The Grand Line is weird and wonderful and everything Luffy hoped for. The weather is wild and so are the nights and none of them can predict what's going to happen next. It's so exciting.
Well. Mostly exciting. Sometimes it's a lot of waiting. It feels like Nami's Log Pose started acting strangely just as soon as they all got used to how it worked: for the past day and a half it had been pointing them directly to the tiny island where they almost ran aground in the middle of a sudden, dark and disorienting storm, before the needle jerked off to the north almost immediately after they dropped anchor (not nearly enough time for any log pose to reset itself and move on.) As if that hadn't been strange enough on its own, the needle swung around to point at the island they were already at again without even giving the crew enough time to assess the storm damage and set sail. An hour later (with only half the patch job on Merry's damaged yardarm finished) the dial was back to pointing north, then to the island, then north, and repeat. Almost like the island isn't supposed to be there, or isn't always there, or... none of them are sure, and the theories only get weirder and less based in observable reality as are given more time to marinate.
The island itself is tiny and nondescript, a sandy beach dusting the edges of green grass spilling into a dense forest of thick-trunked trees. There are no bird songs coming from the dark leaves and they don't see any animals running along the forest floor when they take turns peering into it with the one singular spyglass they all own. When Usopp drops their fishing line off the opposite side of the boat while they try to figure out what to do, he pulls up deep sea fish after deep sea fish, which shouldn't be anywhere near this close to land, according to Sanji. After considerable hemming and hawing and bickering and flirting, and dinner and nightfall and morning with no sign of the Log Pose changing behavior, Luffy's impulse control runs clean out.
Really, they should have known better than to let him man the spyglass for too long. As soon as the sunlight climbs over the tops of the trees and the forest floor emerges from total shadow, Luffy spots... legs. A figure walking. "Hey, hey guys! There's someone there! Someone's on the island!" Luffy comes alive after what he would swear if asked was hours—no, days—no, years of boredom, and he means to wait for everyone to run to the bow of the ship and look for themselves—really, he does!—but then suddenly those black shoes and shadowy figure turn away from the shore and start walking back to the treeline. "HEY WAIT!" he bellows, dropping the spyglass and winding his arms back. He can't see the man anymore without the telescope, but he knows in his heart of hearts that the man doesn't stop. "Wait, I said!" Apparently not one to take his own advice, Luffy throws his rubber arms across the sea and the beach and the grass to latch onto two trees, and over the harried screeching of his poor, beleaguered crew as they leap up from their various spots dispersed around the deck he shouts a chipper: "I'm just going to ask that guy a few questions!!" and launches himself onto the mystery island like he's been wanting to do for the past zillion hours and some change.
Luffy lands in the sun-warm sand with an oomph and the loud snap of his rubber limbs returning to their natural length, overcome as soon as he gets breath back into his lungs with a crowing, triumphant laugh. Finally!! An adventure! He doesn't even wait to see if his crew is following (or to notice that if he turns his head he won't see the Going Merry where it's anchored near the beach), he just stumbles to his feet and charges in the direction where he'd seen the man walking away and promptly almost bowls over—
He's lost, which is nothing short of absurd. He's no Nami—her lovely navigational skills are second to none—but he's even less like Zoro, who can't climb a flight of stairs without winding up on the other side of town. Yet here he is: tacky and curly-haired from the seawater dried over his body like a second skin, in waterlogged shoes with a damp suit jacket slung over his shoulder, scraped here and there from recent scuffles with the ninety-nine masters—completely and utterly lost.
Sure, he's a fast runner. Iva's zealous candies leave no room for him to be otherwise. But even he can't run that fast as to find himself on an entirely different island, no matter how many strides he'd taken underwater. It's worse than Zoro's track record, and the resultant vexation keeps the trepidation at bay when he finds himself coming upon the edge of the forest again.
The island is strange; therefore, it's suspect. He'd entered through the beach, and he recalls little of significance before he wandered into the forest with hiked shoulders. At a glance, nothing has changed. Sanji turns away to refocus on mapping out the forest, where he's less of a sitting duck, and manages a grand total of five steps before he's accosted by yet another loud voice that sets his nerves alight.
Gritting his teeth, he whirls around with his knee raised and leg folded, poised to kick out at the idiot bold enough to challenge his boundary. Then the face of his assailant comes into full view, and his jaw falls as he gapes, wide-eyed, at the straw hat and red vest in front of him.
Luffy immediately gives up on figuring out exactly how Sanji beat him here, because it doesn't make sense and thinking about it too hard makes his head hurt. Things just don't make sense to him sometimes!! And he's fine with that! Life wouldn't be exciting if he went through it knowing everything all the time. Or so he tells himself.
He also doesn't react to the inherent threat of Sanji's lifted leg when he turns around, because he's too busy staring as well, distracted and only managing to make an affirmative noise at the back of his throat to confirm that yep: he's Luffy.
Because that's definitely Sanji, but it's also... not.
He immediately crowds in closer, placing one hand on Sanji's knee to casually scooch it out of his way (bit rude), squinting openly at the little dusting of hair on his cook's chin where he's used to seeing it clean shaven, then up to the interesting little spiral at the end of his eyebrow, then—
Down and across the rest of him, the smattering of scrapes. Upon inspection, Luffy decides that he looks worse for wear, even outside of being so waterlogged, in a way that he definitely hadn't at breakfast less than an hour ago. "Did you get into a fight?" The petulant without me? is probably clear in Luffy's voice, and he stops just short of yanking the poor man's button down wide open so he can inspect the damage. He'll get to that in a minute if Sanji isn't careful (not that he'll really know what to do about it if there's anything more extensive than scrapes and bruises hidden by his clothes. They haven't picked up a doctor for their crew yet.) "Are you okay?"
Just a bit, yes. Despite this, Sanji's foot drops to the ground without protest. Far be it from him to expect manners from the likes of Luffy, the inner workings of whose mind still elude Sanji to this day. There's also something to be said about the flutter of relief that rises from his chest, though it arrests before it can bubble up into a proper cheer. He should be happy—a part of him undoubtedly is—but he can't shake the feeling that there's more than meets the eye.
For one, there's no fracas of which to speak around them, though he half-expects frills to jump out from the bushes at any second.
Focus.
Arching an eyebrow at the staring, Sanji opts to do some sizing up of his own. His eyes flit down the remarkably kempt state of the man before him, up the shaded hairline rimmed by thick curls, and back down to the curious gaze in never-ending motion. There's enough of a difference in their eye levels from his recollections that he questions whether he's grown a few inches or Luffy's actually shrunk. His right hand twitches at his side, and he finds himself craving a smoke as he dimly wonders how well Luffy's been eating.
His brow knits into a frown at the thought, but then his reservations are cut short by the nerve of Luffy, who's had to endure the losses of loved ones left and right since they were all forcibly parted, to ask after Sanji of all people.
(Aside the fact that his experiences in recent months have been utterly hellish, if still rewarding—)
"Never mind that!" He leans in, closing what little space remains between them, and jabs a finger at Luffy's chest. "What's going on?" he asks, all but demanding the answer with another press of his finger. "Why are you here? Putting aside the fact that it hasn't even been a year, this isn't where we agreed to meet up. How did you even reach this island? Answer all of that!"
Ironically, Luffy thinks that maybe Sanji has also shrunk. It's only a few inches, but considering that Luffy's recollection of him is much more fresh it feels obvious now that they're standing so close. He's Zoro-height! Oh, and Zoro-grumpy, apparently.
Luffy's rubber skin gives too easily beneath Sanji's accusatory finger, bending around it to form a little divot in the spot that he's getting poked, and Luffy looks down at the offending digit, surprised.
This is... not the reaction he'd expected. A little complaining about him leaping immediately instead of waiting for everyone else to join him first, sure. Maybe some concern about what would have happened if he'd fallen into the water between the ship and the shore (Sanji would have saved him, obviously!!) But he has no idea what Sanji is talking about now (a year? A year before they 'meet up?' Luffy refuses to even consider not seeing any of his crew for a year, least of all Sanji—) or why he's so worked up about it.
He blinks several times, face going through a few different versions of confused and a little offended that Sanji is acting like he shouldn't be here, and then worried because it's hard not to be when one of his crew deflects a question like are you okay?
"What do you mean how did I get here? You were—" He turns to point out their ship near the shoreline, where he's still sure they both just came from, which is when he finally realizes that the horizon is totally empty, and his eyes bug comically wide. "AH! Where's the Merry?!"
On second thought, it was a tall order to ask Luffy to answer so many questions at once. The one he does choose to answer is curious, though, and Sanji's head snaps up to follow the point past the foliage and the sand to . . . nothing. The shoreline looks the same as it did a minute ago, unlike Luffy and his myriad expressions that are just a little concerning.
