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They’re crying, screaming, and the sound pierces Luffy straight in his chest. Pain radiates from every piece of his being as he struggles to make his bleary eyes focus. Hands. So many hands, all branching out from the flower the Baron has created.
It’s inhuman, towering over the island with his crew set inside of it. Luffy moves. Runs and kicks and screams — but none of it does anything. He’s downed, pinned to the ground as he watches the hands disappear into the sides. His crew disappearing before his eyes.
He failed.
Lifting up, lungs gasping for air, Luffy pants. Cold sweat coats his skin, like ice digging into him as it falls down his neck. His heart thrums wildly against his chest, and when he blinks, tears spill out onto his face. They’re gentle, slow, running down along his cheek to dip into his neck.
It was just a dream.
They left the island days ago and everyone is fine. This is the reality that slowly comes back to Luffy while he forces himself to breathe. They should all be here, asleep in this room, except Nami and Robin. But when Luffy’s eyes sweep the room counting, he comes up one short.
Sanji.
Reaching out, Luffy grabs the door handle and lets himself reel in. It’s quieter than jumping down from the hammock, and everyone needs all the rest they can get. After all that, they deserve it.
His feet carry him to the one place he prays Sanji is, and when he pushes the door of the kitchen open, he sighs in relief to find he was right. Sanji is standing there, back to him, hands working quickly. Something is on the stove, simmering, and Luffy feels his mouth start to water.
Almost as if he sensed him, Sanji turns towards Luffy, small smile quirking on his lips, “Oi, Luffy. Come in, you’re letting the warmth out.”
He’s there, sleep heavy in his eyes, and suit hung up somewhere else. Without thinking, Luffy moves towards him, drawn not only by the food, but also Sanji himself. In the dream, he had grabbed one of their hands, trying to pull them out: it was Sanji. The chef, who prizes his hands so highly he doesn’t fight with them, warm and worn in Luffy’s grasp.
Before he lost him.
Luffy’s fists tighten at his sides, weight still heavy on his chest, and he breathes in slowly through his mouth. Sanji stops chopping then, placing the knife down onto the board alongside the carrots he was dicing, and wipes his hands with a cloth.
“Luffy?” Sanji asks, and when Luffy doesn’t answer, he walks towards him. Slow, one careful step at a time until he’s standing in front of his captain, “Are you alright? I’m surprised you haven’t tried to inhale the soup y-”
The sentence doesn’t get the chance to leave his lips before Luffy’s arms are around him. He holds tight, squeezing Sanji, and the simple shirt between them is enough that he can feel Sanji’s heat. He’s always so warm, but unattainable, beneath the layers of his suit.
Luffy likes it when he’s in his suit. But now, standing in just a shirt, Sanji feels different. Softer. Sanji places gentle hands against Luffy’s back, pressing him further into him, but when his captain doesn’t relent, he ruffles his hair.
“Luffy, the soup is going to ruin,” he says, worry coloring his tone, “Do you want to help me?”
Luffy looks up at him, eyes shiny with tears that have yet to break, and nods his head quickly. He never gets to help Sanji cook. No one but Nami gets to, which is unfair because usually she doesn’t even want to, anyways. It’s something Luffy has always been curious about, and for a moment the nightmare starts to slip away into excitement.
“What is Sanji making this late anyways?” Luffy asks, snaking his head up and over the pot. It’s a deep orange, with different bits of vegetables and meat floating in it. The scent again fills his nose and Luffy hums. “Smells good.”
“Breakfast for the crew. You’ll get to eat it in a bit, too.”
Sanji ushers a hand, and Luffy stands in front of him. Carefully, Sanji folds his hand over Luffy’s, curving around it first, and then picks up the knife. With his other, he does the same, holding Luffy lightly in place as he pins the carrot down. With slow, smooth motions, he guides Luffy, cutting the carrot into slices.
“See, if you work like this, rocking the knife, the cuts are cleaner,” Sanji explains, and his voice is barely above a whisper. His breath is right in Luffy’s ear, blowing the hair around it, and it tickles his skin. Where Luffy would usually laugh and jerk away, he now forces himself still under Sanji. “Now, why are you up?”
The question pulls Luffy’s stomach back into a pit and he swallows. It’s a tenseness that Sanji can apparently feel, because he guides Luffy’s hands to put down the knife. They stand there, molded against the other, hovering above the counter.
It’s quiet, apart from the soft bubbling of the soup, and Luffy sighs.
“Do you remember that weird flower?” Luffy asks and Sanji’s hands tighten over his, “I had a nightmare that I didn’t save you. That I grabbed your hand, but I failed, and I lost everyone.”
Sanji backs up from Luffy then, and the sudden lack of warmth draws a quick inhale into Luffy. Did he say the wrong thing? He asked! He wanted to know, why-
Sanji turns Luffy around, hands firm on his Captain’s shoulders. His showing eye is half lidded, emotion swimming in it that falls somewhere between sadness and concern. The blue is striking, just as it always is to Luffy, and he waits.
Waits as his chef curls his hands into Luffy’s shoulder before dropping his head with a sigh, “I remember.”
His hands shift then, moving up Luffy’s shoulders until he’s cupping his face. His hands are so warm. Regardless of their thin appearance, they’re strong, and being held within them gives Luffy peace he didn’t think he would find tonight.
“You did save us, though. We’re all alright,” Sanji whispers.
Luffy reaches up, placing his hands over Sanji’s, and holds him there. The weapons the man dare not use, sit resting on his face, and Luffy can’t help but think about it. How special they are to him, and how willingly he gives them to Luffy.
Pulling on the edges, Sanji’s hands relent, and Luffy guides them forward between them. He traces the tops carefully, as if he were trying to memorize them, and smiles. Sanji is right; they are here. He did save them.
Lacing his fingers between them, he squeezes gently and Sanji blows out a soft laugh. When Luffy looks up to meet his eye, it’s no longer sad. In fact, he’s not even looking at Luffy. He’s watching the pot over his shoulder, and when it bubbles a little louder, his hands tighten around Luffy’s.
“Luffy,” Sanji groans, “I really can’t let it burn.”
Luffy snickers, letting Sanji’s hands fall and the chef shifts around him to grab the ladle. He stirs it quickly, a sigh coming from his mouth in relief, and he looks back at Luffy. Tilting his head, Sanji calls him back to the counter.
“Let’s finish this for the others for breakfast, hm?” Sanji asks, smile quirking at his lips.
Luffy nods eagerly, miming the position that Sanji held him in earlier, hovering above the board. Moving back behind him, Sanji folds in place. Together, they move cutting the rest of the food, talking until the others wake.
A great breakfast awaits them.