-Nami-Swaan ~! Robin-chwaan ~! Carrot-chwaan ~! Snack time - exclaimed the cook, slipping out of the kitchen holding up the stuffed cups of Tiramisu, especially made by him to occupy his mind.
Cooking was the only thing that freed him from bad thoughts ... And if he could do it and at the same time make his goddesses happy, Sanji would have done it without delay.
Of course, then when he finished preparing the dishes on which he had thrown his attention, his mind immediately returned to being trapped by the unpleasant images which he just could not get rid of ... But as long as there was still that period of peace in the kitchen, at least, he wouldn't risk going mad.
-Oh thank you very much, Sanji~kun! - was the quick response of the navigator, who instantly grabbed her cup, smiling, being followed in the gesture by the archaeologist with her looking at him thoughtfully and the -Snack? ... Sanji~san, Garchu! - of the rabbit girl who literally slammed her cheek against his ... Not that he was opposing to it, indeed, but ... There was always that touching dilemma, that rose to the surface and that, despite not wanting it, made him freeze for a small, very small, instant on the spot, and to be hastened quickly.
He hoped with all his heart that the look or appearance of his own body had not betrayed him, especially so close to Robin.
The woman was extraordinarily intuitive and smart, her glances were about of said and unsaid since the first day she had sailed with them on the Going Merry, becoming officially part of the crew.
He forced himself to smile, making a small bow, so as not to worry her, not to worry anyone, just as he wanted, and then to wait briefly for the three girls to give their opinion, thanking immediately afterwards and disappearing with the usual false smile on their lips , reaching the kitchen.

As soon as he entered, he could not help but paralyze himself on the spot to the view of the swordsman, sitting at the table, with the expression of one who had waited for a good half hour, but who was ready to wait again to reach his goal, whatever it was.
Determination and patience flashed in his sharp gaze, which rested on him and seemed not to want to detach from his figure anymore.
Sanji's breath caught in his throat, leaving him there, motionless, unable to understand at all ... Well ...
Unable to understand at all the reason why the seaweed head was there.
He could have taken his damned sake and disappeared if that was his goal, to witness this there were all the times when he had stolen alcohol without telling him anything, then making him pissed off and making him immediately to kick him as soon as he reached the deck, waking him from his afternoon's nap.
He decided to ignore it, to didn't care of him and his extraordinarily strange attitude and behavior.
Even during lunch he had seemed very ... Different ... Almost not like him, so much that instead of trying to activate the usual possible fights or quarrel, simply, when he had given him his dish, just like the night before, the man had grabbed his wrist and tightened it, making him wince again and insult him, getting no response.

It was a big problem.
Really a big problem.
Zoro was not acting as he should have.
Zoro was looking for his eyes and generally, he realized it only at that moment, although not too close to each other, he always seemed to be breathing down his neck.
It was fucking maddening ... It was, especially because Sanji suspected that he knew, and now that idea only increased, as much as the swordsman could be stupid, it seemed this way.
If he was looking for contacts, if he looked at him like that, surely there had to be a reason.
For a moment he tried to hypothesize that he had hit his head and therefore, maybe, he was doing so because mentally he had become even more retarded, but ... No, maybe it wasn't because of this ... And that scared him to death.
He didn't want him to find out anything. He didn't have to find out anything. He shouldn't have even the smallest suspect.
Zoro could not know how shameful and failed was who should have been his rival: he didn't want him to realize it.
His pity was the only thing he didn't want and he would never wanted to have, like he'd never look for anyone's, anyway.
It hurted him, instead of helping him, it hurted him as much as never before, even more than the treatment received by the brothers.
For this reason he would have done everything to reduce the probability that he was aware of it: he would have turned away from him as much as he could, he would had to let it go, he would had started to spend his time in all possible ways so as not to be alone with him, ending up hearing the other one who admitted to be knowing the truth.

"Shit. I should concentrate on dinner" he told himself, then heard the captain's voice screaming for food, though they were barely five in the afternoon, which was why he was even scolded by the shrill voice of Nami.
Thinking of this, he quickly peered between the stock and brought a cigarette to his lips, lighting it, requesting a new dose of nicotine to relieve once again the weight his head seemed to contain, thus choosing to throw himself later on a menu not too much sophisticated , but with the good dose of nutrients the crew needed.
With his thoughts suddenly thrown on the future to be done, he finally managed to let go of the insistent and not hidden eyes of the man still sitting at the table, paying close attention to him.
There was a strange flashing in his eyes, just for a moment.
He didn't even notice him getting up and approaching, literally stepping over the shelf on which the cook generally supported the dishes when they were ready.
Certainly, however, he realized that the swordsman grabbed both his wrists and slammed them with not so much softness against the column in the middle of it.
At the moment when he was pinned against the wall and forced to find himself at a minimum distance from every part of the body of the other man, he could no longer avoid staring at him, the only blue eye that focused on the gray one of his rival.

Zoro... He almost looked ... Angry.
Or perhaps, the word that best defined his expression was furious.
The blond trembled, feeling every other nod of skin that pressed against his own weight, so much that in addition to a strangled gasp for the slamming of his back, his cheeks turned red with frustration.
He wanted to be able to free himself, perhaps giving Marimo a kick where the sun wasn't beating, but he was so pinned to the wall, so unable to make movements, that he felt totally trapped, like a little bird enclosed in a cage too small for him.
Trapped just like in the walls of that sort of golden cage that was the Vinsmoke's castle.
Trapped just like when they told him they had Zeff as a hostage and they put the explosive bracelets - which then explosives hadn't been, but who could have imagined it? - around his wrists.
Trapped just as it had been on that stupid cold bed, assaulted by the brothers as a dish ... And used as a toy, a small doll to be exploited at will until it was broken enough to be unusable.
He could not say anything, to do nothing: he was so paralyzed where he was, with his brain going intermittently, even if it had been a dead battery, that part of himself would only have died, knowing that the other was already dead .

- Cook - the voice of the swordsman reached as far as his ears, almost an echo, erased by the burning chaos that ate his mind piece by piece, like a cannibal, ready to tear off another one, the latter allowing deterioration to reach extremes levels.
When the boy looked in front of him, at that moment, he could no longer see Zoro: his face was as if it had been replaced, cut out and the one of the major of the twins had been copy-glued in its place.
It was absurd.
He wanted to scream now.
He would have liked to pray that that face would disappear so as not to reappear.
He wanted to disappear, burying himself alive, not to feel that torment anymore.
But all he wanted seemed to never be given to him.

His cruel grin, like the one of a hunting beast.
His gaze that seemed to tease him.
His laughter that despised him and came out loud with the sole purpose of making him feel inferior.
His voice spitting back at him, without any respite.
His revolting touch, accompanied by the nails that scratched him.
They were all there; engraved in his mind as through iron and flames.
The whole was clinging to it as if it had the claws that sank in its smallest part, tearing away everything they found until it made an indefinite pulp.
In some ways, along with the other two brothers and the one who he refused to define as his father, they were the only thing of which, in some ways, he was sure he couldn't forget ... And perhaps, for this reason, the bubble erupted in his head with the belief that, no.
He would never, ever, ever get back the Sanji he had been before.
And everything simply turned black, while, increasingly in the distance, more and more in one side of his mind, a voice called him back with a confused and incomprehensible grumble.