Chapter Text
Life on the Thousand Sunny was a lot duller than what most outsiders think.
For a crew like the Straw-hats, who inevitably caused a wake of destruction and uproar wherever they went, you’d think they’d have something to worry about every other day. This assumption wasn’t too offmark, however life on the sea can only bring so much trouble, especially during the longer stretches. Even out on the Grand Line, in the middle of the ocean, there will unfortunately be days of stillness and boredom. Scratch that, it was a fortunate circumstance for the crew. Unfortunate for their captain, who had the present need to be entertained, and unfortunate for their cook, who had to deal with said captain.
“Saaaanji. Make me foooood!” Luffy crawls off the figurehead where he had been stationed for the better part of the day, whining as Sanji made his rounds delivering drinks to the ladies.
“Be patient, idiot.” Sanji snaps, clicking his tongue and tucking the now-empty silver tray under his arm. He takes the opportunity of his free hands to take out a pack of cigarettes. “Dinner’s not far off from now, just wait a couple more hours.”
“But Saaaanji!” Luffy continues to whine, rolling on the deck as if he’s writhing in pain. Dramatic bastard. “I’m hungry now!”
“Luffy,” Nami, gorgeous beautiful amazing Nami, lowers the sunglasses on her nose to look at Luffy. Her brown eyes held the warmth of the slowly descending sun, accurately reflecting the fondness she held for her captain despite the annoyed tick to her tone. “If Sanji fed you every time you asked, we’d have no more food until we dock at the next island.”
“Are we close to one?” Luffy perks up, ignoring everything else the navigator said. Sanji felt the sudden urge to kick the dumbass in the head for it.
“Not for another week, captain.” Nami sighs with exasperation, and Sanji mentally admires the patience she has for Luffy. “Which is why it’s a good thing Sanji has the mind to say no to you whenever you ask for food outside of meal times!”
The passive comment makes Sanji swoon. A lady appreciating his judgement.
“You’re too good to me, Nami…” Sanji grins, knowing in the back of his mind that he probably looks goofy. Nami simply rolls her eyes, not dignifying his response with any other reaction as she readjusts her sunglasses and sips her drink. Sanji turns his attention back to Luffy, pointing at him with the now-lit cigarette in his fingers. “She’s right, you know. We only have so many supplies, so we have to be careful with extra meals until we dock at the next island.”
He’s met with another dissatisfied whine, and Luffy slumps on the ground with a pout. Sanji clicks his tongue again, around his cigarette, and turns on his heel. That was that.
Except that wasn’t that, and Luffy kept complaining about being bored and made it everyone’s problem. After an impromptu wrestling match with a sea king that had ungraciously found itself caught halfway across the Sunny’s deck, Luffy figured that was enough of a catch to warrant an early dinner. Arguing with Luffy was hard work, and nobody seemed too bothered by eating food at the earlier hour, so here they are.
The table had already settled into various conversations by the time Sanji sits down to eat. He listens to Robin's wonderful tellings of a book she'd picked up during their last few days in Wano, something about spirits and ghosts and whatever else that haunts and rots. It sounds-- it sounds... great, Sanji reluctantly truckles. Robin can do no wrong, and her sinister interests make her all the more attractive in his opinion. Franky's loud voice announces that Robin's a weirdo, a gorgeous one, but still a weirdo. True to his duty of defending women, Sanji growls out at the cyborg for treating Robin in such a way.
Meal times with the crew had always been a reward in itself, being able to eat with his family and watch the expressions of his friends as they savoured each bite. It's his own little ritual before eating his own meal- watching them. The way Chopper hums in delight with each mouthful, or the delicate way Robin’s eyes crinkle ever so slightly as the meat undoubtedly melts on her tongue. Hell, even the way Luffy inhales everything in two seconds and still dares to attempt stealing from other plates was appreciation in its simplest form. These moments were the memories Sanji indulges in the most.
His own fork unconsciously falters over his plate when his gaze lands on Zoro’s frown. It’s not an unusual expression to see on the swordsman, it’s usually one that Sanji picks on him for– but this particular moment, during a sacred time such as dinner, felt unusual. The man was sitting at the table, surrounded by crew, and staring at his plate of food as if it had insulted him.
