[ he thinks maybe zoro will fall asleep in his lap, and he won't entirely mind it — at least it'll mean he can go back to mapping out his imaginary menu and feeling the ache of missing the galley on the merry. pep talk done, he tips his head back and blows a lazy ring toward the ceiling, his brow tightening when he feels zoro shift.

the question registers. no, not a question. it's a demand, really, and sanji bristles immediately, expertly tamping down the swell of panic that threatens to rise in his chest. he has half a mind to give zoro a shitty, textbook answer about the landscape and climate of the north blue, the vegetation and the wildlife and the types of fish found in the seas — but when he steals a glance down, something in zoro's gaze unfortifies him. ]

The North Blue, eh? [ he shouldn't. he can't. it's the one thing he promised, the only reason judge vinsmoke let him go alive. don't tell anyone i'm your father. ] The part I'm from is a military kingdom. There's a big castle there, with five different towers. I haven't gone back since I was eight or nine. Can't remember.

[ he remembers. eight years old, after spending months in the dungeon with an iron mask over his head. ]

I was on a cruise ship after that. It was called the Orbit. Served as a trainee chef there, and was the best one you ever saw. [ another plume of smoke into the air, his heart beating uncomfortably fast even as he sits casually still. ] Two years on that ship, and then Red Leg Zeff boarded us and tried to kill me. A storm got us both first, though. Then we spent eighty-five days stranded on a rock before someone rescued us. Just me and him — on separate sides, because he was a shitty old geezer with no conversational skills. And no food.

[ his free hand comes down, smoke wafting out as he exhales, his fingertips resting lightly against the tight muscles of zoro's stomach. his hand curls, gently. ]

I told Luffy the story. You were too busy dying.