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I.
Usopp wasn’t always the best at picking up after himself. Papers, powders, and pliers often littered the paths he used when moving from one task to the next. Sometimes inspiration struck sharp and bright, illuminating the darkness of his mind, so he had to rush off, his current task insignificant. Other times he just forgets where he’s left things after walking off when he gets bored. This personality trait made him prone to returning to work spots again and again—and again. For the most part, he remembers before he gets too far away. But sometimes, the location is lost and must be searched out.
So now, Usopp began the familiar routine of retracing his day’s route. He made a round through Merry, over the decks, and into the crow’s nest, before heading towards the kitchen. When Usopp pushed the door open, he caught Sanji standing at the dining table, examining the jars Usopp had left behind. He seemed lost in thought as he rolled one around, watching the grains as they shifted, twisted, and spiraled behind the glass. A smile gently turned the corner of his mouth and his eye rounded with a pleasant curve. The sight caused Usopp to pull up short—it caused his heart to stutter.
Sanji was, for Usopp’s initial thought, charmed. This attitude softens Sanji, blending him into life instead of blurring him out. Usopp mused over this as he suspended his tool recovery, sifting back through his interactions with Sanji, searching for the last time he had witnessed such a mood.
Usopp had difficulty finding Sanji’s “happy” expressions. Few were peaceful; few were content. Sanji often had moments of wild, exaggerated passions, but those expressions bordered on caricature, not credibility. So unless Sanji thoroughly engaged with his cooking, Usopp thought he appeared neutral at best.
The contrast and novelty of this expression made Usopp aware of Sanji’s rather reserved life. That smile poked his loneliness, pushing the feeling to the surface, and as he stood between entering and exiting, that distress coiled into his stomach, constricting painfully.
He slid quietly into the room, hoping his presence encouraged the positive expression, that he would brighten the world like sunbeams between rain clouds. But Sanji’s vigilance blocked the light, and his darkness fractured the softness—his expression eroding. Usopp wanted to reach for the pieces, collect them as they fell and reassemble them so Sanji would look peaceful again. But he didn’t want to create another mask, he wouldn’t assist Sanji’s suppressions.
Sanji put the jar back down, almost in the same place as it had been.
As Usopp walked forwards, Sanji circumvented the table, and like always, he was steps ahead, just out of reach, moving a fraction faster than Usopp. Sanji returned to the comfort of his kitchen and pulled a pack of cigarettes from the counter.
He resumed smoking as Usopp quietly collected his belongings. And when he was just about to leave, Usopp turned back. Sanji faced away from the door, away from Usopp; the smoke smeared and clouded him, creating the hazy barrier that returned Sanji to the background of life—this was curtains closed after the final act. Yet, for some reason, Usopp continued to hesitate, his body frozen before his mind noticed. It felt wrong, somehow, to leave, as if an encore waited just in the wings.
Sanji looked towards Usopp as he lingered. The subtleties of Sanji’s face whispered out to Usopp, but distance captured the meaning, so all he could do now was project his wishes onto Sanji’s expressions. And maybe he wanted to see it, but Usopp thought he spotted a tremor of delight spark behind his eyes, almost as if Sanji was happy to see someone waiting for him.
Not knowing how to respond, Usopp just nodded to Sanji.
The desire to know more about Sanji’s life bubbled up from the same place his sadness came from. What other unknowns lurked in the depths of Sanji? Usopp wanted to unbury, gather, and hoard all those treasured expressions.
So an idea sprung up quite by accident. If Usopp intentionally left something behind, he would have to come back, and in the process, he could witness and collect that library of attitudes not yet seen.
Usopp’s plan was simple, maybe not eloquent or elaborate, but enough.
II.
Over the next week, Usopp’s task-oriented mind tested Sanji. At first, the items he left were relatively small and inconsequential, a few pens or a notebook. Little things that made the environment feel “off,” something that made Sanji aware yet not alarmed.