Cooking for Zoro wasn’t a difficult task. He was a simple man with simpler tastes, and it was easy to notice what tasted like comfort to him: rice dishes, commonly onigiri, and sake. Regardless of his favourite foods however, Zoro more or less ate anything that was given to him. Even with his apparent dislike of sweets, food was food to the man, and Zoro would consume anything for the sake of getting stronger. He was by no means a picky eater. Sanji was fairly certain the man is able to consume even stones or razors and not notice a damn thing.
So, as Sanji takes the moment in the midst of multiple conversations around them to stare at Zoro’s puzzled expression on his plate, he can’t help but think the image before him as weird.
Zoro himself doesn’t seem to perceive Sanji’s attention, too focused on his own plate of food. Sanji notices how the man’s jaw chews slowly-- mechanically, mindless almost– not savouring, only eating. It was a show of noticing texture, but nothing in the swordsman's eye told Sanji he enjoyed the food. Sanji had a sense for these things.
No matter, Sanji thinks. Zoro’s a blunt guy anyway, which is a quality Sanji can’t quite decide whether he appreciates or loathes, so if he had a problem with the food he’d say it outright. With this in mind, Sanji continues to persist with his own meal.
It doesn’t take long for Sanji to grow irritated in the privacy of his own conscience.
He finds himself casting more unfavourable glances towards the moss-headed freak, who in turn appears to be subtly looking at his fellow crewmates. For what, Sanji wasn’t sure– until a little lightbulb in his brain suggested that this is the expression Zoro makes when he’s trying to observe something. Lo and behold, it doesn’t take much for Sanji to recognise the look of studying. Zoro’s trying to measure the crew’s opinion on the food… but why?
Sanji has to resist the urge to click his tongue. That was his hobby first. He’s not sure if that’s something he should be defending, though, even if it’s the marimo.
It was slowly becoming more annoying the longer Sanji observed. The way Zoro’s jaw seemed tense when chewing his food, the way his eye showed no sort of opinion. Not even concern, which would have been an expression Sanji would take over whatever blank look of boredom this current one held.
He should have expected that they’d lock eyes eventually, with Zoro taking an itinerary of each person’s face and Sanji unintentionally glaring right at the swordsman. When their eyes do lock, Zoro has the audacity to look almost guilty. See, that’s also weird. Thankfully the moment only lasts a split second before Zoro’s mouth twists into a scowl.
“What are you looking at?” He throws out his words, expertly spearing a piece of broccoli with his fork. Sanji has half the mind to make a joke about stabbing your own brethren.
“Nothing much.” Sanji sneers, making a scoffing sound. “You’ve been glowering at your plate all dinner, better question is what’s crawled up your ass?”
At this, unexpectedly, Zoro presses his lips together. He stares at Sanji, as if weighing the pros and cons of a possible conversation he’s not particularly bothered to have, before diverting his gaze back down at his food. “I was wondering if you bothered to season this shit.”
Call Sanji dramatic all you want, hearing those words come out of the swordsman’s mouth of all people was like listening to a stack of plates shatter on the floor. Because what the fuck?
“What?”
“Are you deaf? I said–”
“No, I heard you, what?” Sanji was in between a strange place of feeling insulted and concerned. Concerned for the rest of the crew of course, because he was about to start throwing kicks over the dinner table. (No, he’d never do that– that would be a disrespect to himself the most.)
Zoro doesn’t seem to be trying to get a rise out of Sanji though, which makes the blond do a double take. Instead he seems thoughtful, his one grey eye searching Sanji’s indubitably offended expression. If not for that look, Sanji would have thought Zoro was trying to play a poorly conveyed joke on him. But no, Sanji knows he’s witnessed too much in the man’s latest behaviour, has invested too much thought in this minor predicament, so now he thinks there’s likely a problem brewing here.
“Are you messing with me?” Sanji says after another two seconds of awkward pausing, not wanting to deal with Zoro burning through his two moss-infected brain cells by thinking too hard before the cook can get to the bottom of this.
In response, Zoro’s jaw visibly strains. He’s gritting his teeth, the pull of the conversation familiar with an air of familial hostility. Honestly, it was too easy to start fighting this guy over nothing. It’s like he’s constantly one word away from getting annoyed.