Sanji shoves his hand in a pant pocket as he eyes the back of a familiar straw hat. "What are you talking about? The Merry is . . . " He trails off, deepening his scowl at the words in conflict with the dip of rubbery skin that had given easily to his prodding. He's manhandled Luffy enough in their time together to know what that feels like. A part of him considers taking a strategic step back while another part argues there isn't another rubber man in the Blue Sea. All the same, he elects to choose his next words carefully as he asks, "Are you saying the Merry brought you here?"
Because that's impossible. Suspect, even. Even taking Luffy's bewildering habits into account, there's far too much that doesn't add up.
This conversation is stretching even past Luffy's absurdly permissive attitude towards general weirdness, but that's less because of said weirdness and more because of Sanji's clearly mounting frustration with him. Whatever is going on, it's not his fault his time! He's pretty sure!! Even if in retrospect (and, admittedly, the whole time) he knew he shouldn't be jumping first and figuring the mystery out later. It's just that blind luck and a can-do attitude have gotten him so far in life, why switch tactics now?
Not that he's fine with his ship suddenly being gone, but he's mostly putting off reacting to that because he has himself convinced that they can just figure everything out if Sanji is on the same page with him. He can't if Sanji's mad at him. (Sorry, Sanji. Your alternate version has spoiled him quite a bit.) "The Merry brought us! How else would we get here?"
Sharing none of the same desire for caution, Luffy leans back in now that Sanji has put his pointing finger away, and reaches up to presses the back of his hand to the cook's forehead, trying to check his temperature. "Sanji, are you getting sick? Did someone hit your head? Why are you asking such weird questions?"
Here's the thing. If anyone was hit on the head, it was surely Luffy . . . except blunt damage has nothing on rubber. What's more, it's true that Sanji's been kicked across the temple once or twice. He's got a fading bruise or two under his hair to prove it. On the other hand, Luffy (of course) is the one clearly suffering from some form of memory loss.
Sanji would be more cautious about discussing the Merry if it were Nami or Usopp under this strange delusion. They'd taken care of the Merry the most, and the loss had hit them hard. Luffy hadn't taken it so well, either, but Luffy can handle more than most people through sheer force of will. It's a moot train of thought, though: Unlike a certain ex-warlord, Sanji isn't the type to offer information or utter unnecessary cruelties willy-nilly.
No, he's just the type who spurns the attention of men.
"I'm not sick," he says, moving to swat the hand away without real force. Does Luffy even remember what Sanji had divulged with the rest of them that time Nami had fallen gravely ill? He may run warm, but that's because he's a man of passion. "Remind me: what was our last adventure?"
He would ask for the island, but Luffy is hopeless with names. That's not something a bad memory can change for the better.
Luffy looks down at his hand after it gets swatted away, like he can't quite figure out why that happened. For once, his fingers aren't even sticky! (Not that having sticky fingers would have stopped him from doing it, but still.)
He's stuck on whether or not to ask about it, but then Sanji has another strange question for him, and at least Luffy knows the answer to it this time: "I just fought a whale!" So they literally just got to the Grand Line, Nami hasn't even gotten sick yet. Maybe it's not a great sign that first thing Luffy did was get separated from his ship and most of his crew on their inaugural stop, but Sanji's here with him so he's pretty sure he hasn't totally botched it.
Normally, he wouldn't feel like this was a botch at all, and he'd just set out to explore the place and have a little fun before finding a way back, but Sanji is worrying him. It's the visual differences he can't explain, the odd questions, the fact that he's clearly been in some sort of scuffle but he won't tell his Captain about it. Luffy's lips press together for a moment like he's thinking as hard as he can, and apparently in doing so he decides that Sanji didn't really mean to whack him away a moment ago, maybe he'd just pressed on something that hurt him and it was a reflex. This time when he reaches for Sanji's face again, he's more careful and he just uses his knuckles to brush the fall of blond hair away from the side of his cook's forehead, where he thought he'd seen the signs of bruising before getting rebuffed. "You did get hit!" he says, alarmed, when he reveals the fading bruise near Sanji's temple to the bright morning island sunlight.
A whale. His eyes dart to the left in thought. Laboon? Their most recent crewmate is Brook, and he's talking about meeting Laboon? That was ages ago! For goodness' sake, they were nearly out of Paradise before everything went so wrong.
It's also esoteric enough that not just anyone would know about their encounter with Laboon upon climbing Reverse Mountain. That gives further credence to the puzzling identity of the man before him, even as they're rapidly reaching a head in regards to how far they can take this impromptu game of cat and mouse.
And why does Luffy keep touching him like that?
Touching in and of itself is nothing special. Luffy is a tactile creature by nature, ever eager to loop his arms around his crew and paste himself to unsuspecting bodies. He puts his whole being into everything he does. In other words, the gentle touch doesn't suit his vivacious image, which is why Sanji's brow draws a little tighter at the tenderness of those knuckles against his hair before he releases the newfound tension with a blink. It's far too reminiscent of those fanciful wishes he entertains in solitude that paint the image of a dainty, affectionate hand reaching out with the promise of something soft, and the transposition is jarring enough that he reaches up to lay his hand over Luffy's wrist in order to coax it down.
Given everything else, this would be too dirty a trick for the likes of them to play on him. It's just misplaced concern on Luffy's end. Yeah. Must be.
"Yeah, because I've been training. Don't sound so alarmed," he says, coolly against the tingling awareness of the way his bang falls back down over his eye. It tickles, almost. It's strange, so he presses instead: "Seriously, you don't remember? We met that whale months ago."
Luffy's eyes bug out, and it's enough to distract him from being deflected again, though Sanji is going to have to move his hand first if he wants to stop touching because Luffy is absolutely not going to pull his wrist away on his own. "Months?! Is that why you've gotten shorter??" Why does Luffy think that's how that works??? Truly, who can say.
But it's Sanji, so obviously Luffy believes him, even if he definitely doesn't feel like he's missing any time. His clothes are the same as the ones he put on this morning, down to the little dribble of soy sauce he'd gotten on his favorite red vest at breakfast in his haste to inhale everything Sanji made for them. There's probably some sort of explanation for that, like maybe his cuddling up to Usopp has finally stopped being a foolproof way to get the sniper to help remove food stains from his clothes, which is pretty tragic. Or maybe he'd simply created identical messes months apart, which is tragic in its own way even if Luffy wouldn't be nearly as disappointed. Maybe—
It doesn't matter, because considering the absolutely ridiculous speed-run they'd collectively done through most of the East Blue's notorious pirates, Luffy wonders with mounting dismay just how many memories that means he's missing now. Months on the Grand Line, with his crew, having doubtlessly millions of exciting adventures (Luffy can't count.) All of that gone in the blink of an eye!
He droops like a deflating balloon, bemoaning: "all I remember is breakfast!" That's normal. "And making out a little!" Oop! Hopefully Sanji likes surprises.
Is that why he's gotten shorter? Just when he thinks Luffy can't possibly be that stupid, he's proven wrong. His stint on the rock may or may not have affected his growth, but he's taken care of his nutritional needs on the daily for years, and his spine's been fully recovered from the avalanche for some time now. To suggest he's somehow unraveled all of that and shrunken himself in the span of several months is absurd and, frankly, insulting.
But what does Luffy know! He's an idiot who can't gauge differences in height! Sure, Sanji had entertained similar thoughts earlier, but Luffy is made up of rubber whereas he isn't. The distinction is important—and one he's about to spit out in protest when the gears of his mind grind to a cacophonous halt at the next bombshell to drop all too casually.
Rendered speechless, Sanji stares wide-eyed at the deflated human balloon. Then he explodes from the shock, swinging his arm down and out in a wide arc that rips Luffy's hand away from his person as he exclaims in a shrill voice, "What?! With whom?!" Since when does Luffy make out with anyone?
Wow! Whatever reaction Luffy had been expecting, it wasn't that. He tries to take it seriously for a moment, because of all those things that had him worried just a second ago, but... but Sanji is really doing an uncanny impression of someone who just got goosed with a cattle prod. He's never seen the cook so shocked and appalled before, and he feels like he's done plenty of insane things in front of him just for a reaction by now! Luffy can't help himself, stumbling back as his hand is dislodged for the second time, he cackles at the look on Sanji's face until he has to brace both hands on his knees to avoid toppling over. "What!"
He recovers after a moment, though, like he's just figuring out that Sanji is really asking him that question. He definitely doesn't get what Sanji is acting so shocked for: normally when the reactions are this big, it's because someone's jealous of someone else and playing it up to blow off steam—alright, and maybe the captain does play into that a little. So sue him! Luffy likes when Sanji and Zoro get jealous enough to be spitting mad at each other, because that makes them competitive, and that makes them fun. To watch or to play with, either is good.
But that definitely does not seem to be what's going on here.
