's head, it keeps getting stopped on the biggest wall of difference that he can see (because he doesn't have the months of perspective that Sanji does), so he blurts out, totally non-sequitur: "Wait. Does that mean you don't like me?" If there are differences, and not just lost memories. It probably says something about Luffy that he hadn't even considered it as a possibility—that Sanji wasn't feeling insecure about Luffy's feelings, it just didn't make sense to him. For him.
Sanji's heart flutters at the mention of Nami's name. Beautiful and brainy—no matter how troublesome this memory business is, she's perfect! Oh, what he wouldn't give to see her, well and healthy, again. If she were here to impart her revelations and navigate them through this predicament, they might've figured out the mystery of this place by now.
As things stand, they're only a step closer—if that—to the elusive truth. Luffy's restlessness against his leg brings him back down from his high, and Sanji hunches forward with a hand around his chin. An island that shouldn't exist . . . If that's true, are their very existences at risk the longer they dawdle? He's about made up his mind to get up and move on when he blinks at the change in subject, his thoughts brought to a screeching halt by the shockingly forward question. Sanji draws back and squares his shoulders as he eyes Luffy, wondering again just what all of this is supposed to mean.
Of course he doesn't, he's primed to say. It's a simple answer to a simple question, yet his eyes narrow from the confliction raging in his heart. He likes Luffy well enough, but he hasn't once thought of him (without prompting) in ways that go beyond camaraderie. Still, the easy answer doesn't come in much the same way he inexplicably held himself back from asserting earlier that none of the crew is involved with each other. In a tone that's more bland than proud, Sanji replies, "I like women." This has been a fact of his life since he was a boy, even before he developed a physical attraction to the fairer sex. He will die as he lived, loving women with all of his being, and that's a damn good commitment as far as he's concerned.
Having said that, he can't shake the feeling that he's just given an excuse.
Luffy stares at him blankly for a moment that's probably too long to be comfortable, clearly waiting for the rest, a little lost. Then slowly, like he's not really putting two and two together, he ventures: "Okay?" He still wouldn't know a social more if it clocked him upside the head, and whatever hangups the world around them has about gender and attraction, Luffy just never paid enough attention to learn to care.
He's at something of an impasse here, though. Because being friends with Sanji—just being near him, having him around with his big heart and his prickly warmth and the way he constantly attends to the needs of others no matter how gruff he pretends to be—that's enough. That's more than enough. Luffy doesn't need everything else from him, even if all of it is fun and it feels like they only just started on that grand adventure, and he doesn't necessarily want to get off the ride so soon. As greedy as Luffy can be, he only wants to take and take and take if he's allowed to give and give and give back. There's no magic in it if Sanji doesn't want it just as much.
Besides, if he pushes, he feels like there will be the implication that it's a requirement (in his memories, they are still all so new to each other), and that will never be true. Sanji should feel whatever he feels, and Luffy will be content with that, but.
But.
That gnawing sense in his gut is still there, not so different from the one he got when Nami tried to break rank and run away, to go back to her grueling one-woman war all alone. It's the feeling that he thinks means he's watching the people he cares a whole lot about get in the way of their own happiness.
Or maybe it's just rejection, and he's fooling himself.
"I'm not a woman." Obviously. Luffy tilts his head, fixing the cook with a much sharper look than the blank one he'd been sporting a moment ago, like he's trying to see past every wall that Sanji has spent the last hour throwing up between them. "Does that mean you don't like me? Seems like a really silly reason." Sorry, Sanji. He's going to make you say it.
He purses his lips. Of course, Luffy wouldn't buy the deflection. If Sanji is honest with himself, it is a silly reason.
The truth is that he likes Luffy—likes all of the crew, even the stupid swordsman—as much as he favors Nami and Robin. Next to Zeff, it wouldn't be a stretch to say that they're everything to him. Without Luffy, he'd still be serving away at the Baratie, dream of finding the All Blue be damned. He can't say that he doesn't like Luffy, who's impossibly larger than life and capable of moving hearts, because it would be a bald-faced lie; on the other hand, he can't say that he likes him, because . . . well, because he just can't.
