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There's always been a difference.
It took Sanji a long time to realize it, probably long enough that that dumb mosshead would laugh himself to death if he ever voiced it. Because it was stupid, really.
Of course there was a difference.
Their crew was always different.
That was why they were a crew at all. Luffy could’ve found any swordsman of Zoro’s strength; he could've found any navigator of his dear Nami’s skill; He had quite literally been on an island of shipwrights when he strong-armed Franky onto their ship. But when it came down to it, Luffy wouldn't have picked anyone else. There was no other swordsman that could've been his swordsman, nor any other navigator or shipwright that could've truly captured his interest. He wanted them, plain and simple.
Maybe it had just been too strange to consider for him, when he had grown up always chosen last. When, as a child, he could never meet anyone's standards or earn anyone's praise no matter how hard he tried. Being himself was enough for his family to despise him.
Zeff hadn’t been like that, but that was different, too. He saved Sanji’s life and lost his leg because they shared a dream. Sanji stayed because he owed the shitty geezer his life and couldn’t bring himself to leave and chase his dreams when such a thing hung over his head. They grew to care about one another along the way in a deeper way they both refused to say amidst their shouts and barbs passed between them.
Luffy…
Luffy crashed a cannonball into the Baratie’s roof, broke about half of their dishes, watched Sanji feed a starving man, and claimed him right then and there. No questions asked. It was never a carefully-cultivated decision, never a harsh circumstance that brought them closer than they ever would’ve been; they’d met and Luffy just…decided.
“Why’d we bring the waiter again?” Zoro had asked one day, an annoyingly snarky grin stretched onto his face. It was really just meant to get a rise out of him, Sanji knew.
“The hell you say, mosshead?” He snapped back on impulse.
But it was Luffy who answered.
“I liked him!” He stated cheerfully.
And Zoro had flicked a sharp glance towards their captain, and in that way they could somehow understand each other with naught a word between them, his eyebrows lifted and he shrugged.
“Yeah, s’pose that would be it.” And that was that.
Sanji hadn’t really gotten it at the time; Luffy liked plenty of people, but their crew always remained small. Amidst all the swordsmen and navigators and cooks and doctors, all the shipwrights and archaeologists and snipers and musicians and helmsmen, Luffy had picked them . In an instant, he chose them. He hardly even thought about it, when there were so many times before that he hadn’t spared others a second glance.
He couldn't deny his place as Luffy’s cook. He would never deny it. But he didn't understand it, the full weight of it, until he’d been standing in front of his captain, gasping for air with a basket torn and soaked with rainwater in hand. When he set before him a bento box full of food laden with mud and grime to the point of being inedible and Luffy smiled .
He ate every scrap with the biggest grin on his face, like it was the best meal he'd ever had.
And Sanji just…realized.
Because an undeniable fact about Luffy was that he loved food. He was a glutton who could fit an entire banquet’s worth of food in his stomach and still ask for more– in fact, he had . Luffy didn't live to eat– because he had always lived to be free before anything else– but it couldn't be denied that it was on his mind to an obsessive degree.
He remembered, a long time ago, back when the dust– sand, more astutely– had just settled on the fight with Crocodile and Baroque Works, he remembered that they had a banquet. Luffy always loved to round out an adventure with copious amounts of food, after all, and he usually had more than enough people thankful enough to provide. So, they would party the day away and Luffy would eat and eat until his belly was distended past any kind of natural limit.
He always did that. That was normal. For a while, it was almost worrying. Sanji was the cook, his cook, but Sanji didn't have a banquet to give him every day. He saw Luffy's unquenchable appetite and wondered:
‘Is he starving? Is what I give him not enough?’ He knew what he was really asking himself.
But Luffy never complained, not in any way that mattered. He would try to steal food off of other plates, he would whine and moan for a snack in the middle of the day– ‘ Sanji, meat!’ — but Sanji never saw Luffy leave his kitchen dissatisfied.
He didn't get it, but he accepted it as one of those strange Luffyisms that didn't quite make sense but made perfect sense because it was Luffy . Luffy was blunt, couldn't lie to save his life, and always wore his heart on his sleeve, but there were some things that you just couldn't know. That was okay.
But it wasn't. He wanted to know.
One night, some time after Alabasta, he followed Luffy to his special seat after dinner. He'd been staring out at the sea with an untameable grin on his lips, a deep want for something beyond the horizon firmly set in his gaze.
And Sanji asked: “Do you need more food?”
Luffy leaned backwards until he was looking at him upside down, a hand firmly on his hat to keep it from falling off. “Is Sanji making a snack?”
“No, I—” He sighed harshly, fingers yearning for a cigarette burning between them. “Do you need more food?”
And it could've been a general question; it could've just been about that same night he asked, but it wasn't. Sanji knew it wasn't, and, somehow, Luffy knew it too.