Sometimes, Usopp returned quickly; other times, he returned after a few hours had passed; but he never let the separation eclipse a day—couldn’t let the items seem forgotten completely. The earlier he returned, the fewer changes he saw in Sanji; and if he was too late, Sanji was indifferent or uninterested. So he was trying to find that sweet spot where Sanji let his guard down enough to be soft.
After lunch, Usopp decided to work in the kitchen, much to Sanji’s displeasure, when he pulled out an oil-stained rag and a wrench. Sanji reprimanded Usopp for the action. But Usopp refused to sway from his commitment to uncovering more about Sanji. So, he hummed his reply, offering no insights into his comprehension of Sanji’s annoyance. After an hour of “working,” Usopp moved on to the next portion of his plan.
He loudly emphasized his need for different tools before he pushed away from the table, abandoning his current set at his seat. Sanji called to him as he left, but Usopp brushed him off.
When Usopp returned a couple of hours later, he first peeked in, and as he hoped, Sanji displayed a new expression. He leaned against the edge of the table, relaxed in the investigation of Usopp’s materials. Reverence filled his hands as he lifted each item. Care was taken as the tools were flipped—ancient statues, delicate in their scarcity, fragile by history. The washers and nuts he corralled with the screws by hands competent as a shepherd, binding them to one another.
One of Usopp’s rags was with the pile, and Sanji cradled the fabric like a talisman. That small smile returned, and it stopped Usopp’s heart once again. He began to think it was unfair that Sanji’s face could do that. Usopp continued his study and observed Sanji folding the cloth before putting a couple of tools over it; his fingers trailed down a handle as he walked back towards his abandoned cleaning.
Usopp pushed the door open, deciding it was okay to enter. Sanji jerked—more a twitch than a spasm, but enough to be noticeable. Had he startled Sanji? Did he stumble upon that sweet spot? He wanted to close the door and open it again to see if he could reenact the moment.
“Don’t leave dirty rags on my table,” Sanji scolded him, rubbing at a spot with more vigor than needed—an area Usopp’s rag had never been.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Usopp trotted towards his things. The organization seemed familiar somehow. There was an ordering to the setup, a way in which the items sat next to one another that moved Usopp. He turned towards the kitchen as a memory flickered; it merged with the present as he examined how Sanji arranged his kitchen. This was Sanji’s preference. Usopp’s tools, Usopp’s belongings, lived adjacent to Sanji’s—his belongings were no less important.
He didn’t want to ruin the consideration or the flourishing fondness pressing against his chest by picking up his things.
“Are they too heavy?” Sanji half-joked while Usopp stood stationary.
“Yes,” Usopp said, tossing a hand over his forehead. “I am too weak.”
“Fuck off and take your shit with you.” The humor gained a bite.
“Wow,” Usopp gasped, dramatically grasping at his chest. “So rude.”
The words felt forceful, yet, as Usopp collected his tools, he spotted the tint of a grin lingering behind Sanji’s bowed head. He cleaned with intense diligence, tainting the atmosphere between them like a drop of ink into water. Subtle, hardly noticeable, but no longer clean.
Usopp wasn’t unwelcomed, but his current presence wasn’t appreciated. Perhaps he had encroached too much on Sanji. Usopp stuffed the rag and hardware into his pockets; realizing he had forgotten his bag, he filled his hands with the other tools, resigned to carrying them. While he left, the image of Sanji’s smile caused a smile of his own to grow in response.
For the first time in a long time, Usopp found himself contemplating the actions of others and his responses toward them. How profound the smallest of insights changed him. But that also made him curious about how much he didn’t know about the people closest to him.
What started as research was transitioning towards fixation—it veered towards greed—he wanted to see Sanji smile more. He wanted to see Sanji laugh more. Usopp noted that he just wanted to inhabit the same spaces as Sanji, to be amongst the things that brought him comfort and ease.
Usopp slapped a wrench against his thigh as he descended the stairs, reorganizing the events of the day, keeping that which served his goal, and discarding the duplicates when another sentiment popped up suddenly.
This almost seems like—a crush. A crush!?
The thought stunned him and weakened his knees, causing him to waver. Usopp finished his step forward, but his unbalanced legs missed the stair, and he stumbled down to the next. His heart rocketed into his throat, dropping everything when trying to correct himself. Usopp grasped the railing.