"With you, obviously!" Obviously??? Sooner or later Luffy will wrap his head around the idea that Sanji doesn't just... know, but now is not that time. He thinks maybe Sanji's making some joke that he doesn't understand, which would not be unheard of, considering that most things in the world fly right over his head. "And Nami," he tacks on. He'd gone after Sanji to distract him from the bacon he'd been trying to steal, not that it had worked. (He hadn't been too disappointed in the end, though, which is the beauty of that particular tactic.) But with Nami it had been a little later, she'd been amused by his attempts to take her mind off the stress of the haywire log pose, and willing to entertain his distraction methods until the needle had veered back towards the island again in the middle of him tugging at her belt, and she'd shooed him away. "Why are you being so weird? Is this a joke that I don't get?" He's one to talk, here.
An aborted sound escapes Sanji at the candid answer, spoken with such carefreeness that it temporarily robs him of all intellectual thought. His hand twitches in the air beside him while his brain struggles in vain to compute the weight of this newfound knowledge, which is the furthest thing from obvious. His reprieve comes in the form of a name that spills like an afterthought, and he lashes out at the first opportunity he gets with an open palm aimed at Luffy's temple. "Why, you . . . ! Leave Nami out of this!" Whether he misses or strikes true, he hunches his shoulders in on himself once he's pulled his arm back, winded and panting.
A joke at his expense? Fine. Of the crew, Sanji is aware Luffy in particular likes to poke fun at certain habits while Usopp has no shortage of comments to share about his fits of passion, but to throw Nami's sweet name into the mix for laughs is a low he won't ever tolerate. Even if, well . . .
Even so, his overactive imagination wonders for a traitorous moment if he was present at the same time as Nami in Luffy's bizarre fantasy. He can't begin to picture how rubber might feel in such a context—never would have guessed Luffy was interested in that sort of thing in the first place—but it's no trouble at all to imagine the heavenly softness of plush lips and fair skin as they press up against his own, oh-so chaste and . . . damn!
Sucking in a sharp breath, he hastily clamps a hand over the lower half of his face when a damning warmth crawls down the bridge of his nose. He needs a smoke. Surely the pack he's got with him must have dried out by now. It's right there in his pocket. He just needs to fish it out and work the match until it catches.
First things first.
"You're the one who needs to quit joking around!" he barks against his hand. "Listen, Luffy! I don't know what's gotten into your head, and I expect you to take responsibility if what you say about Nami is true . . . but you and I have never done anything like that!"
The hit takes him by surprise. It doesn't hurt, exactly, because he's rubber and he's certainly had worse (even at this early stage.) The sting all comes from the shock of it, like Sanji just turned his world completely upside-down by being willing to strike him. Over this. His head snaps to the side and his hat bounces off of it, suspended over his back by the strap.
He blinks, baffled, looking at the sand off to the side of them. He has no idea what to do with his body, getting hit makes his adrenaline kick up but he doesn't want to fight Sanji if it's not for fun, and whatever's happening right here is not fun. Breath coming quicker, he reaches up to touch the spot where Sanji's palm landed like he's not even sure it just happened or if he's having a really unpleasant dream while they're all stranded off the coast of this stupid little island.
When he looks back at the cook, fingers still suspended by his own temple, he stares like Sanji has grown three extra heads in the last two minutes. His lips flatten out again, and his complete lack of poker face probably makes it pretty clear that he's hurt and frustrated and still very confused.
"You don't like Nami?" He asks, stupidly, because he knows that's not true but he can't place why Sanji's is acting like Nami is separate, like she wouldn't be with them if they're all together. Before any of the rest of it, Sanji has been very enthusiastic about Nami, even if Luffy hadn't really figured that out back at the restaurant along with everyone else. He figured it out shortly after when Sanji was the only one who backed Luffy up with no hesitation when Luffy wanted to go get her back, so it's fine.
Is this jealousy? Turns out it's not as funny when Luffy's caught on the other end of it. He'd always taken for granted that Sanji likes him, it was always in the lopsided curve of his helplessly fond smile when Luffy says something so much stupider than he expected, the pleased crinkle around his eyes when Luffy gushes about his food, the way he preens when Luffy compliments him for some physical feat just to watch Zoro get incensed on the other side of the deck.
Maybe... he should stop doing that, now. Hmm.
Finally dropping his hand, Luffy squares his shoulders. He can feel his face getting red, which is stupid, because he's never been embarrassed about any of it but there's something in the way that Sanji insists they've never done anything that makes him feel like there's a little fist twisting everything up in his gut. He doesn't like it. Angrily: "I don't understand. Why are you acting like it's bad?"
It isn't the first time he's struck Luffy for his foolishness, nor will it be the last. Having said that, Sanji gets the sinking feeling that he's made the wrong choice. A familiar weight settles in his gut at the sight of Luffy's oddly sombre expression, shocking him into a state of sobriety.
He sputters at the implication that he finds Nami lacking. It should be clear to anyone with eyes that Sanji loves Nami. She's the perfect package—a lovely cocktail of beauty and compassion whose wits can outmaneuver the most merciless of storms. Even in her fits of temper, she shines bright like the orange rays of the sun reflected on the ocean's waves. The mere thought of her sets his heart aflutter all day, every day. Who doesn't adore Nami? Who in their right mind would look at that goddess and think her unworthy of love in all its forms? That's why he wants Luffy to be responsible!
And then there's this idiot. Sanji's hand falls from his face, his palm and the space between his nose and lips smeared by a dribble of blood that accompanies the heated tingling in his cheeks. Shame, his mind supplies. It's surreal to imagine Luffy being intimate with anyone, but there's never been a freer man in all the Blue Sea. The beauty of Luffy is that he would split the sea in twain for anyone under his wing; selfish though he can be, he never fails to share his freedom with others.
When Sanji stops to think about it, it makes more sense than he'd care to admit. He recognizes the ugly truth for what it is—that he's more than a little envious of how deep the bond between Luffy and Nami might run, all jokes aside. Even if it is a joke, Nami isn't here to confirm or deny. There's only Sanji, who knows with absolute certainty that there's no such connection between himself and Luffy despite Luffy's wild imagination that would put the three of them in the same league.
It's make-believe, so why does Luffy look so angry? This is the sort of nonsense they used to get up to every day. It doesn't make any sense; none of this does.
Sanji raises his arms to gesture between them, the damp suit jacket gripped in one hand swaying thickly with the motion. "Be reasonable," he starts, placating, "and think about what you're saying. As painful as it is for me to admit it, there's nothing wrong with you and Nami. But you and me? That doesn't make any sense!"
Luffy's building anger slips and starts the slow process of deflating at the sight of Sanji's bloodied face, but for the first time he doesn't reach out because they haven't solved anything and it feels like expressing concern might not be taken well right now. Sanji is really going through it, huh...
Still, if Sanji wants Luffy to consider any particular social stigma he's going to have to come out and name it directly (and then explain it after, probably), because Luffy certainly isn't going to do the legwork of connecting the dots of the implication for him. He did not grow up with the pressure to conform to anyone's standards himself, at least not in that way, and when he left the relative seclusion of his life on Dawn Island he was already too set in his ways to care about anyone's perception of what he liked or didn't like or didn't know he liked until he was hit with the hammer of realization somewhere between the islands of the East Blue.
And to him, it had been a fun hammer. He'd liked that hammer. The shattering blow of something more being revealed under the surface where he'd never thought to look before. It had felt like a brand new adventure with some of the people that he liked the best in the world, because when he'd been around the age to develop any hang-ups about that sort of thing, there had only really been Ace. Ace was even more feral than he'd been at that age, so he really hadn't had any sexuality-related neurosis to pass down to his little brother. (Alright, there had also been the mountain bandits, but while perhaps line-cooks (derogatory) and bandits are on about the same level of deeply unhinged options for child-rearing, it was Dadan's family, so by necessity her presence forced them to avoid some of the worst masculinity-lined pitfalls that might otherwise be expected of bandit groups.)
"Why not? It makes sense to me." He crosses his arms, looking stubborn, like he's about to dig in his heels and force the world to bend itself around him instead of budging one inch. Like it matters to him that much. "I like you the same as I like Nami, and Zoro, and Usopp." Did he mention the rest yet? Oops. "I like the face you make when you're cooking something you've never tried before and everyone tells you how good it is. I like the way your arms look when you roll up your sleeves before you use a knife. I like how many muscles you've got even though you look kinda skinny in your suits, it's like it's a secret. I like when you kick someone and you don't even have to take your hands out of your pockets to stay balanced." Alright, so Luffy's a little flushed now too. That's hardly his fault!! "I like how you'll feed anyone who is hungry, even if they can't give you anything back for it. I like how much you feel for everyone we meet, even if we don't really know them. I like that you take care of everyone on the crew and remember which stuff they like to eat, even though you could just cook anything you feel like and we'd eat it." He's getting a little carried away, and he has to remind himself why he's rattling off the mental catalogue he has of all his Favorite Little Things about Sanji. "And, I like the way you smile when you talk about the All Blue. What about that doesn't make sense?"