“If I wanted to mess with you, I’d tell you your food was shit, shitty-cook.” And yeah, he has a point there, but trying to suggest Sanji would disrespect his own cooking by forgetting something as fundamental as seasonings was much worse in the cook’s opinion. Perhaps an insult like that was beyond Zoro’s creative ability.
“I didn’t think an oaf like you could tell when something is seasoned. Theory now proven.” He waves a hand, scoffing at the swordsman. “In fact, I didn’t think you’d even know what a seasoning is.”
Fights usually went like this, Sanji was already preparing his next quip to the argument, ready to rally back to Zoro in their usual, fucked up way of banter. (Actually, was it really banter if you both genuinely got pissed off?)
Instead of the familiar back and forth Sanji was expecting, Zoro just looks at him with a strange expression. There’s a pause, something simmering that’s only noticed between the two of them before the mosshead suddenly lowers his head to look down at his food. There it is again, that thoughtful expression that doesn’t suit him at all. Was something happening? Is that what this is? Sanji’s confusion over what had been transpiring in the past five minutes has been relieved of no answers yet.
“Huh.” Zoro makes a small sound, as if he suddenly had an answer he was searching for himself, and lifted the broccoli he had speared earlier into his mouth. He chews without enlightening Sanji of his grand discovery.
“... Hello?” Sanji waves a hand to pull Zoro back into the conversation he just abruptly abandoned.
“Ish nothin’.” Zoro speaks with his mouth full, much to Sanji’s disgust. He swallows loudly, making a point of meeting Sanji’s eye once more. “You answered my question.” He goes back to eating his food with the most irritating expression Sanji’s ever seen: that same, bored, bland look from earlier that does nothing to tell Sanji if he likes or dislikes the dish.
Yeah, that was weird. Zoro’s always weird, sure, but this was… ugh, Sanji hated to think so much about a guy, let alone this guy in particular, but something about the interaction definitely left a bad taste in his mouth. He moves on to finish his plate off to get rid of it.
His expression was one that looked like when a person had chewed gum for such an extensive amount of time that the flavour had long gone, so now said hypothetical person is simply chewing just to chew. Sanji ever so intelligently draws this conclusion as he finishes up cleaning in the kitchen, even if the description itself is a little clunky.
He’s pretty sure Zoro wasn’t joking when he mentioned the lack of flavouring with his food. That was a bother in itself– Zoro may not be at the top of Sanji’s favourites list– hell, he’s probably not even on it– but it’s Sanji’s duty as the chef of the Straw-hat pirates to sustain his crew. He’ll be damned if that sustenance ended up tasteless to a man he has the responsibility of feeding.
A lit cigarette finds its way between Sanji’s lips as he takes a stool by the counter and opens one of the leatherback journals he keeps for noting recipes. He needed to treat his investigation with a delicate hand, mostly because he wasn’t sure what he was actually looking for, but also because if there was something wrong with the idiot’s tastebuds he sure as hell won’t be making a fuss out of it himself. Honestly, Sanji wasn’t too sure why he was making a fuss of it when Zoro clearly wasn’t too worried, but then he thinks about the bastard’s empty look and mindless chewing and the fact that they’re not due to stop at an island for another week. It’s his duty as a chef, it’s because he’s annoyed at Zoro, it’s the incoming boredom of the next few days. Sanji chalks it up to a combination of whatever excuse comes to mind.
He’ll figure it out.
His brilliant idea, come the next day on the Thousand Sunny, was to subject Zoro to a series of taste-tests before quizzing him on what he thought about certain ingredients. Of course, Sanji would be lying about said certain ingredients, and if the swordsman were to simply go along with whatever Sanji said then he would be caught red-handed in the… whatever Zoro’s gone and done to himself, situation.
“Saaaanji, why does Zoro get extra snacks? I thought we were going to run out of food!”
Unfortunately, Sanji was so excited about his devious plan to catch something wrong with Zoro that he failed to account for the various issues he’d inevitably run into. One of them being Luffy’s bottomless pit of an appetite and childish envy. He watches as Luffy stretches an uncanny limb in his direction, clearly aiming for the platter in his possession. Sanji huffs in response, kicking his captain’s hand out of the way. Zoro remains in his spot sitting on the deck, leaning back against the railing with his swords neatly propped next to him. Those things are the only extension of Zoro’s that he ever takes proper care of.