The heavy beat of adrenaline from the skipped step was strikingly similar to the feelings that Sanji provoked in him.
III.
His tendency to tinker with everything, to fix or enhance the things in his life, was the culprit, Usopp justified, that made him so interested in Sanji. This extensive introspection fooled him into believing that romantic ideations spurred his current fascination. Because Usopp knows himself well enough to know when he has those feelings—doesn’t he? Yes. His interest in Sanji is platonic.
And to prove this hypothesis, Usopp needed better interactions and, if not better, at least more varied. The previous interactions were simple, but he needed to step up the engagement level if he wanted superior insights and expressions.
He had, shamefully, he must admit, abducted a packet of Sanji’s cigarettes. It was a tense moment at breakfast when Sanji turned his back, and Usopp snatched them off the table. At first, he felt the action was playful, but when Sanji patted his pockets, checked under and behind kitchen items, but couldn’t find them, Usopp felt his heart clench with uncertainty—did this border on bullying? He covered the pack in his pocket as he made his escape, moving as quickly and as innocently as possible.
Usopp was lying under Nami’s trees, rotating the box around next to him when he decided that he should return something to Sanji this time. The return offered him more control over Sanji’s possible reaction. With this interaction, he didn’t have to guess his return or what he might leave behind. All he had to do was show up.
Which proved to be simple only in theory. Usopp walked by the kitchen door for the fourth time, trying to puzzle together a lie that would make him sound as normal and nonchalant as possible, but each time he imagined Sanji turning towards him, the pieces rearranged themselves.
He stopped. Hyping himself up with a few deep breaths, Usopp strolled into the kitchen.
Sanji was sitting at the dining table, a new pack opened before him, a cigarette burning between his fingers.
Obviously, Usopp thought, rolling his eyes at his folly.
Sanji picked at his bottom lip, biting the skin free. A nervous habit? An unconscious habit? A comforting habit? Usopp noted it all down, eager to add it to Sanji’s ledger.
Usopp moved with intent, he moved with swiftness, but when he stopped next to Sanji, he blanked on what he came here for. Void of all thought, all Usopp could do was watch the gaze Sanji swept over him—expectant as if he had been waiting. Sanji looked to the pack clenched in Usopp’s hand, and Usopp wondered if he saw distrust dart, quick as tetra, behind impartiality.
“Here.” Usopp thrust the cigarettes out.
Sanji reached out hesitantly and paused for a beat before prying them from Usopp’s slightly too-tight grip.
“Where did you find these?” he asked as Usopp lingered.
“Uh, they were, just, you know, lying around.” He scratched his cheek and chuckled nervously.
Sanji hummed his reply, giving Usopp a once-over as if his aura was snitching on him. Then, he stacked the returned pack with the other, tapping away ash but not turning away from Usopp.
Usopp shifted from his left foot to his right and stuffed his hands into his pockets. He didn’t know what to do now. Sanji revealed no new expressions, and with his plan burning down, Usopp didn’t know how to coax one from the soundless Sanji.
“Thanks,” Sanji spoke slowly. “For returning these to me.”
The response felt like a freshly frozen lake, and Usopp didn’t know if the ice was stable or if he would plummet into the frigid water. So, his best choice was to get low and return to shore.
Usopp smiled his acknowledgment but felt the smile swerve into a wince as uncertainty cracked the surface beneath him. He stiffly made his retreat, this encounter leaving him with trepidation instead of triumph.
Once outside, Usopp walked toward the stairs with heavy legs. Thinking about his encounter, he leaned against the railing and slid down the banister, making his way back to the men’s room. Why had Sanji looked at him like that? Was he displeased? Should he have just left the pack lying around? Tossed it to him with no real interaction? When at the bottom, he stopped, turned back, and looked up.
Why did I do that? He groaned and threw his hands in the air. He did not like that Sanji’s expressions, or lack thereof, had left such an impression.
IV.