Luffy tilted his head, humming loudly in thought. He laughed, suddenly. “Nope! Sanji’s is enough.” As if that was an adequate explanation.
It might've been, but Sanji had seen Luffy down an entire cart of fruits in half a second and still have room for more food later. Why was it different? Why was this different?
“Luffy, if you're still hungry, you have to tell me.” Sanji bit out, frustrated. “You have to tell me.” Repeated, like a mantra.
But Luffy frowned. “Sanji's kind of stupid, huh?”
“Oi, watch it, shitty rubber.”
“I can always eat more, but if it's Sanji then I don't have to.” He shrugged like he was stating a simple fact. The sea was blue, they were pirates, and Sanji’s food was enough on the simple account of it being Sanji’s .
It didn't make any sense, but Sanji also knew Luffy never could or would lie about something like this, and let it go.
“Alright.” He sighed.
“That's why you're my cook!” Luffy continued proudly. “It could only be you. Nobody else.”
…Sanji would not blush at that, damnit.
“Fine, fine, I hear you, shitty captain.” Sanji smiled despite himself.
He didn't change the portions, and Luffy never complained. Luffy would take and take from others as if he was never full, but with Sanji he ate what he was given, and that, somehow, was enough.
Sanji didn't get it.
Until he did.
There were cooks out there with more experience, who knew more recipes, who didn't kick and shout at their captains for trying to steal a scrap, but as he watched Luffy down that filthy, ruined bento box and have the sheer audacity to love it as if it were a high-class dish from the most luxurious restaurant money could buy, it was somehow never about the food.
Maybe that was why he never realized it. Because how could it not be about the food with Luffy? But it just wasn't. Luffy loved food, but it was Sanji’s food he treasured above all else.
“Without you, I can't become Pirate King!”
He believed those words. He really did. It was a harsh, awful reality that had settled over his shoulders as Luffy grew further and further away. He couldn't stop the tears from running down his face at the time, lips quivering even as his siblings laughed and mocked him. Because for all that he had tried to leave them…to protect them from his terrible past…
Luffy never would've accepted that. He would never have just moved on and picked someone else. There was no one else. It was just Sanji. It had always been Sanji. And he never really chose Sanji for his food.
None of their crew ever asked Luffy why them , really. There was nothing to understand about what really made Luffy choose them over everyone else. If anyone ever bothered to ask, really ask, he would likely just laugh and say:
“Because it's you!” Which wasn’t a satisfactory explanation from anyone except Luffy.
He didn't think any other cook in the world could make Luffy smile like that over a box of mud. Luffy loved the food, he couldn't lie about that, but he truly loved it because it was Sanji’s . Sanji could never have made that make sense, not for years. Sanji was always lacking in something, always not enough. Judge himself said so as they sailed away. He shouted at them, asking them why they wanted him back so much, listing his shortcomings for the entire world to hear. Sanji had been standing there, taking each word like a lashing. He expected Luffy to shout out denials, to tell Judge that he was wrong, but—
“Why did he start listing all the good things about you?”
If Sanji hadn’t already cried himself empty, he might’ve started crying again. He got annoyed instead, to hold back the surge of warmth that spread through him at the words. Because Luffy was blunt, Luffy never lied. Everything Judge despised him for, everything his siblings beat him to floor over, were the very things that Luffy loved about him.
Why, indeed.
So when he found his kitchen charred and in disarray, he spun on Luffy with a burning fury.
“You will never touch this kitchen as long as I live, you hear me, Luffy?!” Sanji shouted.
And Luffy laughed. “Sure! I don't need to with Sanji around.”
And he could fall into the mental anguish of the reality that he left them alone without a cook, that his captain and his crew had been starving with nobody to feed him, but the bitter feeling of guilt was a weak little thing against the deep, overwhelming joy that beat in his heart at the feeling of being home again.
“That's right.” Sanji smiled, his anger never fully realized, not when he could see Luffy’s selfish love reserved just for him shining plain-as-day in his smile. “I’m here now, so you never have to cook again.” Because I’m enough, right? Because it's me and no one else.
“Good!” Luffy laughed again. “I suck at it, so I’ll leave it to you, Sanji!” Because you're enough. Because it's you and no one else.
When Sanji cooked again, he served Luffy the biggest portion, but that was always true. Luffy’s hands always reached for other plates, but it was never such a thing as desperate. Luffy would clear his plate until not a crumb was left and Sanji would pretend it didn't please him down to his very core.
Luffy would not announce he was full or anything silly like that, because Luffy could eat enough food to feed a banquet, but he would stand up from the table with a pleased, satisfied grin on his face and the sun would shine in the galley for just a few moments.
“Thanks Sanji!” He would cheer before bouncing outside.
Because it was enough.
He was enough.
And maybe that was all that needed to be said.