There's nothing wrong with being a friend to women and then something more with men. For a heart as accepting as Luffy's, it only makes sense to be more with both. But loving women—entertaining daydreams about showering them with everything he has to give—has always been easy for Sanji, easier than it's ever been with his own. He feeds men as he does women, but he doesn't romance them. No, he kicks them, shouts himself hoarse, and asserts his pride, so they'll never doubt the value his otherwise worthless self brings to the table. He likes Luffy, but the sort of tenderness that was described and shown to Sanji earlier isn't something he does with other men.
Plainly speaking, he doesn't know how. That isn't how he was raised. And it's too awkward to change that now, and now is definitely not the time to be exploring this.
In summation, he can't be the person this guy claims to like and kiss on the regular. Sanji tries, and fails, not to think about those honeyed words about his cooking and smile from before as he grimaces under Luffy's withering stare. He shouldn't be entertaining this, yet he can't stop himself from chomping at the bit to retort, "Oh, yeah? Then what reasons have I given you before to say that I like you? Answer me that!"
Hmm. Sanji is kinda acting like it's a bad thing again, which doesn't feel great, but also he won't (can't? doesn't want to?) say it, and that's something, right?
Maybe. Luffy crosses his arms, branch balanced on his lap, head tilting back up straight and then down the other way like a confused dog. Sanji is a really complicated person: Luffy hasn't known him for very long, but he's pretty sure about that. It's like with Nami, who looking back was a whole mess of feelings buried under silly things like shame and doubt at the start, and Luffy doesn't always know how to peel those things apart because it's not really how he operates, himself. He likes when things are simple, he feels things straightforwardly and with his whole being, and if they start to spiral out and tangle up he has a lot of trouble understanding or articulating himself. He does his best to avoid complication for that reason.
But Sanji is worth the complication, so he tries to parse through what he just accomplished with blind faith and eager curiosity the first time through.
"It wasn't a thing," he finally admits. "It was a feeling." He pats his own belly with an open palm, his gut. "Instinct." He'd catch Sanji looking at him and it'd feel warm, not like when people eyeball him trying to figure out what kind of monster he is. They'd talk, and he'd feel like I'm making him happy instead of I'm annoying him (not that the latter would have stopped him, of course.) Oh! "And, sometimes when I say something real dumb your mouth would go," he reaches up again, this time the pad of his finger lands next to the corner of Sanji's mouth and he presses it upwards, gently forcing the cook's lips into a little lopsided smile. He beams immediately in response, as though Sanji made the expression on purpose. "Plus, when I told you that being around you made my heart go funny and skip sometimes, you said it happened to you too." The wonders of being raised by a version of Zeff that was fully willing to seduce (or, you know, whatever that was) a stubborn old Vice Admiral to throw him off the scent of Sanji's new pirate trail, rather than one more bogged down by whatever trappings of masculinity.
Anyway, he drops his hand back into his own lap again and reminds Sanji: "It's not a bad thing. Even if it's different for you than it was for— uhh. You?" This island is weird.
Whatever frown he was about to pull dies away at the look on Luffy's face. That idiot. What's so pleasing about a little smile? Sanji hasn't even cooked anything. His features scrunch at the thought, bobbing the cigarette between his lips and belying the faint rush of something odd in his chest. It's jarring, how gentle the jab is.
He can't recall his heart ever going funny and skipping around Luffy (this island doesn't count). That sounds more like something he'd feel around Nami and Robin, which means Luffy isn't pulling his leg about his own feelings. If anything, everything that's been said makes a perfect amount of sense. Love is the sort of thing one feels on a base level, because the heart doesn't lie. It's enough to make the romantic in Sanji go green with envy, so much so that he wonders in seriousness just what led to the other guy with his name coming to harbor those feelings as he pointedly decides not to think about the obvious.
"I'm not saying it's bad," he says as he angles his head away, eyes still tracking Luffy. Far be it from him to tell others whom they should like. Considering what's been dogging him for months on end, the absence of force on Luffy's end is the biggest reason Sanji's able to entertain this discussion now. A large part of him can't believe that he's taking this as seriously as he is, but love isn't exactly a joking matter, teasing from crewmates aside. "But you're right. It's different."