Sanji’s dispassionate face popped into Usopp’s mind over the next couple of days. Each time Usopp tried to keep from ruminating, but he could never stop the replay. He pinned it open for dissection and poked into every dark spot before he rotated it, trying to extrapolate why Sanji's emotional shifts bothered him so much, why each frown flung him into fix-it mode.
Usopp wasn’t immune to the human desire to comfort others, but this current feeling transcended that. He felt compelled, almost, to see Sanji smile—to be the reason that Sanji smiled.
Still seems like this is a crush snuck back into his mind. And he paused to mull it over.
The thought didn’t feel wrong—but was it right?
Usopp was cementing a new avenue for “losing” something when Sanji crept his way to his workspace. While formulating his plan, Usopp hunched low over his slingshot, replacing the elastic and grip. These two tasks filled his mind, leaving him oblivious to his surroundings, so when Sanji spoke, Usopp jerked, slamming the frame into his face. The elastic unraveled in his hands, a knot emerged on his head, and all his progress dissolved. He glared at Sanji, but the effect just elicited laughter.
Sanji tossed down a canvas roll of small tools. It lay there meekly as Usopp realized he hadn’t actually “forgotten” this one.
“How come you’ve been so forgetful lately?” The way Sanji enunciated “forgetful” made his anxiety take off like the first runner after the starting shot. He tightened his fists around the stem in his hands, but Sanji’s sudden arrival jumbled his thoughts, scrambling the alphabet so no words could form.
Sanji had sought him out—Sanji sought him out!
Usopp opened his mouth, hoping a lie would rush forth like wasps, but only a series of consonants bumbled like bees towards nectar.
His stumble caused Sanji to chuckle. The smile disappeared while Sanji reached for his cigarette, but the shadow passed quickly, and when Sanji pulled his hand away, the brilliant shine of tenderness flushed out Sanji’s presence. Light caught the trailing grey lace of the cigarette smoke; the haze showcased him instead of sheltering him. It turned his silhouette into iconography—a saint from a sinner.
Usopp’s heart sighed—this is a crush.
“No answer?” Sanji tried again to get a response, his lightheartedness tainted with mischief.
Usopp had no voice, shaken silent by that halo’s glow. Instead, Usopp just returned Sanji’s smirk with a smile. There was no mischievousness in his—nothing but a delight that was impossible to keep to himself. An adoration that couldn’t be contained as it poured forth, flooding over the two of them, filling the room.
That action overturned whatever was happening in Sanji’s mind because he appeared to stall out. Whatever reply Sanji had ready—probably a weak chide—froze between parted lips.
They were silent with one another, each waiting to see what the other would do.
Sanji appeared to think of something immediate, frowned, and left, their conversation complete.
Usopp chuckled, surprised at how quickly the encounter went. Then, in his imagination, he heard Sanji tell him to shut up and laughed a little more.
The next day, just as Usopp was about to exit the kitchen, Sanji caught his arm. Usopp’s heart tumbled into his throat as he looked down. That was a new development, one he never calculated to happen. He met Sanji’s gaze. There was a mild fright, a sort of unease, that melted over Sanji; he seemed—shy.
“How do you get any work done when you spend most of your time trying to find your tools?” Sanji slid his hand down to Usopp’s and turned it palm up. Even when Usopp closed his fingers over the strap, Sanji continued to hold his arm.
“I–I–I don’t,” Usopp stuttered, preoccupied with the heat of Sanji’s hand as it radiated away from his grasp, warming him like summer’s ideal afternoon.
“Don’t you get tired of running back and forth all day?” Sanji smiled that smile again—it was still unfair.
“Not when you bring them to me.” He swallowed down some nervousness. “May–Maybe you shouldn’t be so nice.”
“Nice?” He contemplated.
Usopp chuckled.
Sanji played playful first during their last encounter, but Usopp spotted his chance now. His plan for encountering a new expression stalled before, but it revved back to life. This time he didn't need to search for the idea—it came running.
“How long are you going to hold my hand?” There was no condemnation, no reproach, just a touch of flirting he didn’t intend on but vocalized anyway.