Sanji clamps his mouth shut at the drop of Zoro and Usopp's names. His arms drop down to hang limply at his sides while his mind runs at a pace of a baker's dozen of miles per second. What, does that mean Luffy is involved with the entire crew? Is that their beloved captain's fantasy? Because in that case . . . things suddenly make a lot more sense. It's not just Sanji and Nami. If everyone from the East Blue is there, the overlaps become a little more believable.
Zoro is an invaluable member of the crew. He's done things for them that nobody else could have—things that still weigh on Sanji's jittery shoulders. If Zoro is their guardian, then Usopp is their braveheart. He's the closest to Luffy in age, and the two of them bring life wherever they go, being noisy at the worst of times and uplifting at the best. Sanji has no qualms with admitting to himself that Zoro and Usopp are good people, and he's beginning to see that good people are Luffy's type.
Funny, how going from two to four makes all the difference. Sanji has no reason to take issue with that, not when he thrills in the idea of polyamory himself. Luffy's heart is big, so it reasons that he would love big, too.
"Huh?"
Caught up in his thoughts as he is, Sanji is sorely underprepared for the love bomb Luffy drops on him without preamble. He blinks once, then twice, and then some more while he gapes like a guppy. His eyes grow increasingly wide with every compliment Luffy pays him, even the idiotic ones ("it's like it's a secret"? He's lean, not skinny!) that are quintessentially Luffy yet not. Sanji is aware of what he can do as a cook and a leg specialist; those are things on which he prides himself, so praise in either realm feels earned. But then Luffy talks about Sanji's face and feelings while flushed himself, and that rips the breath out of his lungs as if a gust has torn through him.
He didn't think that was possible.
"What about that doesn't make sense?" asks Luffy. Everything, Sanji almost shouts. All of it edges too close to the nebulous truth he's kept inside for the better part of his adolescence, yet still Luffy perorates such heartfelt words. "It makes sense to me," he'd said. What's with him? Who taught him that? Those are things Sanji never expected to hear—not even from the fictitious ladies in his most indulgent fantasies, because he would never burden a woman with his worries, and certainly not from another man.
And what lovely words they are, so much so that Sanji's entire face begins to tremble before he realizes it. He tenses, shutting out the tremors in exchange for a pinched look, as he balls his free hand into a fist. "You," he says, swallowing past the dryness of his throat and willing his voice not to sound so thin, "you're serious."
"Of course I'm serious," he says, gentler than he really means to. He can be more than a little oblivious even on the best of days, but it's impossible to miss how far he just pushed Sanji with that little rant, or the way the cook seems to be barely holding it together now. He just couldn't stand the idea that Sanji doesn't know how much Luffy likes him. How wrong he was about it not making sense. Whatever else there is—missing memories (different ones, between the two of them), or weird height differences, or strangely curly brows—Sanji is still Sanji is still Sanji. Right?
For once, he's not sure if he should keep going or if he should let up. Usually he doesn't hesitate, but something about all of that had made him feel a little vulnerable, too, in ways he usually doesn't. Like it's too complex, even though everything felt so simple before.
This time when he reaches for Sanji, he just grabs his hand, the one smeared with blood from his nose where he'd either tried to stop it or hide it, Luffy isn't sure. He plucks up the bottom of his vest at the same time, and uses his own shirt to wipe the blood off wordlessly. It'll blend in with the red easily enough, and he knows Sanji doesn't like his hands being dirty but he never wipes anything off onto his own clothes, so Luffy can't just leave him like that. When he's satisfied that he's mostly fixed the issue, he reluctantly drops Sanji's hand again before he can get pushed away.
Baby steps.
"Are you done being weird?" Sorry, Sanji. He's still not polite at all. "We have to figure out what happened to the Merry."
Edited (oops default icon definitely does NOT work in this situation lol) 2024-03-20 17:44 (UTC)
For the lack of a better response, he yields his hand to Luffy. It's the same hand that struck him earlier, but the touch he receives is gentle, which is surreal.
Sanji doesn't do gentle with men. Much as he loves Zeff and considers the Baratie to be his first home, there's never been a soft moment between any combination of them. Having the blood from his hand wiped on Luffy's vest is objectively gross, but the underlying tenderness is an entire distraction of its own. By the time Luffy lets go, it's as if Sanji's palm and fingers are on fire from how intensely they tingle.
And he's the weird one, apparently.
He needs to sit down. Even better, Lady Luck is on his side for once: An excuse to work off the excitement pumping through his body presents itself on a silver platter, and Sanji seizes it with long strides past Luffy as he says in a low voice, "Wait here. I'll take a look."
If this really is Luffy, there's no way he'll heed the command to stay still. Sanji doesn't mind, though. He has something else to focus on now, and it's the flawless execution of the steps he's been perfecting ever since he fled in the sole direction left to him. Wiping the blood from his face with the back of his hand, he steps into the clearing of sand beyond the edge of the forest and looks up at the clouds spotting the blue sky. He bends his legs, then takes the leap of faith into the air, where one kick after another eventually brings him to a decent vantage point overhead.
Things are quiet in the sky. The earth always moves while the sea never stops roaring. The clouds, on the other hand, are silent witnesses to Sanji as he surveys the shore below them. No matter where he looks, the Merry is nowhere to be seen. Naturally, the Sunny is also absent.
The fall isn't nearly as exhilarating as the rise. Still, there's a certain satisfaction to the feeling of the wind as it rushes past him. One shoe hits the sand, followed by another, and Sanji lands with his back to where he last left Luffy.
"The Merry isn't here. In fact, there's not a single ship anchored around this part of the shore."
Despite his dramatics in the moment, Luffy has already completely forgotten the strike. Certainly no mark was left, and he even reaches over one shoulder to tug back on his hat, missing its familiar weight.
He finds himself regretting not pushing things, a little bit. Especially when Sanji moves on so determinedly and Luffy is left wondering if he actually got through to him after all.
There's no time to really dwell on that, though, because: "Huh?!" he protests instantly, despite the fact that Sanji getting all bossy with that low voice is really kinda distracting. "I'm not gonna just—"
Apparently he is gonna just wait there, because he's suddenly incredibly busy gaping as Sanji leaves his side by walking past him (rude), and then before Luffy can take more than two hasty steps to follow, going straight up in the air. His surprised shout chases Sanji up past the tree line and trails off into the clouds, and by the time Sanji lands again, Luffy has grabbed the highest sturdy branches of the tree closest to the edge of the weird little forest and he has begun preparing to launch himself upwards into the sky like a slingshot as well.
To do what? Who knows. Float for a moment before crashing back down, in all likelihood. He just doesn't want to be left behind.
He anti-climactically lets his arms return to their normal length with a pair of rubbery snaps when that becomes no longer necessary, though. "You can fly?!" Luffy makes an immediate addition to the list of his favorite things about Sanji because: "That's so cool! Have you always been able to do that? Why didn't you tell me?" He's worried about the news of the ship, but not so much that he can't stop to goggle at his cook's amazing skills. Besides, just like he's not alone here, the Merry isn't alone either. Nami and Usopp will figure out what to do, definitely, and Zoro will keep them safe.
"Would you remember it if I had?" Less of a question and more of his making a point, he adds: "I couldn't do it when we first entered the Grand Line. It's something I picked up recently." Much as he prides himself on the achievement, he doesn't dwell on the topic. It dredges up terrible, invasive memories—memories that are still his waking nightmare, all things considered.
Sanji reaches into his suit jacket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. It can stand to be drier, so he doesn't bother to light the stick as he slots it between his lips. Just having it there is enough for occupying restless nerves, and he can't afford to blow through the only pack on his person too soon.
Now that he's heard them again, he finds that he'd been missing the familiar stretch and snap of rubber. Just like the sounds of sizzling oil in a pan and a blade against the cutting board, they're home. This isn't a revolutionary thought by any means, but considering their exchange earlier, well . . .
"Anyway, the Merry is gone." Has been, but he keeps that to himself for now. He shoves a hand in his pant pocket. "What now?"
"We go exploring!" Luffy grins, earlier argument seemingly forgotten now as well. It's not, not really, but even he can recognize that suggesting making out again because Sanji apparently doesn't remember what it's like is a risky move at the moment.
That doesn't mean Luffy's impulse control is going to last forever, especially if exploration doesn't rustle up something exciting and dangerous to do, but it does mean Sanji is being given a few moments of grace to try to grasp at normalcy.