“Oi, you’re blocking my sun.” Zoro grunts, eyes still closed, and Sanji scoffs with irritancy. He’s here offering free food, and this bastard has the audacity to grumble back at him. Sure, it's an offering with an ulterior motive, but it’s an offering nonetheless!
“It won’t take a second, mosshead.” Sanji holds out the platter, looking down at Zoro. “Look, I’m asking you because it’s your favourite. Just eat the damn onigiri.”
Zoro’s eyebrows furrow, and Sanji can practically feel the suspicion radiating off him. Internally he grimaces, because he’d be suspicious too.
“What, you poison it or something?” Zoro finally opens his eye, glaring at Sanji.
“Don’t even joke about that. You know I would never waste food trying to poison you when I can easily kick your ass instead.”
“What was that, fourth place?!”
“You heard me. Why bother wasting resources when all I need is my foot?”
“If you’re looking for a fucking fight–” Alright, Sanji can recognise when he’s getting offtrack with his original intentions. He stomps Zoro’s arm against the railing when the other reaches out for his sword, clicking his tongue in distaste.
“No, I’m not looking for a fight. I just told you, I want you to try a new recipe for me.” He’s forcing the words out through gritted teeth, but the message gets across. He feels Zoro pushing his arm out from under his foot, but Sanji doesn’t trust him enough to not try and reignite the fight. He shoves Zoro’s arm further into the railing, determined not to get sidetracked again. “I’m serious, asshole! Just eat it and I’ll leave you alone!”
Zoro squints at Sanji. Frankly, just this once, Sanji doesn’t blame the other man for being so reluctant. This was definitely out of left-field, but any venture regarding making Zoro do anything was always going to be a complicated task. Like a guilty peace offering, Sanji gingerly lowers the platter, holding it out in front of Zoro.
Zoro takes his sweet time examining the platter’s contents. Long enough that Sanji finally lifts his foot from pinning the other’s arm, now fiddling about to take out a cigarette and light it with one hand. He watches as Zoro picks up the rice ball from the plate, sparing a non-committal glance towards Sanji as he does so. His eye focuses on the cigarette in Sanji’s mouth, and Sanji already knows what he’s going to comment on.
“Doesn’t smoking ruin a guy’s tastebuds or something? You asking me to taste test ‘cause you’ve finally burnt your tongue to a crisp?” He clicks his tongue like it’s a chore Sanji’s presented him with.
“Can’t you take food normally?” Sanji feels exasperated at this point, waving the platter and his free hand in the air. “It’s always something with you, just eat it! Quit it, Luffy!” Sanji kicks away another limb attempt of stealing the onigiri.
Zoro sighs through his nose and looks down at the rice ball. Likely too unbothered to continue bickering with Sanji and eager to continue with his nap, he chucks the meal into his mouth whole and starts to chew. There was nothing savouring about it, and Sanji can’t help but cringe at the display– thank the Four Blues this wasn’t a serious request for Zoro to provide input, because Sanji can immediately tell that any kind of opinion Zoro would offer would be utterly useless. Not that he’d be surprised.
“Aw, Zoro ate it…” Luffy sinks onto the wooden floor, watching woefully as his first crewmate chews. Sanji nudges his captain’s body with his foot.
“Stop lying there, somebody’s going to trip over you.”
Luffy snorts, clambering back onto his feet and looking back at Zoro. The swordsman chews, and chews, and chews, and Sanji can’t stop the scowl forming on his face at the nothing expression that seems to have taken residence on Zoro’s face. He clears his throat, ready for the most crucial part of his plan.
“Well? How’s the pickled plums?” Of course, there was no pickled plum filling in the rice ball. In fact there was no filling at all, Sanji’s pure intention to get Zoro to admit to a fact that wasn’t true.
“No meat?” Luffy looks at Sanji as if expecting an answer. Sanji turns his head to look at his captain incredulously, making no effort to even respond. Luffy feels this, and unnecessarily continues. “I think it would be better with meat. Oh, Sanji, I know what you should do!” Sanji doubts that. “Get this, Sanji should make the filling out of meat. And then make the rice out of meat. And then use meat instead of the seaweed–”
“You want me to wrap meat with meat and wrap that with more meat.”