Sanji looked down, dropped his arm, and made an escape while reaching for his face. Usopp stood, brain trying to rewind and figure out if he had seen that right.
Was Sanji blushing?
V.
Usopp heaved a sigh with the sky as his only witness, his legs dangling over the edge of the stern, his face pressed between two spokes of the railing. It was all he could think to do to hide from the others. Sneak to the back, get out of sight—disappear.
He reached for the spot that Sanji touched and had been going for it throughout the last few days. After catching sight of Sanji during breakfast, his fingers reached out. In the banality of walking from one location to the next, his fingers reached out. And as he traced the memory, festive pinpricks erupted like fireworks over his chest, popping and glowing.
Footsteps moved behind him, but he thought nothing of it, too busy questioning his recent enlightenment. For some reason, now that he had named his feeling, he became obsessively aware of his reactions to Sanji. Usopp told himself it was no big deal to have a crush and that he could still interact with Sanji as he usually did. Yet, each time he saw Sanji, he tripped over his affection and stumbled where he normally sauntered. All of his recent actions towards Sanji, all of the nervousness, the planning, the ups and downs, collided with his newly unearthed affection, and only embarrassment limped forth from the wreckage.
His simple plan for uncovering more about Sanji had spun him around so many times he lost the path forward.
Usopp didn’t notice as Sanji sat down next to him.
“You’ve been ignoring me today,” Sanji spoke, jolting Usopp from his musings, and his heart from his chest.
“Where’d you fucking come from?” Usopp gasped, trying his best to catch his escaped heart.
Usopp tried to free his legs but couldn’t manage to quickly enough, so he kept sitting. He would look unsuave trying to roll his way free. He heard a snicker emerge from Sanji’s direction, but when Usopp turned, the other’s face was lamb’s wool soft.
He turned away with a blush.
They sat in silence as Sanji smoked next to a Usopp, who turned from time to time to stare at Sanji’s profile, to watch how he smoked, and observe how he sat. The sun dripped warmth from the heat it had collected all morning, drenching the two in the noon’s luminosity.
Sanji slid off his jacket, folding it between the two of them. They still didn’t speak as Sanji pulled out another cigarette. Usopp knocked the toes of his boots together, listening to the sublet thud.
“It’s been weird,” Sanji started, “you haven’t been in and out of the kitchen all day.”
Usopp froze. He thought that his comings and goings were nothing extraordinary—subtle or at least subtle enough to go unrecognized. So Usopp didn’t reply, didn’t know how to answer, and waited to see if Sanji would elaborate further, waited to see if Sanji questioned his actions.
But silence followed Sanji’s sentence. After a few strained seconds, Usopp got worried and turned to investigate.
Sanji was staring at him. An attitude covered his features with an unknowable name. It was so unfamiliar, so rare, that Usopp could only stare in awe.
There was no trace of irritation, no waves of anger to muddle him. Sanji’s regular oscillation from frustration to annoyance to reservation cleared, and what came forward was a realization that these unhappy emotions were nothing more than a diversion. They were the glittering crackle of coastal waves. A distraction to keep anyone from seeing what was below. Because when the tide pulled back when the water receded, a lush world, once hidden, emerged.
“Is there something you want from me?” Sanji asked; his question waited at the shore between them, coaxing Usopp to follow.
Yes, Usopp wanted to answer—but couldn’t—too ashamed to admit to that dynamic, tender expression that he had been engaging in covert emotional surveying. He just shook his head.
“Hmm,”—Sanji flicked the butt away—“that’s too bad.” He stood up and looked down toward Usopp. The waves rushed forth, concealing the treasures once again.“Well, dinner won’t make itself.” Sanji left, pulling a new cigarette free.
Usopp watched as Sanji disappeared. This time when his hand reached out, it bypassed his arm and touched Sanji’s forgotten jacket. He used those few moments to relearn speech.
What does that mean!?
VI.
Sanji often saw Usopp as fleeting, like he was the sunset or the first blossoms of spring—transient—a moment meant to be memorized—immortalized. But his veneration came paired with annoyance. Annoyance at himself, mostly because love was something Sanji preferred to keep hidden. Locked up and tossed overboard, destined to sink into oblivion.