Because like... now that he's thinking about it, Luffy wonders what would happen if he pulled out all the stops? All those little tricks he's learned over the last few weeks, about exactly what Sanji likes when he's being kissed? The way his cheeks get so much warmer when Luffy picks him up by the thighs, and holds him up against the wall without real effort? The noise he makes when Luffy presses on his tongue piercing, and coaxes it into his own mouth? It feels like it would be cheating, almost. Luffy is a pirate so he's just fine playing a little dirty, but he's still not sure exactly what will make this confusing version of his cook too angry to want to mess around.
Besides: "that's why we came here anyway, right? There's gotta be something fun on this island! The others will find a way to get to us." He offers Sanji's shoulder a comforting pat, though Sanji didn't seem particularly worried about it in the first place, before he turns on his heel and starts marching jauntily towards the darkness beyond the dense line of trees. Adventure awaits!
That's what he figured. Trust Luffy to dive headfirst into an adventure with present worries all but forgotten. There's the matter of missing memories and little details that don't add up they'll have to address sooner than later, but Sanji knows better than to restrain Luffy ahead of time. Besides, even if he didn't come here for fun, he's also curious to see what the island has to offer.
Once Luffy's back is turned to him, Sanji glances at the phantom weight on his shoulder. He passes his suit jacket to his other hand and flips it over said shoulder, disguising the intangible press with something real. Then he falls into step behind Luffy before his mind can get away from him, and it's just like old times as he slides into the familiar rhythm of a simple jaunt with ease.
"I was checking out the perimeter before you showed up," he says around the unlit cigarette in his mouth. While there's no paved road, there are beaten paths that suggest the presence of wildlife, dimly illuminated by what meager rays of light that have managed to penetrate the canopy of trees towering over them. Old leaves crunch and brittle twigs snap under their feet as they walk, deafeningly sharp in the natural silence that he continues to talk over: "It gets darker the deeper you go. Seeing as you're used to this sort of thing, though, it shouldn't be a problem for you."
He figures a jungle and a forest share enough similarities for experience in one to be serviceable in the other. As for Sanji, he has enough common sense (and recent experience of his own, however begrudging) to compensate for the excess of time he's spent on ships all his life. Together, they'll make do.
Luffy glances back over one shoulder at Sanji and laughs, holding out his rubbery hand in the direction that Sanji is trailing him, teasing this time. "I'll hold your hand if you're scared," he offers with wiggling fingers, as the gloom of the forest canopy begins to truly descend and cast them both in shadows.
It turns out that years living and hunting in the jungle has not made Luffy a silent, graceful presence among the trees (there is a reason he had to learn to hunt predators, rather than prey animals.) No, instead he goes stomping through the dense foliage like someone who can easily punch a tiger's teeth out of its face... or in this particular case, bounce right back after eating shit over some roots, which is precisely what he ends up doing once he takes his eyes off the path ahead to make a joke at Sanji.
"Oof!" Truly, he is an idiot.
He's an idiot who can cackle at himself though, at least, and he dusts off the crunchy leaves and dirt from his knees once he clambers back up to his feet. Lesson learned, he slows his pace just enough to stick next to Sanji instead of continuing to plow on ahead (at least for the next minute or two, who knows how long it will last), following one of the wildlife trails for lack of anywhere else to start. "Hey, Sanji. In the months I don't remember... we've had fun, right?" He doesn't want the grand adventure spoiled, exactly, but he wants to know he's at least brought his crew some happiness while they're together.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
@hgeegh
Well. Mostly exciting. Sometimes it's a lot of waiting. It feels like Nami's Log Pose started acting strangely just as soon as they all got used to how it worked: for the past day and a half it had been pointing them directly to the tiny island where they almost ran aground in the middle of a sudden, dark and disorienting storm, before the needle jerked off to the north almost immediately after they dropped anchor (not nearly enough time for any log pose to reset itself and move on.) As if that hadn't been strange enough on its own, the needle swung around to point at the island they were already at again without even giving the crew enough time to assess the storm damage and set sail. An hour later (with only half the patch job on Merry's damaged yardarm finished) the dial was back to pointing north, then to the island, then north, and repeat. Almost like the island isn't supposed to be there, or isn't always there, or... none of them are sure, and the theories only get weirder and less based in observable reality as are given more time to marinate.
The island itself is tiny and nondescript, a sandy beach dusting the edges of green grass spilling into a dense forest of thick-trunked trees. There are no bird songs coming from the dark leaves and they don't see any animals running along the forest floor when they take turns peering into it with the one singular spyglass they all own. When Usopp drops their fishing line off the opposite side of the boat while they try to figure out what to do, he pulls up deep sea fish after deep sea fish, which shouldn't be anywhere near this close to land, according to Sanji. After considerable hemming and hawing and bickering and flirting, and dinner and nightfall and morning with no sign of the Log Pose changing behavior, Luffy's impulse control runs clean out.
Really, they should have known better than to let him man the spyglass for too long. As soon as the sunlight climbs over the tops of the trees and the forest floor emerges from total shadow, Luffy spots... legs. A figure walking. "Hey, hey guys! There's someone there! Someone's on the island!" Luffy comes alive after what he would swear if asked was hours—no, days—no, years of boredom, and he means to wait for everyone to run to the bow of the ship and look for themselves—really, he does!—but then suddenly those black shoes and shadowy figure turn away from the shore and start walking back to the treeline. "HEY WAIT!" he bellows, dropping the spyglass and winding his arms back. He can't see the man anymore without the telescope, but he knows in his heart of hearts that the man doesn't stop. "Wait, I said!" Apparently not one to take his own advice, Luffy throws his rubber arms across the sea and the beach and the grass to latch onto two trees, and over the harried screeching of his poor, beleaguered crew as they leap up from their various spots dispersed around the deck he shouts a chipper: "I'm just going to ask that guy a few questions!!" and launches himself onto the mystery island like he's been wanting to do for the past zillion hours and some change.
Luffy lands in the sun-warm sand with an oomph and the loud snap of his rubber limbs returning to their natural length, overcome as soon as he gets breath back into his lungs with a crowing, triumphant laugh. Finally!! An adventure! He doesn't even wait to see if his crew is following (or to notice that if he turns his head he won't see the Going Merry where it's anchored near the beach), he just stumbles to his feet and charges in the direction where he'd seen the man walking away and promptly almost bowls over—
"Eh— Sanji?! How'd you get here faster than me?"
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He's lost, which is nothing short of absurd. He's no Nami—her lovely navigational skills are second to none—but he's even less like Zoro, who can't climb a flight of stairs without winding up on the other side of town. Yet here he is: tacky and curly-haired from the seawater dried over his body like a second skin, in waterlogged shoes with a damp suit jacket slung over his shoulder, scraped here and there from recent scuffles with the ninety-nine masters—completely and utterly lost.
Sure, he's a fast runner. Iva's zealous candies leave no room for him to be otherwise. But even he can't run that fast as to find himself on an entirely different island, no matter how many strides he'd taken underwater. It's worse than Zoro's track record, and the resultant vexation keeps the trepidation at bay when he finds himself coming upon the edge of the forest again.
The island is strange; therefore, it's suspect. He'd entered through the beach, and he recalls little of significance before he wandered into the forest with hiked shoulders. At a glance, nothing has changed. Sanji turns away to refocus on mapping out the forest, where he's less of a sitting duck, and manages a grand total of five steps before he's accosted by yet another loud voice that sets his nerves alight.
Gritting his teeth, he whirls around with his knee raised and leg folded, poised to kick out at the idiot bold enough to challenge his boundary. Then the face of his assailant comes into full view, and his jaw falls as he gapes, wide-eyed, at the straw hat and red vest in front of him.
"Luffy?!"
. . . Since when does Luffy curl his hair?
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He also doesn't react to the inherent threat of Sanji's lifted leg when he turns around, because he's too busy staring as well, distracted and only managing to make an affirmative noise at the back of his throat to confirm that yep: he's Luffy.
Because that's definitely Sanji, but it's also... not.
He immediately crowds in closer, placing one hand on Sanji's knee to casually scooch it out of his way (bit rude), squinting openly at the little dusting of hair on his cook's chin where he's used to seeing it clean shaven, then up to the interesting little spiral at the end of his eyebrow, then—
Down and across the rest of him, the smattering of scrapes. Upon inspection, Luffy decides that he looks worse for wear, even outside of being so waterlogged, in a way that he definitely hadn't at breakfast less than an hour ago. "Did you get into a fight?" The petulant without me? is probably clear in Luffy's voice, and he stops just short of yanking the poor man's button down wide open so he can inspect the damage. He'll get to that in a minute if Sanji isn't careful (not that he'll really know what to do about it if there's anything more extensive than scrapes and bruises hidden by his clothes. They haven't picked up a doctor for their crew yet.) "Are you okay?"
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For one, there's no fracas of which to speak around them, though he half-expects frills to jump out from the bushes at any second.
Focus.