Yeah. It's so far removed from his reality that, while he doesn't write off the notion straightaway, he isn't sure of how to react. The unknown looms over them, casting a shadow of confusion and doubt. It's simpler if he separates everyone from each other, so he should probably just do that and move on. All that to say, he rises from his rocky seat and takes a languid step forward, putting his back to Luffy as he slides a hand into a pant pocket and rights his cigarette with the other. "When you like someone, anything they do looks cute." That much, he can relate.
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He doesn't even acknowledge that it happened, he just tilts his chin enough to make eye contact and grin at him when Sanji cranes his neck and looks down, comfortable as can be.
"Huh?" He does blink at the question, though, eyes drifting to the side like he's genuinely casting back for what he may or may not have said. "That I like the way it looks when people tell you that your food is tasty?" A beat. "Oh! Or that I like the way you smile when you talk about the All Blue?" Alright, he is maybe being a little tiny bit obtuse on purpose, but he's just still not convinced that he actually managed to get through to Sanji earlier, so.
That doesn't mean he's not actually curious about what he'd asked just a few moments ago, though, so he does eventually acquiesce with: "Or because your eyebrow is all swirly now?" He reaches up with his free hand to touch the center of the curl with the pad of his pointer finger, a little boop, if Sanji doesn't move to intercept.
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"I'm talking about my eyebrows!" hisses Sanji, jerking his head back after the poke. He isn't particularly attached to his eyebrows. They're unusual—more bizarre than exotic—and everyone (excluding this guy) always has something to say about them in the vein of teasing. He cups his knee opposite of Luffy, tensing his shoulders and legs, as he looks back with narrowed eyes and an appraising gaze. "Yeah, that's what I thought," he says, evenly in spite of his growing misgivings. "You have no clue that they've always been this way, do you?"
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He knows he can be a little oblivious about most things, but usually if there's something strange looking about a person, that is what immediately sticks in his head as a nickname. Which is deeply rude of him, obviously, but if no one has managed to bully manners into him at his big age, it's probably never going to happen.
Besides, Luffy likes people who look weird and catch attention. Sanji's looks do catch attention obviously, but not like that, and Luffy knows he definitely would have noticed the curl even if he hadn't spent the last few weeks getting very close and too personal with the cook's face at least once a day. "No, you never told me," Luffy's own bushier brows furrow, trying to figure out what that means. Is it a sore spot? Hmm... "So you were just shaving it off before? Why?"
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"I don't shave my eyebrows." Quirky though they may be, there are stranger features out there. Even the cooks back at the Baratie are outlandish in their own ways, and then there are Wanze and Duval, so nobody can talk. "And last I saw, your hair didn't look like that."
That fact means nothing by itself when considering the length of time they've spent apart. Combined with the details that haven't been adding up since the start, however, he has to wonder again: who is this rubber man? Or should the question be, what happened to Luffy? In his heart of hearts, Sanji finds it oddly difficult to dismiss the person sitting beside him. As such, he sounds more tentative than suspicious when he asks, "Are you really Luffy?"
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His brain hurts, like it usually does when he's trying to think too hard about things that aren't fighting or meat or adventures. And here he'd fully resolved to ignore all the things that didn't make sense and simply have fun instead! Honestly, Sanji is so rude.
"Of course I'm Luffy! Who else would I be?" His arms cross, stubborn, a touch incensed by the implication that he would pretend to be anything other than what he is—Monkey D. Luffy, the man who's going to be King of the Pirates. He doesn't bother to return the question, if only because his gut says that's Sanji, and questioning his gut is really not his style, even in totally absurd situations. But, saying that... his gut instinct doesn't get him any closer to an answer this time. After a moment his shoulders sag, and he drops his stick into his lap, all pretense relinquished. "I don't understand." Just, in general. Everything going on right now.
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His shoulders sag, relaxing by a margin. If you can't beat them, join them.
"You wear your hair shorter. It's straight," he clarifies. Curls give the illusion of less length, after all. Then again, even straightened Luffy's hair would sometimes get in his eyes. Every difference is struck by a similarity; it's a frustrating train of thought that yields no answers as he continues: "And you're shorter than I remember." He raises the cigarette to his lips. "But your name's still the same."