But nothing could stay contained forever, regardless of how deeply he buried it within himself. Eventually, the pressure built and exploded, and his concealed admiration rushed forth with the effortlessness—and perhaps destruction—of an avalanche.
Sanji tried to keep his sentimentality confined to moments of solitude when he could go unwitnessed and bask in the comforts he felt. But afterward, he eradicated the feelings—pushed them into extinction. And Usopp’s constant yet irregular returns exacerbated his unease. Sanji couldn’t measure the time between Usopp’s departure and Usopp’s return, so he couldn’t properly surrender to his feelings.
So, he camouflaged the positive with a negative; he hid his fondness inside irritation. This trap and release, this back and forth, often created a combination of annoying affection that came out every time Usopp came around. Plus, Usopp's absentmindedness cloaked his inquisitive and insightful nature—characteristics Sanji forgot until Usopp turned them on him—irritated him in their truthfulness.
Sometimes, Usopp looked at him with expectation and excitement; he looked on with that thinly contained roguishness that was only present when he was trying desperately to keep something to himself. Only Sanji wasn’t sure what Usopp was waiting for, what Usopp was looking for, and sometimes the reactions Sanji exposed disappointed Usopp.
When Usopp popped back into Sanji’s day, and he got caught drifting in his daydream, got caught free-shouldered of the cloak that hid his happiness, his annoyance swung out, knocking down the fondness. His feelings slipped into someone else’s memories.
But as Usopp lingered in Sanji’s day, as he twisted and pulled against the lid of his controlled reactions, Sanji started to realize that Usopp wasn’t trying to force anything; he was just refreshing the hinges or tinkering with the lock. And Sanji liked the attention—liked the feeling of being interesting enough to be around.
So, copying Usopp, he left a jacket, hoping to tempt Usopp to come back to him. Sanji smoked at the top of the stairs by the kitchen when he heard footsteps approach him. They stopped just behind his left shoulder.
“I’ve been looking for that.” Sanji didn’t turn around.
Usopp didn’t say anything, just sat down next to him, holding Sanji’s folded jacket in his arms. He rubbed a finger along the exposed collar and traced it in a trance.
Usopp refused to look at Sanji—guilty or hopeful? Sanji’s hope interpreted Usopp’s silence as bashful, but his guilt just saw him as tense. They sat in silence for a cigarette's worth of time. The annoyance built up, moving to cover the fear, trying to bury the affection.
Sanji stood and stepped down but turned after a few steps to take the jacket from Usopp. Usopp finally looked at him, hurt lining his eyes. Sanji shook the jacket open and pulled it over Usopp’s shoulders. Love won out at the last moment. He stood holding the lapels, locking Usopp’s arms against his chest.
Usopp looked up, and Sanji looked down. Usopp blushed. Sanji’s reemerged love surged.
“You know,” Sanji said, releasing his hold on the jacket. “You don’t need a reason to visit.”
“I don’t?” Usopp lifted his crouched body, sitting straighter, leaning in, smiling up at him. And like every time Sanji saw the smile, his heart clenched, and his cheeks started stretching into a smile. Usopp wasn’t particularly difficult to read. His expressions moved effortlessly, gliding like a leaf down crystal waters, floating around all breaks along the surface. He raged after a deluge and calmed when drained. But that clear water was misleading; because it often wasn’t shallow nor easy to cross, and the magnificence existed in the transparency.
Beautiful . Sanji thought.
When Usopp’s face slipped from bafflement to bewilderment to bashfulness, Sanji realized he said it out loud. He ran.
“Hey!” Usopp called in a mild panic. “Wait.”
Sanji skidded to a stop, and he turned back despite his wish to escape. Usopp tripped in his hurry, stumbling down the last couple of stairs. Sanji reached for him as he fell.
“Did you mean what you said?” He held on to Sanji’s arms, making it impossible for him to get away.
Sanji didn’t know which thought he referred to, so he simply replied: “Yes.”