Arching an eyebrow at the staring, Sanji opts to do some sizing up of his own. His eyes flit down the remarkably kempt state of the man before him, up the shaded hairline rimmed by thick curls, and back down to the curious gaze in never-ending motion. There's enough of a difference in their eye levels from his recollections that he questions whether he's grown a few inches or Luffy's actually shrunk. His right hand twitches at his side, and he finds himself craving a smoke as he dimly wonders how well Luffy's been eating.
His brow knits into a frown at the thought, but then his reservations are cut short by the nerve of Luffy, who's had to endure the losses of loved ones left and right since they were all forcibly parted, to ask after Sanji of all people.
(Aside the fact that his experiences in recent months have been utterly hellish, if still rewarding—)
"Never mind that!" He leans in, closing what little space remains between them, and jabs a finger at Luffy's chest. "What's going on?" he asks, all but demanding the answer with another press of his finger. "Why are you here? Putting aside the fact that it hasn't even been a year, this isn't where we agreed to meet up. How did you even reach this island? Answer all of that!"
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Luffy's rubber skin gives too easily beneath Sanji's accusatory finger, bending around it to form a little divot in the spot that he's getting poked, and Luffy looks down at the offending digit, surprised.
This is... not the reaction he'd expected. A little complaining about him leaping immediately instead of waiting for everyone else to join him first, sure. Maybe some concern about what would have happened if he'd fallen into the water between the ship and the shore (Sanji would have saved him, obviously!!) But he has no idea what Sanji is talking about now (a year? A year before they 'meet up?' Luffy refuses to even consider not seeing any of his crew for a year, least of all Sanji—) or why he's so worked up about it.
He blinks several times, face going through a few different versions of confused and a little offended that Sanji is acting like he shouldn't be here, and then worried because it's hard not to be when one of his crew deflects a question like are you okay?
"What do you mean how did I get here? You were—" He turns to point out their ship near the shoreline, where he's still sure they both just came from, which is when he finally realizes that the horizon is totally empty, and his eyes bug comically wide. "AH! Where's the Merry?!"
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Sanji shoves his hand in a pant pocket as he eyes the back of a familiar straw hat. "What are you talking about? The Merry is . . . " He trails off, deepening his scowl at the words in conflict with the dip of rubbery skin that had given easily to his prodding. He's manhandled Luffy enough in their time together to know what that feels like. A part of him considers taking a strategic step back while another part argues there isn't another rubber man in the Blue Sea. All the same, he elects to choose his next words carefully as he asks, "Are you saying the Merry brought you here?"
Because that's impossible. Suspect, even. Even taking Luffy's bewildering habits into account, there's far too much that doesn't add up.
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Not that he's fine with his ship suddenly being gone, but he's mostly putting off reacting to that because he has himself convinced that they can just figure everything out if Sanji is on the same page with him. He can't if Sanji's mad at him. (Sorry, Sanji. Your alternate version has spoiled him quite a bit.) "The Merry brought us! How else would we get here?"
Sharing none of the same desire for caution, Luffy leans back in now that Sanji has put his pointing finger away, and reaches up to presses the back of his hand to the cook's forehead, trying to check his temperature. "Sanji, are you getting sick? Did someone hit your head? Why are you asking such weird questions?"
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Sanji would be more cautious about discussing the Merry if it were Nami or Usopp under this strange delusion. They'd taken care of the Merry the most, and the loss had hit them hard. Luffy hadn't taken it so well, either, but Luffy can handle more than most people through sheer force of will. It's a moot train of thought, though: Unlike a certain ex-warlord, Sanji isn't the type to offer information or utter unnecessary cruelties willy-nilly.
No, he's just the type who spurns the attention of men.
"I'm not sick," he says, moving to swat the hand away without real force. Does Luffy even remember what Sanji had divulged with the rest of them that time Nami had fallen gravely ill? He may run warm, but that's because he's a man of passion. "Remind me: what was our last adventure?"
He would ask for the island, but Luffy is hopeless with names. That's not something a bad memory can change for the better.
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He's stuck on whether or not to ask about it, but then Sanji has another strange question for him, and at least Luffy knows the answer to it this time: "I just fought a whale!" So they literally just got to the Grand Line, Nami hasn't even gotten sick yet. Maybe it's not a great sign that first thing Luffy did was get separated from his ship and most of his crew on their inaugural stop, but Sanji's here with him so he's pretty sure he hasn't totally botched it.
Normally, he wouldn't feel like this was a botch at all, and he'd just set out to explore the place and have a little fun before finding a way back, but Sanji is worrying him. It's the visual differences he can't explain, the odd questions, the fact that he's clearly been in some sort of scuffle but he won't tell his Captain about it. Luffy's lips press together for a moment like he's thinking as hard as he can, and apparently in doing so he decides that Sanji didn't really mean to whack him away a moment ago, maybe he'd just pressed on something that hurt him and it was a reflex. This time when he reaches for Sanji's face again, he's more careful and he just uses his knuckles to brush the fall of blond hair away from the side of his cook's forehead, where he thought he'd seen the signs of bruising before getting rebuffed. "You did get hit!" he says, alarmed, when he reveals the fading bruise near Sanji's temple to the bright morning island sunlight.
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It's also esoteric enough that not just anyone would know about their encounter with Laboon upon climbing Reverse Mountain. That gives further credence to the puzzling identity of the man before him, even as they're rapidly reaching a head in regards to how far they can take this impromptu game of cat and mouse.
And why does Luffy keep touching him like that?
Touching in and of itself is nothing special. Luffy is a tactile creature by nature, ever eager to loop his arms around his crew and paste himself to unsuspecting bodies. He puts his whole being into everything he does. In other words, the gentle touch doesn't suit his vivacious image, which is why Sanji's brow draws a little tighter at the tenderness of those knuckles against his hair before he releases the newfound tension with a blink. It's far too reminiscent of those fanciful wishes he entertains in solitude that paint the image of a dainty, affectionate hand reaching out with the promise of something soft, and the transposition is jarring enough that he reaches up to lay his hand over Luffy's wrist in order to coax it down.
Given everything else, this would be too dirty a trick for the likes of them to play on him. It's just misplaced concern on Luffy's end. Yeah. Must be.
"Yeah, because I've been training. Don't sound so alarmed," he says, coolly against the tingling awareness of the way his bang falls back down over his eye. It tickles, almost. It's strange, so he presses instead: "Seriously, you don't remember? We met that whale months ago."
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But it's Sanji, so obviously Luffy believes him, even if he definitely doesn't feel like he's missing any time. His clothes are the same as the ones he put on this morning, down to the little dribble of soy sauce he'd gotten on his favorite red vest at breakfast in his haste to inhale everything Sanji made for them. There's probably some sort of explanation for that, like maybe his cuddling up to Usopp has finally stopped being a foolproof way to get the sniper to help remove food stains from his clothes, which is pretty tragic. Or maybe he'd simply created identical messes months apart, which is tragic in its own way even if Luffy wouldn't be nearly as disappointed. Maybe—
It doesn't matter, because considering the absolutely ridiculous speed-run they'd collectively done through most of the East Blue's notorious pirates, Luffy wonders with mounting dismay just how many memories that means he's missing now. Months on the Grand Line, with his crew, having doubtlessly millions of exciting adventures (Luffy can't count.) All of that gone in the blink of an eye!
He droops like a deflating balloon, bemoaning: "all I remember is breakfast!" That's normal. "And making out a little!" Oop! Hopefully Sanji likes surprises.
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Is that why he's gotten shorter? Just when he thinks Luffy can't possibly be that stupid, he's proven wrong. His stint on the rock may or may not have affected his growth, but he's taken care of his nutritional needs on the daily for years, and his spine's been fully recovered from the avalanche for some time now. To suggest he's somehow unraveled all of that and shrunken himself in the span of several months is absurd and, frankly, insulting.
But what does Luffy know! He's an idiot who can't gauge differences in height! Sure, Sanji had entertained similar thoughts earlier, but Luffy is made up of rubber whereas he isn't. The distinction is important—and one he's about to spit out in protest when the gears of his mind grind to a cacophonous halt at the next bombshell to drop all too casually.
Rendered speechless, Sanji stares wide-eyed at the deflated human balloon. Then he explodes from the shock, swinging his arm down and out in a wide arc that rips Luffy's hand away from his person as he exclaims in a shrill voice, "What?! With whom?!" Since when does Luffy make out with anyone?
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He recovers after a moment, though, like he's just figuring out that Sanji is really asking him that question. He definitely doesn't get what Sanji is acting so shocked for: normally when the reactions are this big, it's because someone's jealous of someone else and playing it up to blow off steam—alright, and maybe the captain does play into that a little. So sue him! Luffy likes when Sanji and Zoro get jealous enough to be spitting mad at each other, because that makes them competitive, and that makes them fun. To watch or to play with, either is good.