“I knew Sanji would get it.” Luffy nods with all seriousness, and Sanji wonders what he’s doing here. Why would Luffy need a cook when he clearly has the culinary vision of a decorated, world-renowned chef–
Shit, Zoro.
Sanji ignores his captain’s delusions of what counts as a good meal to look back at Zoro, who to his dismay has already found himself dozed off in his spot leaning against the Sunny’s railing. It takes a few seconds of staring down at the green-haired man in disbelief before his mind finally works again, with frustration steam-rolling on the frontlines of his emotions. Honestly, what did Sanji expect?
Certainly not more than two sentences of conversation from the swordsman, that’s for sure. You know what? Sanji was a fool to think he'd be able to get anything out of Zoro. The asshole was impossible to speak to most of the time, it’s Sanji’s fault for having expectations in the first place! He throws his hand in the air, physically admitting defeat unbeknownst to the sleeping man sitting in front of him. Luffy tilts his head and looks at Sanji quizzically.
“Sanji? What’s wrong?”
“This is all your fault.”
“Eh?! What did I do?!”
Without dignifying that with a response, because Luffy should read his mind and know exactly what he did wrong, Sanji stalks off to the galley to rethink his strategy.
“I’ve fought a bear with my bare hands, once, back at Syrup village. Now that I’m thinking about it, maybe it was two— no, three times.”
Usopp’s talking to Sanji over the countertop, babbling on about some tall tale that Sanji admittedly isn’t paying attention to. He has his mind preoccupied at the moment, with tonight’s dinner under his hands and the mosshead’s hypothetical predicament occupying his thoughts. He absently hums in response to the sniper’s ramblings, garnishing each bowl of soup with delicate care.
“Wasn’t even that hard. I was maybe, like, what? 6? 7 years old? Got ‘em down to a chokehold, a good ol’ arm around the throat, the bear never stood a chance.” Usopp huddles over one of his handmade bombs, carefully funnelling a dark powder into the small sphere.
“Yeah, that’s nice— oi, wait, I told you not to handle gunpowder in here!” Sanji finally snaps out of his zoning out, jabbing a finger at the air between him and the bomb Usopp is currently fiddling with. Usopp makes a questioning noise, looking up to meet Sanji’s scowl.
“I’ve been making these all this time and now you have a problem with it?” The sniper raises a brow. “I bet you weren’t even listening to my bear story.” By the sound of his tone it sounds as though he’s trying to be accusatory as a defense to Sanji’s own scolding. Sanji responds with a darkened expression that has Usopp fumbling with the small bomb in his hands. “Alright, alright! Geez, I’ll make a couple tabasco stars instead. Can’t complain about hot sauce in the kitchen.”
A thought goes through Sanji’s head as Usopp begrudgingly puts his exploding pellets into his bag and takes out a bottle of hot sauce in its place.
“… You carry the whole bottle around?”
“Not when we’re on land— don’t look at me like that!”
Sanji rolls his eyes, feeling the corners of his lips lift slightly. Unable to help himself, he picks up the bottle to examine the ingredients list. “When did you get this? It looks new.”
“Wano.” Usopp answers simply, “It’s good. Has a real kick to it, more than one spoon will have a man doubling over in pain. Trust me, I’ve seen it!” For whatever reason, Sanji finds himself inclined to believe the sniper on this one. After travelling with Usopp for so long, it’s become easier to tell what’s a bluff and what’s the truth. Not that it was that difficult in the first place.
“Just one spoon, huh…” Sanji’s eyes skim over the writing on the bottle, sudden interest piqued over the brilliant red sauce. He pauses, pondering its colour, and tilts the transparent bottle next to one of the bowls of soup. Whether it’s coincidence, fate or a cursed stroke of luck, Sanji happened to make tomato soup tonight. Usopp raises a brow in question.
“Dude, you good? Don’t tell me you’re thinking of making us try hot sauce soup–”
“Do you want to prank Zoro?” Sanji’s own voice surprises him, and he looks over to Usopp to see the same type of surprise etched on the sniper’s features. They stare at each other in silence for a few more seconds before Usopp carefully replies.