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It sits in his gut weird and uncomfortable, like a lump of something too solid to eat. He doesn't like feeling like he's a stranger with one of the people he cares about most in the world. "Nami thinks there's something weird about this island. It kept showing up on the log pose and then disappearing, without resetting or anything." So maybe it's some bizarre, unpredictable Grand Line thing? Everyone keeps talking those up. Luffy's leg bounces in place, terribly restless, jostling against Sanji's because of the way they're sitting. He is not the 'figures out the mystery' guy, and he doesn't wanna be. The whole point of having a crew is so they can do the things that he can't, such as thinking about stuff like this. Stuff other than fighting. (And because he's got a bone-deep fear of loneliness, but that's neither here nor there.)
Anyway, does having curly hair make him so different? Does a little bit of facial hair mean Sanji isn't Sanji Sanji, no matter what his instinct says? Trying to fit the pieces together is not going anywhere helpful in Luffy's head, it keeps getting stopped on the biggest wall of difference that he can see (because he doesn't have the months of perspective that Sanji does), so he blurts out, totally non-sequitur: "Wait. Does that mean you don't like me?" If there are differences, and not just lost memories. It probably says something about Luffy that he hadn't even considered it as a possibility—that Sanji wasn't feeling insecure about Luffy's feelings, it just didn't make sense to him. For him.
That sits in his gut even worse, if possible.
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As things stand, they're only a step closer—if that—to the elusive truth. Luffy's restlessness against his leg brings him back down from his high, and Sanji hunches forward with a hand around his chin. An island that shouldn't exist . . . If that's true, are their very existences at risk the longer they dawdle? He's about made up his mind to get up and move on when he blinks at the change in subject, his thoughts brought to a screeching halt by the shockingly forward question. Sanji draws back and squares his shoulders as he eyes Luffy, wondering again just what all of this is supposed to mean.
Of course he doesn't, he's primed to say. It's a simple answer to a simple question, yet his eyes narrow from the confliction raging in his heart. He likes Luffy well enough, but he hasn't once thought of him (without prompting) in ways that go beyond camaraderie. Still, the easy answer doesn't come in much the same way he inexplicably held himself back from asserting earlier that none of the crew is involved with each other. In a tone that's more bland than proud, Sanji replies, "I like women." This has been a fact of his life since he was a boy, even before he developed a physical attraction to the fairer sex. He will die as he lived, loving women with all of his being, and that's a damn good commitment as far as he's concerned.
Having said that, he can't shake the feeling that he's just given an excuse.
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He's at something of an impasse here, though. Because being friends with Sanji—just being near him, having him around with his big heart and his prickly warmth and the way he constantly attends to the needs of others no matter how gruff he pretends to be—that's enough. That's more than enough. Luffy doesn't need everything else from him, even if all of it is fun and it feels like they only just started on that grand adventure, and he doesn't necessarily want to get off the ride so soon. As greedy as Luffy can be, he only wants to take and take and take if he's allowed to give and give and give back. There's no magic in it if Sanji doesn't want it just as much.
Besides, if he pushes, he feels like there will be the implication that it's a requirement (in his memories, they are still all so new to each other), and that will never be true. Sanji should feel whatever he feels, and Luffy will be content with that, but.
But.
That gnawing sense in his gut is still there, not so different from the one he got when Nami tried to break rank and run away, to go back to her grueling one-woman war all alone. It's the feeling that he thinks means he's watching the people he cares a whole lot about get in the way of their own happiness.
Or maybe it's just rejection, and he's fooling himself.
"I'm not a woman." Obviously. Luffy tilts his head, fixing the cook with a much sharper look than the blank one he'd been sporting a moment ago, like he's trying to see past every wall that Sanji has spent the last hour throwing up between them. "Does that mean you don't like me? Seems like a really silly reason." Sorry, Sanji. He's going to make you say it.
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The truth is that he likes Luffy—likes all of the crew, even the stupid swordsman—as much as he favors Nami and Robin. Next to Zeff, it wouldn't be a stretch to say that they're everything to him. Without Luffy, he'd still be serving away at the Baratie, dream of finding the All Blue be damned. He can't say that he doesn't like Luffy, who's impossibly larger than life and capable of moving hearts, because it would be a bald-faced lie; on the other hand, he can't say that he likes him, because . . . well, because he just can't.