But that definitely does not seem to be what's going on here.
"With you, obviously!" Obviously??? Sooner or later Luffy will wrap his head around the idea that Sanji doesn't just... know, but now is not that time. He thinks maybe Sanji's making some joke that he doesn't understand, which would not be unheard of, considering that most things in the world fly right over his head. "And Nami," he tacks on. He'd gone after Sanji to distract him from the bacon he'd been trying to steal, not that it had worked. (He hadn't been too disappointed in the end, though, which is the beauty of that particular tactic.) But with Nami it had been a little later, she'd been amused by his attempts to take her mind off the stress of the haywire log pose, and willing to entertain his distraction methods until the needle had veered back towards the island again in the middle of him tugging at her belt, and she'd shooed him away. "Why are you being so weird? Is this a joke that I don't get?" He's one to talk, here.
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A joke at his expense? Fine. Of the crew, Sanji is aware Luffy in particular likes to poke fun at certain habits while Usopp has no shortage of comments to share about his fits of passion, but to throw Nami's sweet name into the mix for laughs is a low he won't ever tolerate. Even if, well . . .
Even so, his overactive imagination wonders for a traitorous moment if he was present at the same time as Nami in Luffy's bizarre fantasy. He can't begin to picture how rubber might feel in such a context—never would have guessed Luffy was interested in that sort of thing in the first place—but it's no trouble at all to imagine the heavenly softness of plush lips and fair skin as they press up against his own, oh-so chaste and . . . damn!
Sucking in a sharp breath, he hastily clamps a hand over the lower half of his face when a damning warmth crawls down the bridge of his nose. He needs a smoke. Surely the pack he's got with him must have dried out by now. It's right there in his pocket. He just needs to fish it out and work the match until it catches.
First things first.
"You're the one who needs to quit joking around!" he barks against his hand. "Listen, Luffy! I don't know what's gotten into your head, and I expect you to take responsibility if what you say about Nami is true . . . but you and I have never done anything like that!"
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He blinks, baffled, looking at the sand off to the side of them. He has no idea what to do with his body, getting hit makes his adrenaline kick up but he doesn't want to fight Sanji if it's not for fun, and whatever's happening right here is not fun. Breath coming quicker, he reaches up to touch the spot where Sanji's palm landed like he's not even sure it just happened or if he's having a really unpleasant dream while they're all stranded off the coast of this stupid little island.
When he looks back at the cook, fingers still suspended by his own temple, he stares like Sanji has grown three extra heads in the last two minutes. His lips flatten out again, and his complete lack of poker face probably makes it pretty clear that he's hurt and frustrated and still very confused.
"You don't like Nami?" He asks, stupidly, because he knows that's not true but he can't place why Sanji's is acting like Nami is separate, like she wouldn't be with them if they're all together. Before any of the rest of it, Sanji has been very enthusiastic about Nami, even if Luffy hadn't really figured that out back at the restaurant along with everyone else. He figured it out shortly after when Sanji was the only one who backed Luffy up with no hesitation when Luffy wanted to go get her back, so it's fine.
Is this jealousy? Turns out it's not as funny when Luffy's caught on the other end of it. He'd always taken for granted that Sanji likes him, it was always in the lopsided curve of his helplessly fond smile when Luffy says something so much stupider than he expected, the pleased crinkle around his eyes when Luffy gushes about his food, the way he preens when Luffy compliments him for some physical feat just to watch Zoro get incensed on the other side of the deck.
Maybe... he should stop doing that, now. Hmm.
Finally dropping his hand, Luffy squares his shoulders. He can feel his face getting red, which is stupid, because he's never been embarrassed about any of it but there's something in the way that Sanji insists they've never done anything that makes him feel like there's a little fist twisting everything up in his gut. He doesn't like it. Angrily: "I don't understand. Why are you acting like it's bad?"
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He sputters at the implication that he finds Nami lacking. It should be clear to anyone with eyes that Sanji loves Nami. She's the perfect package—a lovely cocktail of beauty and compassion whose wits can outmaneuver the most merciless of storms. Even in her fits of temper, she shines bright like the orange rays of the sun reflected on the ocean's waves. The mere thought of her sets his heart aflutter all day, every day. Who doesn't adore Nami? Who in their right mind would look at that goddess and think her unworthy of love in all its forms? That's why he wants Luffy to be responsible!
And then there's this idiot. Sanji's hand falls from his face, his palm and the space between his nose and lips smeared by a dribble of blood that accompanies the heated tingling in his cheeks. Shame, his mind supplies. It's surreal to imagine Luffy being intimate with anyone, but there's never been a freer man in all the Blue Sea. The beauty of Luffy is that he would split the sea in twain for anyone under his wing; selfish though he can be, he never fails to share his freedom with others.
When Sanji stops to think about it, it makes more sense than he'd care to admit. He recognizes the ugly truth for what it is—that he's more than a little envious of how deep the bond between Luffy and Nami might run, all jokes aside. Even if it is a joke, Nami isn't here to confirm or deny. There's only Sanji, who knows with absolute certainty that there's no such connection between himself and Luffy despite Luffy's wild imagination that would put the three of them in the same league.
It's make-believe, so why does Luffy look so angry? This is the sort of nonsense they used to get up to every day. It doesn't make any sense; none of this does.
Sanji raises his arms to gesture between them, the damp suit jacket gripped in one hand swaying thickly with the motion. "Be reasonable," he starts, placating, "and think about what you're saying. As painful as it is for me to admit it, there's nothing wrong with you and Nami. But you and me? That doesn't make any sense!"
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Luffy's building anger slips and starts the slow process of deflating at the sight of Sanji's bloodied face, but for the first time he doesn't reach out because they haven't solved anything and it feels like expressing concern might not be taken well right now. Sanji is really going through it, huh...
Still, if Sanji wants Luffy to consider any particular social stigma he's going to have to come out and name it directly (and then explain it after, probably), because Luffy certainly isn't going to do the legwork of connecting the dots of the implication for him. He did not grow up with the pressure to conform to anyone's standards himself, at least not in that way, and when he left the relative seclusion of his life on Dawn Island he was already too set in his ways to care about anyone's perception of what he liked or didn't like or didn't know he liked until he was hit with the hammer of realization somewhere between the islands of the East Blue.
And to him, it had been a fun hammer. He'd liked that hammer. The shattering blow of something more being revealed under the surface where he'd never thought to look before. It had felt like a brand new adventure with some of the people that he liked the best in the world, because when he'd been around the age to develop any hang-ups about that sort of thing, there had only really been Ace. Ace was even more feral than he'd been at that age, so he really hadn't had any sexuality-related neurosis to pass down to his little brother. (Alright, there had also been the mountain bandits, but while perhaps line-cooks (derogatory) and bandits are on about the same level of deeply unhinged options for child-rearing, it was Dadan's family, so by necessity her presence forced them to avoid some of the worst masculinity-lined pitfalls that might otherwise be expected of bandit groups.)
"Why not? It makes sense to me." He crosses his arms, looking stubborn, like he's about to dig in his heels and force the world to bend itself around him instead of budging one inch. Like it matters to him that much. "I like you the same as I like Nami, and Zoro, and Usopp." Did he mention the rest yet? Oops. "I like the face you make when you're cooking something you've never tried before and everyone tells you how good it is. I like the way your arms look when you roll up your sleeves before you use a knife. I like how many muscles you've got even though you look kinda skinny in your suits, it's like it's a secret. I like when you kick someone and you don't even have to take your hands out of your pockets to stay balanced." Alright, so Luffy's a little flushed now too. That's hardly his fault!! "I like how you'll feed anyone who is hungry, even if they can't give you anything back for it. I like how much you feel for everyone we meet, even if we don't really know them. I like that you take care of everyone on the crew and remember which stuff they like to eat, even though you could just cook anything you feel like and we'd eat it." He's getting a little carried away, and he has to remind himself why he's rattling off the mental catalogue he has of all his Favorite Little Things about Sanji. "And, I like the way you smile when you talk about the All Blue. What about that doesn't make sense?"
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Zoro is an invaluable member of the crew. He's done things for them that nobody else could have—things that still weigh on Sanji's jittery shoulders. If Zoro is their guardian, then Usopp is their braveheart. He's the closest to Luffy in age, and the two of them bring life wherever they go, being noisy at the worst of times and uplifting at the best. Sanji has no qualms with admitting to himself that Zoro and Usopp are good people, and he's beginning to see that good people are Luffy's type.
Funny, how going from two to four makes all the difference. Sanji has no reason to take issue with that, not when he thrills in the idea of polyamory himself. Luffy's heart is big, so it reasons that he would love big, too.
"Huh?"
