[ two and a half years. sanji has learned not to be surprised by anything that comes out of bee's mouth, but that's alarming in a way that it wouldn't have been a few weeks ago, because it wouldn't have been relevant to him. it's very relevant now, all things considered. he's chosen not to keep track of everything that's happening, mostly because everything is shitty, and he's discovered that zoro watches him like a goddamn hawk anyway, so if anything else happens to him, the idiot swordsman is sure to let him know.
all sanji wants to do is cook, and even that is getting cumbersome. he needs bee's help more than ever now, because he tires easily, and his back feels eighty years older. something shifts inside of him, and he ignores that, too.
a little mouse. oranges and limes. sanji is not an idiot. he throws a mixing bowl into the sink and wipes his eyes, thinking of the little mouse his father threw from his window when he'd found sanji had cooked a meal for it and made it his friend. ]
Yeah, you misinterpreted.
[ it's complicated to put into words. he doesn't want zoro or nami or bee fussing over him now, when he prefers to be the one presenting them with their favorite dishes. what he wants is impossible. what he wants is to go back in time, when he was five and six and seven, and give himself a birthday that wasn't full of tears and terror and pain. he wants to be the man he is now for the shitty little kid he used to be. impossible.
he leans against the counter, gripping a dishcloth. the cake has moved and so has bee, hovering near the dining table like sanji's the big bad wolf. like he's the mouse-eating cat. ]
You're the mouse. [ sanji swallows back the tightness in his throat, plucking two silver forks from the drawer and moving to the table. maybe it doesn't have to be impossible after all. he made the mistake once of giving up on the all blue. he doesn't intend to do it again. ] If you cut that cake, it'll fall apart.
[ he pulls the bench out and gestures for bee to sit, holding out a fork for her. then he pulls out his lighter and one of his clove-scented cigarettes, because he doesn't have birthday candles, sticking it into the corner of his mouth and scraping out a flame. ]
You're not going to like it. [ he blows out a stream of smoke, then offers her the cigarette. ] Take a little breath. It'll burn your throat otherwise.
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all sanji wants to do is cook, and even that is getting cumbersome. he needs bee's help more than ever now, because he tires easily, and his back feels eighty years older. something shifts inside of him, and he ignores that, too.
a little mouse. oranges and limes. sanji is not an idiot. he throws a mixing bowl into the sink and wipes his eyes, thinking of the little mouse his father threw from his window when he'd found sanji had cooked a meal for it and made it his friend. ]
Yeah, you misinterpreted.
[ it's complicated to put into words. he doesn't want zoro or nami or bee fussing over him now, when he prefers to be the one presenting them with their favorite dishes. what he wants is impossible. what he wants is to go back in time, when he was five and six and seven, and give himself a birthday that wasn't full of tears and terror and pain. he wants to be the man he is now for the shitty little kid he used to be. impossible.
he leans against the counter, gripping a dishcloth. the cake has moved and so has bee, hovering near the dining table like sanji's the big bad wolf. like he's the mouse-eating cat. ]
You're the mouse. [ sanji swallows back the tightness in his throat, plucking two silver forks from the drawer and moving to the table. maybe it doesn't have to be impossible after all. he made the mistake once of giving up on the all blue. he doesn't intend to do it again. ] If you cut that cake, it'll fall apart.
[ he pulls the bench out and gestures for bee to sit, holding out a fork for her. then he pulls out his lighter and one of his clove-scented cigarettes, because he doesn't have birthday candles, sticking it into the corner of his mouth and scraping out a flame. ]
You're not going to like it. [ he blows out a stream of smoke, then offers her the cigarette. ] Take a little breath. It'll burn your throat otherwise.