“Prank… Zoro.” He speaks slowly, eyes trailing down to the bottle in Sanji’s hands, then towards the bowl of soup right next to it. Usopp’s smart, and a quick thinker, of course he immediately puts 2 and 2 together. “Are you feeling okay? I’m serious, because unless I’m reading this wrong you’re thinking about spiking food with hot sauce. Like, food you made. Aren’t you the one always harping on about us not wasting food?”
Sanji hums, he agrees he’s not acting conventionally. “It’s not wasting food. It’s Zoro, he’ll eat anything even if it’s too spicy for a man to handle. In fact, he’ll taste the spice, feel the heat, and take it as a challenge.”
“I guess you’re right…” Usopp scratches his head. “Still doesn’t answer my question of if you’re okay though. Messing with food like that isn’t your style. Pranks aren’t either...” He’s still looking at Sanji like he’s grown a second and third head. Honestly, with how thrown off Sanji’s felt these past two days he might as well have grown three heads.
“I think something’s up with him.” Sanji admits with a sigh. “Mosshead.” He adds quickly when met with an even more confused stare.
“Any chance of elaborating on that? No offense, you guys don’t have the best track record when it comes to kumbaya friendship time…”
Sanji can only click his tongue at that, cringing. It’s not like he cares that much, or maybe he does, but– fuck, if the thought of someone, anyone, not being able to taste the food he puts on the table, his love language, isn’t as despairing to Sanji as a farmer losing his harvest to a harsh winter, then there’s seriously a problem with Sanji’s integrity as a cook. Even if that ‘anyone’ was Zoro, who never gave Sanji much time of day to compliment his food. But it’s different, to Sanji at least, because before Dressrosa and Zou and Whole Cake and Wano there was a time where Zoro had more than a neutral look on his face when eating his food. There was more in that expression before, something Sanji would care to remember for all of his crewmates because despite the bickering and the snide comments and the constant competing he loved them as family.
Dressrosa, Zou, Whole Cake Island, Wano.
Dressrosa, Zou, Wano.
That’s a big gap, Sanji thinks. He wonders what kind of food they ate in his absence. Of course, they told him about it, but he doesn’t know. He should have been here at the dinner table with them, taking in their faces as he fed them because that was his damn job. And now, somewhere down the line something changed, because there was a time before Sanji had left the crew where Zoro’s eye brightened at the taste of home. And now it doesn’t. That shithead definitely did something.
“I don’t think he can taste anything.” Sanji mentions out loud, watching the sauce bottle in his hand as he swirls the burning liquid inside. Its vibrancy begs to be let out of the bottle, a devil’s red that tempts Sanji into defiling his own food for the sake of confirming one of his fears. Come to think of it, they had eaten together in Wano too. What did his face look like then? Sanji couldn’t remember.
“Ah, I see.” Usopp nods like it’s simple, and that’s how you know they’ve been hanging around the likes of Luffy and Zoro for too long. “I mean, if you’re sure, we can prank Zoro.” Sanji glances towards Usopp, meeting his eyes. It was obvious the sniper had more questions, maybe pondering if that was something they should be concerned about as silly as it sounds, but they both know the discussion would be wasted without some kind of proof that what Sanji thought was true.
Sanji nodded at the other, appreciative of the support for what he was fairly sure would be the most idiotic thing he’ll ever do to a perfectly good tomato soup. Its steam rolls into the air between them easily, inviting the deviancy in. With a surprisingly nervous resolve, Sanji opens the tabasco bottle.
Dinner was served not long after, Luffy diving into his seat at the head of the table and not bothering to wait for the rest of the crew to arrive as he immediately grabbed one of the bread loaves set out in the middle of the table. The rest soon followed, trickling in as orderly as pirates could, and Sanji shares a glance with Usopp when Zoro takes his seat.
One spoon was supposed to be enough to make a man kneel. Half the bottle went into that bowl of soup because Usopp had insisted on helping out. Now, from across the table where Usopp sat next to Zoro, he smiles nervously at Sanji who maintains his bitter scowl. Sanji only has himself to blame for the mess, he’s the one who caved under childish paranoia (ugh) and desperately wanted a proper answer to his theory. He’s the one who broke one of his unspoken codes, tampered with his own food and served it. At the very least it was the marimo’s meal. If he ends up not eating it, Sanji will gracefully accept his wrongdoings and eat the damn soup himself, even if it’s more hot sauce than soup at this point.