There's nothing wrong with being a friend to women and then something more with men. For a heart as accepting as Luffy's, it only makes sense to be more with both. But loving women—entertaining daydreams about showering them with everything he has to give—has always been easy for Sanji, easier than it's ever been with his own. He feeds men as he does women, but he doesn't romance them. No, he kicks them, shouts himself hoarse, and asserts his pride, so they'll never doubt the value his otherwise worthless self brings to the table. He likes Luffy, but the sort of tenderness that was described and shown to Sanji earlier isn't something he does with other men.
Plainly speaking, he doesn't know how. That isn't how he was raised. And it's too awkward to change that now, and now is definitely not the time to be exploring this.
In summation, he can't be the person this guy claims to like and kiss on the regular. Sanji tries, and fails, not to think about those honeyed words about his cooking and smile from before as he grimaces under Luffy's withering stare. He shouldn't be entertaining this, yet he can't stop himself from chomping at the bit to retort, "Oh, yeah? Then what reasons have I given you before to say that I like you? Answer me that!"
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Maybe. Luffy crosses his arms, branch balanced on his lap, head tilting back up straight and then down the other way like a confused dog. Sanji is a really complicated person: Luffy hasn't known him for very long, but he's pretty sure about that. It's like with Nami, who looking back was a whole mess of feelings buried under silly things like shame and doubt at the start, and Luffy doesn't always know how to peel those things apart because it's not really how he operates, himself. He likes when things are simple, he feels things straightforwardly and with his whole being, and if they start to spiral out and tangle up he has a lot of trouble understanding or articulating himself. He does his best to avoid complication for that reason.
But Sanji is worth the complication, so he tries to parse through what he just accomplished with blind faith and eager curiosity the first time through.
"It wasn't a thing," he finally admits. "It was a feeling." He pats his own belly with an open palm, his gut. "Instinct." He'd catch Sanji looking at him and it'd feel warm, not like when people eyeball him trying to figure out what kind of monster he is. They'd talk, and he'd feel like I'm making him happy instead of I'm annoying him (not that the latter would have stopped him, of course.) Oh! "And, sometimes when I say something real dumb your mouth would go," he reaches up again, this time the pad of his finger lands next to the corner of Sanji's mouth and he presses it upwards, gently forcing the cook's lips into a little lopsided smile. He beams immediately in response, as though Sanji made the expression on purpose. "Plus, when I told you that being around you made my heart go funny and skip sometimes, you said it happened to you too." The wonders of being raised by a version of Zeff that was fully willing to seduce (or, you know, whatever that was) a stubborn old Vice Admiral to throw him off the scent of Sanji's new pirate trail, rather than one more bogged down by whatever trappings of masculinity.
Anyway, he drops his hand back into his own lap again and reminds Sanji: "It's not a bad thing. Even if it's different for you than it was for— uhh. You?" This island is weird.
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He can't recall his heart ever going funny and skipping around Luffy (this island doesn't count). That sounds more like something he'd feel around Nami and Robin, which means Luffy isn't pulling his leg about his own feelings. If anything, everything that's been said makes a perfect amount of sense. Love is the sort of thing one feels on a base level, because the heart doesn't lie. It's enough to make the romantic in Sanji go green with envy, so much so that he wonders in seriousness just what led to the other guy with his name coming to harbor those feelings as he pointedly decides not to think about the obvious.
"I'm not saying it's bad," he says as he angles his head away, eyes still tracking Luffy. Far be it from him to tell others whom they should like. Considering what's been dogging him for months on end, the absence of force on Luffy's end is the biggest reason Sanji's able to entertain this discussion now. A large part of him can't believe that he's taking this as seriously as he is, but love isn't exactly a joking matter, teasing from crewmates aside. "But you're right. It's different."
Yeah. It's so far removed from his reality that, while he doesn't write off the notion straightaway, he isn't sure of how to react. The unknown looms over them, casting a shadow of confusion and doubt. It's simpler if he separates everyone from each other, so he should probably just do that and move on. All that to say, he rises from his rocky seat and takes a languid step forward, putting his back to Luffy as he slides a hand into a pant pocket and rights his cigarette with the other. "When you like someone, anything they do looks cute." That much, he can relate.