Chapter Text
It had been about a week since things between you and Killer had changed.
The two of you had always shared a closer bond than most on the crew. Of course, it couldn’t compare to the lifelong friendships he had with Kid, Heat, or Wire—but you'd like to think you came next in line when it came to who he secretly was fondest of. As one of the older crew members, it made sense; you’d had more time to get to know your first commander, who, despite his name, was quite the gentle giant.
You were extra sure of this because, while he’d never say it out loud, he took special care of you.
Killer didn’t speak much, but his actions said enough. Always keeping an eye on you—Observation Haki finely tuned to your presence, making sure your cup stayed full during celebrations, and as soon as he heard you had a disdain for spaghetti, it magically disappeared from the weekly meal preparations. Even when it was unavoidable, either by the captain’s request or by sheer lack of ingredients before the next island, he was always sure to prepare you something else in its place. It always earned some giggles and coy looks from your other crewmates, but you would roll your eyes, stating matter-of-factly, "He’d do this for anyone, if the rest of you weren’t so quick to eat whatever mystery meat made it to the table."
Little did you know, several of them had complained about a litany of things on the menu. Pomp claimed he hated sea king meat, but everyone knew it was just because it reminded him of the ten separate times he’d tried—and failed—to catch one himself. As for UK, he had an inexplicable vendetta against tomatoes. All had complained to the chef multiple times throughout their time on the crew. It wasn't an issue of being forgetful:
Killer did not care.
You always found ways to look after Killer, too—quiet gestures, little routines of your own. Bringing him back small trinkets that reminded you of him when he was stuck ship-sitting. Trying to find ways to help in the kitchen for meal prep, and the way you always just so happened to be unable to sleep while he was on night watch. You always justified it by saying “it was a good way to get more experience” since Kid had yet to let anyone other than one of the four commanders take over the task. Besides, when he wanted to, Killer made for an excellent conversationalist. The nights always seemed to go by too quickly, and by the time the sun rose, you found yourself magically back in your bed, with no recollection of leaving the crow’s nest.
Killer never mentioned it, and you didn’t either.
But that was before everything changed for the worse.
Now, Killer wasn’t mentioning anything– in fact, he had barely spoken a word to you over the past few days. While he was quiet, this silence didn’t give you the same calm feeling as when you sat side by side, staring out into the waters of the Grand Line until morning.
This was different.
He was avoiding you on purpose.
It was subtle at first. He vanished from his normal haunts aboard the Victoria. The railing where he usually cleaned his blades, the upper deck at night, where you'd sometimes catch him—all empty. Even during downtime, when the crew gathered to play cards or bicker over music, he was conspicuously absent. In his place was silence, a gap in the routines you’d unknowingly memorized.
At first, you told yourself it was all a coincidence. Then it became a pattern.
The moment you entered a room, he seemed to find a reason to leave. And at breakfast, it seemed that Killer decided to sit as far away from you as possible. While he normally didn’t eat with everyone, he would at least join for conversation amongst the crew. In the few days his mood has shifted, he quietly slipped out of the kitchen, not going unnoticed by you—or any of the other crewmates, for that matter. You had hoped things could go back to normal.
Then came lunch preparations.
You wandered into the kitchen, which had become a daily routine.
While he usually didn’t need it, Killer had always been willing to give you something small to do in preparation for meals. He found it funny every time you did, you'd brag to the crew all about how you had fed them and how they essentially owed you their lives. But he also genuinely enjoyed your company. Killer was a masterful chef; he always had things under control, both in and outside of the kitchen.
You admired that about him.
“Hey, Killer—what’s on the menu today? Need any help?” You flashed your signature smile, eager for your daily bonding time.
“Ramen.” He replied simply, his tone steady and unfazed as he focused on the array of ingredients sprawled out across the counter. While it was typical for him to give you a short response, what felt out of the ordinary was his subtle avoidance of part of your question.
You decided to assume he hadn’t heard you. “I love it when you make ramen. How can I help?” You waited for your assignment, sizing up the ingredients and wondering what he might ask you to do. Cut the carrots? Keep an eye on the broth so it doesn't boil over? Be his taste tester?
“No. I’ve got it,” he said, his voice flat, following a long pause as he let out a small sigh.
“Oh—are you sure? I could even wash the bowls if you need,” knowing how difficult it was to get anything properly washed with this crew.
“UK was on kitchen duty. Washed ‘em while he was here.” he responded absent-mindedly, his gaze still fixed on the task at hand, the confusion starting to weigh on you heavier than ever.
You nodded slowly, pretending to examine the ingredients just to give your hands something to do. Reaching for a stray green onion, you pulled at the roots hanging at the bottom just to busy your hands.
This wasn’t like him. Not with you.
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