Caught up in his thoughts as he is, Sanji is sorely underprepared for the love bomb Luffy drops on him without preamble. He blinks once, then twice, and then some more while he gapes like a guppy. His eyes grow increasingly wide with every compliment Luffy pays him, even the idiotic ones ("it's like it's a secret"? He's lean, not skinny!) that are quintessentially Luffy yet not. Sanji is aware of what he can do as a cook and a leg specialist; those are things on which he prides himself, so praise in either realm feels earned. But then Luffy talks about Sanji's face and feelings while flushed himself, and that rips the breath out of his lungs as if a gust has torn through him.
He didn't think that was possible.
"What about that doesn't make sense?" asks Luffy. Everything, Sanji almost shouts. All of it edges too close to the nebulous truth he's kept inside for the better part of his adolescence, yet still Luffy perorates such heartfelt words. "It makes sense to me," he'd said. What's with him? Who taught him that? Those are things Sanji never expected to hear—not even from the fictitious ladies in his most indulgent fantasies, because he would never burden a woman with his worries, and certainly not from another man.
And what lovely words they are, so much so that Sanji's entire face begins to tremble before he realizes it. He tenses, shutting out the tremors in exchange for a pinched look, as he balls his free hand into a fist. "You," he says, swallowing past the dryness of his throat and willing his voice not to sound so thin, "you're serious."
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For once, he's not sure if he should keep going or if he should let up. Usually he doesn't hesitate, but something about all of that had made him feel a little vulnerable, too, in ways he usually doesn't. Like it's too complex, even though everything felt so simple before.
This time when he reaches for Sanji, he just grabs his hand, the one smeared with blood from his nose where he'd either tried to stop it or hide it, Luffy isn't sure. He plucks up the bottom of his vest at the same time, and uses his own shirt to wipe the blood off wordlessly. It'll blend in with the red easily enough, and he knows Sanji doesn't like his hands being dirty but he never wipes anything off onto his own clothes, so Luffy can't just leave him like that. When he's satisfied that he's mostly fixed the issue, he reluctantly drops Sanji's hand again before he can get pushed away.
Baby steps.
"Are you done being weird?" Sorry, Sanji. He's still not polite at all. "We have to figure out what happened to the Merry."
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Sanji doesn't do gentle with men. Much as he loves Zeff and considers the Baratie to be his first home, there's never been a soft moment between any combination of them. Having the blood from his hand wiped on Luffy's vest is objectively gross, but the underlying tenderness is an entire distraction of its own. By the time Luffy lets go, it's as if Sanji's palm and fingers are on fire from how intensely they tingle.
And he's the weird one, apparently.
He needs to sit down. Even better, Lady Luck is on his side for once: An excuse to work off the excitement pumping through his body presents itself on a silver platter, and Sanji seizes it with long strides past Luffy as he says in a low voice, "Wait here. I'll take a look."
If this really is Luffy, there's no way he'll heed the command to stay still. Sanji doesn't mind, though. He has something else to focus on now, and it's the flawless execution of the steps he's been perfecting ever since he fled in the sole direction left to him. Wiping the blood from his face with the back of his hand, he steps into the clearing of sand beyond the edge of the forest and looks up at the clouds spotting the blue sky. He bends his legs, then takes the leap of faith into the air, where one kick after another eventually brings him to a decent vantage point overhead.
Things are quiet in the sky. The earth always moves while the sea never stops roaring. The clouds, on the other hand, are silent witnesses to Sanji as he surveys the shore below them. No matter where he looks, the Merry is nowhere to be seen. Naturally, the Sunny is also absent.
The fall isn't nearly as exhilarating as the rise. Still, there's a certain satisfaction to the feeling of the wind as it rushes past him. One shoe hits the sand, followed by another, and Sanji lands with his back to where he last left Luffy.
"The Merry isn't here. In fact, there's not a single ship anchored around this part of the shore."
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He finds himself regretting not pushing things, a little bit. Especially when Sanji moves on so determinedly and Luffy is left wondering if he actually got through to him after all.
There's no time to really dwell on that, though, because: "Huh?!" he protests instantly, despite the fact that Sanji getting all bossy with that low voice is really kinda distracting. "I'm not gonna just—"
Apparently he is gonna just wait there, because he's suddenly incredibly busy gaping as Sanji leaves his side by walking past him (rude), and then before Luffy can take more than two hasty steps to follow, going straight up in the air. His surprised shout chases Sanji up past the tree line and trails off into the clouds, and by the time Sanji lands again, Luffy has grabbed the highest sturdy branches of the tree closest to the edge of the weird little forest and he has begun preparing to launch himself upwards into the sky like a slingshot as well.
To do what? Who knows. Float for a moment before crashing back down, in all likelihood. He just doesn't want to be left behind.
He anti-climactically lets his arms return to their normal length with a pair of rubbery snaps when that becomes no longer necessary, though. "You can fly?!" Luffy makes an immediate addition to the list of his favorite things about Sanji because: "That's so cool! Have you always been able to do that? Why didn't you tell me?" He's worried about the news of the ship, but not so much that he can't stop to goggle at his cook's amazing skills. Besides, just like he's not alone here, the Merry isn't alone either. Nami and Usopp will figure out what to do, definitely, and Zoro will keep them safe.
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Sanji reaches into his suit jacket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. It can stand to be drier, so he doesn't bother to light the stick as he slots it between his lips. Just having it there is enough for occupying restless nerves, and he can't afford to blow through the only pack on his person too soon.
Now that he's heard them again, he finds that he'd been missing the familiar stretch and snap of rubber. Just like the sounds of sizzling oil in a pan and a blade against the cutting board, they're home. This isn't a revolutionary thought by any means, but considering their exchange earlier, well . . .
"Anyway, the Merry is gone." Has been, but he keeps that to himself for now. He shoves a hand in his pant pocket. "What now?"
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That doesn't mean Luffy's impulse control is going to last forever, especially if exploration doesn't rustle up something exciting and dangerous to do, but it does mean Sanji is being given a few moments of grace to try to grasp at normalcy.
Because like... now that he's thinking about it, Luffy wonders what would happen if he pulled out all the stops? All those little tricks he's learned over the last few weeks, about exactly what Sanji likes when he's being kissed? The way his cheeks get so much warmer when Luffy picks him up by the thighs, and holds him up against the wall without real effort? The noise he makes when Luffy presses on his tongue piercing, and coaxes it into his own mouth? It feels like it would be cheating, almost. Luffy is a pirate so he's just fine playing a little dirty, but he's still not sure exactly what will make this confusing version of his cook too angry to want to mess around.
Besides: "that's why we came here anyway, right? There's gotta be something fun on this island! The others will find a way to get to us." He offers Sanji's shoulder a comforting pat, though Sanji didn't seem particularly worried about it in the first place, before he turns on his heel and starts marching jauntily towards the darkness beyond the dense line of trees. Adventure awaits!
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Once Luffy's back is turned to him, Sanji glances at the phantom weight on his shoulder. He passes his suit jacket to his other hand and flips it over said shoulder, disguising the intangible press with something real. Then he falls into step behind Luffy before his mind can get away from him, and it's just like old times as he slides into the familiar rhythm of a simple jaunt with ease.
"I was checking out the perimeter before you showed up," he says around the unlit cigarette in his mouth. While there's no paved road, there are beaten paths that suggest the presence of wildlife, dimly illuminated by what meager rays of light that have managed to penetrate the canopy of trees towering over them. Old leaves crunch and brittle twigs snap under their feet as they walk, deafeningly sharp in the natural silence that he continues to talk over: "It gets darker the deeper you go. Seeing as you're used to this sort of thing, though, it shouldn't be a problem for you."
He figures a jungle and a forest share enough similarities for experience in one to be serviceable in the other. As for Sanji, he has enough common sense (and recent experience of his own, however begrudging) to compensate for the excess of time he's spent on ships all his life. Together, they'll make do.
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It turns out that years living and hunting in the jungle has not made Luffy a silent, graceful presence among the trees (there is a reason he had to learn to hunt predators, rather than prey animals.) No, instead he goes stomping through the dense foliage like someone who can easily punch a tiger's teeth out of its face... or in this particular case, bounce right back after eating shit over some roots, which is precisely what he ends up doing once he takes his eyes off the path ahead to make a joke at Sanji.
"Oof!" Truly, he is an idiot.
He's an idiot who can cackle at himself though, at least, and he dusts off the crunchy leaves and dirt from his knees once he clambers back up to his feet. Lesson learned, he slows his pace just enough to stick next to Sanji instead of continuing to plow on ahead (at least for the next minute or two, who knows how long it will last), following one of the wildlife trails for lack of anywhere else to start. "Hey, Sanji. In the months I don't remember... we've had fun, right?" He doesn't want the grand adventure spoiled, exactly, but he wants to know he's at least brought his crew some happiness while they're together.
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sorry this is so late!! got real busy
all good! take your time, and welcome back. ♥
thank you ♥!!
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