A dull voice at the back of his mind questions if this is even safe. Welp, too late now.
Sanji makes an effort to avoid looking at Zoro as much as he can until he eats the soup. He doubts Zoro would even care if he looked– maybe he was even expecting it at this point, with how unusual he was acting. Sanji stirs his own bowl, stealing a couple of glances in between eating spoonfuls.
Zoro’s talking to Brook from across the table, his expression laidback, and Sanji finds himself zoning in onto the conversation as he waits for Zoro to eat.
“Yohoho, I do still appreciate the pointers. Even a man at my age can find room for improvement, I’ll admit that a lot of my movements have been muscle-memory… though of course, I don’t have any muscles now! Yohohoho!” Brook cackles, his voice bright and cheery.
“Really funny.” Zoro rolls his eye, but Sanji doesn’t miss the way the swordsman’s lip quirks upwards in an endeared smile. “We can go again some other time if you want. I’m usually just training anyway, sparring’s no big deal.
Ah, they’re talking about sword things. Sanji perks up as Zoro tears a chunk of bread in half, dipping it into the soup.
“I’ll take you up on that offer.” Brook smiles as earnestly as a skeleton can smile. “I’ve mentioned it before, but it’s very impressive how skilled you are for your age. Your dedication is inspiring.”
Zoro only shrugs in response, because the stupid idiot can’t take a compliment normally. “I do what I want to do.” He shoves the soup-soaked piece of bread into his mouth. Usopp very obviously gawks to the left of him, but Zoro doesn’t catch it.
Brook’s voice fades into the background as Sanji concentrates on Zoro’s face. His body language, anything. Usopp seems equally invested, and the sniper appears to suddenly understand what Sanji was talking about.
No reaction whatsoever.
They watch as Zoro repeats the action, mid-conversation, chatting away nonchalantly as he chews on bread that’s supposed to have absorbed a stupid amount of hot sauce. Sanji doesn’t think there’s even a twitch in his stupid muscles.
He turns to look at Usopp, who catches his eye immediately. They have a silent conversation.
Are you sure that’s the right bowl? Says Usopp’s dubious expression.
It has to be, Sanji thinks, because nobody else has reacted yet. He bites the inside of his cheek, staring at Zoro’s bowl. The swordsman takes a spoonful of it, somehow oblivious, and the spoon goes straight to his mouth. He swallows easily as if it’s as refreshing as cold water, and Sanji watches with morbid fascination when Zoro’s Adam's-apple bobs in haunting confirmation. He darts a glare at Usopp.
You try it.
Usopp’s eyes widened. He shakes his head wildly, pointing a finger at Sanji.
YOU try it.
Sanji narrows his eyes.
I’m sitting across the table. You’re right next to him.
Usopp makes an exasperated expression.
YOU MADE THE SOUP!
Sanji clenches his fist around his utensil.
I’m going to kick your ass if you don’t taste it.
Usopp bites his knuckles in dismay, eyes darting between Sanji, the cursed bowl of tabasco tomato soup, and Zoro. It’s then that Zoro finally feels Usopp’s panic. The response is instantaneous as he raises an eyebrow.
“Usopp?”
Usopp fidgets, staring at Zoro with open concern. Sanji’s pretty sure most of that concern is for himself.
“Bon appetit,” Usopp cries, or whines, as he takes the spoon out of Zoro’s hand.
“Hey–”
Zoro watches in confusion as Usopp helps himself to a spoonful of his soup, his grey eye glancing over to Usopp’s own bowl that still had food inside. However, like most times where the crew helps themselves to Zoro’s personal space, he lets it slide.
Now, Sanji knows that Usopp enjoys spicy food. He probably has the highest spice tolerance on the ship. However, Usopp is only human. Everything seems to happen in slow-motion- to Sanji at least, whom shares the horror of knowledge with Usopp. The sharpshooter consumes the contents of the spoon, feeling its spice kick his tongue immediately, and Sanji just knows that this is the answer to what he was thinking two days ago.
With a clatter, Sanji sets his food down, unguarded, undoubtedly about to be stolen by his own captain, as he runs to grab some iced water. Or milk. Whatever saves the sharpshooter faster.
Usopp howls in pain and chaos immediately erupts from all sides of the table.